#i thinks she would have a moment of terror in the midst of it all

[strawberryblondie-locks]

sometime between visiting denjis burnt house & getting on the train

[live-laugh-lenney]

housewarming makeout - arthurtv.

hello. hello. hello.

i've been in dire need of some arthurtv content and fics and i can't seem to find very much on tumblr so i thought i'd write my own in hopes that it would help me out with all my feels.

let me know what you think.

any comments are much appreciated at the moment. thank you so much!

*

“Where’s Arthur?”

“Where’s YN?”

The two synchronised questions came from outside the storage cupboard in George Clarke’s flat where, at that moment, Arthur had YN held in the confined space between his body and the wall. Darkness swallowed them as they relied solely on the sense of touch to guide them, adding a whole new sensation deep in the tummies, never knowing where the next touch would be. His hair was tousled and sticking in all directions from the way her hands magnetised to his scalp, her ponytail having come loose with tendrils drooping down by her cheeks and catching between their lips from her lipstick which, in the backs of their minds, would be smeared across their mouths. The overshirt, pink and stripy and something that she’d paired with a white bodysuit and a pair of ripped jeans, had fallen and exposed the bare skin of her shoulder and he’d taken full advantage of that, peppering the softest kisses down the crevice of her neck and down the stretch of her collarbone. His lips were swollen from pressing kisses to the expanse of her neck, to her collarbone to her shoulder, and her chest rising and falling rapidly from the rather intense make-out session they had previously been in just seconds ago. 

His plan to leave a mark of his love coming to a halt, their eyes widening, as they realised they were being looked for after having snuck away from the housewarming party George had thrown that evening to delve into something that was a rather common occurrence for the two of them whenever they were together. 

“Arthur-” 

He shushed her, hand tight to her mouth, as he focused on listening to the muffled voices of their friends discussing their whereabouts, just centimeters from the closed door that kept them hidden from the curious eyes looking for them. One voice belonging to George Clarke and the other voice belonging to Christopher Dixon who, just a mere ten minutes ago, was in an in depth conversation with YN about a video idea he was a little skeptical over. One that she’d been happy to be a part of, if necessary, because she loved a shoot when all of them came together for something to be broadcast for a weekly video (no matter whose channel it was going on) and had fun and filmed every moment that happened - and she was all for helping her friends out.

“I only went to go and get a drink from the kitchen and she’d disappeared by the time I came back.”

“Arthur said he was going to the toilet, snuck out the room, but- but I’ve just been to check in there and no one was there.” 

“Do you-”

“Do I think they’ve finally decided to just shag? Coincidence that they both disappeared, if not.”

“George, fucking-”

She was thankful for the darkness in the cupboard as heat rose up the back of her neck and flushed over the expanse of her cheeks, taking in a deep inhale and blowing it back out, her breath hitting Arthur’s clothed shoulder on the exhale. She shuffled on her feet and the motion had her chest brushing against his, accidentally… well, that’s what she would have excused, anyway.

“YN, seriously-”

“What?”

She could feel his breath over her warm skin and she really thought he’d moved away from her in the terror of getting caught, like a deer in headlights, but he hadn’t. He was still there, the scent of his cologne and beer mixing together and making him seem even more delectable to her, and she had a longing in the depths of her belly that just wanted him more and more. A slither of hope that they would just walk away, get back into the midst of the party, and agree that the two of them would be back out when they were ready to show their faces.

But she knew that was pretty much unlikely.

Especially with Chris. Especially with George.

“Do you want to get caught?”

She shakes her head erratically but she felt sudden stupidity when she realised Arthur couldn’t see her gesture, “no.”

“The tension between the two of them tonight, man. Almost felt like we should have forced them into a room to fuck..”

His hands tightened around YN’s waist at the comment and his fingertips dug into the bare skin of her hips, pulling her closer to him, a twinge of electricity shooting up her back as she nestled closer into his front. The urge becoming too much and she let her lips attach to his neck as her fingers combed through the hair at the back of his neck, twisting the strands between her digits and giving them a gentle tug every now and then, his breathing becoming more tense. Licking up the length of his neck, tasting every inch of him, and dragging her lips, soft and gentle enough that it felt like a tickle, as she left a long line of kisses beneath his jaw. 

“Jesus, YN.”

His gentle whimpering only spurred her on, seeing just how far she could take it before enough felt like enough… challenge accepted, she thought to herself, as she kissed up to his ear and nibbled against his earlobe. 

“Do you think they know that we know they have a thing going on?”

“Honestly, they seem oblivious to what everyone else thinks. Their own world. They’re not subtle about hiding it. He practically eye-fucked her as soon as she walked through my door earlier.”

“I mean, she looked incredible tonight though.”

The conversing voices seemed to sound more and more distant as the atmosphere became more and more intense within the four walls of the cupboard. Their worries disappeared for just a moment as he grabbed her face in the palm of his hands and indulged in a kiss that really did make them forget where they were for a while. Back in his flat, both of them drunk on double whiskeys and coke, having spent the night trying to divert their eyes from one another, without a care in the world about being caught. 

They thrived on being mysterious. 

There was an underlying kink neither of them wanted to dwell on - if they had a chance of getting caught then it added to the excitement and it became a thrill of knowing their secret could be blown by the off chance of them being clumsy.

And, upon searching for a bit of leverage in the darkness to hoist her up onto, like a shelf or the top of a column of cardboard boxes that George had yet to unpack in his flat, Arthur had forgotten their drinks that they had placed on top of one of his suitcases in their haste to close the door and start something they’d been longing to do since the start of the housewarming get together. His cautious yet wandering hands knocking both his bottle of Corona and her pink gin and lemonade onto the floor, the thud causing the conversation outside to come to a halt and their bodies to freeze on the spot. 

“Shit.”

“Arthur, for fucks sake.”

“What was that?”

“Did you hear that?”

“What have you got in there? Rats, already?”

“It’s a storage cupboard. I’ve put my unpacked cases and boxes in there because I didn’t have time to pack it all away before you guys came tonight.”

And Arthur and YN didn’t need to see the faces of their friends to know that they’d clocked on. That they’d been caught, mid make-out, mid-party. YN’s head dropped to his shoulder and his head fell against hers, a heavy sigh leaving her lips as her hands dropped from around his neck and fell down to her side, stroking his arms in the process. 

“Wait-”

“We can’t go in there..”

“Why not? We need to-”

“He’s probably balls deep in her right now, George. Do you really want to see that? I don’t.”

She snorted into his shoulder and rolled her eyes, his head shaking from side to side, a smile on his own lips, hands still holding her waist. 

“We should probably face the music, right?” She whispered into the darkness, “might as well get it over and done with, embrace the awkwardness.”

“Just a little while longer? Just me and you. Once we step outside of here, we’re not a secret to them any longer. We can't sneak around after this,” Arthur responded, tightening his hold on her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder, hugging her close to his body, “we’re public to those divvies after that door opens. Just wanna enjoy you, to myself, for five more minutes.”

“You two are the least subtle people I’ve ever met.”

“At least make yourselves look like you’ve not just had a quickie. I don’t want to be known as the Tiktoker who lets his mates bang in his cupboard.”

“Go away, George,” Arthur called out, a laugh muffled by the door filling the awkward silence, “fuck.”

*

-- ynyln just posted --

YNYLN; happy housewarming @georgeclarkeey !! always the best time when celebrating with these lot. heads pounding this morning. all the fucking love, guys. xx georgeclarkeey  thank you for being there. always the best time celebrating when you’re around, lovely. even if you did go for a make-out sesh in my storage closet. and spilled beer all over my possessions.

arthurnfhill I'm simply amazed they haven't clocked on that we know what's happening. -> ynyln we do now. -> arthurtv @ylyln It was fun whilst it lasted. -> ynyln @arthurtv damn. i loved our time together. -> arthurtv @ynyln At least we can kiss in public now. Want one? -> ynyln @arthurtv come over now then... doors open. -> arthurnfhill Please don't flirt in my replies.

chrismd10  i mean, you spent most of your time celebrating with a game of tonsil tennis whilst the rest of us where celebrating with a game of with beer pong… 👀

fan01  make-out session? in a storage closet? you go, girl!

arthurtv  Somehow, house parties always end with you spilling my drink. You owe me. → ynyln  you owe me a drink, too. → georgeclarkeey  you owe me a new suitcase. and new clothes. and my carpet needs cleaning. → ynyln  @georgeclarkeey i’m sorry. :((( → arthurtv  @georgeclarkeey I take full responsibility. My fault. → chrismd10  @arthurtv always your fault. for being so god damn irresistible, am i right? 😉

fan02  hold on for a damn minute.. spilling their drinks, ‘tonsil tennis’, george's possessions getting soaked in beer, a make-out session in a closet… i’m not sherlock or anything but… are we getting boyfriend!arthur content?

fan03  i’m telling you now, yn and arthur will be together by the end of the year. i’m getting the whole boyfriend-girlfriend vibe just through this interaction.

fan04 they've all just soft-launched arthur and yn being 'together' and i am HERE FOR IT.

fan05 we love a duo who promote secret shag sessions. gotta do what you gotta do.

*

if you got this far, thank you so much for reading!

please let me know what you think of this story. not the best when it comes to thinking up ideas so it would mean a whole lot to me if you left your comments and reblogged to help spread it.

it's my first fic i've written in a long, long while so i really hope it'll help get me back in the game. i really want to start being here more regularly.

ask box is always open so don't hesitate to send anything in, day or night. x

[homelanderbutbig]

Sympathy For The Dead (G/T Homelander x Reader)

2145 words. Angst, and a bit of hurt/comfort. Homelander is 8 feet tall. Reader is non-descriptive. Established relationship.

You are forced to come to terms with Homelander's violent tendencies when he murders someone for flirting with you. Inspired by an ask from @adryrivera.

It's early in the morning on the set of 'In Depth With Maria Menounos'. Homelander has an interview scheduled today, and you are accompanying him as his personal assistant. This is the first time you've had this opportunity to come along to one of his functions outside of the Tower, and you're pretty excited. Being on a television production is an entirely different world compared to the mundane office work at Vought, and you're enjoying it even if you're just watching on the sidelines.

When it's time for Homelander to go on-air, you're standing back by the rest of the crew so you can witness your favourite supe work his magic. You smile as he switches on that acting charm when the cameras start rolling, so easily bringing all eyes on him with the suave nature he's perfected over the years. He's such a sight to behold when he's in the spotlight, showcasing that electrifying personality that's as big as he is.

"Don't remember seeing you around here before," a voice suddenly says from behind you. It happens to be one of the cameramen, grinning as he checks you out.

"Oh, yes, I'm Homelander's assistant. Nice to meet you," you politely respond, tucking your clipboard under one arm to shake his hand.

"A supe's assistant huh? That must be an interesting job," he comments, still smirking.

"It's never a dull moment," you laugh, thinking to yourself that he doesn't know the half of it.

"So… you uh, you doing anything later?" he asks, resting his elbow on top of the camera. You're taken aback by his words. Is he… is he asking you out?

"I-I'm sorry, I'm seeing someone," you disclose, perhaps a bit more curtly than you hoped. But all you can think of when hearing that is how pissed Homelander would be at this poor guy.

"Oh, sorry! I didn't realize," he blushes, quickly getting embarrassed by how spectacularly he's struck out.

"Don't worry about it, it's not a problem," you giggle. You can't fault a guy for trying. "Let's just get back to our jobs and forget this happened?"

You're glad he doesn't seem to have taken offense as he nods, letting out a flustered laugh. He returns to operating the camera, and you back to focusing on your clipboard full of the day's scheduling. At least you successfully brushed this situation off, with no harm done.

However, you don't notice Homelander's reaction as he observes this from the midst of his interview.

~~~

After the talk show is done filming, you get caught up talking to Ashley and lose track of time. She's yapping on about Homelander's points and how well this interview went, just more work talk that you could care less about. When you eventually manage to break free, you notice that Homelander is nowhere to be found, having already left the set. But you doubt that he'd leave the building without you so you start your search, happy to tell him how proud you are of his interview.

But you weren't expecting what you find in the downstairs hallway.

You figured he just made a quick getaway because he's always mentioned how much he loathes these mind-numbing talk shows. But instead, you discover his true intentions.

He was following the cameraman.

He kept his pace fast but light, allowing him to go undetected to the man's pathetic human ears. And when he had him isolated in the hallway, he wasted no time letting this worthless, primitive vermin pay for daring to make an advance on you. He lasered a hole straight through his crotch, causing the man to collapse on the ground in agony. He reveled in the look of absolute terror as this worm realized his fate was sealed. He then painstakingly applied pressure to his head, savouring the satisfying crunch of his bones until it was crushed under the supe's boot, leaving nothing but an indistinguishable mess of blood and gore.

You are rooted to the floor, petrified at the sight of what he's done. His head snaps towards you, face twisted with rage and eyes still shining a bright crimson as they stare directly into your soul.

"Come here," you growls at you, raising his hand to signal for you to approach him. He knows you are afraid; he can hear your heart's pace quickening and smell the cortisol levels in your blood spiking. In his mind, he believes you will come to your senses and realize this decision was for the best. You will understand he did this to save you. You are his. You will listen to him. You will obey.

But you don't listen. You only freeze for a second before you turn around and flee. The last thing you hear as you run out of the building is Homelander roaring your name.

~~~

You spend the rest of the day aimlessly traversing the city, paying no attention to where you are going. You needed time alone before you return back to the Tower, before you face Homelander.

It still feels so fresh in your mind. One moment you were chatting with this man, and the next his life is over. In a flash, a human life is snuffed out. Someone with a family, with hopes and dreams. All for what, because he made the fatal error of asking you out on a date?

And the worst sight of all, was the expression on Homelander's face. There was no remorse, no tinge of regret for seeing how you reacted. It was just pure hatred for this man, an absolute stranger. You can't help but wonder how many people he's killed without you knowing.

Finally, the sun begins to set along the city skyline. Night is approaching, and you know you can't simmer on this any longer. You need to confront him, you need answers. Gathering yourself, you catch a taxi back to Vought Tower, and begin your ascent to the penthouse.

With a shaky breath, you step off the elevator once it reaches the top floor and walk briskly inside. However, not in a million years were you expecting what you see in the penthouse. Your lengthy absence clearly took a stronger toll on him than you ever anticipated… he's destroyed the living room. The large American flag tapestry is torn to shreds, adorned with scorch marks from a now extinguished fire. Every single marble statue is cut clean from his laser eyes and smashed to pieces, the gray rubble scattered across the floor. Not even his immaculate leather couch was spared, having been ripped in half by two inhumanly strong hands.

And lastly, in the middle of the chaos, silently sits Homelander on the floor. He's leaning up against the wall, his arms wrapped around his bent-up knees. His face is flushed, eyes bloodshot and puffy from what you can only imagine was a waterfall of tears. Right now he looks like a child trying to huddle himself into a ball because he knows he's in trouble. Yet, you can't help but notice the bloody viscera of the cameraman still coating his boot.

"Why are you here?" he utters abruptly, snapping you back to reality after being overcome by the state of the penthouse. Despite his sad demeanor, his words are blunt and laced with deflection. When you don't answer him, he exhales loudly through his nose. "Why did you come back if you hate me?"

"I don't hate you Homelander," you retort, not taking his bait. You're not sure if that was the answer he was expecting as you watch him tense his jaw.

"Are you mad at me?" he questions you further. You aren't certain if he's fishing for a reason for you to comfort him, or so he can kill you too.

"No. I'm not angry at you," you reply. "But I am disappointed and upset at what you did."

He swallows hard at that, feeling the tears once again well up in his eyes. Disappointed.

"H-he was dangerous… I d-did it to protect you," he mumbles hoarsely. Your unimpressed glower signals to him that you aren't buying his excuses. He knows you aren't going to forgive him, and that's enough to make him hyperventilate. He lowers his head down into his arms, unable to stop himself from crying again. Unable to stop his thoughts from convincing himself that this is how your relationship is going to end.

With a deep sigh, you cross your arms and shake your head at his behaviour. These tears aren't out of sympathy for the dead. You know for a fact that he has no guilt over murdering the cameraman, he's only regretful because he's displeased you.

But the longer you stare at him sobbing so pathetically, the more you start to realize something. You're not looking at the same supe that killed the cameraman; this is Homelander's inner child. This is the boy who was tortured and withheld from love, that had this violence forcibly bred into him. His power over humans was all he had, and now it's so ingrained into his psyche that he cannot stop it from rearing its ugly head.

When he killed the cameraman, he was no longer a man but a dog. He presented his carcass to you as a present, to show you his love in a way you could never comprehend. His love is something feral, that scares everyone else away when it bares its fangs. Yet it has no bite, when deep down his love is never reciprocated, but feared when it becomes too much for the object of his affections to handle.

And as much as it pains you, you know you are going to have to accept this part of him. Because you are the only one who's tamed this dog, and seen the sweet puppy it becomes with just a little compassion.

Methodically, you walk over beside him and place a hand on his arm. Right now with him sitting on the ground you're standing about a foot higher, getting a vantage point you don't experience very often. Hesitantly, he tilts his head up at you. His blue eyes are teeming with apprehension, with the longing for your forgiveness of his actions… even if deep down he knows he doesn't deserve it.

"Hun, I would never let someone else come between us," you soothe him, lifting your hand up from his arm to lightly caress his cheek, saturated with his tears. The second he feels your soft fingers his tension begins to melt away, moving his head up and down to desperately facilitate a pet.

Slowly, Homelander opens up his posture, to allows you to come in between his legs and up to his face. He delicately rests his hands on your waist, waiting for permission to hug you. He can't just take what he wants, not now. He can't bear to make you this unhappy at him ever again.

"And you know what? If I saw somebody flirting with you, I'd get jealous too," you remark, your hands still cupping his face. "But I'm not going to stew on my jealousy until I feel the only solution is violence. I'm going to get those emotions out by talking to you. Because I love you, and I care about you more than anything else."

You steadily come closer to him, spreading your arms across his shoulders to finally give him the hug he's been longing for all day. He wastes no time enveloping you in his hold, burying you in his massive arms as he rests his head in the crook of your neck. Your fingers scratch at the back of his undercut, bringing this dog down to your heels in an instant. Any semblance of rage he may have had earlier in the day has now evaporated into the ether, leaving nothing but the desire for obedience.

"The next time you start to feel yourself getting worked up… wherever you are, can you come find me? Can that be something we work on together?" you ask. His brief nod against your shoulder is enough of an answer, you know he would never lie. And besides, the two of you don't need to say anything else right now. All that's left for today is to let this moment fade into sleep, and let tomorrow be the time to clean up the mess.

While sinking into your embrace, Homelander has his own realization. The way he feels about you is different than his past relationships. You are not his 'property' that he is envious of others ogling. You are his treasure, one that sees the good in him despite all of his own horrible faults. One that he feels he must guard with his entire being.

He is going to be better, if not for himself than just for you.

[appleofmyii]

double take

Now playing: 'double take'- dhruv

Clarisee x fem! Y/N

Warnings: yearning lesbians (just like me), slight mentions of sex (?)

A/N: I was listening to this song for the first time in months and I felt something in my soul as I payed attention to the lyrics. I knew I had to write for this.

I could say i never dare to think about you in that way but I would be lying

clarisse has had her eyes set on you the moment you arrived at camp. She'd rather die than admit it, she believes that if she just hid her feelings from everyone she they would go way. She didn't know if you liked girls or not, and even if you did, why would you like her? The angry daughter of ares, camps most known bully, people flee when she's around and her name brings terror to many.

in the midst of the crowds, in the shapes of the clouds, I don't see nobody but you

clarisse's heart aches for you, she yearns for you, she'll do anything to for an ounce of your attention. She'll glance at you across the Cafeteria, try extra hard when you watch her spar, and even go out of her daily routine just to bump into you even for a second. She notices every tiny little detail about you. Of course she does. How else is she supposed to compliment you? If you wear something different, she notices, If you're wearing different perfume, she notices, if you experimented with your makeup, she notices and she'll hype you up everytine even if she doesn't personally argee with your choice.

Tell me, do you feel the love?

you are so oblivious to clarisse's advances. You play it off as her just being friendly or acting gay, but you couldn't help but want and wish it was something more. You yourself were unsure of her sexuality, although there were rumors around the camp about her liking girls you couldn't be bothered with them. 'Rumors are just rumors' you tell yourself, and while you hoped to the gods that they were true you wouldn't dare ask her yourself.

I could say I never unzipped those blue Levi jeans inside my head, but that's far from the truth

Clarisse has imagined so many times what it would be like. To hold you, to kiss you, to say 'I love you', to touch you, do have you all to herself. There's been so many times where she'd make plans in her head to confess. She'd arrange a small picnic at the docks filled with all your favorite snacks, your favorite songs would blast through the speakers, she'd confess, you guys would kiss under the sunlight, and it would be perfect. All of it would be so perfect, if only she had the courage to ask you out. She had confidence in all aspects of her life, why do you make her feel so weak?

You're my vice you're my muse, you're a nineteenth floor view

you're the reason clarisse keeps going, you're the reason she spars. You're the reason she's stopped bullying the new campers. Your the reason she's content her relationship with her father. You've turned the angry ares kid to be not so angry. You've calmed the fire in her heart. If only she could tell you that.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆ the end ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

²How I feel after writing this instead of doing my homework

[dollfacefantasy]

From the Day You Arrived

pairing: suguru geto x fem!reader

summary: the night in the village was the first time suguru saw you. you'd haunted him ever since. when he meets you again, he's not going to let you slip away. you will be his.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, dub-con, p in v, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, spanking, manipulation, pet names (pet, puppy, pup), reader put in a collar, yandere-ish behavior (obsession/controlling), breeding kink

word count: 5.4k

a/n: birthday present for @kaitkatme. one of the sweetest people in the whole world, someone i love so so much. she makes me happy every day. i'm so lucky to call her my friend <3

It was that night in the village. With the 112 people. With the fire. That was the night he first saw you.

You’d been caught amongst the carnage of that night. You should have been just another face in the slaughter, another light he’d snuff out. But when he came across you in the midst of everything, he froze. Two sets of eyes gazing into one another, completely still as everything surrounding continued in disarray.

He couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. He didn’t know if it was the terror in your stare, the horror in the downward curve of your lips. You made him freeze though. Long enough for you to dart out the back door and run as fast as your limbs could carry you.

The smallest moment in time. One he thought would be the only minute shared between the two of you.

That was until he saw you all those years later.

You’d changed but so had he. Both of you sported new styles of clothing, different hairdos, your faces had aged. When your eyes locked in the middle of that busy street though, it was like the two of you morphed into yourselves from all those years ago and nothing had changed. He couldn’t explain the connection. All he knew was that he wouldn’t let it slip away this time.

He went over to you, introduced himself, and this time, it was you who froze. Instantly, it was obvious you recognized him. He thought seeing the man who massacred everyone you’d known would’ve sent you running, just like you had on that night. But you didn’t move a muscle. As if your legs were locked in place, you didn’t move an inch upon hearing his voice. You ended up responding, and finally, he learned the name of the girl who’d walked through both his dreams and nightmares for years on end. In that moment, he wondered if he’d meant the same to you. 

He took your hand and pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles. The gesture caught you off guard. He reveled in the slight widening of your eyes. It was obvious you didn’t think him capable of such tenderness. He knew with little effort, you’d be his.

You were still a non-sorcerer, but that was part of what had him captivated. He couldn’t understand how he managed to become so enamored with someone he considered to be objectively beneath him. It was something that haunted him, something he had to find out the cause of. All he knew was that you weren’t going to get away this time.

He lured you back to his place with promises of an explanation, answering the questions that had plagued you all this time. Only when you got there, it was you doing the majority of the talking. He discovered that in contrast to himself, your life had fallen apart after that night. It spiraled so far out of control, you had no hope left for wrangling it back. He supposed it made sense. Losing your entire family and all of your friends would do that to a person. He listened with a sympathetic ear, fingers sweeping down your jaw soothingly as his eyes grew soft with feigned concern.

“Oh, little one,” he cooed, “How could I ever begin to make it up to you?”

As if he had anything to make up for. If anything, this arrangement he had in mind would be you making it up to him for making him question so much. An apology for bothering him with your mere existence.

You were resistant at first. You’d seen first hand the kind of violence this man was capable of. You turned down his offers, made up excuses about why you should be leaving now. He wouldn’t have it though.

“I don’t think you understand,” he’d told you, rising to his feet, “You’re special. You were meant for more than what’s been given to you, more than what you had in that village and more than what you have now.”

You watched him with widening eyes, uncertain of his point. You knew you should’ve been reacting with more intensity, kicking, screaming, hitting, crying, anything. But it was as if something possessed you to stay. To listen.

“There’s a reason you made it out of that night when no one else did. Something stopped me when I saw you. And something brought us back together. I’m not even sure what it is myself, but that’s why you’re going to stay here,” he said, “I’m not letting you slip away again.”

It wasn’t a request. It was a statement of fact. You still shook your head in protest, but he nodded right back at you.

“Tell me honestly, what do you have to go back to?” he asked, “You feel it too. I know you do. You think you’re supposed to hate me, right? But you don’t.”

“You took everything from me,” you protested weakly.

He chuckled at first but kept his eyes serious and locked on you. “Sure I did. But that was a long time ago and not the point. The point is that you’re sitting here like a good girl and listening because deep down, you also want to know what this thing is that connects us. You don’t want to leave. You could’ve tried running by now. You wouldn’t get far, but you could have tried. You haven’t though because you want this just the same as I do.”

“No I don’t,” you said, your tone still not matching the firm nature of your words.

“That’s just too bad because you’re staying here regardless,” he’d told you with a shrug, “Like I said, you can try to run, but I’ll have you back here in the blink of an eye.”

You contemplated trying to get away at first, but as your eyes scanned the room, many factors became clear to you that would be detrimental to your escape. First, you didn't know this place well. Second, you clearly weren’t alone. You could hear other people just outside the room, and you were sure they’d follow Suguru’s word over yours without even a second thought. Also, you could still vividly remember how he treated your people from the village, and you didn’t want to invite a recreation.

Reluctantly, you accept staying with him, and as a reward, he didn’t make you wear restraints.

***

Your new life actually wasn't horrible. The other people who hung around Suguru’s place weren’t all that bad and could be nice to you sometimes. He kept a close eye on you to make sure you didn’t sneak off or get too close to anyone else, but from what he could tell you didn’t. You spent most of your time around him although he did allow you your own room to sleep in.

Unexpected to you, however, was that you actually didn’t mind spending time with him too much. It wasn’t like he was your best friend, but you didn’t despair being around him. You were pretty quiet for the most part, but he worked to figure you out anyways. 

In a way, you compartmentalized him into two. After nearly a year with him, there were two Sugurus in your mind. There was the version of him from years ago who’d destroyed everything you’d ever known, and there was the current version that petted your head and spoke to you as if you were the most exquisite flower just beginning to bloom.

You knew you should hate him. The man ruined your life, and you followed him around and slept under his roof. This was disgraceful, wasn’t it? The lack of fight you put up was embarrassing.

Thoughts like those bothered you daily. The second you’d find yourself smiling at him or engaging him in a conversation on your own freewill, shame took you over. Those feelings led to your first and only attempt at escape.

You tried it when you thought he was busy. Slipping out through the backdoor, you ran away just like you had when you first met. You didn’t know where you were going, but this was what you were supposed to do. This is what anyone would expect of someone in your situation.

But he held true to his promise. You were back within the hour.

You weren’t sure how he knew, if he sensed it, if someone saw you and told him, if you’d tripped some sort of alarm. He followed you though and retrieved you with no effort.

You returned to the place you’d been staying for the last several months. You didn’t even know what to call it. His compound? Sometimes it felt more like his palace. Whatever it was, you were back, and he was pissed. Angrier than you’d ever seen him. That night in the village, he didn’t look angry. He went about his slaughter as if it was just something he had to do. But right now, sitting in the bedroom he’d given you, he looked at you with fire in his eyes.

“What do you think you were doing?” he asks, his voice ice cold.

You look up at him like a puppy who’d been caught breaking a rule. “I wanted to leave. You never told me I could never leave…” you argue.

“Then why did you sneak out the back?” he asks. Upon receiving no response from you, he continues, “Because you knew you weren’t supposed to.”

“I’m not supposed to be here!” you say with the most force he’d heard from you, “We’re not connected or whatever. You took away my whole life. I can’t just forget that.”

He glares at you. “Come here,” he says simply. 

The words chill you to your bones. You walk over to him and stand between his thighs. He grabs your chin and makes you look at him. “I never asked you to forget what happened, did I? No. I didn’t. I’ve never said I’m sorry because I’m not. What I did brought you to me.”

He pulls you face down over his lap and continues with his speech. “You are supposed to be here. I am supposed to have you whether you understand that or not. Your place is here. You belong to me,” he says.

With that, he brings his palm down hard against your ass. You yelp with surprise. It was almost comical, your punishment being a simple spanking from a man capable of mass murder.

“Hush. I don’t want to hear it. I’m growing tired of your resistant act because that’s all it is. An act,” he says, pushing up your skirt and raining down lashes on your uncovered cheeks.

“It’s not. I hate you for what you did,” you whimper.

“No. You hate what I did, but you don’t hate me,” he says.

You don’t respond to that one. It was probably the truth, but you wouldn’t admit that so easily. You continue whining as he spanks you, painting your ass with bruises.

“I mean, how could you? I’m the only one who’s ever shown you real attention, real care,” he says, “You’ve never been anyone’s favorite, anyone’s choice. But you’re mine. You think just anyone would go to such lengths to keep you?”

The words sting worse than the slaps. Tears begin to brim your eyes as barbs form in your throat. “That’s not true,” you say, “Everyone who cared about me is dead because of you.”

“It is the truth. Sure, those people may have cared about you but not like I do. You’re part of my very being, a piece of my existence, and I treat you as such. Your life is so much better here than it ever was, yet you repay me by trying to leave?” he lectures.

You don’t respond again. It was hard to think of an argument as your emotions swell within you and your ass burns. More small whimpers escape you, and you squirm on his lap. He smacks you harder in response and gets a tight grip on your hips.

“And nothing to say for yourself?” he taunts, “I’ve been treating you like the little angel I believed you to be, but now I see I need to handle you as you actually are. An ungrateful brat.”

As a mark of punctuation, he lands the hardest smack yet. You cry out, tears beginning to fall down your cheeks. “I’m sorry,” you sniffle weakly.

“No you’re not. You’re sorry you were caught. You’re sorry you’re in trouble. But you aren’t sorry for what you did,” he chides. He spanks you a few more times before stopping.

He wipes the tears from your cheeks and lifts you off his lap, putting you down on your bed. He stands from the bed and heads towards the door.

“Compose yourself before dinner. I don’t want to hear anymore of your whining for the rest of the day,” he says, “And get used to this room. You’re going to be seeing a lot more of it for the next few weeks.”

Then he left.

You didn’t see him until dinner like he said, and even then he was cold and distant. He wasn’t the version of himself that you enjoyed being around. The two of you eat in silence before he dismisses you to your bedroom without so much as saying goodnight. And things continued on like that for weeks.

He knew how to play you like the delicate instrument you were. He knew he wouldn’t need to spank you again, wouldn’t have to chain you up or starve you. All he’d have to do in order to get you on his side was take away his affection. He wouldn’t be nice to you anymore. That simple. 

He wouldn’t stroke your cheek or call you sweet names, wouldn’t joke with you at dinner or come to your room to say good night specially to you. You’d be treated like everyone else, and he knew you wouldn’t stand for it.

Being in your room all day for weeks was bad enough, but that part was worse. It sounds simple, like something that should be easy to resist. It drove you crazy though. You hadn’t realized how much his treatment had meant to you. You’d craved being treasured for so long, and he’d given you a taste of it.

You crack one night at the end of your punishment. For the first time in weeks, you could roam the grounds freely. But with him practically ignoring you, it didn’t feel like a reprieve. At the end of the day, you go to his room and knock on the door. Already teary eyed, you walk inside when he permits you. Standing in front of him, you look up. Your lip quivers as the words “I’m sorry” spill out.

He can’t suppress his knowing smile.

“For what?” he asks, playing clueless.

“For trying to run away. And for arguing. And for whatever else you're mad at me for,” you say.

“That doesn’t sound very sincere,” he teases, “Sounds like you’re throwing darts at a board, just trying to hit the right spot.”

“No, I’m serious. I am sorry. I just really don’t want you to be mad. Please. I don’t want you to hate me anymore. I want us to be connected again,” you say.

And that was all he needed to hear.

“Well come here then,” he says and pats his lap.

You do so without any hesitation, curling up to him as if you’d done it hundreds of times before.

“My sweet puppy wants to be good again, hm?” he asks softly as he rubs your back.

“Yes,” you whimper. You wrap your arms around him as if trying to meld the two of you together.

He already knew what your answer would be. His precious little pet. Over the course of your time with him, that’s what he’d decided. You weren’t just something elusive that captivated him for a moment. You were the pinnacle of your kind, the closest to divine a non-sorcerer would ever come to be. You were born to be his. Put on this earth as a sweet thing for him to dote on while he continued with his mission.

“Good girl,” he says. He gently kisses the top of your head. “How about tonight you sleep in my bed? Would that make you feel better?”

Surprising even yourself, you nod. The desire to be back in his good graces, basking in his affection again, dominated your thought process. He scoots back on the mattress and pulls you with him, tucking you against his side under the plush blankets.

“You just need some attention. Little puppies like you can’t handle being ignored for too long,” he murmurs.

You nod in agreement, getting comfortable. That was the fastest you’d fallen asleep in years.

For the next month, you truly fell into the role of his pet. You followed him everywhere, holding his hand and watching him with adoring eyes. But the moment he made it official came one night after dinner. You sat across the table from him as usual, eating quietly and occasionally nodding along to whatever he happened to be going on about. That night took a different turn though. When the two of you were done and the table was clear, he looked at you for a moment and then patted his lap.

“Sit with me, my pet,” he said.

My pet. A title you detested at first. In the beginning, it made you feel awful. Though now, it felt sweet in its own way. The term was one no one else got to wear.

You rose to your feet and rounded the table, approaching him to sit on one of his thighs. You look into his eyes curiously.

“What is it, Suguru?” you ask, your voice soft and sweet as it had come to be in his presence.

“How was dinner, sweetheart?” he asks. One hand rubs up and down your back while his other fidgets with the ends of your hair.

“It was good,” you answer.

“That’s good,” he says, watching your every expression, “Tell me, precious, are you happy here?”

You nod. “I’m happy with you,” he says.

“Well, that’s good because I need to talk to you about something,” he says. He reaches for a pouch he had resting on the table. He undoes the tie at the top as he continues to speak, “You know, as of today, you’ve been here for one year. A full year.”

“Really?” you ask, watching his fingers on the strings.

“Yes, and I wanted to offer you something to commemorate such a special date,” he says.

The pouch finally opens and out of it comes a collar made of black leather with the word Suguru’s spelled across the front in silver letters. He allows you to take it from his hands and inspect it, running your fingers over the materials.

“Thank you, Suguru,” you say. The words come out slowly as you adjust to the idea of having this strapped around your neck.

He grins as you don’t even bother to question it. “You’re welcome. You want to try it on?” he asks.

“Sure,” you say timidly and hand the strip of leather back to him.

“Good girl,” he purrs. His fingers bring the collar to your neck and wrap it around. He fastens it into place, not too tight to restrict you but not loose enough that you would forget its presence.

Turning your head to look at him, he takes in your appearance. His eyes scan your face before looking at your delicate neck with his name displayed across the front.

“You’re beautiful, little love. I don’t think you’ve ever looked better,” he praises and kisses your cheek, “My perfect puppy.”

A smile spreads across your lips, and helplessly, you sink into his affection. He continues to pet your head and run his fingers along your face with the most gentle touches.

“You look just as a proper pet should, collared and devoted completely to your owner,” he coos before kissing your nose.

“I like the collar. It feels good,” you say softly.

“That’s how you should feel. A collar is the most natural thing in the world for a precious pet like you. Someone meant to be pampered and doted on,” he murmurs and moves his kisses to your cheekbones and down your jaw.

Eventually, he reaches your lips. He looks at you before connecting the two of you in your first real kiss. You reciprocate the affection and lean into his touch. He goes in for a few more, his tongue flicking at your lips and sliding in to transition into full blown make out.

Both of your breathing deepens and becomes heavier puffs against each other’s face. After a little more, he pulls back and studies your face, your cute lips wet with his saliva.

“You like that, pup? Was that a good treat?” he teases before leaning down to the part of your neck not covered  by the collar.

A breathy moan escapes you as you nod to his questions. He licks your skin before reattaching his lips and nipping at your throat. He places more kisses in the area while his hands massage your waist and move up to your breasts.

“I need to talk to you about something else, little love. Something else that good puppies do,” he says against your skin.

“Ok…” you agree, head tilted back to give him more room.

“I think you & I…” he starts before changing his wording, the only time you’d ever heard him stumble, “I think I need to breed you.”

Your eyes widen and dart over to what you can see of his face. “What?”

“I want to breed you,” he repeats, “My perfect little puppy, full with our perfect baby.”

The words rattle around in your head, but you’re still uncertain. “But Suguru… I don’t know,” you say.

With one more kiss to your throat, he picks you up and seats you on the table in front of him. “What’s causing your uncertainty?” he asks, his hands running up and down your thighs.

“Because… that’s a big deal, and I don’t even know if I want a baby. And we’re not even a real couple,” you reason, your skepticism showing in your voice.

He smirks at your words and nods dismissively. “Little one, we’re beyond being a “real couple.” We’re connected deeper than that, and you know this,” he tells you, “And because of that, imagine how perfect our child would be. A product of otherworldly connection. The baby would make us the family you’ve been missing for so long.”

Thinking his words over, you remain silent. A family? A physical manifestation of the connection between the two of you. It sounded good.

Of course, Suguru knew it would. He rarely enjoyed forcing you to do things. He took pleasure from convincing you of them, manipulating you into thinking as he did. Before you could come to any conclusion that resulted in “no,” he interjects.

“What if we practice? Just try it out,” he offers.

“Practice?” you repeat hesitantly.

“I’ll show you how good being bred feels. How you were just made for it,” he says and pulls your hips closer to the edge of the table. “Lay back for me.”

As per usual, you follow instructions. You lay back against the wood and look up at the bright lights on the ceiling. Suguru’s focus is all on you. He pushes your skirt out of the way and drags his thumb over your panties.

“I’ll warm you up first, little love. Just relax for me,” he says.

You squirm from the budding pleasure in the pit of your stomach. His touch was light enough to not give anything real, but it was still there. He leans in next, dragging his nose in place of his thumb. A kiss lands on your clit through the cloth before removing it entirely. The garment slides down your legs and hits the floor. He spreads you open for his viewing.

“Every part of you is beautiful,” he murmurs.

You squirm a little more as he just admires you. He just stares, taking in every precious detail of you. After what feels like forever, he leans in and licks an exploratory stripe up the length of your cunt. You breathe in a shuddery breath as he laps at your clit and swirls his tongue over your folds.

It’s just a taste though. He uses all his discipline to pull back and slide his fingers inside of you.

“Suguru…” you whine, back arching off the table.

“Such a needy little puppy,” he croons, “You’ve been aching for this and you didn’t even know it. That’s why you have me to show you.”

He pushes them deeper, curling them against your pleasure spots and making you whimper again. A smirk is plastered on his face now as he begins to pump them.

“Good baby,” he coos, “And this is just the warm up.”

Your slick gathers on Suguru’s fingers as he continues his efforts. His free hand holds your hip in place to ensure your squirming doesn’t interrupt him.

“You’re so tight, sweetheart. So eager for me,” he whispers with a kiss to your inner thigh.

Your walls clamp around his digits and draw him further into your heat. He picks up the pace a bit, figuring out what works on you as he goes on.

“It feels so good,” you whimper, clutching the edges of the table.

“I know it does, pup. Better than anything you’ve had before, yeah?” he says.

You nod and moan again as he adds another finger. The stretch wasn’t painful at this point. It just felt like pure satisfaction.

“You’re taking it so well. I can already tell you’re gonna be perfect for my cock,” he says.

He thumbs your clit while working his three fingers back and forth. After a while, the intimate touches become enough to get you to peak. You’re gasping, tensed up on the table before him.

“S-Suguru… can I?” you ask. You knew better than to just do whatever you wanted. He was being kind to you, but this was still his show.

“Can you what, puppy? I have got you dumb enough that you can’t use your words,” he teases.

“Can I- mm- Can I cum?” you stutter out.

“Alright, darling. I think you deserve it this time. Just know it won’t always be so easy,” he says, continuing his motions at the same pace.

You burst before his eyes, seizing up, hands so tight on the table you feel like you could snap it. You cry out loudly, not caring if anyone else were to walk by.

“Thank you, Suguru,” you babble before you’re even in the clear yet.

“What a good girl. You didn’t even need to be told,” he says.

He lets you come down as he stands up and disrobes. You’re still in the fog of euphoria, so you don’t notice how he stands between your legs until you feel his flushed tip nudging at your folds.

Your eyes cast downwards and lock onto his form. He was more bare than you’d ever seen, presented to you in all his glory. He continues to tease your hole, prodding at it with his tip before sliding it up to your clit.

“Suguru…” you whine, “Please.”

He laughs at the pout you attempt before bringing his cock down again and pushing in just the tip. You bite your lip, muffling your noises now that you had a clearer head. That wasn’t what he wanted though. He slips himself all the way inside, getting a needy moan from you once he’s bottomed out.

“Good girl. Don’t try to hide your enjoyment from me,” he says.

“But-” you start before cutting yourself off with a whine. You couldn’t help it when you felt the sensation of him thrusting. “But what if someone comes in?”

“Let them,” he says, digging his fingers into the flesh of your hips, “Let them see how good you are for me, the perfect pet. They won’t do a thing. Everyone here knows better than to question me. And that includes you. So no more questions.”

Heat still creeps up your neck at the thought of someone seeing you in such a vulnerable position, but while your mind swirls with the feeling of him inside you, it’s not enough for you to protest. Your shoulder blades pin against the table that creaks beneath you from his movements. He works to find a rhythm, pleased by your obedience.

His grip on your hips is just as tight as when his fingers were in you, and true to his word, you took his cock perfectly. You squeezed around him just right, so tight and warm. He’d never felt anything so heavenly.

He starts moving faster, pistoning himself deeper, and ripping more blissful noises from you. Your eyes were starting to droop with lust and get glossy with ecstasy. One of his hands reaches up to grab your chin and direct your vision to his.

“You like this, puppy? Feels as good as before?” he grunts.

“Yeah. Better,” you gasp. Your responses are curt as your mind would rather get lost in his touch than formulate words.

“Good. You’re gonna wanna do this more, yeah? Cause we can do it as often as we need. When you wake up, during the day when you get bored, when you need me to put you to sleep at night,” he lists out, “All the time until it takes, and you’re growing my baby.”

You whine and nod eagerly. When you we’re getting fucked dumb, that actually didn’t sound like such a bad idea.

He grins at your agreement. He knew he’d still have to convince you further when you weren’t high on pleasure, but this was definitive progress.

“I knew you’d come around, little love. You know it’s meant to be,” he says before leaning over you, pressing his forehead to yours and burying himself as deep as physically possible. “And I know you’re just gonna be the prettiest little mama.”

Another moan spills out of you against Suguru’s lips as he kisses you. His hips keep rutting into yours, locked in on making his words reality. You both pant when you separate. The heat forming between the two of you was sweltering enough to make you sweat.

“Want it, Suguru. I want it now,” you whimper.

That only spurs him closer towards the finish line as you accept it even more than he had anticipated.

“Do you, pup? Or do you just wanna cum?” he teases. His own voice was straining a bit as he got closer.

“Want both,” you defend between moans.

“Good. Cause you’re gonna get both. Cum for me puppy, want you to cum all over my cock,” he mutters and thrusts harder.

You gasp at the sharp movements and dig your nails into his back. Cut off words fall from your lips, and your legs tremble violently. It’s not long before you cum again, jerking and bucking your hips, whining for him and crying out whatever came into your mind.

“That’s my puppy. My perfect girl. Made for me and me alone,” he breathes, shutting his eyes as the feeling of you clamped around him takes over.

His own breathing becomes ragged as he feels the heat inside him reaching a boiling point. He groans, creating the most beautiful sound you’d ever heard as he fucks his cum into you. His hips keep thrusting and don’t break their rhythm at all. He was going to do this right. His mind was fueled by pure determination.

When you both have come down, he’s still on top of you, not wanting to lose contact with your body. He reluctantly pulls out and looks down at you in you’re fucked out state. His sweetest pet. Scooping you up, he carries you to the bedroom to clean you off and get the two of you to bed. He sleeps with you tucked to his chest, his arms wrapped around you like a vise. He dreams of you on his lap, his hand on your swollen belly, and your eyes looking up at him with unending adoration.

[smehur]

Drarry fic recs #5

oxygen [Fic & Art] by @maesterchill

Draco doesn’t smoke. Except when he needs to breathe.

A wonderfully atmospheric rendering of the moment when the tentative friendship hesitantly built through years of unplanned meetings gently turns into a deeper, romantic intimacy. Featuring a lovely, lonely Draco and an incredibly evocative description of the magic hiding in cigarette smoke. 10/10 would read again.

AITA for being "obsessed" with my childhood nemesis? by @rainstormradish

Alrakis • I [24M] attended a small boarding school in the UK. There was a boy in my year, a couple of months younger than me, and he became my nemesis after we developed an intense rivalry. My friend [25F] told me recently that our dynamic was "weird back then" and that "it’s even weirder" that I still think about him today. She argued that I talk about him all the time, but I believe the amount I talk about him is reasonable. AITA? prongymcprongface • i completely get what you mean. i had a nemesis (like a school one, separate to my other nemesis) and we had a dynamic super similar to what you are describing. having a nemesis is a very cool and normal thing dw about it. NTA In which Draco asks the internet if he's being reasonable. Only one commenter is sympathetic. They start talking.

This was so much fun to read, I don't even. A brilliant concept, flawless execution, and bonus points for Draco's online name. ✨👌

For Lack of Wanting by @fluxweeed

Over the last ten years, I’ve worked hard to become a better person. I hate being reminded of who I used to be. But Harry likes it when I’m mean.

I loved this even though it broke my heart. Perhaps because (like with other fics that successfully broke my heart), I could totally see it: a Harry who grows into his fame, a Harry who doesn't look under the surface of things unless forced, a Harry who never spared a serious thought about Draco after the war. And a Draco desperate enough to throw everything away for him anyway. Beautifully crafted and utterly devastating.

By the Grace by @letteredlettered

Harry is an Auror instructor. Malfoy wants to be an Auror.

Oh, boy. This fic. It left a mark on me. It's the second most literary fic I've read to date (topmost being Running on Air by eleventy7), and by far the most ambitious one. That summary doesn't begin to do it justice. It's a story about the initiative to reveal the wizarding world to the Muggles; the political struggles of those for and against it, including activism, media manipulation, government corruption, and even terrorism; and Harry and Draco in the midst of it all. I also suspect it's brimming with commentary on real life UK politics, but I'm too distant from those topics myself to say more. It is for this ambition, and for the the meticulous creation of a detailed post-war political landscape and the actors trying to shape it, that I wholeheartedly applaud and recommend this fic. Anyone looking for an adult, thought-provoking, political story perfectly set within the Harry Potter world will have an absolute blast with it.

But I can't say I enjoyed it. I picked it up not for the politics, but for the romance. And the romance, while definitely an omnipresent element, was kept so deep in the background, that the reading was an exercise in frustration almost to the very end. This was done purposely, with incredible consistency and discipline, and to great effect, in order to craft the slowest of slow burns. But I, like a kid bored with the things on the news, skimmed through the lot of political discussions (which are what gives the story such a strong literary vibe), constantly looking for the individual, the personal, the relatable; constantly hoping for the feels. And when they came to the fore at last, it was a bit too little, too late.

As much as I admire its ambition and craftsmanship, this is not a story I would read again. But I will never, ever forget it.

Nice Things by aideomai

The first thing that happened was Theodore Nott came back from France.

Possibly the softest, gentlest, most soothing story I've read in this fandom so far. Something to come back to when my spirits need a lift. There's a scene (spoiler: it asks and answers the question, "are you fucking with me?") that I read three or four times in a row, smiling wider and wider on each go, and another (someone returning after holidays) that i had to revisit at least twice. This doesn't happen often in my reading! I confess I wished for a more detailed exploration of the developing intimacy (read: smut), but I respect the author's decisions; they left me with a heart full of warmth and a head full of dreams.

Many thanks to the wonderful authors in this fandom for sharing their stories, and to all the readers who help spread the word. ❤️

[hd-junglebook]

The Other Side

Part 1 - Word Count 2463

Crouched on her tree branch overlook, Y/N watched curiously as the group of five approached the cliff's edge. She was intrigued by these strangers, the first new people she had encountered since witnessing the ship crash.

The boy with long hair moved to grab the rope swing first but was interrupted by another wearing steampunk-looking goggles.

After a brief exchange, the long-haired boy moved back, now standing next to a pretty blonde girl. The four of them exchanged weary glances, silently communicating after they switched places.

The goggled boy backed up several paces, then sprinted forward with a leap, launching himself from the cliff. He swung out in a wide arc, whooping excitedly. At the apex of the swing, he released the rope and landed gracefully on the far ledge.

The group stood in silence watching before they erupted in shouts at the Mount Weather sign. She sat for a moment watching the pure joy of these strangers, hesitating, debating whether to reveal herself. Her curiosity was piqued, but she knew little of their motives or intentions.

The commander sent her down here to gather information with Lincoln, both splitting up as he stayed by their camp, performing a headcount.

Y/N was impressed by his bold daring. She studied the other four strangers, wondering about their origins. They appeared around her age, and wore weird clothing, the material all cobbled together. Perhaps they had banded together after some other disaster or tragedy.

Lexa wouldn’t like any of this, dread filled y/n and she reminded herself that they weren’t going to live long after she traveled back to the capital.

Lexa was stuck in the old ways, never straying from harsh and outdated rules placed by their grounder society. Not that Lexa could change anything, if she allowed these invaders to live, her people would see her as weak, and she couldn’t have that.

Y/N couldn't help but smile as she observed the scene from her hidden vantage point among the trees despite her thoughts.

In that fleeting moment, with their guard down, she saw only vibrant youth, not strangers to fear. She remained hidden for now, but hoped someday their paths might properly cross if fate worked in their favor.

But their happiness was short-lived, shattered by the sudden violence that erupted as a spear was hurled at the unsuspecting boy. His friends' screams pierced the air, echoing with terror. She quickly sprang into action, leaping down from the tree with a soft thump.

Her horse, sensing the distress, whinnied softly as she approached, offering a comforting presence in the midst of chaos. With a swift pat on his flank, both of them set off back to civilization.

With a final glance back at the scene unfolding behind her, Y/N urged her horse forward, their hooves pounding against the forest floor as they disappeared into the safety of the woods, leaving the invaders and their violence behind.

…

“Lincoln?” y/n called out, searching the brush for any sign of her friend. “Lincoln it’s me.” She continued, cupping her hands around her mouth.

There was no reply except for the sound of rustling leaves and the echo of his name. She sighed, weighing her options briefly before heading back to her horse, weaving through the twisted trunks and stomping over the bed of fallen leaves and twigs.

The sound of crunching filled the open space, quickly she grabbed her bow, notching an arrow before scanning the tree line again. Lincolns burly figure melted out from behind a massive oak, his face paint smeared haphazardly across his face from the sweat and heat.

“Lincoln!” she breathed out gratefully, loosening her grip on the bow before stepping forward to greet him. Lincoln stood before her, his calm gaze surveying her from beneath the hooded cloak draped over his shoulders. “I was starting to think you forgot I was coming.”

The barest hint of a smile played across the grounder’s lips. "I am well-versed in the ways of these woods.

It is you who makes noise like a stampeding gorilla." y/n rolled her eyes good naturedly at his teasing. “"Well? What did you see? Anything we should be concerned about?"

Lincoln's expression turned serious once more as he relayed his findings. “I counted about 100 of them. A blonde girl she’s their leader.”

After their discussion, Riss gave him a nod farewell. "I should get back before the Commander sends out a search party for me too." With that, she turned and headed back through the shadowy forest, leaving Lincoln to fade back into his camouflaged surroundings like a ghost.

Y/n strolled through the bustling streets of the capital, the cobblestones echoed with the rhythm of her determined steps.

Street vendors peddled their wares, their voices blending into a vibrant cacophony of commerce. The scent of sizzling street food tantalized her senses as she navigated her way through the throngs of people.

Approaching the imposing structure of the commander's building, she felt a surge of anticipation mingled with a hint of apprehension. "State your business," one of the guards demanded, his tone gruff.

She met his gaze with steely determination, her hand resting casually on the hilt of her hidden sword. "I seek an audience with the commander. It's a matter of utmost urgency."

The guards stationed at the entrance scrutinized her with suspicion until she presented the emblem of her authority.

The guard exchanged a wary glance with his companion before nodding reluctantly. "Very well, you may proceed."

With a satisfied smirk playing on her lips, she passed through the threshold and into the hallowed halls beyond, her gaze fixed on her objective: the commander's hall.

Her steps seemed to melt into the background noise of the bustling corridors, her presence almost unnoticed amidst the chatter. With purposeful strides, she approached the ornate door, its imposing frame a gateway to power and intrigue.

With a soft creak, the door swung open, and she stepped into the chamber, greeted by a gentle breeze that whispered through the open terrace door, ruffling her hair. "Commander," she greeted, her voice carrying respect.

Lexa, seated at the head of the room, smiled warmly, her gaze flickering with recognition. With a graceful gesture, she dismissed her companions, who filed out of the room one by one, leaving the two women alone to discuss matters of consequence.

"Ah, it's good to see you," she began, rising gracefully from her chair. The room seemed to hold its breath as she approached Lexa, her steps deliberate and purposeful.

"What brings you back so early?" Her voice was calm, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of curiosity.

As Y/N spoke, she couldn't help but notice the subtle tension that crept into the lines of Lexa's face. A furrow appeared between her brows, a silent question hanging in the air. Y/N pressed on, her own resolve mirrored in the unwavering gaze she held with Lexa.

"I spoke with Lincoln," she declared, her voice steady, each word carefully chosen. Lexa leaned forward, her expression a mix of anticipation and apprehension.

The silence stretched, broken only by the soft sound of Y/N's footsteps as she paced the room, the click of her boots echoing the rapid beat of her racing mind.

As she spoke of her findings, the space between them seemed to shrink, the distance bridged by shared secrets and unspoken truths. The dance of words and emotions played out in the quiet expanse of the room, a delicate balance of power and vulnerability.

Once she finished her account, Lexa rose from her seat. Y/N observed the subtle shift in her body language, noting the resolute set of her jaw and the firmness of her posture.

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention," Lexa said. "We must deal with these invaders if we are to protect our city from chaos."

…

Y/N rode on horseback through the lush, green woods, the earthy scent of pine filled her nostrils, mingling with the sweet fragrance of wildflowers.

The sunlight filtered through the forest canopy above, casting a warm, golden glow upon the trail as she journeyed down familiar paths - passing by small villages nestled amongst the trees.

She couldn't help but smile as she passed by, exchanging friendly nods with the villagers who went about their daily tasks. Y/n had been away from home for some time and was eager to return.

The steady clop of hooves marked the miles melting away as the trees thinned. She spotted her modest log cabin in the distance, its weathered exterior a welcoming sight against the backdrop of the forest.

Reaching the edge of the property, y/n hopped down from her steed, her boots sinking into the soft earth beneath her feet. With a gentle pat on her horse's neck, she released him to graze freely, knowing he would find his way back to the stable when he was ready.

Y/N took a moment to close her eyes and breathe deeply, cherishing the scent of pine and wildflowers. It was good to be back. She hitched up her pack and strode towards the front door, the familiar scent of aged wood enveloped her, a comforting embrace that welcomed her home.

Setting her pack aside, she moved with purpose to the corner where her woodworking bench stood. With practiced hands, she began to carve arrows, the rhythmic scrape of the blade against wood echoing in the cozy confines of the cabin.

the moonlight filtering through the canopy above cast eerie shadows on the forest floor. The night was still. Heading out into the night to gather firewood had become a routine for Y/N, a solitary task that allowed her moments of quiet reflection amidst the whispering trees. Tonight, however, a feeling that prickled at the back of her neck as she navigated the winding path.

y/n began to gather the fallen branches, a sudden sound shattered the silence. The unmistakable sound of running feet echoed through the trees, sending a shiver down Y/N's spine. Instinctively, she dropped the firewood and reached for the dagger she always kept strapped to her side.

Moving cautiously towards the source of the noise, Y/N's senses heightened, every rustle and snap of a twig magnified in the stillness of the night.

Y/n's heart pounded in her chest as she approached a clearing, the moonlight revealing a figure hunched over, gasping for breath against a gnarled tree trunk.

Drawing closer, Y/N's eyes widened in surprise as she recognized the figure of a boy, his face contorted in pain and exhaustion. His clothes were torn and dirt-streaked, his hands clutching at the rough bark for support.

"Who are you?" Y/N's voice cut through the night, a mixture of concern and caution lacing her words. The boy looked up, his eyes wide with fear and desperation, a silent plea for help etched in his gaze.

Her body subtly leaned forward, indicating her readiness to assist if needed, while her hands hovered near her sides, poised to react to any sudden movements.

The moonlight bathed them in its silvery glow, Y/N and the mysterious boy stood facing each other in the heart of the forest, the boy steadied himself, before sucking in a breath and speaking.

"I could ask you the same thing.” He replied, the boy's voice was deep and raspy, his words were slow and deliberate, as if he was rehearsing a speech.

Their gaze locked in a silent standoff, a sudden eruption of yells in the trig language pierced the stillness of the woods. Y/N huffed, a hint of sarcasm coloring her tone. "Those your friends?" she quipped, a wry smile tugging at the corners of her lips. John shook his head.  

Undeterred, Y/N pressed on, her voice firm yet tinged with intrigue, the trees towered above her, their branches creaking ominously in the gentle breeze.

"Who are you?" she asked, her curiosity driving her forward. The rustling leaves and distant echoes of the forest seemed to hold their breath, waiting for John's response.

After a moment of hesitation, John relented. "My name is John," he admitted. His voice was calm now, yet his eyes were a little wild. He looked like the man who had been on the verge of being killed, his head bowed in prayer.

"I can help you, John," she said, Y/n felt a shiver run down her spine as she looked into John's eyes. They were deep and piercing, like two black holes that seemed to suck her in. She couldn't look away, even though she knew she should.

John hesitated, unsure if he could trust her. But the thought of surviving in this harsh new world was too tempting to resist. "Okay," he said, his eyes darting between y/n and the area where the voices came from.

"I'll follow you." He approached her cautiously, keeping a safe distance. Y/n nodded, a look of satisfaction on her face. "Good," she said. "Let’s go."

…

Y/N and Murphy made their way back to her cabin, the shadows of the forest casting long, eerie shapes on the path ahead. "I need you to help me gather resources," she said.

"Food, water, weapons. Whatever I need to keep me alive. And in return, I will keep you safe from my people." She stated, looking back at Murphy as she climbed the steps to her door.

John nodded, his heart racing but he knew he had no choice. "Yes," he said, his voice firm. "I'll do it. Whatever it takes." Y/n could tell he wasn’t sure about his own agreement but kept walking anyway, opening the rusty door and entering.

Murphy hesitated at the threshold, his eyes scanning the surroundings warily, a flicker of fear betraying his tough exterior.

Y/N chuckled softly, a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes. "Come on, it's not a trap," she reassured him, her voice warm and inviting. Murphy stepped inside, the cozy interior of the cabin enveloping him in a sense of unexpected comfort.

The aroma of cooking rabbit wafted through the air, a tantalizing scent that stirred memories of simpler times with her family. Y/N moved with practiced ease around the small kitchen, spooning steaming stew into an old wooden bowl before handing it to Murphy.

He accepted the bowl gratefully, the hunger evident in the way he practically inhaled the hearty meal. Y/N watched him silently, her gaze lingering on his worn appearance and the shadows that clouded his eyes.

"What happened to you, John?" she asked, her voice soft yet probing. The question hung in the air, laden with unspoken implications.

Murphy paused, setting down the bowl with a nonchalant shrug. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you.” he replied through gritted teeth. “Let's just say I've had better days."

…

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

I Can Fix That... Pt. 2 | Jonathan Crane x fem!reader

author's note: I decided to make a pt. 2 purely for my own enjoyment, though I hope there are others out there as sadistic as myself. I finally watched the Batman trilogy and did research on DC fan pages to write this. It follows the plot of Nolan's DC adaptation so all characters mentioned (like Ra's Al Ghul) are from the comics and movies.

Summary| She gave into Crane because she needed to survive, at least that's what she's tried to tell herself, but there was something about this man that just felt so painfully... right. Now Crane has a proposition and he doesn't intend to take no for an answer because he's starting to like her -- uh oh-- too much. Where will their new agreement lead them when Gotham devolves into chaos?

Warnings| Based on an DC action movie- drugging, slut shaming, fear and terror, dubious kidnapping, restraints, drugs, physical violence, spitting, toxic relationship, mentions of a gun, chaos, and needles. I know- it's a lot.

word count: 8596k (lol oopsies?)

Wires- The Neighborhood 🎶

Where did you sleep last night- Iridium, Salazar, Liam Marks 🎵

Caesar on a TV Screen- The Last Dinner Party 🎶

i 

The detective nodded her head, surprised that she’d so easily forgotten her plan. Dr. Crane sniffed and spun his set of keys around his finger casually. 

“Now the best thing about being the creator of my fear serum,” he started, moving to the shelf of vials he had previously sorted, “is that I have an endless supply and every opportunity to use it whenever I want.” She could hear him smile but she could no longer see him. Crane admittedly liked the girl and he’d fucked her as a minor pivot in his original plan for the night. Now, it was time for business. He pulled a dish of powder from a locked drawer and hid it away from sight as he crossed back into the girl’s view. “You may think you understand what my serum can do, but you’ll never truly know until you try it.” She furrowed her brow and shook her head, wishing that she could back away from him but she couldn’t move. He changed the subject swiftly, not giving her a moment. 

“I applaud you for your performance tonight. I was more than willing to humor you and of course, your present state did you many favors. I like my women tied down…” he joked and chuckled darkly. “But now, we need to get practical.” He removed his glasses and folded them slowly. He slipped them into his breast pocket. “You know too much, Miss —, and we both know that your current allegiance to your job would prioritize a crude sense of justice over your affection for me. We can’t have that, can we? So, I’d like to propose a solution or a treatment of sorts.” He clenched his jaw, angling his head down so that he was looking up at her through his eyelashes. “You’ve already proven to yourself tonight that the mind has complete control over the body. Desire rules judgment… and I want to rule you.” He smiled darkly. Before she could speak, powder was thrown into her face, blocking every orifice with a sickening gas. 

The anxiety was immediate. She saw strange creatures approach her from all sides, poking and prodding her with dirty nails. She saw the walls leak a disgusting fluid, like blood and fecal matter and it spilled over the floor. People sorted through the liquid for scraps, children screamed and cried around her. She’d been one of those children, raised in an orphanage because her parents couldn’t afford to keep her. Strange men swarmed the children, offering toxic treats and money for favors which the children shied away from. She screamed, pulling at her restraints as she tried to fight off the assailants. She shook her head violently side to side, and she screamed involuntarily with raw terror at what she saw. In the midst of a nightmare of Gotham’s poverty and dark underbelly, Dr. Jonathan Crane stood calmly before her. He watched her, his arms crossed against his chest. He cocked his head to the side. 

“What do you see,” he asked calmly. She turned her attention to him like he was a beacon of light in a horrible storm. 

“Jonathan, help me!” She cried. 

“Tell me what you see,” he said again and clucked his tongue to calm her. She looked around again at the people she saw, rummaging through mountains of trash. 

“Horrible… horrible poverty. The things… the things I saw as a child. People starving, children crying…” she whimpered. Rats scrambled across her body and she screamed again, shaking against the table. “Jonathan, please!” She called for him and he waded towards her, oblivious to the horror around him. He stood above her and stroked her face. He removed the restraints from her waist and her wrists and helped her sit up. The things she saw darted out of her peripheral vision, distorted now and hard to understand. She couldn’t run because she couldn’t tell where she was anymore, where her body was in relation to her perspective. Did she even still have a body?

Dr. Crane grunted as he helped her off the table and held her up beside him. She fainted in his arms and he carried her out of the secondary lab into the corridor. He punched the elevator’s call button with his free hand and dragged her inside. As the large steel doors closed, he fished for his cellphone in his pocket and called his driver, telling him to meet him outside the hospital immediately. Crane hushed her, gently patting her head though she was still unconscious. The elevator dropped them at the floor she’d entered on originally and Crane carried her to the side door, ignoring the looks the night attendants gave the strange couple. A sleek black car waited outside in the alley, the engine running and dispelling smoky exhaust into the air around them. Crane opened the car door and helped her inside, smirking at the security guard at the door. 

“Our meeting was successful, thank you officer.” He waved goodnight to the security guard who shifted awkwardly in his seat at the side door. Climbing in after her, Crane leaned over the console to speak with his driver. 

“My apartment, please.” He gave the order sternly, even with the addition of the ‘please,’ and the driver nodded, speeding off into Gotham’s dark streets. His hand rested comfortably on her thigh as he watched her. She started to come to in the backseat, though the effects of the drug had still not worn off. Her breath was fast and she leaned deliriously into Crane’s shoulder, seeking protection from what she saw outside the tinted windows. She was so afraid that she felt safer in the arms of the man that had drugged her, and it would take hours to realize that, but by the time she did, the psychological effects would have already taken root. 

ii 

The car stopped outside of a dark apartment building in one of the only nice parts of town in Gotham city. It was raining as he helped her back out of the car and into the large lobby of his apartment building. She clung to his arm as he led her into an elevator, playing a soft melody that sounded like shrill screams to her intoxicated mind. As the elevator doors opened, effects of the drug began to wane though her heartbeat was still racing. She looked up at Crane’s sharp jaw and how he clenched it as he opened the door to his apartment and pushed her gently inside. 

“I pay my people extra to turn a blind eye to everything that I do. I understand these circumstances appear even more nefarious, being that I have admittedly drugged you and brought you to my apartment. What can I say, I’m a bad feminist.” He smiled darkly and locked the door. 

“When do I stop seeing… these things?” She collapsed into a chair behind her and cradled her head in her hands. 

“The effects will be gone in an hour,” he responded coolly and switched on some of the lights in his modern apartment. The apartment was two stories with a spiral staircase and an elevator that led to the upstairs. She looked around, trying her best to ignore the hallucinations and study the actual apartment itself. 

“You’ll be disappointed to know that I don’t have a lab here, it’s against the building’s codes. I spend very little time here actually, I’m always at Arkham or dealing with detectives… like you. I’m a busy man. Like I already told you, I have plans to ‘treat’ Falcone tomorrow so I’ll need that room free. This is the next best option and I think you’ll find it more comfortable in comparison.” He smirked and flicked a switch, immediately two restraints looped tightly around her wrists, emerging from a panel in the arms of the chair that she hadn’t noticed. Second restraints looped around her ankles, reminding her as her ankles were spread apart that he had removed her underwear. She turned her knees inward, hiding her crotch and scoffing with frustration. 

“Again?” She groaned and pulled at the strong leather material holding her to the chair. 

“You sound disappointed,” Crane observed with a small smirk. “It’s only temporary. I didn’t get a chance to question you back at the lab, so we’ll do that here.” He gestured to his empty apartment and started to walk toward her slowly. His lips curled cruelly as he looked her up and down, strapped to the chair. “So tell me, what do you know?” He whispered and she stopped struggling for a moment. She still felt jumpy and nervous but having him so close relieved some of those feelings. The effects of the drug wore off more but the underlying sense of anxiety and loss of control prompted her to answer honestly.

I know that you are trying to make a powerful drug that mimics fear and so far, you’ve put it in a powder form. It works when ingested in some ways and immediately elicits a response that incapacitates the victim. You want to use it widely, to control Gotham…”

“Right, what else.” He leaned on the arms of the chair, his hands grasped around her wrists. 

“You don’t work for Falcone but you work with someone else. You’ve just been using Falcone’s drug operation to move your own prototypes of the fear serum. You want to be in charge and you know that fear can do whatever you want it to. The mind controls the body,” she recalled a sentence that he had used before he had thrown the powder in her face. “You’re also somehow connected to the missing micro-wave emmitter. I don’t know why but it may help you in some way, how?” She was breathing heavily like she was going to fall asleep. 

“Good work, detective.” 

“What are you using the micro-wave emitter for?” She asked. He chuckled and removed his hands from her wrists, backing up. He approached a small liquor cart and poured himself a drink, straight gin. She continued as he drank. 

“Who are you working with and how do you expect to control Gotham when everyone loses their minds?” She could barely contain her voice, anger and confusion rose into her throat like bile. 

“So many questions…” he swallowed and set down his glass, turning back to her slowly. “Aren’t you supposed to figure that out for yourself?” He raised his eyebrow. 

“The mirco-wave emitter would dry out any water supply that it comes into contact with. Wouldn’t it be easier to poison the water supply, you would reach more people… unless it doesn’t have the same effect when administered in water.” She looked up at him but his face was hard. “That’s why you’ve been using it in a powder, it only works in a powder form. If you dry up the water supply and release the powder into the air, there isn’t a way to combat the effects, is there?” 

Crane smiled and nodded slowly, “right again.” 

“How can you control people who have lost their minds on the serum? You can’t control chaos.” She furrowed her brow and leaned forward, questioning him. Crane cocked his head and studied her for a moment, noticing the last traces of the fear serum leaving her body. 

“Control has many forms, Y/N. The chaos that will come from my serum is planned, its existence is strategically executed.”

“But why are you doing this?” 

“I love it when you get flustered,” he chuckled darkly at her and licked his lips, his eyes rolling before returning to her face. “It’s not just me, I work for a large organization that has been responsible for all historical catastrophes throughout history. We deal in balance, balanced chaos. They hired me because I can control fear, I know how to use it and weaponize it. Gotham needs to be balanced and it cannot be balanced without it first destroying itself. Create a closed environment with the population’s problems and confront them with chaos, the balance will soon be restored.” 

“Who do you work for?” She whispered, her eyes wide. 

“Don’t you mean, who do we work for?” He crouched at her feet and placed his hands on her thighs. He smiled crazily up at her and she leaned away from him. 

“What?” She whispered. 

“I work for the League of Shadows, and now, so do you.” He dug his finger into the soft bottom of her chin and pushed her head up so that she could see the second floor more clearly. 

Standing at the rail were men clad in dark armor. One man stood out from the rest. He wore a black suit and carried a gold-tipped cane. He had long whiskers of gray hair like a mustache and steady cool eyes, deadlier than Crane’s.  

“Good work, Dr. Crane.” The man kept his focus on her and her blood went cold. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Miss —. We’ve heard so much about you and of course, you’re the one that has caused us so much trouble!” He laughed sarcastically and descended the spiral staircase. 

“Who are you?” She growled. 

“Ra’s Al Ghul,” he smiled and the wrinkles on his face creased, pulling against his eyes. “I see you’ve already become acquainted with Dr. Crane, our very own criminal mastermind.”

“You’re too kind,” Crane smarted back, watching the girl’s face as she tried to take in all of the new information. 

“Now, I have a job proposition to offer you, Miss —. You seem to have figured most of our plan out but I don’t think you understand the complexity of our organization. You see, the League of Shadows is an ancient organization that has balanced the harmony of every major city in the world since the beginning of time. Gotham has gone bad, to the point of no return. Your ‘Batman’ as you call him can’t reverse what has been brewing for years. He never saw what you did, how the people of Gotham live in filth and poverty while the elite few enjoy the spoils. This city needs to be reborn, it needs chaos to restore the balance.”

“But wouldn’t you be killing thousands of innocent people?” She interjected and Al Ghul shrugged slightly. 

“Nobody’s innocent,” he answered quickly and then inhaled, clarifying, “Anyway, that’s not what we want to do here. If we take control of the city and hold it for ransom, we can work out a deal to replace the crooked government with some of our people. I’m offering you a role alongside my people. You’re smart, all that evidence you collected against Crane- none of the senior officers could have held a match to it. We destroyed it of course, as soon as Crane told us about your little visit.” She looked past Al Ghul to Crane who leaned against the wall calmly. Had they destroyed the copies? How could she be sure that they were telling the truth? “The box of evidence you had put aside for Sgt. Gordon was the hardest to find but we found it. What made you suspect Dr. Crane? Was it a gut instinct?” He drew on before she interrupted him. 

“You want me to help you kill people?” She furrowed her brow and nearly laughed in disbelief. 

“We want your help to save Gotham from itself and establish a new and better government.” He corrected, fixing his posture. Crane watched her closely and spoke up from the back of the room. 

“She’ll do it,” he answered and she opened her mouth to interject but his smirk silenced her. “She’ll do it because whether or not she wants to admit it, Miss —, is like us.” Crane reached into his breast pocket and removed his glasses. He cleaned the panels with a dish towel and pushed them onto his nose. She looked between Crane and Al Ghul, her heart beating quickly in her chest. 

“Will you join us, will you help us save Gotham?” Ra’s Al Ghul placed both of his hands on top of his walking stick and shifted his weight evenly between his feet. Crane folded his arms across his chest and cocked his head to the side, a knowing smile played on his wide pink lips. Her decision surprised her but the serum had already changed her chemistry, Crane had revealed her true self to herself and there was only one choice left. 

“Yes,” she whispered. 

Crane nodded, “good girl.” 

iii 

She was released from her restraints and she rubbed her wrists where the leather marked them. Ra’s Al Ghul snapped his fingers and a map was rolled out on Crane’s dining room table. The map was of the entire city of Gotham, showing the sewer and water lines. They explained the plan, showing her where the micro-wave emitter would be placed in the city and how it would be moved through each neighborhood. 

“What about the police?” She asked and gestured to the map of the city. Crane laughed and shook his head. 

“You were the only cop that suspected this, the rest will have no idea until it's already started. The person we really need to worry about is Batman,” he ran his fingers through his hair and glanced up at Al Ghul, “luckily for him, an old friend is coming by to visit.” Al Ghul nodded and smiled kindly at her. 

“Batman and I go way back. I’ll take care of him.” 

“What am I supposed to do?” She asked, her arms crossed beneath her breasts. Crane caught himself staring and cleared his throat. 

“You’ll help me with the production of the powder, ensuring that your cop friends don’t figure out too much and keeping Sgt. Gordon away from Arkham or leading him astray… anything,” Crane answered, setting his face as he spoke. She nodded. 

Though they had asked her to join their efforts, they also obviously didn’t trust her completely. They wouldn’t tell her everything, she knew. Her night had gone in a completely different direction than how she had imagined it. Everything had changed after the fear serum, it had shown her that what she feared most had already happened. The police were corrupt, run by small-time gangsters and criminals and crime continued to run rampant as the state lost more and more money, forcing social service organizations to close and more families out on the streets. This whole time she thought that the police could solve the problem but they only caused it. Crane was right, she was like him and she would do anything she could to change the city. After the meeting, Crane poured her a drink and dissolved a packet of powder into the liquor. He stirred it in front of her and Al Ghul before sliding it across the table’s surface. 

“This will put you to sleep for a few hours, twelve at most. It’s only a precaution to make sure that you have truly promised your allegiance to us. Everything that you say will be monitored from this point on.”

“Everything?” She looked at Crane who clenched his jaw, a faint tease of blush spread on his cheeks.

“Everything. Do as we say and follow our rules and you stay alive,” Crane finished and tapped the rim of the glass. “Now drink.” 

“How do I know that you aren’t just poisoning me?” She asked the men around her.

“We’re learning to trust each other, but you have to go first.” He smiled and when Al Ghul said nothing, she took the glass and drank it slowly. The last thing she saw were Crane’s eyes, set perfectly on her. 

She was conscious enough to set her glass down before falling back onto the couch. Crane approached her quickly and checked her pulse, monitoring her reaction to the drug. 

“Did it work?” Ra’s Al Ghul asked behind him and he nodded. 

“Yes, she’s out. Because of all the drugs in her system already, this one may take longer to wear off.” 

“All the other drugs?” Al Ghul raised his eyebrow and Crane chuckled. 

“I couldn’t help myself and besides,” he turned to Al Ghul, “you wanted her alive.” 

“I’m not convinced that we can trust her,” Al Ghul shook his head and pointed at the map for his men to clean up. 

“Oh, I’ll make sure we can.” 

“With your mind tricks?” Al Ghul teased and Crane sighed, rolling his beautiful eyes. 

“Don’t insult me, Ra’s. I know what I’m doing.” He warned the man calmly and nodded to the men. Two men helped carry her body as Crane led them back down the elevator into the lobby which was deserted at that time in the early morning. They climbed into Crane’s waiting car and pulled away from the curb. The girl’s body was limp against the seat and Crane resisted the urge to stare at her, fascinated by her sleeping body. The men carried her up to her apartment on the third floor of a small walkup. Crane rummaged through her coat pockets for the key into her apartment and unlocked the door. 

Her apartment was small and cozy, furnished with minimal couches and chairs. Books and art decorated the walls. Crane pushed through the door and directed the men to lie her down in her bedroom, the small room off of the main living area. They men looked back at him expectantly as he stood by the doorway, watching her sleep. He rolled his eyes and shooed them away. What did they think he was going to do? He’d already fucked her. Alone in her apartment, he stood by her bed and stroked her cheek. She slept on, engulfed by unconscious darkness. He leaned over her slowly and grasped her throat gently, exhaling across her face. He said nothing but looked her up and down and smirked, pleased at the sight of her. He’d won another spoil: her. 

 She woke up in her bed, twisted in the sheets as if she had been restless all night. She was sweaty and hot, the air stuffy around her. Crane and Al Ghul were nowhere to be seen. She checked her watch and hurried out of bed, stripping off her clothes from the night before and into black trousers and a dark blue sweater. She stumbled into the living room and wound her hair up into a claw clip, moving towards the door when a voice startled her. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Dr. Crane spoke from the couch. He was in a fresh suit and looked well-rested. He was taking notes in a file on Falcone, his briefcase sat on the coffee table in front of him. She jumped, gasping from shock. 

“Jesus Christ, what are you doing here?” 

“I was waiting for you to wake up. We have work to do today. That bitch at the DA’s office wants to speak with me. I'm supposed to meet with her this afternoon. She’s questioning Falcone’s transfer.”

“I ordered the transfer after you did Falcone’s interview, maybe I could meet with her instead.” 

“No, I need you to take this file to the judge on Falcone’s case. I can handle her questions.” He stood and held out Falcone’s file. “I already gave my statement at the hearing but this file will confirm my medical opinion, hopefully that will get her off my back.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Do you think Falcone will talk if she speaks with him?” 

“Possibly,” he bent his head side to side and shrugged, “but we aren’t going to find out. Let’s go,” he snapped his briefcase closed and made for the front door. She glanced from the couch to her bedroom.

“Were you watching me all night?” She flushed angrily and followed him. He closed the door suddenly and spun her around, forcing her back against the front door. 

“I can only say this once because they aren’t listening now but as soon as we get in the car, they’ll be monitoring you. I am keeping you alive, Miss —. I will do everything in my power to keep you alive but the second you step away from me, you’re on your own. I know we have an understanding so believe me when I say that I would prefer very much if you didn’t die. Follow my directions because they’re following you.” He said in a harsh whisper, a strand of hair falling into his face. They stared at each other in silence, exchanging breath when he kissed her harshly. She wrapped her arms around his neck and moaned softly against his lips. He bucked into her hips and she gasped softly against his jaw. And just as quickly, he pulled away, breathing heavily and led her out the door and down the stairs into the waiting car. 

“I’ll need my gun back,” she pointed out as they settled on the backseat. Crane sighed, unbuttoning his suit jacket. He opened a small compartment in the car door and retrieved her gun. As he held it out, he took her jaw in his other hand, his thumb pressing into her fleshy cheek. 

“This is where that trust would come in handy, detective.” He whispered darkly. She looked at his lips and then up to his eyes, speechless around him. He watched her struggle for words and chuckled, handing her the gun. “Be careful, Y/N, and remember Ra’s plan.” He looked at her lips and sniffed, slapping the roof of the car. “This is her stop.” 

iv 

She met with the judge who oversaw Falcone’s case and gave him the thick folder. He looked at it briefly before recognizing the information. 

“I appreciate you coming out to speak to me about Falcone’s transfer to Arkham but I cleared everything with Ms. Dawes yesterday. She’s already scheduled a second psychiatrist to meet with Falcone first thing tomorrow morning. She mentioned that she’s also requested Dr. Crane’s case file. Has she seen this?” He waved the folder and she clicked her tongue, shocked that she had scheduled a second opinion and that Crane didn’t know about it.

“I’m not sure, sir. I was the detective working with the prosecution and I was the one who oversaw Dr. Crane’s examination and request for transfer. I can attest to Falcone's mood at the time as well. He screamed nonstop as Crane was trying to conduct a test of sanity. Anyway, I wanted to make sure that you saw Dr. Crane’s diagnosis in the aftermath of his transfer. This has updated notes that Dr. Crane shared with me. It might be useful in your deliberation.” She smiled and the judge looked down his nose at the folder. 

“Good point. Thank you, detective. This is helpful.” He opened the folder on his desk and put on his rounded spectacles. 

“Well now that we’ve spoken, I’ll try to catch Dawes and save her the trouble.” She pushed back her chair and brushed off her trousers. 

“Miss —?” The judge called from his desk. 

“Yes, sir?” She looked back.

“Dr. Crane has committed many of Falcone’s men to Arkham in the past few months, is that correct?” 

“Yes,” she nodded and her heart raced. 

“That must be a pretty crazy group.” The judge laughed and went back to the folder, completely missing the pattern. She sighed in relief and left quickly. She started to walk to Arkham, moving so quickly she felt like she may have been running. Dawes had already scheduled a second opinion, meaning that she was probably at Arkham pressuring Crane for his detailed diagnosis. It would take Dawes one second to figure it out so she hoped she could get there quickly enough to do something. She had no plan which she knew was stupid but whatever was bound to happen in the next few hours would be bad and she needed to help Crane. Her phone began to ring and she put it to her ear. 

“Hello?”

“Y/N.”

“Ra’s?”

“Are you on your way to Arkham?”

“Yes, sir.” 

“Turn around and go back to your precinct. I want you to stick close to Sgt. Gordon, go where he goes. You’re his top detective so run with it. If anything happens at Arkham, he’ll be there and I want you there with him. Crane will be fine.”

She slowed to a stop, skeptical but wanting to believe what her new boss was telling her, “ok, sir.”

After a second of silence, Ra’s added, “It’s Batman’s birthday and what better way to celebrate a playboy than with chaos?” The call ended before she could respond. 

She spun around and headed straight for the precinct. She spotted Gordon at his desk, working on paperwork. She hurried over and knocked on the door, letting herself in when he waved. 

“Good, I’m glad to see you. I need to run some ideas by you for the Falcone case.” 

“I just dropped off Crane's diagnosis for the judge but he said that Dawes may be seeking a second opinion.” 

“About that -” The intercom went off with a loud screech. 

“Attention all units! Attention all units! Batman was spotted at Arkham Asylum. He is believed to be armed and dangerous. Backup is requested at this time.” The voice repeated with a robotic drone. Sgt. Gordon looked from the speaker to her and grabbed his coat from his chair. 

“We need to get to the asylum right now.” Gordon yelled and she followed him closely, checking that her gun was still secured to her hip. She clipped her badge to her front pocket and pretended to sound confused. 

“Why are we going, Sgt? Do you think this is about Falcone?”

“It might, I’d feel better if I was there to find out; and if Batman is there, someone’s in trouble.” They hurried down the stairs and climbed into a car. Gordon sped away from the precinct and ran red lights. The tires bled across the roads as they came to a screeching halt behind a row of police cars parked outside the Asylum. 

“Why is everyone waiting outside?” She yelled over the noise. An officer standing with his gun aimed at the building yelled back. 

“We’re waiting for backup!”

“They’ll be here soon, sir. We should wait!” She yelled over the noise at the Sgt. 

Gordon looked up at the building and pulled his gun from his holster. He started moving towards the building, looking back to wave her on. 

“I’m going in. You coming?” He called. 

She groaned anxiously beneath her breath before responding, “yes, sir!” They raced up the stairs into the lobby which was left completely vacant. Gordon held up his gun and she followed suit, staying close behind him. She felt the urge to kill him now and find Crane but her gut warned her that someone else was in the room, watching. They walked slowly through the main corridor, past the abandoned security checkpoint, creeping closer to the wide atrium. When they stepped beneath the enormous domed ceiling a loud noise broke through the top of the building. She looked up and covered her face with her forearm to protect her eyes from large shards of falling glass. She saw a large dark blur surround Sgt. Gordon and pull him up to the roof. 

“Sgt. Gordon!” She yelled after him. She knew immediately that the blur was that bastard Batman. A small laugh escaped her mouth as she shook her head and lowered her gun. A group of SWAT ran in seconds later. She pointed at the ceiling with her gun and called them over. 

“He came down and took Sgt. Gordon!”

“Who?” Someone yelled at her and she shook her head, pretending to be unsure. 

“I don’t know! I think it was Batman.” She yelled, adding to their panic. 

“Batman!” Someone shouted and in the moment of distraction, she slipped away into a side corridor. She bolted towards a staircase and stopped at every floor, looking for signs of activity. Her body burned with soreness as she sprinted down each corridor. She wanted to scream his name but her lungs wouldn’t allow her the extra air to do so. She rounded a corner and ran into a group of police. They all started shouting at her until she showed them her badge. 

“I’m a detective- What the hell is going on here?” She yelled. 

“We’re looking for Dr. Crane!”

“Have you seen Sgt. Gordon?” She asked, panting and trying not to panic when they mentioned Crane’s name. “He disappeared and I've been looking for him.”

“No, we haven’t. We got a call that they found drugs in the building and then Batman showed up. Crane was running the operation.” One police officer responded and jerked their head to the side where they were going to run next. “It's down this corridor!”  

“I’ll come with you,” she shouted and led the unit, her gun pointed at the ground. Two large doors were falling off their hinges further down the hallway. The room itself was smokey and gaseous. She looked down from the doorway where there were stairs leading into a cement lined room like an empty indoor pool. Tables were littered with Crane’s fear serum and men that she assumed were dead. Huge vats of liquid marked with a toxic symbol sat on their sides by an open waterline. 

“This is it,” she said to the officer beside her and started to descend the staircase. The smoke made it hard to see so she moved slowly, looking around the floor for Crane’s familiar face. The men she saw were all part of Falcone’s posse who had been hired to help the drug operation run. Something snapped beneath her food and she looked down, seeing Crane’s scarecrow mask which she recognized from his drawing. She picked it up and looked around anxiously, her fingers around the gun shook. Then she saw him. Crane was propped up against a wall and bleeding slightly from the head, a thin trail of blood oozed on the wall behind his head. He was panting and flailing around, his pupils were mere penpoints. He’d been attacked with his own fear powder. She looked around before dropping into a crouch beside him. He recognized her but continued to shake, his eyes darting around her head. 

“Jonathan,” she whispered, “it's me.” 

“Did you find him?” Someone shouted and she yelled back that she had. He raised a judgemental eyebrow, his mouth forming a cuss word. His glasses were gone. 

“Trust me, Crane.” She whispered against his ear and held his wrists together. She took her handcuffs from her belt and handcuffed him. 

v 

She leaned against the wall and tapped her foot anxiously as they strapped him into a white straightjacket. She crossed the room and helped the officer secure the last belt, thankful for any excuse to touch him and remind him that she was still there. Looking up at her, he spat and she flinched slightly. His light eyes were ringed with red swollen skin and she wondered if he really felt betrayed by her. She wiped his spit from her cheek and returned to her place by the wall. 

“So this is the scarecrow,” Sgt. Gordon entered the room and let the door slam shut. Crane jumped from the noise and closed his eyes, taking a deep shaky breath. 

“Scarecrow… scarecrow.” Crane whispered with his eyes closed and shifted within the straightjacket. Sgt. Gordon pulled up a chair, the metal scraping against the floor, bristling Crane into opening his eyes. 

“What was the plan, Crane? How were you going to get the toxin into the air?” Gordon asked calmly and fingered the scarecrow mask. Her stomach turned watching Crane struggle to regain control over his mind. He shook and his eyes darted around the room, landing once or twice on her. She kept a straight face, giving no sign that she was terrified that something would happen to him or she would accidentally reveal something about him that they didn’t already know. When Crane didn’t respond, Gordon continued, his voice rising. 

“Who were you working for?” Gordon pressed and Crane’s eyes snapped to his, a crazy smile pulling at his lips. 

“Oh, it’s too late. You can’t stop it now.” He spoke through shivers, cutting up his words. He smiled at the end and Gordon shook his head. He stood and shoved the mask into her hands. 

“Here. Stay with Crane.” He growled and left the room, his footsteps echoing through the heavy steel door. She looked down at the mask in her hands and hid her smile. There was only one officer left in the room with them and she bit the inside of her cheek, trying to come up with a quick plan. 

“Are there any officers outside?” She asked the cop by the door who peeked his head outside the door. 

“No, ma’am.” 

“Good,” she smiled and raised her gun when the door snapped behind him. “Then this should be easy.” She cocked the gun and cornered the officer. “Face the wall,” she ordered and when he turned, she hit him over the head with the butt of her pistol, knocking him unconscious. She quickly handcuffed him and checked outside one last time before running over to Crane. He was still recovering from the toxin, his face set in a deep frown. She began to free him from his restraints, glancing at the door every few seconds. His eyes stayed on her face and he kept muttering things below his breath. When she undid the last restraint he jumped up and it fell from around his shoulders to the floor. She started to smile when he lunged at her and pushed her up against the tiled wall. Her hair clip cracked against the tile and clattered to the floor in pieces. She gasped beneath his hands, one holding her throat and the other grabbing the slack in her sweater, exposing her navel. 

“You betrayed me,” he growled, “you told Gordon... I saw you.” His eyes were wild and glazed, he looked right through her.

“What?” she gasped out though his hand was crushing her windpipe. 

“I saw you two! You fucked him. You fucked him!” He yelled, his body shook with anger like he was coming down from an adrenaline high. 

“No, I didn’t!” She struggled beneath his hands, “this is the toxin talking, Jonathan! I didn’t betray you-”

“But you fucked him,” his voice twisted into a heatbreaking whine, an image flicked before his eyes and he closed them quickly, shaking it from his head.

“No!” She coughed and she could feel herself getting light-headed. 

“You love him,” his voice was breaking beneath him and his eyes darted between hers as the toxin showed him more and more; everything of which included her.

“Jonathan!” she screamed and hit his chest hard with closed fists, “I can’t fucking breathe!” 

His eyes snapped open wider and he released his grip around her throat. Her feet landed on the ground and she coughed, sinking into a crouch against the wall. Crane stepped back and watched her silently. He was still shaking as he ran a hand anxiously through his hair. 

“Why would I save you if I loved him?” She cried in frustration, rubbing her bruised throat. “It’s the toxin, Jonathan… I didn’t do the things you think I did,” her voice softened. She looked up at him and stood slowly, grabbing onto the wall for support. Crane cradled his head in his hands and whimpered. 

“What do you see?” she asked quietly and stepped closer. He shook his head and created more distance between them. “Jonathan, tell me.” She pressed and he exhaled with a soft shutter.

“You… fuck,” he started through heavy breaths, working himself up again. “I see you and Gordon…” He rubbed his eyes and looked back up at her. “It’s been so long since…”

“Since what?” She furrowed her brow, questioning. His eyes darted away into the corner and he shook.

“Since my father last used it…” he took a deep breath and finished his sentence with a lengthy exhale, “on me.” 

“The fear toxin?” She whispered, slowly starting to understand what he was suggesting. He nodded and flinched as if something had attacked him. Was he saying that his father used a prototype of the fear toxin on him? She grabbed onto the sleeve of his suit jacket and tugged his attention away. 

“It’s just me. There’s no one else- nothing else in here except for me,” she gestured to the nearly empty room (the officer was still unconscious in the corner). “And I’m here for you,” she whispered and closed the distance between them, her hands slipped around his small waist beneath his suit jacket. She felt his body tense beneath her embrace before slowly (very slowly) releasing its tension. He didn’t hug her back but rested his forehead on her shoulder. She stroked his hair, and found the shallow wound on the back of his head. She ducked her head as she pulled away, finding his mouth and kissing him gently. The toxin was slowly wearing off and she could tell he was only beginning to return to his normal self. 

“We need to get up to my office,” he muttered and looked at the door. “They’re releasing the patients.”

“What?” She furrowed her brow. Crane sighed and shook his head. 

“Ra’s gave orders to open all of the cells. The patients will be let loose into the city.” He licked his lips and looked down at her. “We need to get upstairs.” His expression was tense as she could tell he was trying to fight the lingering effects of the toxin. She nodded. 

“Show me where to go.” 

He pulled her through the door and they ran down the corridor to an elevator. When the doors opened, Crane used his key to override the system, preventing anyone else from calling the elevator. He pressed the button for the floor with his office, not realizing that his other hand was squeezing tightly around hers. When the doors opened again, they rushed down the hallway and into Crane’s office. He sighed when the door was locked and the blinds closed. 

“What are we going to do?” She asked him quietly and he inhaled slowly. 

“I need to inject you with the antidote so the toxin doesn’t affect you when we leave the building.” He murmured, more to himself.

“We’re going out there?” She tried to keep the fear from her voice but he detected it instantly, raising an eyebrow. 

“Are you scared?” He asked automatically. 

“Of both of us dying out there at the hands of one of your old patients, yes, yes I am.” She nearly laughed. 

“Don’t you want to be part of the fun?” The Jonathan Crane she knew was definitely coming back. 

“I’d rather not become the ‘fun’,” she quipped and he smirked. 

“As you wish.” 

She followed him into his lab and he rummaged through a collection of vials arranged on one of the counters. Finding the right one, he slipped it inside a cartridge of what looked like an epipen. 

“Pull down your pants,” he ordered and then it was her turn to raise her eyebrow. “Don’t look at me like that and do what I tell you,” he said sternly and she did as he asked, pulling down her trousers where he had access to her thigh. “This will hurt,” he warned her before immediately plunging the needle into the fat around her thigh. She hissed in pain and heaved out a breath. 

“The good news is that you don’t have to ever do this again,” he patted her leg and buttoned her pants for her. “Now me,” he changed the vial and unbuckled his pants. He raised the hem of his boxers and punctured the needle into his upper thigh. He grunted in pain and closed his eyes for a moment and whistled out a tight breath. A large explosion shook the ground below their feet. She jumped and winced as she landed on her sore leg. Without opening his eyes, Crane nodded. 

“And that would be the patients leaving the building now.” He withdrew the needle and tossed it to the side, buckling his pants. 

“Let me see your head,” she touched his arm and he leaned forward slightly, turning his head where she could see it clearly. She carded her fingers through his dark hair and parted the dark roots away from the shallow wound. “It's a small cut, you’ll live.” 

“Thanks, doctor.” He smirked. Her fingers shifted through his hair as he straightened and she tried not to look disappointed when they were no longer twirled around his black locks. 

“Are you back now?” She looked up into his eyes, looking for trances of fear. 

“I think so,” he responded and traced his index finger around the collar of her sweater. There were small bruises where his fingers had been when he forced her against the wall in his state of panic. “Was I terrible?” He whispered. 

“Not more than usual,” she laughed lightly and covered his hand with hers. “I’m ok.” She insisted and he furrowed his eyebrows and licked his lips. 

He was going to apologize, he was going to tell her how much he loved her and that was why he had reacted so strongly to the toxin, but the words died on his lips so instead he said, “We should leave before the city goes all the way under.”

“They’ll raise the bridges so no one can leave, it’s too late.” 

Crane chuckled and leaned against the lab table behind him, his fingers grasping around the edge. “And once again, you severely underestimate me. Come on.” 

vi 

“Get on,” Crane held the bridle and gestured for her to mount the large black steed. 

“You’re kidding right?” She looked around at the burning city and then back to the police horse who’d lost its rider. 

“I wish I was,” he sighed and tugged her closer by her waistband, “now giddy-up, Miss —.” He joked flatley and pushed her up onto the saddle. He hoisted himself up after her and sat in front, taking the reins in his hands. She wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed her thighs around the horse's stomach, holding on for dear life. 

“Where the hell did you learn to ride a horse?” She yelled over the panic and she felt him chuckle. 

“Oh, there are a lot of things that you don’t know about me, detective.” He smirked and kicked the horse into action. She gasped and held him tighter as they flew through the violence-strewn streets. She couldn’t imagine how ridiculous they looked to the people of Gotham but under the influence of the fear toxin, she hoped people were more afraid than amused seeing a man in a full suit riding a horse. Crane focused on the route ahead, navigating them through the broken city. 

“Where’s Ra’s?” She yelled into his ear. 

“Forget about him.” He growled and urged the horse faster. 

“Why? What happened?” 

“He tricked me. He didn't just want to impose an arguably better government, he wanted to kill everyone and to kill us too. He tipped off Batman and that’s how Batman found me. He didn't need me after the toxin had been released. He kept you away from me, didn’t he?” He called over his shoulder, leaping over a crashed car. 

“Yes, he told me to go to the precinct instead when I tried to warn you about the DA.” 

“He wanted Batman to find me and he assumed that you’d get stuck here after you followed Gordon. Two birds with one stone. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.” He growled and turned the horse onto a side-street and into an alley. 

“Where are we going?” She asked, her grip tightening around Crane as she saw people screaming in the streets. 

“To my father’s house.” 

“How?” His father’s house? After his father had probably done something horrible to him?

“Just hold on,” he warned and flicked the reins again. She closed her eyes, wanting to block out the terror in the streets. While some of it gave her pleasure to see the raw side of humanity express itself, it reminded her of what she had seen as a child- the side of people that came out when they needed to survive. 

They rode to the edge of the city and Crane slowed the horse to a stop beside a tall building that looked abandoned. He hopped off of the horse and helped her down, catching her as she forced herself to slip over the saddle. The building was far enough away from the inner-city that it looked like it hadn’t been touched yet by the chaos, though the toxins had definitely reached it. 

“We need to get to the roof,” he informed her calmly and pointed her to the elevator. 

“Another elevator…” she whispered beneath her breath, knowing it wasn’t the right time to mention how much she hated the idea of going into one when the world around them was ending. Crane pressed the button labeled “20R,” and the elevator began to soar up. The elevator had windows that opened into the city. As the elevator climbed, they could see the destruction of Gotham and right across the bridge, normalcy.

“Ra’s is moving the micro-wave emitter by the high speed rail. If his plan goes accordingly, the emitter will poison the other side of the city beneath Wayne tower.” He pointed out the tall Wayne building from their vantage point. “I hate Gotham and I hate Batman, but I think I hate Ra’s Al Ghul more.” He sneered distastefully. “We could have run Gotham…” he sighed and shrugged, “maybe another day.” 

She couldn’t help herself but laugh. Being with Crane had opened her eyes to a new side of herself, one that was dark and masochistic. She liked this side better, way better. She liked thinking that one day she could be in charge, force out all of the government officials that were too dumb or sexist to listen to her. She could lead beside Crane… 

When the elevator doors opened a gust of wind met them. The doors opened onto the roof of the huge building. A helicopter stood in the center of a large bull’s eye, its blades running in circles above their heads. Crane’s hair ruffled in the wind and he squinted his eyes against it. Her mouth fell open in shock and Crane chuckled at her reaction. 

“That’s the funny thing about, trust, detective. I don’t believe in it,” he smirked and beckoned her to the helicopter’s doors. 

“You planned this?” She yelled as he gestured her to climb onto the landing gear. 

“Of course,” he smiled, "I always have a backup plan." Her mary janes slipped across the bars as she climbed and Crane supported her back, guiding her back into the body of the machine. He pulled himself inside after her and collapsed in one of the seats. She tried to orient herself, looking around the small helicopter, landing on the pilot. The pilot nodded at Crane, he was wearing a thick mask and goggles to keep the toxin away. 

“Ready doctor?” The pilot called from the front and Crane nodded breathlessly. He looked at her and clenched his jaw, returning to the version of Crane she knew so well. 

“Yes.”

[obviouslacking]

this is wholly embarrassing but i watched h-e double hockey sticks (1999) for the first time last night and, in the midst of my jeric brainrot, it made my mind go ❣️

so i wrote a teensy, terrible ficlet. i gave it a saccharine little title. griffelkin/dave, because of course it is. what are niche fandoms for if not to practice writing bad fanfiction? anyway. this goes out to the folks on jeric twt

edit: she’s on ao3 now! someone please join me over there so hedhs can become an actual categorised fandom

the sign on your heart (it's still reserved for me)

aka when hell freezes over

*******************

It was the greatest night of Dave Heinrich’s life. 

He’d just won the Stanley Cup; the girl of his dreams was on his arm and he was enjoying his hard-won victory. Only… something was wrong. Through the lights, and the confetti, and the cheers, he watched as Griffelkin melted away into the crowd. Like he was never there. Like he’d never be seen again — by Dave, anyway. The triumphant grin slipped off his lips. It was cold, suddenly, out there on the ice, in a way the exertion had masked before. Everything he’d just accomplished began to feel… hollow. The only reason he’d managed to achieve anything was because of Griffelkin, chaotic and ridiculous though he was. Because, for some godforsaken reason… he’d believed in Dave.

He’d made him a better person.

What he’d had with Anne had been good. It felt like they had grown up in the rink together. But they’d been chasing after a dead-and-buried version of the past for too long now, blindly gripping to nostalgia instead of moving forward with their lives. It was now clear to him: it was time to set them both free. 

He turned to her with regret, “I’m so sorry, I have to go.” 

She didn’t understand, “Dave, wait—”

He couldn’t. He had to get out of there or else he’d lose his chance entirely. He knew how it looked: Dave Heinrich, the golden boy, leaving the Stanley Cup celebrations — the moment he’d worked towards all his life, the pinnacle of his rising star. He didn’t care. He was proud of his team, proud of himself, but… none of it would feel right until he saw Griffelkin again. Until they got to be proud of what they’d done together. The two of them, their own team.

He had to get him back.

It took hours. He drew pentagrams in chalk on his nicely laminated flooring. He lit candles. He tried ominous chanting, tried reciting an exorcism he thought he saw in a movie once, tried everything he could think of to summon Griffelkin back to him — short of screaming at the sky in despair.

Nothing worked. He was forced to sit himself down by the absolute mess he’d made with a sigh, body still aching from the torture it had endured that day. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way Griffelkin had held onto him as he lifted him up onto the sickbay bed. Or the sight of him in his Angels uniform; wearing Dave’s number, Dave’s name. He’d been chasing after the Cup for so long, treading water with his girlfriend for so long… he’d forgotten what that felt like. To have a fire inside you, one that burned for a person. 

If Griffelkin technically counted as a person, anyways. Dave was still a little.. fuzzy on the details. If he thought about it too much, he was sure he’d lose his mind (even more so than he likely already had. Maybe he’d just taken a really hard check out on the ice one day, and this was all some kind of fever dream—)

“What the hell are you doing?”

Jesus Christ!!! Dave had sprung up and away from the sudden intruder in terror before he could even realise it was the intended object of his summonings. Here, at last. Hours after Dave had wanted him. The creature lived to spite him.

Even so, just seeing his face again… Dave needed to say his piece. “I had to talk to you. It wasn’t right, how you just… left, after everything. Why did you just leave?”

Griffelkin was uncharacteristically muted, like all the flair had been drained out of him. “You got everything you wanted. You didn’t need me anymore.”

*******************

Griffelkin was lost. 

He’d come to Earth to be wicked. To do bad deeds. To steal the ever-ripe soul of one Dave Heinrich. He’d never anticipated… everything that had happened after that. Becoming invested in the lives of actual, honest-to-God people, turning against the will of Beelzebub and everything he’d trained for to show compassion… it was entirely out of left field. Or left.. rink… (curse his sudden investment in that stupid game. It was just unnatural).

He’d never anticipated the way something about Dave was just… different. When Griffelkin was with him… he’d never felt like that before. It itched throughout his whole body; like that awful diner food, or the smell of the trees as they polluted his insides. Something horrible like… sunshine, or flowers, or the way Dave would smile breathlessly after he won a game—

Oh, hell.

Griffelkin had done it. He’d gone and fallen in — he took a moment to tamp down the nausea — love with him. The human. His former mark. What on Earth was he going to do? 

Quite literally. He definitely didn’t think Hell would take him back any time soon, and the folks upstairs… well he didn’t know WHAT was going on with them. Gabby was their earthly agent?? She made him look positively angelic by comparison — and that was saying something.

So here he was: stuck topside, having horrendously squishy feelings for someone who would never like him back. Why would he? He’d got the Stanley Cup, got the girl… he didn’t need Griffelkin anymore. Dave’s soul may have been bound to him once, but they’d essentially ripped up everything that had tied them together. Their deal was done. 

If only he’d known sooner… he’d never have got those two back together!! If he'd ensured they'd remained separated, he could have done his buddy Lewis a solid — he wouldn't have had to deal with Dave's impressive ego anymore!! Meanwhile, Griff could have swooped in at just the right moment, offering his soulmate both the shining Cup and his blackened heart on a brimstone platter……

But it was too late. They were all finally happy, at peace; everyone’s souls intact. Hurray! Griffelkin had no choice but to just fade into the background. Leave Dave be. He’d already interfered with his life enough. 

Or so he’d thought.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he was currently standing in Dave’s living room. He’d just felt drawn to the place, something that had never happened before. At least, not without some kind of demonic intervention. Somehow, he didn’t think that was at work here, despite the look of Dave’s once-glossy pad. The space seemed to be covered in… satanic paraphernalia of some kind. 

Aw, he was almost touched. Mildly offended by the amateur job (WHO taught him how to draw a pentagram? And scented candles, really?? Was that glitter over there—) but… touched, nonetheless.

Dave was sitting on the floor, hunched over, still in his jersey from the game. He looked miserable. 

Griffelkin felt that increasingly familiar tremble in his chest. He took it out back and shot it dead. “What the hell are you doing?”

Dave jumped out of his skin at the words. He was so cute when he was being existentially horrified by the forces of Griffelkin’s dark magic. Damn him. He’d failed already (typical, typical, Griff, can’t do anything right). He had to stop thinking of Dave like that, not when he wanted nothing—

“I had to talk to you….. it wasn’t right, how you just…. left, after everything. Why did you just leave?”

He… wanted Griff? 

That couldn’t be right. No matter how much it pained him, all he could think to do was be honest: “You got everything you wanted. You didn’t need me anymore.”

Dave seemed distraught, hearing this. Griffelkin had never seen him like that before. He didn’t know what to make of it. He looked… agitated, but not like he was when his hockey career was on the line; sad, but not in the same way as he’d mooned over… whatever her name was. 

He admitted, “I thought that was what I wanted. But then… you weren’t there.” 

No one had ever… cared about Griffelkin before. Was this how the Grinch had felt when his heart grew three sizes bigger? Griff might as well just sprout wings and take up harp-playing, at the notion. He’d never felt so blessed, 

“Aw, Dave, buddy, you missed me? It was my sick moves out on the ice wasn’t it? You just had to come crawling back—”

Dave kissed him. 

*******************

Dave couldn’t listen to that yapping for one more second.

So, he grabbed Griffelkin by the stupid clothes he was still wearing and kissed his stupid evil mouth. It took only a second before he melted into it like he’d been feeling the exact same feverish longing as Dave, silenced by—

Oh, he’d finally shut him up. He should have thought of doing that sooner. 

It felt like a long time coming. It felt like no time at all.

Slowly, he released Griffelkin from his desperate grasp. It took the demon several seconds to blink his eyes open, staring back at him in awe. Well, Dave would feel just terrible if he’d broken him somehow. (Though maybe it would serve him right, just a little bit.) 

Satisfied, he leant back. 

“You gonna stay now? You don’t have anywhere else to be, right? Hell, or the Underworld, or wherever it is you’re from?” He hoped he never found out all the gory details. He suspected he was going to.

Griffelkin was still stunned. His hands twitched where they stayed clinging to the back of Dave’s jersey.  “No, I… I think I’m right where I need to be.”

“Good. ‘Cause I don’t know if you know this, but I just won the Stanley Cup.” He smiled at the thought… what an insane life he was leading. Dave Heinrich: youngest player to ever earn that mythic trophy; currently falling headfirst, circle-after-circle, in love with Hell’s finest.

Griffelkin smiled back at him, a little goofy, joy glimmering in his eyes, “Oh, you did?”

“Uh huh. And I could use some help figuring out where I’m gonna go from here.”

“Right, well…” Griffelkin swallowed. “I might just know a certain devil who’s going through kind of a similar situation right now. He might just take you up on that offer.”

It felt like the proper conclusion to their little adventure: both balancing on the precipice of a new journey. One Dave wanted them to tackle together — no matter how many ridiculous escapades came about as a result. They were just better as a pair. He knew they’d make it work somehow. If there was one thing he’d learned from all this (besides the whole being a selfless team player thing) it was that he could use a little more chaos in his life.

He pretended to mull Griff’s response over. “No contracts required?”

“Actually now that you mention it, I think I might have forgotten a sub-clause back there—” 

Dave kissed him again. Man, that really did work miracles. It was about time he evened the scales a bit, in terms of which one of them was holding power over the other. He had to be careful or it just might go to his head.

They were still standing in the midst of Dave’s embarrassingly terrible pentagram. Luckily, the candles had all been long-extinguished by the time their lips had met, or they would have been facing a serious fire-safety hazard right about then. Dave had come too far to have his life cut short in that blissful moment.

His arms wrapped around the neck of his tormentor, who bound their bodies together with his own embrace in turn. 

At least they wouldn’t be able to sue him for breach of contract: Dave Heinrich’s soul belonged to the demon Griffelkin after all. 

Along with his heart, and mind, and body, and whatever else he decided he wanted along the way. Dave wasn’t fussed in the slightest.

Hell began to thaw.

[darkdemeter]

・issue #3・ WOLF AT YOUR DOOR: CAN'T LOSE YOU SO SOON

⚤ Wanda Maximoff x Werewolf! GN/Female/Male Reader A lot of angst — hurt and hurt/comfort — bit of a backstory filler mostly — pregnant Wanda gets very emotional — depictions of trauma, grief, loss and structure destruction — usage of mates and mention of the bond's ability I think that's it? ✎ 2.5k You've always been a fighter. It's familiar to you, you know how to handle it. Because you had nothing to lose. Until recently. With Wanda due any moment now, it's put your fighting on the edge. So when a mission goes horribly wrong, it's decided what must be done next...

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

She knew it would be dangerous. But that never once stopped you from facing the threat head on. Stupidly brave, and insanely headstrong. Yearning for the fight, for the chance to do the thing you always believed you were only good at. 

She had pulled you aside after the briefing for the emergency meeting, hand anxiously running over her swollen belly and eyes tearfully full. 

“Don’t.” Her one worded plea is only met with a chaste kiss to her forehead. 

“It’ll be okay. I’ll be back soon enough.”

So stupidly brave. Ignorant and brave. Rugged in your feverish itch to join the fight. Fury amongst everyone else knew she is due any day now. And still, they send you away into the arms of danger, as if you have nothing to lose.

As if she has nothing to lose. 

She watches as you turn your back to her - on her - and storm down the corridor, joining your assigned comrades to prepare for combat. She sees you join them on the quinjet and take off at lightning speed, towards the reported chaos. A threat that devastates New York, with many civilians, innocent in their parts to play, are in need of you. 

But Wanda needs you too. 

She paces around the briefing room, the projector casting the events at this current time. Her hands cup her swell, the looming pressure of anxiety claws at her insides, troubling her and her pups that have become riled in the womb. 

She does her best to soothe them to no avail. They’re able to feel the way her body is constricted in her worry. 

Worry that becomes sheer terror in the blank of an eye. The damage reminds her of Sokovia. Destruction leaves many in a state of grief and uncertainty. Her heart goes out to them, truly it does. But the tears she sheds aren’t for them.

They're for you. 

You’d become separated from your team in the midst of the chaos. The fight in which gets your blood pumping hard and a vent for the pent up rage. Cameras catch it all, your shifted form pelted from the rooftop of an eighty story building like nothing, your body flies far until your back collides into the neighbouring tower. 

However, your opponent doesn’t leave you to fall to your demise below. Not that you’d give yourself that chance, your body falling a few stories before your claws find purchase on a lucky ridge that catches you. 

Your opponent launches forward and with a cloud of dust and debris, you’re sent falling through the wall and downwards, the building collapsing in around you. 

Fury stands beside Wanda, hands pressed firm behind his back and shoulders stiff. Natasha reaches Wanda who cries out, she cries your name, prayers and pleas to not lose you so soon. 

Pain blooms in her body and she fears the stress has induced her labour. The catastrophe not only claiming you but also the life of her pups. 

The building still crumbles in, thick and towering clouds darken out the sun. 

“We’re on our way, Y/N. Hold tight. Y/N? Y/N, do you copy?” The dispatched team’s frequency seems to echo throughout the briefing room. Natasha holds Wanda tightly in her arms, cradling her sobbing body that shivers with peach painful wave consuming her body, mind and mated soul.

“Please! Please, someone, help them!” she screams until her voice is shredded and strained by grief. “Don’t leave me, Y/N! Please! Don’t leave us!”

Your teammates work hard to sift through the wreckage. People are screaming, their voices cutting through the feed. Tony, Thor and Peter begin to pull chunks of debris aside, shoving, pushing deeper into the fallen building.

Steve comes into view next to aid in the recovery; the daunting realisation that it may very well be for your body. 

Wanda’s eyes cloud with her tears, she wipes them clear only for more to blur her vision. She can’t see the feed. She doesn’t want to. But she needs to. She knew something would go awry. She felt it. Something in the bond told her to warn you, to keep you out of danger’s way, but your headstrong attitude wouldn’t allow you. 

Did you think yourself invincible? She always found you had such a complex. That you can shake whatever it is off without a hitch. All she can do is pray that they retrieve you. She cannot bear the thought of—

“We need immediate medical attention. Y/N is down, and bad. We… shit, hold on, Kid. Hang in there. Fury, send an emergency medic!” Tony’s voice is sharpened by panic. 

After another moment, Steve, Peter and Tony drag you out from the clouds of dust, your body brings a shrill cry from Wanda’s throat. She can taste the blood on her tongue. 

“I’m sorry.” That’s all Fury says. All he could say. Scarlet red glares at his turned back, shrouding over the cool green of Wanda’s hues. Natasha’s own eyes mist over with tears. Her hand presses onto Wanda’s, the panicked kicking doesn’t cease for a moment. 

Banner and Helen work in record time. The moment you were carted back to the compound, medical attention was on you. Natasha, Bucky and Loki had to hold her back, her body moving to run to you. 

Nobody answered her questions which only fuel her more with dreaded doubt of your survival.

You can’t leave her so soon. You just can’t… you were mates, you and her. She needs you. 

Your body is torn between human and wolf as the cells of your body try to recuperate from the inflicted trauma and heal your wounds. 

With gloved hands, Banner plucks the remnants of your shock collar off, a low whine escapes you. The smell of burnt flesh stings their noses. 

“This is…”

It’s been a few hours now before anyone could see you. All huddled together outside the room, Banner and Helen finally come out. Immediately they’re pounced on with questions regarding your health.

Banner, however much he wanted to address their concerns, his eyes turn to Wanda. She was the priority right now. 

“Are they dead?” The ring of her Sokovian tongue is prominent in her question that quivers unevenly. 

Banner’s head bows down, bottom teeth pulling over his top lip, he pushes the door open. 

“No. They’ve asked to see you. There were a few… complications during the procedure. Helen and I believe it may be for the best to prepare for the worst.”

Wanda would not hear anymore of it. She pushes past Banner, ignoring the tearful eyes that follow her in pity. She shuts the door behind herself, leaving you both to the near silence devices of your intertwining presences. The faint beep of the machine monitoring sounds slow with each high pitched mark of your heartbeat. 

Wanda approaches your side, your body now complacent in its human skin. A vast majority of your body is patched up with bandages and bruised skin, your face mostly stitched and also bruised. 

What concerns her amongst all these things is the thick layer of gauze wrapped around your neck.

Your eyes pry open to catch a glimpse of your visitor, your expectations confirmed when your fingers curl Wanda’s hand into your hold. 

“Mate,” you sigh softly. It’s a dead giveaway that your breath is at a near loss with how little your chest rises. 

“How could you?” she seethes, streaks of tears lining her cheeks, “you fucking— you almost left us behind!”

“I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be sorry. Be safe. Be loyal!” She pauses in the middle of her coiling anger. She uses her sleeve to wipe her stuffy nose and eyes. “Be with us. Stop… please, stop fighting like this. You’re not alone anymore. You have something to lose now.”

Her words take their sweet time to sink in. The fight is all you know. From a young age, you were trained to kill, to fight. To put away so many years of battle isn’t easy. Years of field trauma tend to stay well over their welcome. It becomes a dark piece in the puzzle of your soul, your identity. But she is right. You never had anything to lose before her. You could go running into a blaze of silver gunfire and not give a single thought to the outcome that was your survival. 

There once was a time that nothing had you bound to keep living. But now you do. You have a family. Your family. 

“I agree.” Wanda’s eyes find yours, a short gasp in her next breath. Your hand curls tighter. “I’m scared, Y/N…”

Your brows screw into a confused pinch. “Why?”

“Because Banner says that I have to expect the worst. That because of complications— y-you may…”

“Oh, Banner is full of shit. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you - any of you - alone.” Your hand flattens over her bump that instantly comes to life upon your touch. Wanda offers a smile, saddened by the thought that this may very well be the last time your hand graces her pregnant belly. The last time you may have on this earth with her and your pups. The lives you both created together from a night of pent up attraction. Of once denied love. 

She sidles up beside you and her arms carefully move to hold you. Perhaps for the final time. “You were so sure before the mission. I’m sorry, my love, but you can’t be so sure now either.”

You growl lowly under your breath, pulling her tight against you, disregarding the rapid climb of the monitor, the ache of your wounds and the traumatic burning ring around your neck. None of that means shit to you. 

All that matters to you is Wanda and your pups. Your family. 

“Yes I can.”

The day is lifeless without sunlight. Only grey clouds form the sky with a sprinkling of rain. Her eyes are drowned by tears, she’s been crying for days now, the decision clear and made. The pup curled to her breast, adorned in a bright yellow suit, coos in protest when her tiny nose is dotted by light droplets of rain. 

Wanda breathes through her nose, uttering a quiet apology as she then wipes her pup’s nose. 

Her eyes stare down towards the grassy plot at her feet. The stone tablet is brand new, the gilded, reflective plate etched with the honourable title and name of one who was lost. Those of the team, the Avengers, gathered together in a dark palette of mourning. 

Natasha is held tightly to Steve’s chest as she weeps. Each to their own shed their tears, their condolences for her. Wanda has grown tired of the tears. 

“Y…” She cannot even bring herself to say the name. To bring any sense of comfort. To say a few words of gratitude for the buried. 

In her weakening resolve, she feels a hand on the small of her back. Your hand. Her eyes move from the headstone to your eyes, also brimmed red with tears. 

You were stupidly strong. Not a single tear would ever leave a watery streak down the contours of your visage. Until today. 

You turn to those who you work alongside with. Your own arms cradling the other three pups. 

“Yelena Belova was an integral member of the Avengers team. She was never afraid of anything. Many times, she’s thrown herself in the fray for our sake. In fact, I believe some of us wouldn’t be here today, if not for her…”

Your eyes fall to the faces of your pups, their eyes slowly blinking up at you. You sigh heavily with the burden of your sincere words, hardened by the loss, hardened by the resolve that Natasha lost someone dear to her. 

Yelena had saved you countless times. Watched your back when you couldn’t watch it yourself. You doubt yourself among the living had she’d never done so. She’s the reason you’re still alive. The reason you have a family. 

“We will honour Yelena’s legacy and memory. She will always be a part of this team. A part of us. Forever.” 

The final pup whines, kicking her little legs about as you lower her into the makeshift nest. You’d been kept busy, using what materials you could to create a crib big enough for your four pups, then padding it beyond the realm of comfort. She snuggles into her siblings, each of them looping their legs or arms around one another. 

You huff quietly, nose nuzzling each of them in a bid of good night, their soft coos assuring you they are safe and well in their slumber. “We can’t stay here anymore. I cannot bear the thought of burying you too soon.”

“I know, Mate,” you agree, tone heavy in your post-grief. You walk to her and sit alongside the edge of the bed. After the funeral and tending to the pups, Wanda showered quickly and dressed down into one of your large shirts, even being clean, it smelt of you. 

A comfort she thought would be the only thing she’d have left of you. 

“You mean far too much to me. The thought of losing you, I just— I can’t—”

“I know.”

You pull yourself towards her now and pull her into your front. Still her eyes are glassy. Truly, you’ve pushed her beyond her breaking point and it saddens you deeply that you allowed your bravery and hotheadedness to blind you to the bond. 

You felt it too. The remnants of Mother Nature yourself, a connection you’d long forgotten, tugged at you with staggering might. A warning that you were in great danger. You had blatantly ignored it. 

You threatened the tie of the bond with your stupidity. And now you have to pay the price for it. That’s why you decided together what was best for your family. 

“It’s a place called Sanctuary. An… old reserve. Deep in a valley far away from all this. We can settle there, build there. Together.”

Her hand is delicate against the line of your jaw, her plump lips meet yours in a soft kiss. You purr softly and cradle the nape of her neck, deepening the kiss. 

When you finally pull away from her lips, you grace her with a tender smile, eyes filled with love. Pure adoration and love. A sight she never thought she’d see grace your haunted gaze. 

“And… this can be our first step.”

Your hand fumbles around for a moment until you finally succeed in retrieving whatever it was you’re searching for. Wanda’s eyes shift down as gold slides over the slender bend of her finger. Her mouth falls agape and she turns her eyes back to you. 

“Marry me?”

Your fingers run over the scarring. The ring of skin around your neck is still marred in its process to heal. For how much longer is undetermined but the pain tied to it left you no choice but to resign yourself to the wilds of home. 

Your reflection in the picture frame casts a glaring glimpse of the fight you’ve now retired from. You’ve far too much to lose now. Loneliness once allowed you to be so reckless. But not anymore. 

In that picture frame is the reflection of someone who did the right thing for their family. Someone who resigned from the fight they once danced so well before it claimed their life. Before it robbed you and Wanda of being an ‘us’.

THANKS FOR READING!

✎ no note from the author

on this issue's taglist, we've got: @alexawynters @alyciaddict

[vashhanamichi]

I’m insane and out of my depth but I like to think about different metaphors for the relationship between Harry, Voldemort and Dumbledore. Although the obvious one is Dumbledore as God, Harry as Christ and Voldemort as Satan sometimes they seem to me akin to a mortal family, such are the families in the great Greek tragedies, families whose drama is incensed by the Gods and whose stakes are high enough to affect cities, countries, generations.

I’m thinking about the cursed House of Atreus and this post by the amazing @artemideaddams and these are the bits that I think apply the most to the Dumbledore-Harry-Voldemort triad:

(…) would the family fail, the whole country would fail too. The gods know that.

For Iphigenia to be Clitemnestra's favourite daughter, she need to die first.

She has long known that the only child that could never become their father is the one that will forever be a child. The only one who would have never mourned his death was the one killed by him.

Iphigenia had two moments of glory in her story: when her father killed her, and when her mother avenged her. Being killed, being avenged. Being a pawn to kill or an excuse to kill may not be so different, after all. No one ask for her opinion in both cases.

if Iphigenia would have not be so good, so perfect (…) she would have been free to just BE.

I love characters who are aware of their role in the narrative but cannot stop the narrative from unfolding like Captain Crozier in The Terror. He knows he’s in a tragedy/horror, he knows they’re doomed but he can’t change his fate or the fate of his men.

When Harry realises that he is a Horcrux he occupies a similar state of mind: he knows what genre of story he inhabits. He knows he’s meant to be his world’s Christ. Then all remaining childhood illusions dissolve: he was never meant to live, he was always meant to die. These seventeen years he spent between two of Voldemort’s kisses are but an intermission between acts in an opera. Like most of the famous Arias, Harry is meant to die before the curtain closes. Like Iphigenia as she learns of her role:

we talk about Harry as a “good little soldier” but I think we are mistaken: his obedience is filial. Like a good son, a good daughter. Dumbledore is, in his own words, his last and greatest protector. His last parent figure.

Harry gets to be the perfect child and, thus, the perfect lamb. Dumbledore loves him. And through that love that sacrifice is made greater.

What could ease Artemis’ anger so the winds could sail Agamemnon’s fleet to Troy? What sacred deer? What killing should be done to conquer the Dark Lord?

Not just any wizard, not just any child, not just any son, any daughter — a perfect one, whose unbreakable obedience would have him go to his death willingly. Harry doesn’t run, doesn’t cower. He goes willingly.

Harry is like a child caught in the midst of a nasty divorce. Crushed between Mother (Dumbledore) and Father (Voldemort).

My mother, she killed me,

My father, he ate me

But Voldemort’s role is ambiguous. Dumbledore is a parent figure to him as well — and they’re bitterly disappointed in each other. Let us remember, however, that the House of Atreus is a house of incest. Son-husband Voldemort to mother-wife Dumbledore is everything Harry isn’t. He’d never laid down his life in sacrifice. He’s too much like the unspoken root of Dumbledore’s rot, Grindelwald. Tom Riddle grew up in a way that Harry didn’t, and by growing up he became like Grindelwald, the unspoken Father, the unspoken Husband.

By dying, Harry is perfect. By refusing mortality Tom Riddle is corrupted.

As @artemideaddams puts it, regarding Iphigenia: no one asked her opinion. Harry obeys his mother and is consumed by his father. He is filial to both. He is a lamb to both.

[jarofstyles]

FICTOBER DAY 7- I Wish This Could Last Forever

Fictober Prompts/Masterlist

Patreon

Ouchies... I got in my feelings

WC- 800

Warnings- mention of death/dying, vampires, blood etc

----

Harry watched the human sleeping in his arms, his chest feeling like it could disintegrate any moment. 

If his heart could still beat, he would be worried about it breaking. 

He knew he had to leave someday. He knew that this warm bundle of sweet, soft human would begin to age and question why he didn’t. The longer they spent together, the easier to spot his quirks. The closer they got, the more she would notice, the more that she would begin to bond to him. The sips he took from her were enough to sustain him, but for how long? How long could he go without a proper feed?

He knew his intentions were selfish. He had never had a problem being a selfish creature for all two hundred and forty years that his feet had been walking around the earth, and yet.. A silly, simply little human had tilted his world on its axis. Her soft breathing puffing against his neck making him bound to the moment, her fists curled around his shirt as her leg was tangled in his own. Trusting him, this monster of a creature, with her safety. Her body. Her blood. Something in her told her to go against instinct, if she even had any, and hand herself over to the very thing she should be running away from. 

The mere thought of her running away from him in terror ripped him apart. 

He had been biding his time for a while, and knew that he wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye. His own throat welled up in a lump at the idea of her hating him for all her life once he left her, leaving a note explaining that their time had been fun but he had to move on or move for a business trip. He’d have to make her hate him, because this tenacious little human would scour the earth to find him. 

Her fiery ways despite her soft demeanor always brought a smile to his face. When she was determined to have something, to see something, she would do it. Sometimes she unknowingly put herself in danger and he had to wonder how she had managed to get on without him before- and it twinged his stomach. How would she get on without him?

His thoughts always turned to her deserving better. If she wanted children, the picket fence, the dogs, the familial dream that everyone spoke about. He could never provide that. The most he could do was be a decent partner, at least trying his very best now despite their undefined relationship. It was clear there was love between them.

Just how much, though, Harry kept under wraps. 

How could he let her know that he counted her breaths when she slept? How he hurt every time he thought about having to move from this place and exist without her? How she had become such a staple in his daily life, that he couldn’t go to the store without thinking about what she would like or scoff at. She had somehow, some way, engrained herself in his very being without his permission. Oddly enough? He felt okay with it. 

He’s had entanglements with humans before. He drank from them when they were in the midst of orgasm, taking what he could without harming, and moved on before the sun rose to try and find someone else. Being a creature like him, sex and blood were the mainstays of the life he was unliving. Y/N had been a one nighter that he couldn’t drag himself away from. They’d met unconventionally, something off his normal routine and had taken him off guard. Somehow it had turned into this. 

Cradling her warm body to his own, the thick blankets on his bed covering them up as he ran his fingers over her back. The city noises and her breathing were a background for the steady heartbeat, only wobbling when he shifted and she clung back to him. His own personal slice of heaven, having her seek him out when he was living in a monotonous hell. Every day had been so black and white before his little human had shattered the glass and threw color on every surface. 

She would always be his favorite memory, his biggest love, and his hardest regret. 

“I wish this could last forever.” His voice was too quiet even for her to hear, kissing over the top of her head a few times. “I would keep you for longer than that.”

[psych3-delic]

Hello! I adore your family AU and I'm curious about the events that led to Charlotte's birth? Did Undertaker manage to bring back R!Ciel in this AU but it was a less public appearance? Also, do Sebaciel and their baby eventually leave the spotlight to live their immortal lives on their own terms?

And if this prompt idea interests you: Since Charlotte's lover is Grelle's prodege, how about her making a big scene of her and "Bassy" being in laws now and Sebaciel dreading it?

In my head, the whole Undertaker thing was over and done with: o!Ciel proved himself once and for all that he was the one knighted by the Queen, and that he was the one performing all watchdog duty.

It also helps that r!Ciel is already dead. To prove one's alive is easier and it proved also that the dead can be manipulated, thus, can be used as an instrument of lies.

The Phantomhive left the spotlight when they departed from London to America to avoid the Great War in 1914. Afterwards, none really knew where they were, or what happened to them. Funtom continue to grow under regional management, but the owner can only be contacted via mail or telegram. Once, taking advantage of the owner not being around, an executive attempted to funnel company's money into his own pocket. A week later, he's found dead in the office. Reason of death: cannot be determined; his body looked to have suffered no harm. Frozen on his face was an expression of utter terror. On his desk was one single Funtom lollipop.

The Reapers was around when Charlottes was born. The whole dispatch, including Grell, William, Ronald (but not Max though, he hadn't died yet) perched outside the manor on tree branches like vulture, ready to pounce. None had expected Ciel Phantomhive to survive; not even Sebastian. A half-blood child between human and demon had never before existed; her warring natures too might yet not survive the outside world. And seeing as demons drain human life forces, it might very well be that the halfling would kill her mother the moment she was no longer in need of a host body.

But then Sebastian emerged from the manor, in his human form but it looked quite off, beastly even if you looked close enough, followed by his dark tendrils... and a baby girl in his arms.

He showed her off to the prowling death gods:

"She's alive," he said, "and so is her sirer. You are no longer needed here, Grim Reapers."

William adjusted his glasses: "You don't know that, Collapsar. Ciel Phantomhive is not yet out of danger." At this, the demon bares his fang; ill winds picked up; the shadows that enveloped the mansion became impossibly darker:

"He is mine. The boy has been mine ever since our contract. Death hath no claim on his soul."

Will and the Demon exchanged a long look. In the end, Will reluctantly ordered the dispatch to call the mission off. One reaper protested:

“But sir…” “There’s nothing we can do now, or do you fancy being snuffed out of existence by Collapsar?” He spared the speaker a look.

When they all left, Ronald get close and whistled upon seeing the baby, and said: "You sure that adorable babes came from your gene, pop?". And Grell just :)) sighed exasperatedly like when you found out your kpop idol bias is getting married.

I also think the dynamic between the Phantomhive-Michaelis and the Reapers would be like:

Will on a mission in the midst of London > feeling something tugged at his leg > Look down and see Charlotte being tearful mouth quivering: "I lost my papa and dada, Mister. You're their friends right? You're around all the time" > Will reluctantly returned the demon child to her demon parents 🤣

So yes, when they met again in 2020s, there there isn't a lot of animosity left; just a sort of playful annoyance (?)

As I have said before, Max initially hated this grown "Lottie" because of his prejudice against demon and his perception that she deceived him somehow. They had an enemies to lovers arc. The moment it started to shift more toward "lover", Sebastian was horrified. The "Sebas-chan" still makes him shiver even to this day 🤣 meanwhile, Grell is just behind Max giving him (terrible) date gifts ideal and trying to match make.

[dandelion-wings]

PLEASE share those extraneous details you cut from the Lisa whump we need the lore/headcanons

I liked a lot of them, so, sure? XD A lot were embedded in other parts, so I'll post those parts in full with the extra/parentheticals highlighted.

First, not parentheticals, just the easiest things to chop out of a section that was already prose-heavy when I was trying to also convey urgency. Also a potential theme (learning vs. teaching) that I found interesting enough to chuck wholesale into my fic ideas document for later exploration:

"So when Alice designed her Theater, there was enough resin in it for this to revitalize? Like a tree in a Domain?" Jean asks. Even in the midst of the calm that she refuses to let become terror, Lisa feels a spark of pride. She may not be Jean's teacher in the way she is for Razor and Klee, but seeing someone untutored make connections between the information they're given and what they already know will always give her the same joy. "Yes," she says, in the same tone she would to one of those students, "very good.

and

Two years of helping seal Hermanubis, over and over, until it stopped breaking through to overwhelm Cyno and he could develop his own control. She'd done a great deal of research in those two years. Along with all the other learning she'd been doing at the Akademiya, of course. Sleeping two hours a night, working through every meal, walking about with a book in hand so as not to lose a single second in which she might be able to absorb more knowledge.... An unsustainable pace, but one she had sustained for longer than might seem humanly possible. Even then she had eventually burned out. (She sees herself in Jean, sometimes, young and determined and convinced that if she just keeps going, eventually she'll reach the breakthrough point where all the hard work at last becomes *easy*, and all that sacrifice is redeemed by what she gains.) Only after that catastrophic emotional crash had she learned the joys of relaxing, the delights of taking it slow. And the satisfaction of teaching, so much more rewarding than all that learning had ever been. The pursuit of knowledge requires constant sacrifice; *sharing* knowledge demands nothing, only doubles what is given. She had left her notes for Cyrus when she left the Akademiya, and he and Cyno far surpass her now in their expertise on this subject.

I had a whole thing going about "Vision users die young," based in part on a lore theory that I think I picked up from @chrysoula about Vision-users being (ultimately expendable) ways for Celestia to control/process elemental power, but also 50% a dig at the Genshin devs for refusing to give me any playable Beefy Grandpas or Tough Old Women. I pulled it out because all the references for it were an easy thing to rip for pacing:

Very little magic in the modern era doesn't rely on the elements. Even when scholars speak of "old techniques," they're talking about herbalism, which still involves the elemental affinities of certain plants, or tapping the leylines, which remains an occasional if dangerous recourse for those without Visions but had been much more common when Visions were much more rare. They were, before the Cataclysm. (The Akademiya quietly suppresses discussion of *why*.) But there are even older techniques from before the establishment of the Thrones, some still practiced in Liyue and Inazuma under the guise of traditional healing and martial arts, that draw on another source entirely. Her own lifeforce isn't a price Lisa *wishes* to pay. But it is one she knows how to. And it's one Celestia would always have demanded from her, anyway, for that Vision she's so ambivalent about. (People never seem to notice that they've never met a Vision-bearer who isn't *young*. Lisa has done her best to avoid exerting her power, to avoid paying that price into Celestia's coffers. She doesn't miss the irony now.)

(Jean was predestined to die young the moment her Vision appeared, but she'd been taught long before that to accept it as an honor, if in Mondstadt's defense. She would begrudge Lisa the chance to serve more than she would the risk.) (Lisa was predestined to die young the moment her Vision appeared, and she had recoiled from her fate as soon as she realized that truth. She has no desire to rush towards annihilation, even on Mondstadt's behalf.) (Practically, rationally: if they share the work,  *both* of them have a better chance.)

(I do headcanon Lisa as the oldest Mondstadt character by at least 10 years, but mid-to-late-30s is far from old, just puts her that much closer to this theoretical fate.)

and (from Lisa accepting Jean's aid, which happened after the paragraph above in 1.0--moving that to earlier in the ficlet was the other major revision between it and 1.5, and was the reason I wrote that post about twisting Lisa's arm yesterday. I couldn't make her first thought believably be "fine, I'll do this solo" without upping the stakes with something like "Klee's stuck in that," which is a method I already used in the last promptfic, and Jean volunteering way earlier was IC for Jean and fixed that neatly). This whole bit's cut material so I won't color-code here:

Finally, just a bit of speculative magical (and "we don't talk about this in front of Celestia"-themed) worldbuilding that made this paragraph way too chunky:

Sumeran seals tend to use threes (for Dendro, Electro, and Pyro, they say; not for certain trio in their past), Liyue prefers sevens (all seven elements at once grant stability; certainly, with all the adepti also in that court, it has nothing to do with two ruling gods and five generals), and Inazuma likes fives (they're far too secretive to even give their justifications, let alone the historical context behind). Khaenri'ah was emphatically locked into pairs (too gnostic to admit the world has three parts), and Fontaine has a terrible, unstable tendency to use just one anchor-point (that Lisa hopes will change now that it's nearly wiped them out). Mondstadt doesn't have a sealing tradition in the first place as far as the Akademiya is concerned, but Lisa knows better. What else are the Four Winds?

[witchofhimring]

The True Empress

Part one of "The Six Wives of Sovieshu"

Wife 1#: Navier Ellie Trovi

Note: This one will be the one most similar to canon as her story does not need to be changed for the purposes of this au.

"The girl shall live her life, his majesty shall live his, and I shall live mine." Those were the words Empress Navier Ellie Trovi said to herself when her husband took a mistress. At the time she considered it a fleeting fancy on his part. So she buried her hurt and carried on, secure in her position. No one could have foreseen that in just a few months Navier would lose her throne to the mistress, Rashta.

The Trovi family boosted a long history of Empresses. From the moment of her birth Navier was the latest in this imperial lineup. She would walk through the halls and gaze at the past Empresses, many of whom she shared features with. There was pride mingled with the looming pressure that weighed down on her every day. All their hopes were placed on Navier to perform nothing less than perfectly. For if she did not, how would they see her? Another future Empress might walk these hall, see her portrait, and think "now that is an Empress I should not emulate". The fear would keep her up at night. It was her secret terror, locked away under a façade of calmness.

It was crucial to remain calm. For to be Empress one must obtain full control of their emotions. Every step and breath would be fully monitored. She was both the envy of every woman and the most pitiful creature. “The Ice Empress” was a charming little epithet dubbed on Navier. For all they saw was the collected veneer on top, not the pain boiling beneath the surface. 

It was not an easy journey. Years of self control, abstaining from pleasure others indulged in freely and hard work that drove her to tears was what it took. Every waking moment the looming prospect of her duty loomed over her. Sometimes, when she was quite alone, Navier would look down onto the platform below. Girls with more life in them flitted about with each day bringing a new adventure. Compared to stalwart Navier these girls seemed far more interesting. She remembered the exciting excursions the others enjoyed and how her friends told their stories. People would crowd around them and eagerly listen.

“I’m boring.” Thought Navier.  

She was beautiful, but sometimes Navier felt that was all she was. Just a pretty face to wear the crown who only thought of work. Yet it was who she was, to be dutiful. 

This is not to say things had always been thus. While as a child Navier had been kept busy she still remained a kid. Those early days saw Navier running around with the boy who would be her husband, Sovieshu. He had been her friend and companion. While Navier was not sure she loved him, her heart beat for him. She imagined a future where they ruled together. A future were as Emperor and Empress they ruled over this vast empire.

And that they did, but at a great cost.

All that mattered was the crown. Navier no longer had time to play and indulge in childish desires. Sovieshu did not seem to understand her. Not that he was a lax emperor, but Navier was spurred on by a lifetime of duty beat into her. Every moment of the day revolved around the Eastern Empire. From waking to sleeping Navier had not a moments piece. it gave her a sense of calm when she knew those who came before would be proud. Empresses of the past would be well represented in her. Walking down the hallway Navier would look at the portraits and gaze where her portrait was. One day another empress would look at her portrait and think of Navier's legacy. She only hoped the impression would be a positive one.

In the midst of her duty Navier and Sovieshu saw less and less of each other. At first Navier did not notice. But one day while drinking tea with her ladies, she realized it had been a while since herself and Sovieshu had spent time together. Laying in bed that night Navier mulled over the issue. It bothered her, sending knots tying themselves into a frenzy over the issue. Navier had many virtues. But she found it hard to breach the issue. So Navier kept her silence. And the years went on and the distance grew and grew.

Time passed before they knew it. Not only did they grow older, but they changed in other ways. No longer were Navier and Sovieshu the same children. In fact they were children no longer. They were not even Navier Ellie Trovie and Prince Sovieshu. These days it was Empress Navier and Emperor Sovieshu. Titles were not the only things that had changed. As their duties piles on and the weight of their illustrious positions became unbearable, life changed. And they changed along with it.

Navier and Sovieshu sat apart from eachother on opposite ends of the table. The table was quite long, separating them by more than just a few feet. Navier picked at the last piece of carrot. Forlornly it lay there looking thoroughly unappetizing. On the other side Sovieshu's gaze was on his hand. The Emperors blue ring sat there glittering. Dinners had at some point become akward. One could not say when it happened. Just that one day Navier realized it was there. She wanted to say something, a great many things. Words never came to her, she had never been good at articulating emotions. So they continued to sit there in silence. Neither of them ever articulated their internalized agony. An agony they did not even realize.

 "Your majesty." Countess Eliza was a pillar of stability for the empress. With the doors closing it was just the two of them. "Come, a fragrant cup of tea should sooth you." The Countess Eliza took a pale hand that Navier prayed did not shake. A coldness had infiltrated her body. For once she felt like that reprehensible title, The Ice Empress. When she tried to stand her legs failed. "A mere slave had brought me to this." Navier thought. "His majesty must mere be fascinated that a beautiful woman was caught in his trap. I'm sure this is only fleeting." Countess Eliza may very well be right. Most mistresses stayed for a time before being dismissed. Logically, thought Navier, she should not feel sad. Her position was safe. However, there is more to life. Try as Navier might to create the perfect empress feelings that had nothing to do with position overwhelmed her. Sovieshu had been her life partner yet so easily desired another.

"Countess... my mother told me... that I mustn't be hurt even if his majesty brings another woman to be his mistress. Because it was such a common occurrence, she advised me not to expect anything different from his majesty." Her façade had fallen. A hand fidgeted, tearing at the fine pink silk of her robe. "Even if his majesty has mistresses, they are merely mistresses. I am the empress. And it's not as if his majesty and I are a pair of star-crossed lovers." It was a poor attempt to cover up the pain. A pain that chilled her to the bone. Countess Eliza's blue eyes sadly regarded her lady, her friend. The look sent a shard of pain into her heart. "But....why is it that I feel so hollow inside?" Her voice was smaller. It carried not her usual imperial tone. She was just a heart broken woman at that moment. "In theory I should be fine...." Countess Eliza hugged Navier. An action that at any other time would have been impertinent. But even a woman such as Navier, one who strived for perfection, needed love.

"The girl shall live her life, his majesty shall live his, and I shall live mine." Was what Navier constantly told herself. She was Navier Trovi, of the House Trovi, a line that produced many empresses. And none would steal what was hers. Yet ignoring Rashta was a mistake.

"I'm Rashta!" The woman who would overthrow Navier was unassuming to the eye. Pretty and seemingly innocent, even Navier had to admit that Rashta had a talent for inspiring sympathy. Those wide grey eyes so easily shed with tears. Tears that set Sovieshu against her.

The months dragged on. In the mean time Sovieshu enjoyed Rashta's attentions, and Navier worked herself to the bone. Throwing herself into work Navier continued her persona. The perfect empress. "But I am not perfect. I am boring. It is Rashta they all adored." Tears of frustration nearly arose. Oh how pathetic she felt, upset over a mistress. Naviers ladies had tried to comfort her. For a time she had comforted herself with the notion that at least Rashta would always be held back by her status.

That did not stop Sovieshu from taking Rashta as an official mistress. Laura raged and Countess Eliza lamented. Navier still retained control. Even with the pain and rage licking at her insides. Worst yet, Navier was excepted to participate in what she felt an absolute farce. Working hard was one thing, having to come to a celebration in honour of the woman who stole her husband was quite another. She wanted to scream. Restraint had become an ever tightening noose. Not even cups of fragrant tea banished her grief. Was she to shoulder all the responsibility of the position without the pleasure? Sovieshu had stopped visiting her chamber. Navier, the most powerful woman in the Easter Empire, lay awake knowing her husband lay with another.

Time past in an agonizing crawl. Sovieshu showed her distain, the court laughed behind her back and Rashta was around every corner. Why could the girl not understand that she wanted to be left alone! Unfortunately there was little she could do. Sovieshu let Rashta run amuck with no thought to propriety. And when Navier had dared to bring it up Sovieshu should treat her with coldness. She felt completely helpless.

"A bird?" The light gold feather were illuminated by sunlight. Amethyst purple eyes blinked slowly. When Navier had teached out to touch it, the bird rose. The birds talons gently closed on her finger. Surprisingly light, the bird stood here on her finger. It little head nudged against her and Navier felt warmth bloom in her chest. Noticing a note Navier untied it. Nobles would sometimes sent notes by bird to one another. Who sent this one? "I am a guest from abroad who will soon arrive at the new years ceremony. and I write this not while drunk." For the first time in months Navier giggled.

The first time Navier laid eyes on Prince Heinry she noticed his light golden hair. Illuminated by the sun, Navier was nearly entranced by it. A man with rumors of cruelty and beauty, Navier could attest to the later. For a moment Navier was taken aback by this prince. This was nothing compared to the shock when he knelt down. Extending one hand Heinry extended a hand. His smile brought the most faint of blushes. When he kissed her hand Navier felt the burn. But it was his words that lingered the most. "It is an honour to meet you, My Queen."

The bird that visited Navier was her sole consolation. It was easier to whisper her fears to the bird than courtiers. A bird could not judge her or tell her worries to the world. However her pen pall frequently sent letters and she eagerly replied. It was the only true escape she could enjoy. Navier did not want to worry her parents, and God forbid Kosair find out. Any day now she expected her elder brother to storm in. Most would be happy to have such a brother. But Navier feared what his anger would bring. So consoled herself with this small happiness. The bird seemed to be the only thing that cared for her. Of course her ladies in waiting were a comfort, but there were even some things she could not tell them.

"I think I am very boring." The words trembled as they left her mouth. Tears rolled down her pale face. This was a fear she had not willingly told anyone. Navier might be a Trovi, but what was she outside of that? The golden bird cooed and nestled in her arms. Sad amethyst eyes looked up at the empress. Her thin finger stroked its feathered head. With an aching heart Navier looked at herself in the mirror. Vanity had never been a strong inclination of hers, although this is not to say she was free of it either. Perhaps that was all she was. A pretty face. She had seen the paintings of past Trovi empresses. Almost all of them had blonde hair, many with green eyes. There was nothing that made her stand out compared to them. On the other hand Rashta was unique amongst mistresses. Looking like an angel that fell from heaven itself, she did not seem to posses the hairs nobility put up. Navier, Empress, a Trovi, felt miniscule in comparison.

In the end Navier felt a sort of numbness. Months of pain and sadness had eroded away any true raw emotion. The pain would come later. The past month all Navier could focus on was leaving the Eastern Kingdom and marrying Heinrey. For the final time she donned her red empress dress. Today she looked every inch the empress she was. 'From now on it will be Queen Navier.' Everything felt so strange. And yet, it felt perfectly in her nature. Duke Kaufman had told her that she might break without the title of "Empress". He was right, even Navier had to admit. She had been born to be empress. Now all that would be gone. 'Who will I be in the west?' That was a question Navier could to say for certain.

She walked down the hall of empresses. Centuries of women who lived and died in this court. Navier had always thought of herself as one in a line. Now she was breaking away. Future empresses would not look to her, merely and embarrassing stain on the family. it would hurt later. Soon the grief would come and Navier would feel like she was falling into darkness. Still, she clung to her childhood attachment. She must remain powerful. She was a Trovi and must behave like one. As the double doors open Navier stepped through. From this day on her fate changed.

The Western Kingdom did not have a gallery of empresses. In fact they had never had an empress before. Now, this did not mean there was nothing commemorating past queens. In a private room where the queen could hold a private audience were small portraits lining the wall. Walking around Navier found the last two. Dowager Queen Krista, and Heinrey's mother. 'King Heinrey will have another gallery built.' Navier was only slightly surprised at this. Of course her husband would want to glory of his newly founded empire to be promoted. What Navier did not expect was for it to be in the throne room. 'So I can always see my wive's beautiful face.' Heinrey said. Such affection made Navier burn up with a feeling she did not fully understand.

Being married to Heinrey was not what she expected. Marrying him had been a means to an end for Navier. Although she liked him Navier thought there was nothing beyond that. Long ago she had spurned romance books. A girl, and now woman, had no need to such fantasies. It was hard to read about lovers when that was not her fate. Love was not in sight for her. Perhaps that was partly why Sovieshu's affair had stung so hard. To have him enjoy the love denied her was torture. Always Navier had settled for the hard reality of seeing others fall in love, just never herself.

Strangely, the marriage was not what she thought it would be. Heinrey, with the reputation of a rouge, had surprised her. He was kind to her in ways no one had before. Small touches he need not have done made something flutter in her belly. Like eating something sweet and feeling its enjoyable after effects. She tried to ignore it and go on with her life. There was lots to do and being an empress gave one no time to rest.

If I allowed myself to be drawn in.....

Just a little closer to the love that he's offering me....

I know I'll find myself helplessly attached to him....

And in that dream she was falling down a great pit into the darkness. Light faded away and down she plummeted. Everything seemed to slip away. Images of Heinrey with other women, leaving her danced about in a mocking parade. She knew what would await her in the end, just as it had with Sovieshu.

She woke up the next morning in tears. Unusually Heinley was not there. He left behind a note that Navier could not bring herself to read. "Are you ready to let me in?" he had asked. Despite everything she had no answer. 'What a wretched unnatural woman I am.' Navier looked down at the tears staining her gown.

Her dream was filled with darkness and falling down...down ...down. She would wake up consumed by the greatest fear. Every time this happened it took her a few seconds to realize she was in bed. Rolling over she would see Heinley sleeping peacefully, likely dreaming sweet dreams. At those times Navier would get up and find somewhere to cry in peace. Sometimes she could not get up at all. Placing a hand over her mouth Navier would dry. She wanted to tell Heinley, but she was scared. This was not a part of her to show, even to a husband. Not even Sovieshu knew these dark part of her heart, her soul.

'Navier.' She had been sitting in a chair. The curve of her expanding belly had a book propped up on it. There were advantages to being pregnant. Heinley had returned from another boring meeting. Kneeling before her, Heinley kissed her belly before getting up. 'How is my wife?' Navier's hand caressed the bump. 'Well. Just very tired.' What Navier left out was the reason for her exhausting. While carrying a baby was no small task, it was her dreams that distressed her so. Concerned, Heinley sat in front of her. 'My love.' 'Hm?' Heinley took her by the hands. 'What worries you?' Suddenly Navier felt a chill descend upon her. She wanted to run away and hide where someone could not find her.

'Simply tired.' Navier knew that was a poor lie. 'Please?' She hated it when Heinley took that tone. Because if he took that tone her walls would fall down, and he would see her for what she was. Her eyes were filling with tears till they poured down pale cold cheeks. And soon, Heinley was holding her as she wept and shook uncontrollably.

'Oh my love. My wife.'

She finally told him.

Four years later....

She watched her Heinley play with the children. Sitting under a tree Navier sewed a gown for their newest child. Beside her sleeping was their second child, a daughter. In the sunlight her new family played, for a time leaving behind the cares of this world. Setting down her work Navier picked her daughter up. Wordlessly cradling the baby Navier sighed contentedly. There was a small smile on her face, gentle. She was lucky, so very lucky.

Briefly she thought upon her former husband. A week past there was news from the east. Sovieshu had sent Rashta away. Four years ago Navier would have danced for joy. Those that had used her carelessly were paying their dues. But now she did not care. Not even pity. That was a part of her life separate from this one. Cruelty did not reside in her heart. Just that she had moved on.

In the near distance Heinley turned around. Those beautiful purple eyes met hers. She could see the love. It had taken time, but Navier knew his heart to be true.

She was not afraid any longer.

Notes: This story is the shortest due to her fate being the same as her canon counterpart. That being said I had fun analyzing Navier's character. The title "The True Empress" was inspired by Alison Weir's book for Catherine of Aragon called "The True Queen". I also felt that it is fitting since Navier embodies what it means to be an Empress. But in a way it becomes a hinderance. Navier becomes so wrapped up in her identity as Empress that she ices out Sovieshu (albeit unintentionally) and closes herself off from those who want to help. Both Navier and Sovieshu seem to have problems communicating their feelings. They ice out the other, Navier ignores the situation and Sovieshu boils in resent. They both posses this fatal flaw which destroys their relationship. Sadly Rashta's arrival was the last nail in the coffin. The next chapter, which is about Rashta, will look into Sovieshu a little more. When it comes to him I think he knows what he wants but never is willing to put in the work for it. When they were children it was easy to be Navier's friend. But he was unable to maintain that relationship, partly due to a lack of communication, and having a "have you cake and eat it too" mentality.

The aesthetic at the beginning points out Navier's turmoil and forgiveness (or at least moving on). Several times in the graphic novel Navier's anxieties about not being enough are point out and even after the divorce it is still a sore spot. The olive branch does not signify Navier forgiving Sovieshu or Rashtsa. It represents Navier making her peace with the past and choosing to move forward, which she does at the end of the one-shot.

My next story is going to be Rashta's so if you like this one look out for the next!

[simplybybea]

the development of Goth Janeway

Mini-fic from Season 1 of star trek Prodigy under the cut.

"Okay team,' Janeway stood up and brushed invisible dust off holographic legs and clapped her hands, startling more than one of the crew from their activities. "Now seems as good a time as any for a quick dinner break then we can get right back too it. And before you start saying you don't have time, might I remind you that passing out over a soldering iron is not going to endear you to the Diviner. Food. Now."

Dal glanced over the mess of schematics and in-progress items and half a second suit for Murf to hide in and then registered the tense set of his own shoulders.

"Juet half an hour," Gwyn agreed reluctantly, pushing herself up off the floor and hiding a yawn behind her hand. If Janeway could, she'd order them to sleep as well, but time was of the essence. "And then we get back too it."

A rumbling of assent moved their party to the mess and found them blinking at their plates. Janeway frowned a little at the bleak optimism they were running on and wished, not for the first time, that these kids could take a break. At least she could hug them if they asked now. She wanted to cheer them up, but the real janeway had been in enough tight spots for her hologram to know that platitudes would just irritate everyone. That just left a little fun.

"While we're all here," she mused aloud, a mug of coffee appearing in her hand. "I've been thinking Murf shouldn't be the only one playing dress up. Whaddya think?"

She blinked and her starfleet uniform leeched colour, her hair darkening. She'd read about the original Enterprise's tangles with the mirror universe. Maybe she looked like this over there.

Rok was the first one to truly engage, and squaled excitedly.

"Ohmy you can CHANGE what you LOOK LIKE?!"

"Think of it like changing the layout of a screen," Janeway stood up to show her new black uniform off. "Thoughts? I'm aiming for Evil overwrite."

"Can you change your hair?" Jakom asked around a mouthful of his favourite messy food. "If you're evil you won't have red hair."

Janeway thought a moment, and her hair flickered to inky black, sharply help off her face in a ponytail.

"No," Gwyn pointed a fork at the hair, "it needs to still be you. Put it back in the bun, but the colour's a nice touch."

She complied and made her skin match the faint blue undertones, gave herself more dramatic make up. She was, despite everything, rather enjoying herself.

"Nice," Gwyn nodded approvingly, looking distant and concerned. Janeway assumed it was as to whether the safeguards she'd built in would hold. Whether it would still BE Janeway.

"Not creepy enough," Dal announced, and Murf trilled something like agreement. 'Can't you like... Make your eyes red?"

"Red isn't creepy," Rok said indignantly, looking at her own red-stone skin.

"What about blue?" Zero interjected as Dal opened his mouth to presumably provide evidence to rok as to why red was, indeed, evil. "Given your eyes are already blue, perhaps making them more glowy will help..."

A second later Rok gasped in delighted terror and begged Janeway to return to normal, so clearly the blue eyes were sufficiently creepy enough. In the midst of reassuring Rok that if she saw Janeway like that on the bridge they could assume she was still pretending to be under the diviner's control, she pretended not to hear the little exchange between Dal and Gwyn.

"Janeway does know she doesn't need to do that right?" Dal muttered.

There was a pause before Gwyn replied, "she knows. But she's helping. And I think she's having fun. Rok hasn't been so animated for hours. Besides. It can't hurt."

"She absolutely gets points for those weird creepy eyes," Dal conceded, and turned the conversation back towards planning.

Janeways smiled proudly at the team player he was becoming, at the crew they all were and how far they had come. Good kids.