#is there a ship name for all three of them?

[cressidagrey]

Stars all aligned - Chapter 3

Summary:

If there was one thing that both Azriel and Zahra Archeron had in common, it was that they were both very good at blending into the background.

They just never thought that their family were going to be the ones who never saw them at all.

Warning:

Bashing of like...every IC member? Especially the Archeron Sisters, discussion of chronic pain

(Lovely dividers thanks to @sweetmelodygraphics)

Her father had had three ships. The Nesta, The Elain and The Feyre. 

There had never been The Zahra. 

Of course not. 

She wasn’t truly one of his daughters, was she? 

The ships were reserved for his legitimate daughters. Zahra was a bastard. And bastards didn’t get ships named after them. 

And still…still she had loved him. Loved her father in that stupid way that every child loved their parent. 

She still had yearned for his love, his affection and praise. The praise that only her sisters ever seemed to get.  It was such a stupid, childish thing, she thought to herself. 

And when he had died...it had still broken her heart. Because it had taken from her the...hope. The hope that one day he would look at her with something other than...regret.

He had looked at her with cold distaste, disdain clear in his eyes. Her mother…a common maid, that he had dallied with on a whim during his wife’s pregnancy with Nesta. And she had been the result of that particular choice. 

He had paid the price for it in his marriage, with the woman he had actually loved.

The woman who had hated Zahra…and made it very clear to everyone that Zahra wasn’t wanted or welcome around them. Her half-sisters were beloved. The beautiful daughters of their father. And she was the bastard child. An abomination. 

For Nesta and Elain the years at the cottage had been horrible. They had lost their status in the world, the hope for a match with a man in possession of a fortune.

But Zahra…Zahra had known that she would never marry a man with a fortune. She had hope at all to marry a man from a good family anyway…her options had been thoroughly limited from the time she had been born…because even servants didn’t often want a bastard born wife. 

And after the cottage…

Her options were just further limited. 

Still, she had loved the years at the cottage for one thing and one thing only: She had just been one of the Archeron Girls. 

(Everything else that happened…that was another thing entirely.) 

She had lost that when her father's wealth had been returned...to be thrown back to being a maid, a servant, not a member of the family, but the staff...it had been bitter. And still...still she had hoped. Hoped that one day, her father would...change his mind. Accept her properly as his daughter and not just as...as something he had been saddled with because her mother had died.

But the day never came. He continued to look at her as if she stained the very air around him. As if she was worse than dirt to him.

Maybe she was. 

But Zahra foolishly didn’t give up. She clung to that hope like it was the only thing that was keeping her alive. 

And then he had died. And Zahra had lost that hope.

She had been a fool to hold onto the delusion that one day her father would love her as he had his real daughters.  Such a silly, stupid, little girl she had been. To cling to something that could never be. 

And still, Zahra went and visited his grave. Still, she came there every week and laid some flowers near the headstone...

She never knew why she still did. It seemed….pointless. After all, it wasn’t as if her coming to his grave would bring him. But still, she continued doing it. Every single week. Without fail. 

And this week…this week she wasn’t alone. 

Zahra froze, the flowers clutched in her hands, as she saw them. All three of them. Standing in front of the headstone. Talking amongst themselves.  As if not even noticing that she was there. 

They probably didn't.

"Thank you for coming with me," Elain said softly. “I wanted him to hear it from me.”

"He would be so happy for you, Elain," Feyre said. Her voice was softer than usual, but it was clear that she was happy. "He would be so happy for you and Lucien."

What?

“He would be,” Nesta agreed. “Sad that he won’t be there to walk you down the aisle, but happy that you would be happy.”

Her sister got engaged? And nobody had...nobody had bothered to tell Zahra?

Her breath caught in her throat…the realization hitting her. They didn’t want to tell her…no, they didn’t care if she knew or not. To them…she wasn’t even worthy enough to get an invite for such a thing. They hadn’t…they hadn’t invited her. 

The numbness returned. Full Force.

The numbness she always felt when everything was too much. When all the feelings and emotions got too overwhelming. When she just simply couldn't handle it any longer and her brain shut down.

Numb. 

Numb was good. When she was numb, nobody could hurt her. When she was numb, she could survive. 

Her hand clenched around the stems of the flowers. And then, suddenly, her feet listened to her and she managed to turn around. To turn around and walk away, like her heart hadn't been shattered...like it was completely normal.

Her eyes had glazed over, her mouth was a thin line, but otherwise not betraying any emotion. As quietly as she had walked to the grave…she walked away. Her sisters clearly not noticing the fact that she had even been there, to begin with. 

She returned home to her broken little cottage.

It was probably a good metaphor for her as well, wasn’t it? she reflected weakly. 

That cottage…broken, dirty…a fucking mess. 

Her hands were cold as she clutched the flowers, her heart aching like it had just been pulled out of her chest. And no tears. No tears. Why wasn’t she crying? She wanted to cry. 

She wanted to collapse and sob until she passed out. But no. The feeling of numbness was still around her, like a cloak that just wouldn’t go. The one that always came in situations like these.

It was the only thing that kept her from completely shattering into a million pieces. 

She stumbled through the door, her body moving all on it’s own. She walked over to her small kitchen, and filled a bucket with water. Her hands shook so badly that the water sloshed over the top and on the floor. 

There was nothing Zahra could do against the grime that would cover her for the rest of her days…but she could scrub the floors.  

That's all she was good for, wasn't it? She was a maid's daughter, not a merchant. She would always just be a bastard daughter. Always just be a half-sister, on the edges of her family. 

It didn’t matter what she did, what she had done…what she had given to keep them alive, to keep them fed.

She swallowed the bile back down, forcing herself not to think about what she had done. 

It was over. She should be over it. She should be…

She kept scrubbing the floor, her hands reddening with the harsh lye soap she used. 

Sometimes she wished, she could scrub herself with that as well. 

Why was she even surprised? Was she seriously that stupid? Of course, her sisters wouldn’t bother to tell her. Why would they? She was just a bastard-born daughter. A half-sister. Why would they bother to invite her? 

She was a nobody. She had always been a nobody.

A bastard that no one wanted. That no one loved. It had always been like that. Why did it surprise her now?

Why did it keep hurting her?

A single drop of water landed on the stone floor. Then another. And another. Slowly trickling down her cheeks.

Why did it keep hurting?

She should be used to this by now. Should have gotten used to the pain. But she wasn’t. 

So she kept scrubbing the floors until they were sparkling. Washed off the walls, until they were clean.

She kept scrubbing and cleaning. The floors had to sparkle, the counter gleamed, and the windows shone. 

Something needed to be clean. Needed to be pure. Because it wasn’t going to be her. 

Never going to be her. 

Anything to distract her from the fact that her sisters had just kept her out of a very joyous occasion. Like she wasn’t even worthy of being invited. 

She wasn't worthy of being invited. She should get that into her thick skull. 

She kept cleaning. She cleaned the floors and the walls and mopped and dusted and did her laundry.

She wondered if Azriel knew. The thought came unbidden to her. Did Azriel know that Elain and Lucien were engaged?

She had to stop the scrubbing and she was clenching the brush so hard that her knuckles had turned white. 

Did Azriel know that Elain was engaged? Elain? The one he had...this flirtation with? The flirtation that Rhysand must have put an end to, because nothing else made sense?

She understood completely why Azriel had fallen for her sister…for beautiful Elain. Who didn’t love her? Who didn’t find her beautiful? Elain, who could be sweet and kind to seemingly everybody she came across. 

Zahra looked at the clock she kept in the kitchen. 

There was a family dinner this evening at the River House, just like there was every week. She was expected to attend. Of course, she was. 

Granted, most of the time that meant that she sat through Nesta’s pointed comments and was otherwise ignored. 

But if Azriel didn’t know…she didn’t want him to be alone when he found out. 

Though, maybe he already knew…just Zahra didn’t. 

She didn't believe that though. He would have told her. She was certain of that.

He was a good man. There was no doubt about that. 

She glanced over at the clock, her hands clenching on the brush. 

Zahra had 2 hours. Just enough time to bake a cake to bring along and appear there...to pretend like her sisters hadn't broken her heart.

Two hours to pretend that her heart wasn’t shattered to a thousand pieces. Two hours to act as if she hadn’t been just completely left out. Two 

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. No tears. No tears.

2 hours to act like everything was well.

2 hours to pretend that everything was alright. That she was fine. That her world hadn’t just shattered into pieces. Two hours to shove all the pain to a little corner and not show anything at all. 

She could do that. 

She had done that before. 

***

Azriel would have realised that something was off with Zahra far quicker, if his hands weren't trying to kill him that day.

It was hit or miss if Azriel’s had feeling in his hands at all...and that day...they decided to be far too sensitive. The weather wasn't helping. Velaris had had another cold snap a few days ago and Azriel paid the price.

The bones in his hands and fingers ached, the nerves on fire. The cold had settled deep in his bones and there was nothing he could do to alleviate the pain. It was rubbing his nerves raw.

He had even considered not showing up for dinner at well...but he didn't want Zahra to face the rest of their family alone. 

Granted, most of the time, they just ignored them both…but sometimes they didn’t. 

And when they didn’t ignore her, well, then sharp comments were the norm and quite frankly…he was over it. For both Zahra and himself. 

His temper was on a far shorter tether than normally. 

His fingers were aching and burning. He never wanted to touch anything ever again.

He tried to ignore the pain. It was only a few hours. He could push through for a few hours. 

The first thing that should have told him that something was wrong was the bright pasted on smile on Zahra's face. It was...too much.

The smile on her face was too tight. Too forced. Not like her normal, natural smile.

Something was wrong. He could sense it. 

And then Elain showed off her ring.

The engagement ring. She and Lucien were engaged.

He saw Zahra’s face freeze for a split second before the smile was back to being plastered on again.

“I wish you two every happiness,” Azriel said softly. He found that he was even saying the truth. He was wishing them every happiness.

And this was what they all wanted him to say. It would hopefully get Rhys off his back as well.

Now, that wasn't that difficult, was it? Rhys drawled in his mind. Azriel was half tempted to reach for his shadows and wrap them around his brother’s throat.

But he refrained himself from it.

He was glad that they were happy. He truly was...but Rhys’s smug voice in his head was not something that was appreciated at all.

He could practically feel the shadows twitch with annoyance. But he held back from doing anything...stupid. 

You got what you wanted, Azriel gave back, his voice icy.

Indeed I did, Rhys drawled back. Azriel could practically feel him leaning back in his chair, smugness seeping from his voice.

Azriel very much wanted to strangle him. 

But he didn’t. Because quite frankly…he was more worried about Zahra. Zahra who hadn’t said a word yet. Whose smile was far too tight, her eyes dull. 

Like a mask that was pulled over her face, hiding whatever laid beneath it. 

Something was definitely wrong with her. 

But nobody but him seemed to notice it. 

Especially not when Zahra was very good at making the mask as enthusiastic as Mor on her best days. 

“I am so happy for you! Congrats!” she gushed to Elain. “I hope you have a long and happy marriage.”

“Yeah, because you absolutely respect the sanctity of marriage,” Nesta muttered under her breath, low enough that Azriel nearly wouldn’t have caught it, if the shadows hadn’t snapped it up. 

The sanctity of marriage? From where was that coming from?

But then Zahra continued, her voice too high pitched. Way too cheery. Not like how normally she spoke. But no one else seemed to notice.

Her words were clearly fake, but no one but Azriel seemed to notice. 

"I know Father would be so pleased for you," Zahra continued, Nesta snorting under her breath and making a face like she had bitten into a sour lemon. Elain's face seemed to nearly freeze but Zahra just continued smiling brightly.

Even the mention of their father would usually cause Zahra to falter slightly…but today she didn’t even skip a beat. The smile stayed on her face, even as she continued to speak. Her voice was far too cheery, it was almost painful to listen to. 

Azriel glanced around the table at his family. None of them seemed to notice how...off Zahra seemed. Her cheerful voice and her overly bright smile.

How come no one else noticed? How could they not see how obviously fake she was acting? 

But then, nobody really cared, did they?

The rest of the family dinner was taken up with talking about Elain and Lucien's upcoming nuptials, an nothing else seemed to matter to them at all. 

Nobody gave them a second glance either when Zahra said her goodbyes and he followed after her, minutes later.

He caught up to her on a bridge crossing the Sidra. "Tell me what's wrong," he demanded sharply.

"Nothing is wrong," Zahra said, her voice, smooth and bubbly. He would give it to her: She was one hell of an actress. It was near imperceptively how well she was lying. But the dead look in her eyes gave her away.  "My sister just got engaged, what could possible be wrong?"

"Don't lie to me," Azriel bit out. “I can tell something is wrong. Now tell me what it is.”

His patience was fraying at the edges.

"What's wrong with your hands?" she shot back. "You have been clenching and unclenching them continuously."

“They hurt if it rains,” he gave back tightly. “Now you.” 

She stared at him, obviously not having expected him to actually answer that question. 

And then Zahra crossed her arms, nearly hugging herself as he had seen her do often, whenever there was something…something that brought up memories she didn’t want to think about. 

“Feyre, Elain and Nesta went to visit our father’s gravestone. I wasn’t invited," Zahra whispered, not looking at him. She kept walking, staring down at her feet. Clad in leather shoes that had already seen much better days.  

He could just stare at her. 

"You...you weren't invited?" He repeated back, stopping on the bridge.

She was their sister. And they had just not…not invited her? 

“I went to lay flowers there this morning, and I saw them,” Zahra said thickly. “Elain told him about her engagement….All three were there. I wasn’t invited.” 

He clenched his hands into fists again, the pain returning to them with a vengeance. 

“It’s fine, it shouldn’t hurt me," she said thickly. "They are his daughters. He had three ships named after his three daughters. And then there is me."

He was still trying to process her words. "It’s not fine,” he snapped out, anger rising in his chest. How could they just exclude her like that? “You are his daughter as well. You are their sister,” he continued, following after her. “They shouldn’t have just excluded you like that.” 

Zahra just shrugged, her shoulders caving in.

He felt her wobble on her feet and he reacted without even thinking about it. His hand shot out to grab her arm to keep her upright. He held her by the elbow gently to help balance her.

He watched as she continued walking, her shoulders slumped in. Her voice was quiet, like a whisper. “I know where I stand now...right?” 

They both knew it, didn't they? Rhys got what he wanted and was happy about it and how Azriel felt didn't matter...and Zahra...

Their family had never been normal by any means, but he had never thought...no, he had hoped. He had really hoped that they would never leave Zahra out like that. But they had done that this time. Left her out, like she was nothing. Like she didn't matter at all. 

And he hated that realization. He was used to solving problems. But this…there was no solving this. No way that he could fix this mess. 

"How bad do they hurt?" she asked him suddenly, her voice still broken. Or again.

He was surprised by her question, but he quickly looked down at his hands...his hands were clenched into fists, and his knuckles were turning white. He loosened his fists a bit and grimaced.

“Like hell, but I’ll be fine,” he muttered out. 

“Don’t you have a cream or salve from Madja or something?” she asked him, still holding onto his arm as they made their way to her cottage in unspoken agreement. 

“I do,” he agreed with a sigh. “It just doesn’t help much.” Or at all. A drop of water onto an inferno. 

“Let’s go home and try that,” Zahra said nonetheless. “I  have a hot water bottle you can have as well…does warmth help?” 

“It does,” he answered, surprised by how…much she was trying to help. Even now. Even when she had the most horrible day he could imagine…she was still trying to make him feel better. 

Her cottage was sparkling clean that evening…spotless and immaculate. 

The shadows fetched the salve as he sat down heavily at her kitchen table. Zahra returned just seconds later, bandages in her hand. 

He had expected her to hand him both and was startled when she grasped his hand.

Azriel had been expecting her to just hand him the salve and the bandages. He had not been expecting her to actually just take his hand in hers. To not even hesitate. 

To touch the scarred skin like it didn’t even matter.  People flinched back from the scars. they didn't just...He had people flinch away from his scarred hands before. He had never had someone just grasp them in theirs and not even blink at the sight of the scars. 

But she wasn’t done shocking him. Not when she started spreading the salve over his hands, gently and thoroughly.

Her fingers spread the salve over his skin with gentle, circular motions. The salve was warm on his skin and it brought immediate relief. He could feel his hands slowly relax under her touch. 

He felt it more than he saw it at first...though then it became visible as well. Her hands warmed up against his skin, something like a prickling sensation under his skin, but the feeling was....nice. soothing. And then he could just stare at the glowing golden light that radiated from her skin as she cradled his hands.

"Sorry," she apologised meekly, the light stuttering. "Normally it's just sparks."

He was staring, mesmerized almost at the light.

It was only after a moment that he finally processed her words. “Sparks?” He questioned, his voice much softer than usual. 

Zahra nodded. 

Seconds later, sparks started to dance across her skin. Tiny, golden sparks. Like little stars, dancing across her skin. 

“It’s beautiful,” he found himself saying, his voice sounding a bit raspy. He was completely transfixed as he stared at the lights dancing across her skin. 

Azriel had never seen anything more beautiful in 500 years of life. 

It was…utterly mesmerising. 

Only then he realised that his hands didn't hurt anymore.

No ache, no burn, no stiffness. Nothing. It was just...the soft, gentle touch of her hands on his.

"Since when...Since when can you..." he asked, his voice raw.

He could not even form a proper sentence as he looked down at his hands. No stiffness, no ache, no pain. For the first time in years, he was feeling...nothing in his hands. 

He gently flexed the fingers of his hands, curling them. He felt nothing. Just the smooth, pleasant glide of the skin. Not a single throb or ache. Nothing. It was completely...incredible. 

He continued to stare at his hands, still completely and utterly speechless. His hands...the pain he had been dealing with in his hands for as long as he could remember...it was just gone. 

The scars were still very much there. Visible, and the sight of them would always cause his heart to ache. But the pain he had come to know so well...it was gone. 

The scars were still visible, but the pain…

He slowly looked up to her face, still completely, mind-numbingly stunned by what had happened. “How...what did you...? How?” He managed to ask, his voice breathless. 

"What?" Zahra asked him, her voice shaky. "I didn't hurt you accidentally, did I?"

He quickly shook his head “No, no, you did not hurt me at all," Azriel quickly assured her. “Quite the opposite, actually…” He said, flexing his hands again. He still felt no pain.  “They don’t hurt me anymore.”

He flexed and curled his fingers again, watching as they did so easily. No stiffness, no pain. He felt...nothing. 

"The sparks came after the cauldron," Zahra answered quietly.

“The cauldron?” He repeated back. The cauldron. 

Of course. 

"Can't see the future or be pure death, but I do have sparks," Zahra quipped weakly. “Useless, I know.“

No. Not useless at all.

Pure Golden Light. Healing Light. Similiar to Dawn’s gift maybe…but then he saw the sparks still dancing around Zahra and corrected that. 

No. Not similar. Completely unique to her. Cauldron-wrought. 

"No," he disagreed, unable not to stare at her. "Not useless at all, sunshine. You are pure light."

[arttuff]

they make a great bra

[azen13]

Hello

might I request the grass ring for purchase?

A Promise To Keep

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Grass Ring: A small, shoddily-woven ring made from dead grass, containing echoes of childhood promises uttered in a land of frost. Maybe the ring’s maker, after disappearing from the world for three months before returning, acted on those vows.

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CW: Yandere Themes, Kidnapping, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Implied Murder, Blood

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Snezhnayan summers are always brief and fleeting. For only a few weeks a year, gray skies part like curtains to let the smiling sun gaze over every mile of the land of frost. Withered fields of grass sway with new vigor, trees awaken from their winter slumber, and flowers bloom in all sorts of stunning shades and hues. It’s also one of the few respites you have from aiding your father and siblings in tending to the house. With the icy waters bordering Morepesok rapidly thawing, the ship your mother sails has finally docked; with her return comes both the occasional small sack of Mora sneakily smuggled from her pocket to yours, as well as a gentle push to go and enjoy the fair weather while it lasts.

With windmilling limbs, you scramble out the front door into the bustling streets of town, and head off to your favorite place. It’s a little past where the dirt path ends: over a fallen tree, down a ravine, back up the other side, and just to the right of the raspberry bushes. Making your way through the last few trees, you find yourself in a quaint clearing. For a moment, you think the world is frozen in amber–both from the tranquility you feel, and how everything from the tallest tree to the smallest fern is bathed in a gilded glow.

“Hi there!”

A squeaky voice shatters the illusion of permanence and manages to make you stumble backwards until you slam into a sturdy spruce tree trunk. Looking into the tall grass, you manage to spot a single sapphire blue eye, then another. With a rustle, a flame of ginger hair and a grin that could span the whole of Teyvat pops out from the brush, framed by a speckling of freckles. “Who are you? What are you doing here? My name’s Ajax, what’s yours?” The boy practically pelts you with a myriad of questions, eyes sparkling with interest.

You mumble your name in response, eyes falling down in fear and disappointment. You had hoped to enjoy some time soaking in the solitude of this little slice of paradise, but the journey seems to have been all for naught. 

You quickly learn the entire life story of Ajax, who follows you home after you tell him you had gotten lost in the woods. He lives in Morepesok with his large family, he likes adventuring, and he likes fishing with his father. Also, he likes you, evidenced by the fact that he won’t leave you alone.

Tailing from behind, still rambling incoherently about all sorts of things, Ajax doesn’t seem to take the obvious hints that you want to be left alone. “...and the fish we caught was THIS big! A-and me and my dad brought it home, and my little sis–I told you about Tonia, right? She’s my younger sister, she’s about this tall and she really likes…” His mouth is a never-ending river of words that only ceases when you slam the door to your home shut.

Hopefully you can go tomorrow and enjoy the warm summer sun before the chill of winter returns once more.

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He’s there when you come tomorrow again. And the next day. And the day after that, until eventually, summer’s brief stint has faded away, only to return in a year. At least, you think, you won’t have to ever see Ajax until.

How wrong you are.

It seems the boy is practically camped outside of your house, watching your every move. If you’re carrying groceries, he’s quick to sidle next to you and take them into his own hands. He must think he’s being chivalrous, but you disagree. You try to fight the constant barrage, but find yourself crumbling under it after a while. You start answering his questions, asking some of your own, even. He’s not horrible, just a little overeager.

Soon, you’re happy to call Ajax a friend.

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The promise is made on a brisk fall evening, snow and leaves blanketing the ground like a patchwork quilt of white and orange. The two of you sit in a small clearing surrounded by tall grass; you’re reading a book while Ajax breaks blades of grass and fiddles with them in his hands.

“We should get married.”

You frown and close your book. “Why?

“Why not?”

“Because we’re thirteen, your dad doesn’t like me, and my parents think you’re a weirdo,” you say.

Ajax huffs and crosses his arms. He’s pouting, but you can tell it’s just to cover his amusement. You’d both gotten good at that–reading each other like books, able to point out your favorite chapters and lines. “Well we could do it in secret. Or even do it when we’re older,” he says. An epiphanic look flashes on his face, and he snatches a few more blades of grass. Tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration, you watch as he weaves and contorts the grass until they form a small ring. 

With eyes full of starlight, he presents the ring to you. “C’mon, please? Just promise me.”

You sigh and hold your hand out. “Okay, okay, fine. If you’ll stop being so annoying, sure.” Immediately, he slides the ring on your finger, boyish glee dancing in ocean-blue eyes. “Pinky promise?” He demands, holding his pinky finger out expectantly.

Of course Ajax would ask to pinky swear on it. The boy always kept his promises.

“Fine.” You loop your pinky around his for a moment, before letting go. “Now let me get back to reading.”

Ajax only laughs, though his eyes stay glued on you.

You didn’t realize that this was both the last time you would ever see Ajax again, and the moment your fate in life was sealed.

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Days later, you receive the news. Ajax is missing. Supposedly he had gotten lost in the woods. You spent the next few days in a perpetual state of distress, constantly tearing through branches and brambles, desperate to find your friend.

It didn’t take long until he’s found, though not by you. The moment you hear, you race over to his house and knock on the door. Ajax’s dad, however, is the one to greet you. He’s a tall, lanky man with scars that cut through his face and a permanent scowl marring his cracked lips. At the sight of you standing outside his door, his ire only deepens. “Ajax isn’t here. He’s with the Fatui.” 

With that, he swings the door shut and lets it slam only inches from your face.

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Time moves on,  and you let your life take its course. You take up a job planning shipping routes for merchants, and find yourself falling in half-hearted love with a sailor. 

He’s a good man. But he is not the man you love.

Soon enough, encouraged by family and friends, a ring is slid on your finger. It’s a simple band of silver, yet it feels like a chain around your heart.

You accept your life for what it is. That is, until one morning, you wake up to still air beside you instead of a warm body. Unknowing of what has actually happened, you get up quietly and begin getting ready for the day. 

After putting on some clothes, you go to the small foyer of your little home, ready to go down to the docks and start working. But when you swing open the door, dull blue eyes as deep as the sea meet yours, a monstrous grin splitting a stranger’s face open. “Aw, it’s been so long! It’s so good to see you.” The man walks past you into your home as though he’s lived there his whole life. As he walks, you notice he’s trailing something in behind you.

Blood. It’s blood. When he turns back to face you, you notice droplets of blood speckled on his cheeks like freckles. He’s still smiling.

“Get out of my house,” you say.

“Or what?”

You hesitate. It’s not like Morepesok has an official police, or even anything close to a militia. “Or I’ll scream.”

The stranger’s smile melts away like snow under the sun, and he steps closer to you. “Don’t you remember who I am?” He asks. 

At the sight of you shaking your head, and you taking another step away from him, the stranger tsks and stalks forwards. A hand moves forward, so fast all you can see is a blur of motion before it captures your jaw, claims it. Its fingers force your face forwards, straight into those storming eyes. “What a shame,” the man sighs, his other hand slinking behind your back. “We made a promise, darling.”

His words shoot like icicles into your heart, rendering you speechless for a moment. “A-Ajax?” You murmur, body beginning to fall limp. The only thing holding you upright are his hands, firm against your skin.

Ajax smiles, but it isn’t a sweet smile of summer innocence. His smile is jagged and icy, full of frost. “It’s me,” he confirms. You can vaguely see mirth swimming in his eyes, as though he thinks you’re so shocked to see him, so elated to know he’s still here. But in truth, you’re terrified. After all, it’s not exactly a challenge to make the connection between the blood on Ajax’s cheek and your missing husband.

“Did…did you?”

“Come on, darling,” Ajax responds, sweeping you off your feet into a bridal carry. “We made a promise, didn’t we? And you know how the saying goes.” The man chuckles quietly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “We made a promise. And you broke it.” For a moment, you feel fear unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. “But don’t worry. I know that you didn’t want to marry him. You were waiting all those years for me, weren’t you?” He presses another kiss to your head, holding you closer.

You try to speak, but Ajax shushes you. “Don’t worry. I’ll show you what real love looks like.” With a steady gait, he begins walking outside, looping around your home to where a carriage is waiting. Gently, he brings you inside and deposits you on a bench. His eyes are full of hunger.

“That’s a promise.”

[respectthepetty]

Pride Petty Watch (SOTUS) 4/5

I'm watching the blacklisted shows I was supposed to watch during Pride: Love in the Air, The Untamed, and my (former?) sworn enemy, SOTUS. I've made it halfway through SOTUS (first, second, third), and barely remembered EVERYTHING about this show once I hit episode nine, so now I'm hauling ass through the remaining episodes because Arthit is wet, stressed, and sexually repressed (just how I like my men), and I know what's coming. The Obama 'Hope' poster can't save him now.

Barack, we're really in the angst era now, and I'm living for it!

Kong has been in his feelings all day that Arthit likes a girl, but the sex gods have thrown him a lifeline in the form of crappy plumbing. Before crappy plumbing was invented and pipes starting bursting, how were the gays forced to sleep together in the same bed? Plumbing was a huge plot porn in porn, so I don't think we give it enough credit for helping people get laid.

And, of course, the first thing Kong does once Arthit is in his apartment is he feeds him, so he can get lectured about his baby taste, and he gives him pink milk to signal that the BL part of this BL is about to explode!

We done been knowing that Kong wanted all of Arthit's attention which is why he is constantly pissing Arthit off (itty bitty masochist is a problem if he doesn't have someone controlling him), so I'm glad he confessed to that quickly and without shame.

Since I'm watching this show through a kinky lens rather than strictly a BL one, I truly don't think Kong realized he had feelings for Arthit until he was asked. I think that up until this point, he just craved the punishments and the attention that came with it, and now that'he is being ask if he likes Arthit, he is slowly understanding that he actually does like Arthit and not just what Arthit does for him (punishes and controls him). I am so fucking invested!

I'm not being ridiculous about this either because Arthit tells Kong to stop smoking, and Kong simply says that he'll stop. Kong needs this kind of attention. He needs to be told what to do and punished when he doesn't. The way King dresses tells us that he likes structure. He only has a few items in his fridge. He likes order. As messy as Arthit might be, he is great at providing Kong exactly what he needs.

Ten episodes in and I am losing my mind over this show! I know I did not have this much fun with it the first time around, and even though those first eight episodes were stale, these past two are checking off all of my favorite things: not-date date, forced proximity, sleeping confession, AND ARTHIT IS AWAKE! This show walked, so the bed scenes in The Time of Fever and The On1y One could run.

And now Arthit is avoiding Kong! I am being fed so damn well with this episode. This is peak cinema! And to make it all better, Arthit is in Kong's phone with a little sun next to his name because Arthit is warmth to Kong, yet giving him the cold shoulder now. The beautiful irony!

Perfect time for my ghost ship to pop back up! M looks so hurt that Kong won't tell him what is wrong! He is even more bothered that Kong wants to be alone and is snapping at him. Even if these boys couldn't be romantically together, they really are good friends.

As a fellow slut, my answer to this question has always been "more than 100, less than 1,000' regardless of the actual number (because who can remember?), so Tuta is answering exactly how all queer sluts answer, and I have never felt so represented in a BL in all my years of watching them.

TOPTAP! Now that I remember watching this show, I know I didn't see this interaction as queer the first time around, but now . . . I think Arthit had stronger feelings for Jay rather than Namtan. And this isn't a Kong x M ghost ship kind of thing either. There is tension in this scene, and it's radiating from Arthit.

Namtan is scary because she sat there for FOUR HOURS and now that Jay finally showed up yet completely forgot their three-year anniversary, she just keeps smiling through the entire exchange. Girl, stop that creepy ass behavior! Just grab a knife and stab him already.

I'm upset that Namtan basically called Arthit just to complain about her boyfriend, but I love that Arthit has turned this shit show of a conversation around and is now complaining swooning about Kong being an itty bitty masochist who keeps provoking him as a means to get his attention.

Arthit is sooooo close to the truth here. Kong does want to be a pain in Arthit's ass in more than one way. Arthit isn't imagining this. Kong actively wants it and has made that part clear.

I do not like Namtan. She needs to go worry about her failing relationship and leave this emerging bisexual alone because pink IS Arthit's color, and this pink milk business is the perfect metaphor for his (repressed) queerness since some people are chill about it and others like Namtan always got some dumb shit to say about how they don't expect it from him. Queerness comes in all shapes and sizes, Namtan!

Lord, now he is hiding behind the curtain while he basically tells Kong that he will continue to avoid him for the rest of their lives. This is so delicious! I cannot believe I had to make it through eight whole episodes before I got to the good and juicy center of this story!

Arthit opened this can of worms when he asked Kong if he had feelings for him. Before that, Kong was just going along with whatever because he simply liked the way it felt, but now he realizes what those feelings mean, and boy oh boy, I'm having the time of my life!

AND NOW KONG IS TAKING OFF THE STRING BRACELET! Tian from The On1y One and Kong are the same text but different fonts. Nerds and their fucking string bracelets are out to get me in my feelings. Alexa, play Ariana Grande's "One Last Time" so I can cry while I dance!

Okay, Ms. My Love Mix-Up, I know this is Kong's name in Thai but . . .

It now looks like a "W" since she has used it so much which means it's an upside down "M" and if that was intentionally, that is genius of the show. Props department earning its paycheck!

I believe 2016 was still during Off's "dark days" (when he was kind of a jerk), so having his character constantly being the one to scream "fag" is really doing something to me. I don't even understand Thai, but I just feel like he is saying this with too much enthusiasm for my liking. I know it's a character, but if I had tried to rewatch this show before Cooking Crush and The Trainee came out this year, I would've walked away with some grudges against Off, the actor. I'm going to sit in this feeling for a bit.

Kong threatened to make Arthit his wife and now Tuta responds to Bright's homophobic comments by stating he will make Bright his husband. I do not like the implications or that a product placement has been roped into this. This is not the vibe, and I would like to return to my angsty homphobe-turns-into-a-homo plot immediately.

Yes! This is exactly what I need! Kong sitting alone in the place he was punished by Arthit and thinking about those moments fondly while Arthit is experiencing a crisis as he is being questioned if he likes girls or boys. This is how you do flashbacks people!

I wrote briefly before during The Eclipse that the pink milk in this show was an entire character all on its, but rewatching this show has really made me appreciate just how well done all of this was. The conversation with Knot is about pink milk but the pink milk has been the perfect symbol of Arthit's queerness at every angle. He doesn't really hide drinking it because it's just part of him, but once his friends (the people he think accepts him) start commenting and teasing him for being a guy who likes it, he starts to hide it, and even when he tries other things, he doesn't like them as much as he likes the pink milk. I guess we needed the first eight episodes to lay a solid foundation, so I could be losing my mind in the last half.

The way these two best buddies are talking about THE friends-to-lovers issue while not naming names has me holding onto the last bit of my sanity. Once the feelings spill out, they can't be shoved back in. It changes things.

(which is why y'all should just get together!)

May getting hit by a ball had me crackling at three in the morning and was exactly what I needed in the midst of all this angst. God, how did this show win me over like this?!

M is giving May the same looks that Home gives Peach in Peaceful Property, which means New is showing the characters' love the same ways, so HOME IS IN LOVE WITH PEACH AND NEW IS PLAYING IT AS SUCH!

Arthit is now thinking about Kong giving him his heart on the beach and let me state it again - THIS is how you do a flashback people!

Kong walked away from the pink milk, so Arthit could have it, and I've never seen a boy look so miserable drinking his queer little drink.

EPISODE THIRTEEN, I NEED YOU RIGHT NOW!

[eyedoeluhn]

Surprise, I think Brocktons celestial forge is handling characters badly. I don’t think the current “main pairing” (used loosely as possible since it’s one date) for our main character, Joe, is good. At all.

Crystal/Joe is at best extremely bland and basically nonexistent in the ideal platonic form of BCF that exists in a plane of perfect forms. In the real world I think it’s pretty creepy and Joe is also a massive piece of shit.

For context, to those uninitiated to BCF Joe is an ‘oc’ based off of a canonical character who is mentioned in one line and never named or expanded on. Specifically he is the man who attended college with Parian and contributed to her trigger by pressuring her to date him. That is a can of worms for another post because my god is this a terrible decision and Parian is handled fucking horribly. But LordRoustAbout has taken it on himself to expand with details on this event.

there’s an attempt to make Joe sympathetic, his perusal of Parian was fueled partially by a total social ineptitude and the spurring of his classmates, and he also found the entire situation harmful and ended up dropping out partially related to this and it tied into his own trigger event. Which….alright, whatever. But this did leave Joe with an aversion to romance and also apparently an incurable inability to understand it beyond bare minimums despite eight million powers related to it. This came up several times as online shipping is a major concern for Lord and thus Joe, but he didn’t have a love interest until Crystal.

The dissolution of New Wave is a major part of BCF. Frequently we have paused to see their points of view on how much of a big deal this is. In short, Joe, in a move at the time was unilaterally acknowledged as really fucking stupid but then he now pretends wasn’t his fault, confronts Panacea after arming the Undersiders for the bank job which went significantly worse for the Wards. He acknowledges he’s the person who did this, then goes on a long rant about what his ‘fanon shard’ has told him and trigger theory, basically bringing up Panacea’s actual father but more importantly the fact that there’s been infidelity within New Wave. This entire conversation is recorded and gets back to them. This is consequentially a huge fucking deal and is also timed just right to fuck over a lot of New Wave’s operations just in time for shit to get serious. So the city is fucking falling apart and basically looks like the Leviathan decided to pop in early with eight million effects, and Crystals entire family (yes including Lightstar, it was bad enough that he moved all the way back just to try and mediate the situation)is actively also falling apart, and these are both directly Joe’s fault. Now, you say, well to be nice to Joe it’s not his fault that Brandish and Manpower fucked or anything. Which is true, he didn’tcause the rift, but he is the one who voluntarily instigated the situation it for literally no reason for what became the worst possible moment, and is now not telling Crystal this.

Joe has met Crystal around three times, once in college, once at an event where she asks him out because he’s so hot and once on a date. The amount of stress Crystal is under as both her family life and her life in Brockton literally falls apart at the seams is pretty blatantly clear. Joe just does not fucking care. He does not find it that weird that he’s lying to this woman to date her about not knowing intimate details about her life or interfering with it. She has absolutely no idea Joe is the fucking maniac terrorizing her city or is the guy who got her cousin locked up for this entire time and destroyed her position as a cape either. She is completely oblivious, which I find extremely fucking weird.

Also this is WORM. Crystal is like, eighteen, nineteen or something like that. The most generous possible aging of Joe is in his early twenties. I think literally every part of this relationship gives me the creeps. I want Joe to stay far away from her.

Oh, and the date chapter produced what for me personally is in the running for one of the worst moments in all of BCF.

What. The. Fuck.

Joe. What the FUCK is wrong with you?

the entire city is a fucking warzone because of him. Until like, five minutes ago, there was active lava flow, giant streaks of frozen land, FUCKING GLASS SHARD CLOUDS. Half the city is under a field that blocks all electrical devices from fucking working, there’s giant craters and the Protectorate, New Wave, PRT, police department, hospitals, and firefighters were all targeted during the attacks so they’re operating at half fucking capacity with a million other problems that are half because Joe didn’t want to use more than one robot (DESPITE SHOWING HE COULD INSTANTLY FABRICATE MORE HIS FIRST OUTING) and half things he could fix instantly but chooses to not, and one hundred percent things directly attributed to him.

So, Brook here is telling Joe about the fact that she is fucking volunteering with multiple groups to raise funds and help the community in this absolute fucking mess that he caused, a completely normal COLLEGE STUDENT (Joe is a fucking dropout) with NO POWERS who is doing MORE THAN JOE EVER HAS to help these people

and his first instinct is to snark that obviously her major is easy.

Joe.

YOU DROPPED OUT. You lazy, malicious piece of shit are going to sit here and give this woman shit for cleaning up your mess. You aren’t fucking funny. You’re evil, frankly, and this entire date pains me to read. This isn’t funny. This isn’t endearing. I don’t feel happy that Joe is being ooh relatable he’s getting snippy. I feel frustrated that he’s avoided any meaningful effort to anything positive and then regards this random person who’s been perfectly nice to him and is frankly an incredible human being with derision.

fuck you joe. Jesus Christ.

[madtnt07]

So today’s lore am I right?

So Now there are three different ship names for Marcel and Ash and I adore all of them (wetter birdies, Redrunners, and Lovebirds) Wetter birdies mainly came from my brain as they are described as more wet and more bird than traditional wet birds.

Redrunners is something my brain also came up with but I think is a common thought and I just think it’s neat because Marcel, being a male cardinal has red feathers and road is really close is mouth sounds to red

And lovebirds is the “official” name from Ven and Sherb but I like to sit here and say “consider”

And ooo ah CMV very good very Sherbverse we got to see our guy and we also know that Rael isn’t dead with the world so that’s probably isn’t the best when Midas is (At least in my brain of brains) creating worlds to fill the dynamics they are missing from the fall of their world and all those who were in it

Today very good, very tasty, very great to not do homework that I really should get back to doing

[creatingblackcharacters]

Would you ever do a lesson on raceswapping characters in fandom? I think prioritizing original and canon Black characters is more important of course, and tbh most of your lessons already apply when writing ANY Black character...I'm just tired of the constant influx of antiBlackness from the pro- and anti-raceswapping people. People who hate it are usually racists who don't want the sanctity of their whiteness challenged, but I've noticed in fandoms that embrace raceswapping more liberally (usually also by white people who think they're progressive for drawing a canon white character with a paint bucket tan and then claim they're a part of some unnamed diaspora in their headcanon) can get very racist very quickly. Ever notice how in some fandoms a white ship will race swap a character to be ambiguously brown and of ambiguous ethnicity, only to make them physically bigger, aggressive, flirty, dominant than they are even in canon? I've seen it happen to characters that are actively characterized as shy/quiet in canon, as soon as you slap on the digital blackface, the whole personality changes in fandom. And even then, people are allergic to specifically BLACK headcanons. So I debate with myself if raceswapping should even be entertained in fandom, especially by white people. At the same time, I've carved spaces for myself with my Black headcanons for characters I know are ambiguously white in canon/race not named but implicitly defaulted to white. This was in a time where there were less Black characters in general, but even now that we have a handful of great stories, they are still talked about so much less, with less content, and even shafted within the canon they come from. I think telling people to just find/create canon Black characters to love is only part of the solution and feels dismissive sometimes (this is not targeted at you), though I agree that it is important to do that also. Most important, even. Sorry for the length of the ask, just something been on my mind and wondered your opinion.

I got a little overwhelmed by the writing of this question, so I'm going to try to break it down to see if I'm understanding you:

What it sounds like you're saying is that when people headcanon a character as Black, they tend to still be racist about it? And this is specifically based on how they make the characters they've headcanoned stereotypical traits, such as aggressive and overly sexual?

And then, you're unsure if you even want characters to undergo this change, specifically by white fans, due to this racism?

I'm a little confused by the end, but it might help me by asking this: what is your solution to the rest of the problem? Like what do you think is the rest of the solution, since you said it's only part of it?

To be honest, I'm not going to take the pleasure of the melanin beam away from myself just because nonblack people can't not be racist. I don't think that's fair to me that I shouldn't experience something I like just bc they can't act right about my existence as a human being. That's a THEM problem! But that's me 🙌🏾 I can understand if there are people that don't do it.

As for what you've said here about the racism itself, you are right. It's part of how Black people are perceived, that they do this. Part of me feels like I already addressed some of these things in all three of the stereotype lessons, just bc people need to see what pre-existing biases- whether they mean them or not- they have in order to know why they're treating these characters this way. How no one can be normal about a Black character being normal lol.

However, I can understand how there could be a more overt, to the point illustration of how the change happens. So that change from their canon characteristics to "aggressive". I'm not sure if it would require an entire lesson on the topic, but I could make a mini lesson on what's occurring. I'd probably just use a visual like I did for the latest lesson (which also addressed the brown bucket character).

[baddest-batchers]

Unexpected Comfort

Tech x f!reader: Sweet and soft Tech goodness, reader is the Batch’s medic. This is a short and sweet little piece that helped me cope with the first panic attack I’ve ever experienced. Sort of friends to lovers if you squint. Mostly proofread.

Summary: You experience a panic attack since joining the GAR as a medic and while it’s not your first, it takes you by surprise. Thankfully Tech, who just so happens to be the one you’re crushing on, is there to help ground and comfort you.

words: 1.2k

warnings: description of a panic attack but other than that this is SFW.

a/n: it’s been wayyyy too long since I’ve posted anything but my life has been pretty awful recently so this ficlet is entirely self indulgent and me just trying to seek some much needed comfort. enjoy! 🫶🏻 @jetii I was inspired by your lovely header images from your fics when I started making one for this.💜

divider: @saradika

Taglist: @jetii @techwrecker @alegendoftomorrow @stellarbit @heiress-prime @scarlettdeclermonts

You aren’t sure what triggered it. That all too familiar feeling of panic begins gripping at your chest while your heart drops into your stomach. Your breathing starts to come in frequent short gasps as the panic settles in.

You fall to your knees with your arms clutching around your middle and lean forward so that your forehead is pressed to the cool metal deck of the refresher. Hot tears begin dripping from your lashes onto the ground and it’s taking everything in you not to let your sobs and gasps for air be heard.

Thankfully Hunter, Wrecker, Crosshair, and Echo were off doing their own thing in the measly downtime they were all allowed while Tech remained onboard the ship to recalibrate the nav system. You had stayed behind with the intention to catch up on some much needed rest since the last mission had you running on only six hours of sleep and three ration bars in the last two rotations.

You attempt to soothe yourself with the deep breathing exercises you had used in the past any time this all-too familiar feeling of panic began to creep in. But this time it wasn’t helping as much as it usually does and your breaths start turning into hyperventilating.

Bringing a hand up to cover your mouth so as not to alert Tech of the state of panic you were in, you bit down hard enough on the back of your hand to nearly draw blood. You knew as the team medic that you’d definitely be bruised in the morning but that didn’t matter much at the moment.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your tears forming little pools where they had fallen onto the floor as you sucked in another desperate breath. The sound that accompanied it was muffled by your hand pressed against your mouth but it nonetheless came out louder than you wanted. This only made the hyperventilating worse and you couldn’t keep the sound of you drawing more rough breaths into your lungs from reverberating against the walls of the refresher.

Sobs wrack your crumpled form and you can’t hold them back any longer, the force of them causing you to breathe in sharply. You prayed to the Maker that Tech was too engrossed in his recalibrations to notice but your prayer must have fallen on deaf ears because there was a soft knocking sound against the door.

You hear Tech call your name, slight urgency apparent in his voice but you don’t want him to see you like this.

“I-I’m fine! Just l-let me be, please, Tech.” You choke out against the floor. You tighten your hold around your middle in a bid for some kind of control, hoping desperately that the panic will start to subside, but the feeling only persists.

“You do not sound fine. May I come in?” Tech asks, his hand hovering over the door panel.

Your only response is another choked sob and another sharp intake of breath.

Tech swiftly overrides the lock on the door and as soon as it slides open he’s kneeling down beside you. He tentatively places a hand on your shoulder while the other reaches under your arm and gently pulls you into a seated position on your knees.

Your face is blotched red, your eyes still leaking tears and you still haven’t stopped hyperventilating. The feeling of passing out is creeping further and further into your field of vision before Tech firmly but gently grasps your shoulders.

You don’t want to look him in the face. The mere thought of him feeling sorry for you was enough to make you squeeze your eyes shut again. You lower head between the two of you, the top of your head nearly touching Tech’s armored chest.

“Look at me, cyare. You are safe, we are all safe.” Tech assures you. One of his hands finds your back and he’s begun rubbing slow circles against the fabric of your shirt. His other hand finds your chin and tips your face up to look at him.

“I will repeat again that you are safe, as am I and my brothers.” Tech’s eyes are sincere and you’re finding that his mere presence is grounding you, let alone his gentle touch.

You’re no longer hyperventilating, your breathing to starts to slow a bit but the tears are still freely falling down your cheeks. You sniffle and nod your head while letting a choked sound escape past your lips.

Tech watches as another tear slides down your cheek and moves his hand to swipe it away with his thumb while his palm cups the side of your face. You lean into his touch, your hand coming up to cover his against your cheek. Tech’s presence, while grounding and calming, makes something in your stomach flutter. You can’t help the slight blush that’s begun coloring your cheeks while his hand is still pressed gently to the side of your face.

You close your eyes and attempt to take another deep breath. It comes out shaky and a little choked but it’s a whole lot better than it was just a few moments ago.

“I’m sorry you’re seeing me like this.” You finally say between sniffles.

“There is no need to apologize. Panic attacks occur in more than thirty-five percent of humans.”

“True.” You offer him a small smile, your eyes finding his again. You know Tech is aware that you’re already knowledgeable of that fact but it warms your heart to see that he’s trying his best to reassure you.

“Comforting me must be a little out of your comfort zone though.”

“You might be surprised to know that it isn’t. My brothers used to suffer from them quite frequently when we were cadets and I was usually the one to help calm them.” Tech replies without missing a beat.

His hand falls and clasps yours that’s resting on the top of your knee. You avert your gaze from his, searching for something on the refresher floor to focus on as heat rises to your face yet again.

“Oh, I didn’t know that. But somehow that makes a lot of sense.” You admit softly, your voice coming out a little hoarse.

Your gaze shifts to Tech’s hand covering yours in your lap then slowly back up to his face. His expression is soft and your eyes linger on his lips a half second longer than they should before closing them and shaking your head.

You know you shouldn’t expect Tech’s kindness and concern to mean anything more than just that. But the hope has already settled in your chest and the longer his hand lingers over yours the deeper it’s roots take hold.

Looking back up at Tech you offer him a small but sincere smile.

“Thank you for helping to ground me. I truly appreciate it…and you.” You say finally, silently hoping he gets the message that you are thankful for him in more ways than one.

You hesitantly turn your hand palm up in your lap so that your fingers interlace with his.

“You are most welcome, cyare.” Tech says just before leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

[hehearse]

do you have a tag for han sooyoung/kim dokja/yoo joonghyuk art?

the tag is yoohankim! but i tend to put ship tags when it's Clearly A Ship Art... if you want anything with the three of them, your best bet is to just search all three of their names! as long as all three are of some. weight in the art. their name tag will be there !

[batchilla]

my life fell apart

Hello all. You read the title of this post. I won't have time to write much for... a bit. I am coming back, things will be completed, but I doubt I'd be able to post till mid next week or the next two weeks. So. Something from a WIP to tide you over: AUTHORS NOTE This is a prequel story to the most married divorced couple focused on Jason’s time as Robin. He is therefore a child, as is the reader. It can also be read as a stand alone. It takes place over a few years, with them being 11ish here. Jason is NEW to the role, and will end the series around 15. For no particular reason. Divider made by @super-marvel-dc

The first time you were rescued by Robin was not your first time being kidnapped. It was the twelfth. You were fast closing on the Gotham record. You hoped not to break it. You will. It always seemed to play out the same. Your mother’s position as a judge in Gotham had some low level goon decide that the best way to help their buddies escape was to hold you hostage. You were just grateful she had never sentenced anyone more serious than Mr Camera. It hadn’t gotten any easier. Your head hurts. You’ve been tied to a plastic chair for the better part of the day, in a hot, dark, shipping container in the warehouse district of Gotham.You’ve been wedged unceremoniously between a set of crates, which gives you something to kick in frustration if nothing else. You kick the crates. Nothing changes, except now your foot smarts.  You are so thirsty. You figure theoretically someone is nearby, and you could call out for water - maybe you’d get it.

You don’t trust anything these people would provide. You know, on one level that it’s stupid. They aren’t trying to kill you. They probably wouldn’t poison or drug you. Perhaps it is less distrust and more foolish pride that prevents you from making a noise. You don’t care to examine your inner motivations while you’re waiting for the Gotham police to show up. Which … typically took a day. Or Two. Three, if the freaks of Gotham decided to cause problems on purpose more than they typically did.

Except… you heard a startled cry from outside. Then a thud. Another thud. A man’s scream. You go tense. Perhaps whoever your mother was putting on the stand was a more frightening figure then you’d thought…

But then the door is kicked in with a ringing din of a boot meeting metal. The light blinds you momentarily, your vision returning in silhouette first. A caped figure, around your height, is standing in the entryway and now moving at speed towards you.

You blink as colour returns to you. Red, Green, Yellow.

Odd. You didn’t claim expertise in the Batman’s protege. But you were pretty sure he was a grown up at this point. Not a boy your age.

“Robin?” You ask groggily, as he kneels to untie you. “Don’t worry.” He looks up at you with a grin that would shame the light of a supernova. “I got you.”

He helps you to your feet, and brings your arm over his shoulder to keep you upright and guide you to the door.

A distant siren has you turning your head to see the Gotham PD coming into view - you try not to be miffed they showed up to arrest Robin so much faster then they came to rescue you.

You turn to Robin as you feel him leaving your side, and see what must be a smoke bomb hit the ground.

When it clears you can still see him running down one of the many long corridors between warehouses as fast as his legs will carry him.

A police officer touches your shoulder, and you look away. You hadn’t gotten a very good look at him… but you were pretty sure he lived up to the name of boy wonder.

[incorrect-poolverine-quotes]

Wade: Here’s a fun Christmas idea. We hang mistletoe, but instead of kissing, you have to FIGHT whoever else is under it.

Scott: Wade no.

Logan: Mistlefoe.

Scott: Don’t encourage him

[queseresere]

It is funniest if Martyn objects to the marriage and still ends up here the next morning.

[earthfluuke]

Fuck with Pennhung? NaiWhite is coming for you. HOME SCHOOL (2023)

[incorrectpokechampionquotes]

Wallace: Hi, sorry I'm late! I was doing some chores and got distracted.

Steven: I'm "some chores".

Winona: And I'm "got distracted".

[rebelsafoot]

this trend Also could have worked for foreman, cameron and chase

[renonv]

Pov: you are Francis stuck on a long carriage ride with your freak friends (good for them)