#howl speaks to the void | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

k0yaz · 4 months ago

Note

(I don't do requests often, so I read your rules like three times out of nervousness 😭)

Could you write an Il Capitano x fem!reader where the reader is forced to walk home by her family after a ball. While walking back, Capitano picks her up and offers to take the reader to where she lives. Maybe toss in some soft/kind Capitano?

Thank you so much, I hope this is an ok request!

pitch black.

Pairings: capitano x fem!reader

CW: sfw, female reader, assy family members, written before natlan, so capitano might be slightly ooc, can be read as platonic or romantic, yum frostbite yay, ngl id cry myself to sleep if I was in snezhnaya bc I can’t handle cold weather, probably an iron deficiency, lazy writing at the end again AUUUUGHHHH, freakytano my glorious king, not proofread.

A/N: HIHIHIHI ALSO IM SORRY IF I MISREAD THE FAMILY THING BUTTTT I ACTUALLY WROTE ON A WEEKDAY YAY also guys should I do like a special for 1k cause my followers are eating rn ok but seriously thank u so much for all the support love yall!! 🕯️

Cold swishes of air circled the pitch black sky faintly illuminated by a star or two, ruffling the silky fluff of a heavy coat adorning your figure. You firmly tightened your grasp around the lapels of the large coat, fabric wrinkling and dragged between the clutches of your paling knuckles tinted a soft pink from Snezhnaya’s biting cold.

Hollow crunches of your footsteps simply rang aloud in your years as your father’s words piled up in your mind. They were merely harmless, yet the intent behind your family’s dismissal stung like a sharpened blade spearing into your chest. But of course, it wasn’t anything new. A gust of wind howled into the canal of your ear sharply, ringing the ill memory of your family spitting the venom laced words of ordering you to trudge home in the nation’s burrowing winter. They didn’t even bother to provide a coat or furnish your body in any way, simply shooing you off as if they were desperate to make you keep your distance from them.

You had been awkwardly situated next to them, the chatter making you shift uncomfortably in an off putting stance, similar to that of an upright statue. Their exasperating laughs bellowed throughout the ballroom obnoxiously, catching an occasional glance of a person or two eyeing them. If hunching your shoulders in embarrassment wasn’t enough, their attitude was more than enough for you to have a strong urge to pray for the Tsaritsa’s wrath to be bestowed upon them.

People had noticed your huddled stance, tracing the rim of your glass in circular motions in hopes to distract yourself from the growing oddity of your placement in the ball. And without hesitation, they would of course begin to approach you. Possibly out of pity? Perhaps even the goodness of their heart wanting to accompany the girl who wasn’t very engaged in the celebration. Each person would approach you, friendly smiles stretching their face as they’d attempt to greet you—only for it to be cut short by your parents’ attention snapping to the guest stood before you, slicing the conversation short as they’d beckon the person to come speak with them instead.

Tremors of disdain pooled inside of you upon seeing your family members so obviously attempt to shove out any possible chance of a trail of hopeful socialization paved on your direction. Your isolation only grew more and more frustrating as indistinct chatter bounced off the walls of the ball, your eyes following the sound of the echo trailing from the marble structure to the intricate chandelier and candles flickering. At this moment, you purely felt alone. Isolated from everything as you mentally stood still in a pitch black void, with drowned out voices clouding the lonesome darkness.

“(Name). I think it’s about time you headed home.” Your father rasped out, not even making eye contact with you as his gaze was locked onto the champagne bottle and glass snug between his hands. “The ball is over anyway. We’re only staying for extra drinks. Your mother and I will be out meeting some other relatives at the nearby restaurant.”

“Father, it’s too cold for me to walk back home. You know how-“

“Oh, (Name). You’ll be fine. I raised you to be an independent woman. You’ll find the way home just fine.”

Pushing past your father, your mother pokes her shoulder out as well, casting you a glance as she chimes in to the conversation.

“He’s right, dear. Go ahead and head home for the night. I trust you’ll fare just fine without us accompanying you home.”

“Mother, that’s not what I-“

“(Name). That’s enough. You should head home. End of discussion.”

You knew you couldn’t properly explain to them. They’d always toss you aside and swat off your remarks as such. You bit back your protest, swallowing as you scanned the ballroom for a spare coat anywhere. There were a few harbingers around, so a raggedy stray coat shouldn’t be too uncommon.

“Sorry. I’ll be heading home now.” You submitted under your breath, masking your mixed irritation dissolved into your tone. You only further grimaced slightly as your mother smiled and leaned over to place a faux affectionate kiss to your forehead. With one dismissive wave once more, her and your father turned their back to you to exit the ball, shouldering through the heavy spruce doors packed with people crowding them.

You blinked, fervent shivers making you tremble against each flake of snow that brushed along the exposed parts of your skin as you realized you had just stepped midway through. The searing cold made your head spin as you began to lose yourself, frostbite clouding your senses and enveloping the tips of your fingers slowly. No matter. You could make it home if you simply stopped spacing out and thinking about your shitty parents. Just then, a loud crunch resounded with the howling wind, heavy clanks of metal being heard in addition to the crunches.

The heavy thuds only seemed to become clearer as they grew closer and closer, a light drag of chains shuffling behind you as well. Your heart nearly pounded out of your chest in anticipation, a sense of apprehension overtaking you as you clutched the coat draped over you tighter in a pathetic attempt to shield yourself using the thick fabrics. The thuds came to a halt as your eyes slowly roamed over the man who halted before you. His figure loomed over you, as his towering frame was quite intimidating to the least.

The metal lining of his mask enshrouded his face in a sightless black, cloaking his face completely as it seemed like an empty void bore into the gap of his helmet. Streams of jet black hair along with that adorned along the cheekbone of his mask and down his shoulders, a few stray strands of his long hair edged along the sharp steel edges of his mask. On top of that. A thick white coat with black fluff was draped along his shoulders, the small fabric emblem in the corner pertaining to that of the Fatui. If he was wearing this coat, your best bet was he was definitely a Fatui harbinger. Likely a strong one at that.

Backing up slightly, your eyes wandered over the man’s figure as you stood neatly frozen in place, the wind swaying his streaming hair while the harbinger looked down upon you.

“Is something the matter, ma’am?”

His low voice cast the illusion of protruding through the thickened frozen air, a faint muffle present in his speech considering he had spoken through the hollow opening of his seemingly endless mask.

“I was just walking home..”

“You seemed to be troubled, though.”

You simply wanted to scoff, yet you only tilted your head away from the harbinger in shame. Had your family humiliated you this much to the point where a figure of such high status took pity on you?

Sucking in a breath, you slowly turned your head back towards him, his body frozen in place, and looking down at you like a great statue. His gaze remained locked on you—yet you couldn’t tell due to the hollow blackness pitched into the carving of his mask. “Your name?” He hummed lowly, his body still enveloped by his large coat, and arms hidden under the sides of the thick pale silk.

“(Name).” You replied bluntly, clearing your throat and lowering your voice almost immediately after as to not give a rude impression. “Yours?”

“Il Capitano.”

Capitano seemed to follow your lingering gaze as he spoke, tracing each spot your eyes transfixed on periodically. However, there was one particular spot you couldn’t take your eyes off, and he didn’t take long to notice you focused on the Fatui emblem at the corner of his harbinger coat. “First of the Fatui harbingers.” He added, sensing that you had been wondering his relation to the infamous organization serving under the Cryo Archon dispersed across Teyvat.

Sensing your evident shifts and subtle kicks of your feet, he didn’t take long to pick up on your troubled state fidgeting before him, as if you were afraid of a train of emotional danger clouding your judgement to even think properly—much less walk in such bitter conditions.

“Where are you off to so late, miss (Name)?”

“I’m just walking home…it’s important family business.”

You immediately added that last part as an audible afterthought, not wanting to involve a harbinger in your personal affairs. Capitano wasn’t stupid, however. The clouds of tension and fear were palpable amidst the indifferent expression of yours, flaked white from the occasional crystals of snow fluttering onto your face. Heavy clanks followed your words as he stepped forward carefully, not wanting to startle you as he made his way directly beside you.

The black fur lining the neckline of his coat brushed against your collarbone as he stood closely shoulder to shoulder with you, head kept high. He continued to stare off into the distance ahead of him, as if the burrowing fog wasn’t enshrouding the entire vicinity before the two of you and dimming your line of sight.

“Do you mind if I accompany you home?”

You blinked out of pure surprise. A harbinger? Walking you home? At first it was too much, you couldn’t possibly accept this, much less waste his time like this! However the chilling thought of walking alone at night so late sent a shiver down your spine, and it was definitely not just from the cold.

“Not at all, Sir Capitano.”

He shook his head, stepping forward as he beckoned you to catch up to him.

“No need for formalities. Just Capitano is fine.”

Nodding, you briskly walked beside him to match his pace. The two of you were purely silent as he walked into the swirls of fog patterned along the vicinity clouding the array of homes lined up on either side of the street. Shuffles of chains and howls of wind were the only noticeable sound echoing along the empty night roads, inducing a rush of calmness that replaced your previous anxious state. Halfway through, you proceeded to extend your arm out, pointer finger fixing ahead of you at a slight angle.

“My home should be around there.”

Capitano simply nodded, shifting his path in the direction of your finger’s aim as he slowly headed toward the squeezed space of homes cluttered along the sides. Once reaching your doorstep, he halted at the hardened spruce topped with a silver knocker situated above the center, as if he was awaiting your next words. You delivered him a sincere and thoughtful smile, folding your arms as you didn’t know what exactly to do with them. The freezing steel of the knocker uncomfortably brushed along the exposed skin of your shoulder, which was not effectively covered by the ragged coat, making you hunch over upon contact embarrassingly.

“Thank you, Capitano. I don’t think I could have reached home quick enough before passing out on the streets..”

He let out an affirmative hum once more, looking down at you through his helmet framed by his long hair which was now a bit unkempt from the winds mixed with the fog. But it was only a strand or two off anyway.

“The pleasure is all mine, Miss (Name).” He paused briefly, before adding once more. “If you’re in any trouble that requires my assistance, don’t feel afraid to call me.” His words were sweet, yet they made you laugh faintly, making you biting your tongue at his low tone questioning what was so humorous about his statement.

“Ah. It’s nothing, Capitano. It’s just…we met under a few hours ago..”

“It’s not the time we knew each other that’s the matter. Rather, it’s the fact that it’s obvious you’re clearly going through something, (Name). I don’t mean to pry, I just want to do what is just for you. And I can tell you’re a good person.”

His words only brought that faint elated smile back onto your face, an unexplainable disappointment drooping within you when he steps away from the door to head back. You wave to him, and he gives a quick nod, turning his back to you and heading back to god knows where. That smile remained on your lips for quite a bit, even when you rocked open the door slowly into the comfort and warmth of your home.

What a respectable and kind man.

A/N: it’s 1 am and I have a quiz tomorrow morning LOLLL

Anyway I’m so happy I got this done yay

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rottenfyre · 30 days ago

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⸻ ʙ ʀ ᴏ ᴋ ᴇ ɴ ⸻

Pairing: Yandere Anakin Skywalker x Fem Reader

Headcanon: What if his darling die?

Notes: English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

When you die, Anakin doesn’t simply lose you—he loses himself. The moment your life slips away, the galaxy itself seems to go silent, as if mourning alongside him. Everything he fought for, everything he dreamed of, collapses into ash. You were his light in the darkness, his anchor, and now, with you gone, there is nothing left but chaos.

Your death is something Anakin refuses to accept at first. His hands shake as he cradles your lifeless body, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he whispers your name over and over, as though the sound alone could bring you back.

“No,” he murmurs, his voice breaking as he presses his forehead to yours. “This isn’t real. It can’t be real. Wake up. Please, wake up!”

When the truth sets in, it’s like a physical blow. A scream tears from his throat—a raw, animalistic sound that echoes through the air. It’s a sound born of pure anguish, a howl that could shatter stars.

Anakin doesn’t let go of your body for hours—perhaps days. He refuses to leave you, refusing to let the reality of your absence settle in. He strokes your hair, brushes his lips against your forehead, and whispers promises he knows you can’t hear.

“I’ll fix this,” he vows, his voice trembling with desperation. “I’ll find a way. You’re not gone. You can’t be gone.”

His mind immediately turns to the Force, to the possibility of reversing death itself. He becomes consumed by the idea of bringing you back, no matter what it costs him. Memories of Palpatine’s whispers, of the Sith’s promises of power over life and death, resurface in his mind like a venomous snake.

Without you, the darkness within Anakin flourishes. He doesn’t care about right or wrong anymore—he only cares about you. The galaxy could burn to ashes, and he wouldn’t bat an eye if it meant holding you in his arms again.

He delves into forbidden knowledge, seeking answers that others fear to even contemplate. He becomes obsessed, pouring over ancient Sith holocrons, experimenting with powers that twist the Force into something unnatural. He’s willing to sacrifice anything—anyone—to bring you back. His moral compass shatters entirely, and those who stand in his way are met with unrelenting fury.

“Don’t lecture me about the Force,” he snarls at anyone who dares to question him. “If the Force won’t save her, then I’ll tear it apart and make it obey me.”

Anakin isolates himself completely. He pushes away everyone who once cared for him—Obi-Wan, Padmé, Ahsoka—because they don’t understand. They can’t understand. They call him insane, accuse him of losing his way, but he doesn’t care. To him, they’re all hypocrites who speak of compassion yet refuse to help him bring back the person who mattered most.

His obsession with you consumes every waking moment. He surrounds himself with reminders of you—your favorite things, holos of your smile, even the scent of your perfume lingering on your clothes. He talks to these remnants as if you’re still there, as if you’ll answer him any second now.

“I’m doing this for you,” he whispers into the void, his fingers brushing over a holo of you. “I’ll make it right. I’ll make you proud.”

If Anakin’s attempts to bring you back ultimately fail, he becomes a broken shell of himself. His once vibrant blue eyes grow dull, and every ounce of warmth and humanity he had left is snuffed out.

Your death becomes his defining moment—the catalyst that fully pushes him into the abyss. His grief morphs into rage, directed at the galaxy, the Force, and even himself. He blames everyone and everything for your loss, but deep down, he blames himself most of all.

He becomes more machine than man, emotionally and spiritually. The Anakin Skywalker you loved ceases to exist, replaced by a figure of cold, unyielding wrath. The only thing that keeps him moving is the memory of you—a haunting, bittersweet echo that never leaves his mind.

If, by some dark miracle, Anakin succeeds in bringing you back, it doesn’t end the way he imagines. Perhaps you return incomplete—your memories fragmented, your soul scarred. Or perhaps you fear him, seeing the monster he’s become in his efforts to defy nature itself.

Even then, he refuses to let you go. He clings to you, no matter what, convinced that this twisted reunion is better than losing you forever. “I did this for us,” he says, his voice trembling with both pride and desperation. “You’re back where you belong—where I need you.”

But even with you by his side, the shadow of what he did to bring you back hangs over him. It’s a hollow victory, one that will never truly heal the wound your death left behind.

Anakin is a man defined by love, and your death strips him of that love in the cruelest way imaginable. Whether it leads him to madness, darkness, or destruction, one thing is certain: he will never be the same. Your absence leaves a void so deep that not even the Force can fill it.

In the end, Anakin’s obsession with you becomes both his greatest strength and his ultimate downfall—a tragic testament to the love he couldn’t bear to lose.

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

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dreamersworldduh · 22 days ago

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HI, NEIGHBOR — FINALE

• JASON TODD x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — you’re new to the neighborhood and find yourself becoming friends with the residential bad boy, Jason Todd. From his perspective, you seem like an outgoing guy yet there’s a mystery to you he couldn’t quite figure out.

WARNING! Suggestive Langauge. Swearing. Violence.

WORDS! 2k

AUTHOR’S NOTE! Again, thank you for all the love and support for this series. Don’t worry, I have more series coming, but until then enjoy.

PREVIOUS PART! FOUR

Gotham's skyline stretched endlessly before you, jagged and unforgiving, a maze of towering steel and cracked concrete that clawed at the cold night sky. Neon signs blinked erratically in the distance, casting eerie glows of red and electric blue over rain-slick streets far below. The moon hung high and distant, pale and remote, its silvery light spilling unevenly across the city's twisted landscape like a half-hearted blessing.

The city never slept—could never sleep. Faint sirens wailed somewhere far off, threading through the ever-present growl of engines, the angry shouts of late-night arguments, and the persistent buzz of flickering streetlights. Gotham breathed in chaos and exhaled violence—steady, relentless, alive.

You stood at the edge of the rooftop, motionless, barely registering the sharp, biting chill of the wind cutting through the seams of your armor. It howled around you, fierce and untamed, tugging at your cape as if daring you to leap into the void below. You didn't flinch. You hadn't flinched in a long time.

Your gloved fingers rested against the rough, weather-beaten edge of the rooftop ledge. The old bricks were cold and crumbling, worn down by years of brutal winters and fierce summer storms. Your gaze was locked across the street, fixed on the darkened, silent silhouette of a familiar building—your old apartment.

The windows stared back, empty and hollow. Once, those windows had glowed warmly, their light spilling out onto the cracked pavement like a beacon in the dark. You could still see it in your mind—the soft, golden haze of a lamp burning late into the night, curtains gently swaying in the breeze from a half-open window.

You remembered the way the old wooden floorboards groaned beneath your boots after long nights spent chasing shadows, the smell of cheap takeout mingling with the ever-present aroma of strong coffee brewed out of necessity, not comfort. You'd sit there in the dim light, armor peeled away, tracing worn-out street maps spread across a scarred table, planning your next move... still daring to hope.

But that life felt impossibly far away now, like a half-forgotten dream. Someone else's life. Someone softer. Someone less broken.

Your fingertips drifted down, brushing lightly over the familiar, sharp edges of the bat-emblem etched into your chest plate. The armor was cold and unyielding beneath your touch, its matte surface rough and scarred from countless battles. It was a part of you now—woven into your identity as surely as the blood in your veins.

There was no going back. No running. No hiding.

This was your life now. The mission. The fight. The endless war.

And you weren't alone in it—not anymore.

The familiar, deliberate sound of heavy boots landing softly on the rooftop behind you broke through the quiet. You didn't have to turn around to know who it was.

Jason.

"Figured I'd find you here," his familiar, rough voice called out, warm and teasing. You could hear the faint smirk woven into his words even before you turned around. Jason had a way of speaking like he was in on a private joke the world hadn't caught up to yet.

You exhaled slowly, already feeling the tension in your shoulders begin to unwind. He had that effect on you—steady, grounding, like the first breath after being underwater too long.

When you finally turned, he was standing a few feet away, clad in his signature Red Hood armor, its matte-black plates etched with battle scars and worn edges from countless fights. His blood-red emblem gleamed faintly in the moonlight, sharp and bold—a warning to anyone foolish enough to challenge him.

His helmet was tucked loosely under one arm, his other hand resting casually on his hip. Wind tugged at his dark hair, tousling it in a way that made him look effortlessly rugged, though you knew he hated when it got in his eyes. His piercing blue gaze locked onto yours with that familiar, intense focus—sharp and assessing, but gentler now... softer, just for you.

"You gonna stand there brooding all night," he asked, a teasing lilt in his voice, "or can I join in on the dramatic rooftop staring contest?"

You couldn't help the quiet huff of laughter that escaped you. Jason always knew how to break the weight of the moment, no matter how heavy it felt.

Shaking your head, you leaned back against the rough brick ledge, your fingers trailing over the worn edges. "Thought you were on patrol."

Jason shrugged, stepping closer until he was standing shoulder-to-shoulder with you. Even through his armor, you could feel the familiar warmth radiating from him, grounding you in a way the cold city air never could.

"I was. Then I heard you were out here looking all..." —he waved a gloved hand vaguely in the air— "dark and mysterious. Thought I'd check in... make sure you weren't planning anything stupid."

You smirked, bumping your elbow lightly into his side. "Only stupid thing I've done is let you follow me."

Jason chuckled softly, the sound low and warm, wrapping around you like a protective shield. He shook his head, lips twitching into that lopsided grin that always made your heart ache in the best way.

"You love it," he said with quiet certainty, no hesitation in his voice.

The familiar, comfortable silence settled over you both. The distant hum of the city faded into the background as you stood side by side, staring out over Gotham's sprawling, chaotic skyline. The cold wind tugged at your cape, howling around the edges of the rooftop, but it felt far away now—just another piece of the restless city neither of you could ever quite leave behind.

After a long moment, Jason's voice softened, losing its usual teasing edge. His words were quieter, tinged with something deeper.

"Thinking about... before?"

Your gaze drifted back to the old apartment across the street—the empty, dark windows that used to glow with warmth and light. Memories tugged at the edges of your mind: late nights spent over binge watching movies, coffee growing cold on the counter; quiet conversations whispered in the dim glow of the worn kitchen lamp; stolen moments of peace in a life that rarely allowed them.

"Feels like... another life," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "Like... someone else lived there."

Jason tilted his head slightly, his expression thoughtful—serious in a way only he could be when it came to you. He studied you for a moment, his sharp gaze searching yours like he could see the thoughts you couldn't quite voice.

"Maybe... but you're still you," he said quietly, with a conviction that left no room for doubt. "Different suit, different mission... but the same person who's always fought like hell to survive."

His words hit deeper than you expected, settling into your chest with quiet finality. He always had a way of cutting through the walls you put up—seeing through the armor, both literal and otherwise.

You turned toward him slowly, meeting his gaze head-on. His eyes were steady and unwavering, fierce in their sincerity.

"You know that, right?" Jason asked, his voice rough but soft—open in a way he rarely allowed himself to be.

The weight of his words settled over you, pushing past the cold ache that had lived in your chest for so long. You swallowed hard, feeling something warm unfurl deep inside despite the icy wind biting at your skin.

"Yeah," you whispered. "I know."

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you felt charged, humming with everything unspoken—but understood.

Then Jason's mouth tugged into a familiar, mischievous grin, the teasing light returning to his sharp blue eyes.

"Besides," he added casually, the warmth creeping back into his voice, "you're way too badass to be some regular apartment-dwelling civilian. I mean... you fly, for crying out loud."

A surprised laugh escaped you before you could stop it, light and genuine. Jason's grin widened, his expression softening with quiet pride—like seeing you laugh, even here, even now, was the greatest victory he could ever claim.

Before you could overthink it, you stepped closer, your fingers brushing against the cool, worn surface of his armored chest. His breath hitched just slightly, but he didn't pull away—couldn't.

His free hand lifted slowly, fingers brushing gently against the back of your neck as he pulled you in with quiet reverence. His touch was steady, sure, yet so achingly careful—like holding something precious he couldn't bear to lose.

His lips met yours in a slow, lingering kiss—warm, fierce, familiar. He kissed you like it was the only thing grounding him to this brutal, unforgiving city... and maybe it was. His hand stayed firm against your neck, anchoring you both in that shared, perfect stillness.

For that one moment... nothing else existed. No city. No missions. No past. No future.

Just you and him.

Then...

"You do realize you're still on patrol, right?"

Bruce's sharp, no-nonsense voice crackled through the comms, cutting through the stillness like a blade. The words were clipped, precise, weighted with the authority of someone who never asked—only commanded.

You and Jason broke apart instantly, breathless but grinning like a pair of guilty teenagers caught sneaking out past curfew. The cool night air rushed in between you, sharp and biting, grounding you back in the reality you'd momentarily forgotten.

Jason groaned loudly, tilting his head back toward the sky with exaggerated exasperation. "Of course he's watching," he muttered, dragging a gloved hand down his face.

You chuckled, still catching your breath, already reaching for your helmet. "Can't say we didn't see that coming."

Jason shot you a sideways glance, his smirk slow and wicked despite his frustration. His ice-blue eyes still sparkled with warmth, the echoes of the moment you'd just shared lingering there, untouched by Bruce's interruption. "Told you we should've gone somewhere higher," he added with a low, teasing drawl.

You rolled your eyes, suppressing another laugh as you secured your helmet into place. The familiar click of the locking mechanism felt natural, practiced—second nature after all these years. The HUD display flared to life, casting your world in sharp, tactical clarity as it scanned the city's endless expanse of crumbling rooftops and twisting alleys.

Jason hesitated just a second longer, still watching you with that same soft intensity, even as he reluctantly raised his red helmet. The smooth, battle-worn surface gleamed faintly under the distant glow of the city's scattered neon lights. His expression stayed open and unreadable for just a moment longer—raw and unguarded in a way only you ever got to see.

"Alright," he finally drawled into the comms, his voice flattening into something cool and sharp—the tone of a seasoned vigilante back on mission. "We're moving."

He tugged the helmet into place with practiced ease, the familiar, menacing faceless mask transforming him in an instant. His voice crackled again through the comms, distorted but still unmistakably him. "You coming, or you planning to stare dramatically at the skyline all night?"

You snorted softly, already moving toward the edge of the rooftop. The city stretched out before you—dark, endless, defiant—its tangled streets a labyrinth of secrets and danger. Gotham's breathless pulse thrummed beneath your boots, calling you back into its relentless embrace.

You closed your eyes briefly, letting the familiar hum of your Chi energy stir deep within your chest. It started as a low, electric warmth, igniting like a spark caught in dry tinder. The power surged upward, rushing through your veins in a brilliant, burning pulse of golden light. Energy crackled around you, shimmering faintly like distant thunder in the charged air.

You took a steady breath, embracing the sensation, letting it lift you effortlessly off the ground. The wind roared in your ears as the rooftop fell away beneath you, leaving nothing but open sky and electric possibility.

Jason lingered for just a heartbeat longer, watching you ascend with that same quiet awe he never voiced but couldn't quite hide. The edges of his mouth tugged into a small, proud smile—soft, private, meant only for you.

With a low, knowing chuckle, he crouched, muscles coiling with practiced precision, and leapt after you—graceful, powerful, unstoppable. His silhouette cut through the dark like a blade, chasing after you through the sky...

...Always.

#dc x male reader #batboys #x male reader #jason todd x male!reader #jason todd #dc #jason todd x male reader #jason todd imagine #batfam

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azaleakoneko · 8 months ago

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Please that’s so cute and so Cora

Adorable

#corazon #donquixote rosinante #trafalgar law #howl speaks to the void

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starrylanex · 4 months ago

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Nightmare // Klaus Mikaelson x fem!reader

summary - reader has a nightmare but klaus is there to help her through it; request; warnings - small panic attack, no mentions of y/n, klaus being a softie for reader; word count - 737; for @lizzielovesmovies hope you enjoy it:))

———

Darkness engulfed everything.

The forest seemed endless, each step pulling you deeper into the shadows. Cold sweat coated your skin as you ran, breath ragged, heart pounding against your ribs. The haunting sounds of wolves howling echoed through the trees, chasing you down, and no matter how fast you moved, they were always just behind.

Suddenly, the ground gave way beneath your feet, and you fell. Down and down, spiraling into a pit of nothingness. You screamed, but no sound came out, just the deafening silence and the feel of cold, invisible hands pulling at you, scratching you, suffocating you. Desperate, you reached out for something, anything to hold onto, but all you found was darkness.

A low growl filled the void, too close for comfort. You turned, your eyes wide with terror, and there he stood—the figure of a wolf, obscured by the mist, eyes glowing an unnatural yellow, lips curled into a menacing growl, showing it's sharp teeth.

You froze as the wolf stepped closer, barking at you, you couldn't move, and as the wolf launched at you, you jolted awake, gasping, heart still racing as though it had been real. Sweat slicked your skin, and your breath came in shallow, uneven bursts. You blinked, taking in the familiar surroundings of your room, but the terror from the nightmare clung to you, making it impossible to calm down. The silence felt too loud, the shadows too deep.

Suddenly, there was a soft creek of the door barely audible, but enough to make you jump.

"Love?" Klaus's voice came through, a gentle from his usual roughness. He pushed the door open slightly, his blue eyes finding yours immediately. Concern was etched on his face as he entered the room. "I heard your heartbeat from down the hall."

You tried to catch your breath, still shaken. "Just... a nightmare," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Without a word, Klaus crossed the room to your bedside, his presence alone somehow grounding you. He sat down next to you, his eyes scanning your face with an intensity that made you feel safe. His hand found yours, thumb brushing gently over your knuckles.

"A nightmare?" he repeated softly, the edge of his accent smoothing the words. "It must have been quite dreadful to rattle you like this." His eyes softened, and for a moment, the centuries of hardness fell away, revealing the man beneath the immortal veneer. "You're safe now. I'm here."

You shivered, your body still tense from the aftershocks of the dream. "I-I know," you stammered, "but it felt so real... I couldn't breathe."

Klaus let go of your hand only to swiftly remove his grey shirt, his movements slow and deliberate. "Here," he said, offering it to you. "You're sweating through yours"

The gesture was so unexpected, so tender, that you didn't hesitate. You took your shirt off and taking the shirt from him, the fabric still warm from his body, you slipped it on. It smelled of him—faintly of cedar and something uniquely Klaus. His scent wrapped around you like a comforting embrace, immediately soothing your nerves.

Klaus watched you quietly, his gaze lingering on you. He didn't speak, but the warmth in his eyes was more than enough. He moved to sit at the edge of the bed, his hand once again finding yours.

"I'll stay right here," he promised, his voice a soft murmur. "No one will harm you, not while I'm here. Close your eyes, love."

You nodded, your eyes fluttering shut, but sleep didn't come immediately. You could still feel the weight of the nightmare pressing down on you, and the silence was unnerving. Sensing your unease, Klaus shifted closer, his hand brushing over your hair gently, fingers threading through the strands.

"Rest," he whispered. "It was just a dream. You're safe. I'm here to protect you."

The steady sound of his voice, his fingers gently stroking your hair, and the comfort of his presence finally began to work. Slowly, the tension in your body eased, and your breathing evened out. The weight of his hand in yours anchored you to the present, pulling you away from the remnants of your nightmare.

With Klaus by your side, the darkness seemed less threatening, and for the first time that night, you let yourself drift into peaceful sleep, knowing that no nightmare could reach you as long as he was there.

#fanfic #x reader #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson #klaus mikaleson imagine #klaus mikaelson fluff #klaus mikaelson x you #klaus mikealson fanfiction #the originals x reader

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majesticallyunmagestic · 4 months ago

Text

Gift stimboard for @maggotpoolautism ^^

X|X|X

#bug #agere #stim #i think #if i should add more tags pls let me know^^#howling to the void #The Fish Speaks

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sp1cy-t0ss · 2 years ago

Text

Antares

https://archiveofourown.org/works/45534721

The first thing Nightwing hears upon regaining consciousness is ominous chanting. A man’s voice rings out over the rest, ranting about an Eternal King, infinite power, and -- oh boy -- sacrifices. He tunes it out to assess the situation.

He’s in an old warehouse. Robin’s here too, looking even more annoyed than Nightwing feels, and both of them have their hands and ankles bound in rope. His comm is on silent, just as he left it, like an idiot. The ranting man and his followers in matching robes are gathered around a ritual circle in the middle of the floor. Yeah, that tells him all he needs to know. They need to get out, now.

Unfortunately, that’s exactly when the leader finishes his speech and turns to them.

“So,” the man asks with a cruel smile. “Which of you ‘heroes’ will have the honor of bringing our Lord to this plane?”

“I will.” Robin’s voice is sharp, unyielding.

The man is obviously surprised to receive an actual answer to his taunt, but obliges. He pulls Robin away without another word.

“What?! No! Robin, you can’t--” Nightwing’s protest is cut off with a punch to the stomach from one of the robed lackeys.

“I have my reasons, Nightwing; it must be me.” Robin’s face reveals nothing, but he gives a subtle hand signal: I have a plan.

Nightwing forces himself to calm down. They’ll get out of this. He just has to trust his Robin. While everyone’s eyes are off him, he quietly works at the amateur knots.

The leader drags Robin into the circle without a fight. He raises a jeweled dagger, intentions clear...

But Robin is faster. He bites his own wrist, hard, and spits his blood into the circle. The runes light up in terrible Lazarus green, and Robin pushes himself upright with a malicious grin.

The lead cultist scrambles back from the circle and into a deep bow. The chanting stops as his minions follow suit. Robin continues to look far too smug for his situation. Nightwing feels a headache coming on somewhere under his renewed panic.

This is his plan?!

There’s a blinding flash of light. When the spots clear from Nightwing’s vision, the Eternal King is floating in the circle, mere feet from the bound Robin.

The Eternal King isn’t quite the grotesque horror he expected. Their body is a glittering black void, a sleek humanoid shadow with misty white hair and bright, bright eyes of toxic green. A cold fog rolls off of their body in waves.

“Antares,” the shadow rumbles, and Nightwing feels static thrum in his bones with the sound. The room is painfully cold, but the King doesn’t seem aggressive yet. Maybe they really can bargain their way out of this mess.

Robin doesn’t flinch. He looks the Eternal King right in the eyes, utterly fearless, and smirks. “Hello, Beloved.”

What?

The King stares silently, floating closer. For a long moment, no one moves. No one speaks.

“My lord, does the sacrifice please you?” The ringleader cuts in, standing up with a greedy gleam in his eyes.

Something in the air changes as the King turns toward the man. Something cold, electric, heavy under the skin. Nightwing suppresses a shiver as he works through the last of the rope.

“You d̵̢̛a̵̼̽ṙ̴͎e̵̐��.”

The leader pales and falls to his knees. “My Lord, if this offering is insufficient, we have another--”

The King s̴̱̖̺̺̓͊̕̕ć̵͇͇͔̈r̴̥͐e̸̥̬͌̂̌̊a̴̭̔̓̀̔͘m̵̯͑̋͌͠s̵̗̤̻̭̍̿, a furious howl that blurs Nightwing’s vision and claws his ears. The sound is everywhere, driving him to his knees. Growing shadows seem to absorb his little brother just as Nightwing realizes he’s blacking out.

They’re falling, they’re falling someone help they’re screaming he’s screaming make it stop dead on impact blood and bones make it stop make it STOP--

When he comes back to himself, it’s quiet. Nightwing blinks tears from his eyes, gasping for frigid air that pierces his lungs like knives. The floor outside the circle is covered in blood splatter. The cultists have all been struck down, and many aren’t moving.

But he’s not looking at them.

Because the monster is coiled around Robin like a snake, eyes burning as it surveys the room. Robin seems unharmed for now, but he has to get his baby brother away from that thing.

He steps forward, and those endless green eyes lock onto him. It snarls at his approach, revealing multiple rows of teeth. Claws subtly tighten on Robin’s shoulders. Nightwing sinks into a combat stance, and the creature braces itself to leap.

Pure, animal instinct screams that Nightwing won’t survive this fight.. It doesn’t matter. He’ll give his all like he always has, and Robin can escape. The others will find a way to take it down. He just has to buy time.

“Dove, it’s alright.”

To Nightwing’s amazement, the creature freezes. It turns to look at Robin, warbling in apparent confusion before turning back to Nightwing with a hiss.

Robin grabs its face in both hands and forces it to look at him. “No. That’s Nightwing, remember? He will not harm us. I am safe. We are safe.” His voice is steady, soothing as he gently presses their foreheads together. A spark of awareness slowly returns to ‘Dove’s’ eyes.

“Come back to me.”

The monster sags in Robin’s grip, slowly folding in on itself until a nearly-human teen with snowy white hair is left floating gently in its place.

Robin smiles, gentle and shockingly warm. “There you are.”

‘Dove’ is shaking. Their eyes are locked on Robin, as though he’s the only thing in their universe. “Antares,” they breathe, before wrapping Robin in a tight hug.

Robin briefly looks to Dick, gesturing toward the cultists. He then returns his attention to the distraught being, resting his chin on their head and both hands on their back. The obvious dismissal makes Nightwing uneasy, but the kid has a point. They'll just have to check him for hypnosis or mind control back at the Cave.

Now that Nightwing is actually looking at the cultists, their injuries are horrific. Deep lacerations, stab wounds, frostbite, severed limbs...none of them seem likely to die with medical treatment, but every last one is maimed.

The ringleader is worst of all. His eyes are gouged out, and his hands ripped off and cauterized by the same unearthly frost that burns scattered marks into his skin. An unfamiliar symbol has been clawed into his chest.

Nightwing looks back to the circle, where Dove is quietly sobbing. Their face is tucked securely into Robin’s neck, and Nightwing hears whispers of I was scared and can’t lose you too.

This is the same person?

By the time the cultists are all secured and the police have been called, Dove seems to have calmed down. Time to play the diplomat. Again.

Damn, maybe Steph has a point about Eldest Daughter Syndrome.

“I, uh, hate to interrupt, but we should probably get out of here, yeah? GCPD will be here in a couple minutes,” he proposes with a friendly smile.

Dove wipes their eyes. “Right.” Then they look around the room and wince. “Uhm, sorry you? Had to see that? I...panicked. You’re okay though, right? Not hurt or anything?” The question is disarmingly earnest, and there’s nothing but concern in their eyes. Hm.

“Nah, not a scratch,” Nightwing dismisses. Then he remembers he’s apparently talking to a king. “Thank you for saving Robin, Your Highness,” he adds with a bow of his head.

“Nuh-uh, no titles. Gross.” The King makes a face, then smiles with renewed cheer. “Call me Phantom. He/him, ghost, and general pain in the ass, at your service!” He floats higher and punctuates his announcement with a midair flip. “You might as well know, since we’re gonna be seeing each other a lot now.”

Crap. “I’m afraid I don’t follow,” Nightwing ventures.

‘Phantom’ exchanges a meaningful look with Robin. Nightwing barely has time to register the mischief on both their faces before Robin pulls the being down into a kiss.

A deep kiss now. Really deep. Yeah, they’ve definitely forgotten he’s here.

When they finally separate, Robin looks quite satisfied. Phantom, however, sticks out a forked tongue and scrunches his face. “Blech, blood. What did you...” His eyes land on Robin’s still-bloody wrist, then the droplets still in the circle.

“You didn’t.” A grin creeps across his face. “You have me on soul speed dial and you still hijacked a whole-ass summoning!”

“Tt. I was making a point.” Robin crosses his arms.

Phantom cackles. “You are literally the most dramatic person I’ve ever met!” he crows.

Robin raises an eyebrow and gestures to the warehouse full of mangled cultists. Phantom opens his mouth to retort, but it’s at this point that Nightwing finally manages to pull his jaw off the floor and speak.

“Robin,” he says with deliberate calm. “What the fuck.”

And then they hear police sirens. Fantastic.

“Crap. Don’t worry, I got it!” Phantom declares as he rips a green hole in existence. Robin is unfazed, which is rapidly getting less and less surprising.

A woman in the corner stirs. Phantom makes a ‘one moment’ gesture before he stalks over and yanks her forward with a growl. “You’ve kept your tongue for a reason. Spread the word: Robin is mine.” (Robin stands taller, obviously pleased by that extremely concerning statement.) The woman nods frantically, and Phantom drops her to the ground.

Without further preamble, Phantom zips back over and shoves both vigilantes through the rip.

Just like that, they’re all in Damian’s bedroom. The two boys immediately sit together on the edge of the bed, while Dick remains standing. Dick doesn’t even know where to begin, so he can only give a helpless ‘why’ sort of gesture. Thankfully, Damian seems to take pity on him.

“Richard, this insufferable fool is my Beloved. His name is Danny, and he is seventeen.” Then he smirks. “You may refer to him as High King Phantom of the Infinite Realms; The Tyrant’s Bane, True Balance, Son Of Stars, Pride of Time, Death’s Chosen--”

The ghost groans dramatically, flopping across Damian’s lap like a wet noodle. “Oh my gawd, Dames, why would you tell him that?”

"It is very important that Richard recognizes your position and authority.” Damian says, not even trying to sound convincing.

Danny reaches up and pushes at Damian’s face. It brings to mind a pair of cats, especially with Damian doing his best to look annoyed instead of fond. “Betrayal! I want a divorce!”

That’s the last straw. Dick chokes on his own spit and has to thump his chest a few times to breathe right again. With monumental effort, he manages to wheeze out a strangled “Are you MaRriEd?!”

Danny tries to sputter out a reply, but Dick is distracted by Damian laughing. It’s a low, light sound, with no attempt made to disguise it.

“Of course not,” Damian says. He cards a hand through Danny’s hair, the other boy sighing contently and looking up at him with adoring neon eyes. “We've only courted for seven months now. It will be another three years before we wed.”

Dick is just. Gonna ignore that last bit. For his own sanity. “Wait, how did you keep a whole boyfriend secret for seven months? In this family?”

“Bribery.” “Threats.”

Yeah, that sounds about right. Babs and Duke probably know then.

“Cool, good to know. One more question.” Well, more like a billion, but he may as well start with an icebreaker before the inevitable interrogation. Besides, it’s a big brother's duty to embarrass his siblings. “Why Dove?”

Damian says nothing, but his deep blush is almost audible.

“Because I’m cute and fluffy!” Danny chirps.

“Hardly,” Damian scoffs. “It’s because you are raucously annoying and constantly crash into windows.”

Literally everything about this situation is baffling, but Danny looks so offended that Dick can’t help but laugh.

“You lying asshole!” Danny screeches.

Damian turns to Dick. “He attempted to use a grapple three times and broke eleven windows; four of them with his face. I have videos.” Danny gasps, the two start bickering, and Dick is left to his thoughts once more.

Even as the pair separate to point fingers and trade increasingly creative insults, their body language is completely relaxed. As much as Dick is panicking about a powerful undead monarch around their family, Damian is happy. He has been for months, now that Dick thinks about it. He’s been loosening up a little, leaving the manor more, and even mentioning a few new friends (though he refuses to use the word.)

Whoever or whatever Danny is, he’s been good for him.

“Well,” Dick cuts in, interrupting an inventive declaration about overripe cheese. “We’ll obviously need to talk about this. But for what it’s worth,” he smiles. “I’m happy for you, Baby Bat.”

With that said, Dick walks out of the bedroom. Danny gives him a grateful smile, and a quiet thank you, Richard can be heard as he closes the door behind him.

Dick walks away at a leisurely pace until he reaches the end of the hallway, where he promptly breaks into a sprint toward the Cave. Checking the Batcomputer to make sure Damian hasn’t noticed the planted bug yet, he turns on his comms. Unsurprisingly, the entire family is yelling and demanding answers.

Well, at least he won’t be the only one having a heart attack tonight.

#dp x dc #dead serious #they're 16 and 17 #danny says he wants a divorce at every mild inconvenience #danny has dozens of titles and damian has memorized every last one entirely to annoy him #they alternate between adorable cats and those heckling muppets #spice writes #dc x dp #danny x damian

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