#like she doesn't want him to watch her die one way or another but she's not about to turn away from him either bc that would just

[lavender-twilight23]

It’s been about an hour since I walked out of the theater from seeing Thunderbolts* for the third time (this time in 3D), and I can’t stop thinking about this film, I’m so obsessed.

This movie has SO much rewatch-ability, I will die on that fucking hill forever. In the past 6 days, I’ve seen it three times, and it’s only gotten more enjoyable/emotional with each watch.

ALSO, now that I know the story and I know exactly where it’s going and I can stop digesting the plot like I would on a first watch, I can focus on other things and try to seek out smaller details that make small (and big) moments THAT much bigger.

It’s the small things that MURDER me.

Anywaysssssss here are

DETAILS THAT I NOTICED ABOUT THUNDERBOLTS* IN THE THIRD WATCH

SPOILERS!!!

(mostly Bob not gonna lie lol)

Not necessarily in any order. (And I will probably make separate posts for a lot of these once the movie comes out on digital/Disney+ and I can make high-quality gifs.)

In the attic scene in Bob’s shame rooms, when Yelena is slowly approaching Bob, Bob is silently breaking down and trying not to cry. As Yelena comes nearer, Bob keeps looking back at her, then looking away again, almost doing a double take to see if she’s still coming closer. Then when Yelena sits down by him, Bob has head fully turned away from her with his hair draped over his face because he doesn’t want to cry in front of her 🥺

Another thing about the attic scene, when Yelena reaches forward and lays her hand on Bob’s wrist to provide some physical comfort, the movie hangs on that shot for a LONG time. With NO dialogue. On a third watch, I realized how long that shot feels, and it’s so beautiful, I LOVE that choice to let the moment BREATHE. They let the emotion of the moment and of Bob’s trauma weigh heavy on that one shot, with Yelena watching him intently and Bob turned away, trying not to cry.

In the scene when Val is talking to Bob after he wakes up, Bob is understandably pretty apprehensive and scared around her, right up until Val calls him perfect, and Bob visibly responds positively to that. I think he does repeat her compliment to himself, but he has a physical response to that as well.

There are multiple points in the movie where Bob gets a compliment and his behavior and demeanor IMMEDIATELY changes, and he's like a little kid being praised. And it's really sad imo to think about WHY. He had a very abusive childhood and he's had a really hard life, he probably doesn't hear compliments very often at all. He is so deprived of compassion and love that he will respond to ANYONE that will give him compliments and speak highly of him, EVEN when it's manipulative. I think Val notices this and feeds off of that.

4. One of the many acting moments that I LOVE in Thunderbolts* is when Bob and Yelena are having their first conversation in the vault, Bob says that he’ll just stay behind. Yelena counters and says, “No, you’ll die down here.” Then Bob continues and admits that he’s fine with that and says some other depressing shit, and there’s a split second in Yelena’s face where she realizes that he’s not joking and is 100% serious, and for a second, she looks almost heartbroken, like she’s just realizing that “whoa, hold on, this guy is really depressed.” Florence Pugh KILLED with that moment, there’s so much emotion on her face and that sudden realization, and then you can see her processing that.

5. All the way at the beginning of the movie, when Yelena is in the lab, she’s fixated on getting into that one room that needs a facial recognition, and something I realized is that in that locked room, the room where Bob was for the medical study, there are the two ‘Voided’ shadows frozen in place IN THAT ROOM. That detail is there even in the beginning.

6. When Val is trying to get Bob to move the glass of water, he tries and then fails, then backs down and says that he can’t do it. Val compliments him again, a really manipulative compliment, then Bob immediately perks up, tries again, then succeeds.

7. When Bob and Val are talking (again, after Bob wakes up), Val sees her shame room from touching Bob. Then when she returns to the present moment and goes to leave, Bob doesn’t do anything. But it’s only when Val takes the Sentry signet from the en-table that Bob stops her and says he can control it. He's SO desperate to be seen and loved and appreciated 😭

8. When the Thunderbolts* meet Sentry and they’re trying to get through to Bob, John says, “You don’t wanna do this, Bobby,” or something like that. Bob visibly reacts to that use of that name, his eyelids twitch, and he gives John a sort of twisted glare or something, then says, “You can call me the Sentry.”

I’ll ramble more on this in future posts when I make gifs as well, but Lewis Pullman’s acting blows me away. I’ve never seen him in anything else, I’d never heard of him before this movie, and I think he portrays Bob brilliantly. I can’t see anybody else as Bob. Lewis manages to balance Bob’s timidness and innocence with the darkness and mental instability hiding just under the surface SO well. His eye-acting is so intense and visceral, there were many close-ups where I noticed tiny movements in his face or an intense reaction to something flickering in his eyes, and it reminds me of Sebastian Stan’s acting in the Winter Soldier when he’s being talked to by Alexander Pierce. That’s the vibe I get with Lewis in Thunderbolts*, there is a WORLD of pain inside Bob’s eyes, and I think Lewis brings that power to him.

Or I could just fangirling, but whatever lol

[deadn30n]

something that really, really bothers me about some parts of the HSR fandom is how flippant they make Phainon out to be regarding the deaths of like, everyone except Mydei. && yeah ok Mydei isn't dead and technically neither is Castorice, but i find it really difficult to grasp the idea that he just... wouldn't care about anyone except Mydei? that feels so wrong? some of the takes i saw on twitter had me on my knees like i got shot in the heart because he just

i don't think you understand how much this is all affecting him. hoyo's done a shit job at showing it, but there's no chance in hell Phainon isn't silently tearing himself apart over it.

he's happy Castorice has finally found her answers. that she's embraced he truths, her past, present, and future. but she's gone. she's gone. she can't come back. she was a constant presence by his side for so very long, and suddenly he's lost that? this sweet girl who could be a little silly sometimes, who only ever wanted to know the warmth of an embrace, who both resented her powers but also embraced them, is just....... not there anymore.

he watched Tribbie's past. saw it in real time. he witnessed everything she endured, the harsh choices she had to make. the heartbreak, the death, the suffering, the pain, the sorrow, the love and joy. he saw her make the most difficult choice of her life; to sacrifice her own future and embrace was meant to be her prophecy. to split herself apart into so many versions of herself and suffer each time one was lost. Trianne's death undoubtedly fucked him up because not only did she die, but she did it for the sake of saving everyone else, including him. do you know how heavily that must've weighed on him? i have no doubt in my mind he's gone out of his way to visit her little shrine, one on one, just to mourn and promise he won't waste her sacrifice

for days he carried the burden of guilt for not being able to save his teacher, Anaxagoras, who taught him so many valuable life lessons and strengthened him both mind and soul. the person he spent years under the tutelege of. whom he respected and looked to for guidance when his heart wavered. that he couldn't make it to the grove in time before Anaxa made the ultimate sacrifice not just for the sake of his self-pursuit, but for the sake of keeping others alive. that weight is a heaviness on his chest he struggles with. knowing if he'd gotten there sooner, things could've been different. but he respects Anaxa's decisions, knows that Anaxa didn't mind doing what he did and never resented his fate, but embraced it. and then looked at Phainon and showed that he had complete faith in a man who doesn't have any faith in himself, before killing himself

Phainon is supposed to be the World Bearing Titan. he's supposed to embrace everything, inherit everything, and guide Amphoreus to the future it needs. and he's so fucking scared he'll fail inside, but he looks at these people who've given up their lives, their freedoms, their souls just to make sure he can do that and walked unflinchingly toward their own futures without a glance back and he just. wants to do right by them.

and yes he is really upset about losing his best friend. anyone would. Mydei's been a constant by his side for as long as he can remember, they have a bond deeper than what can be put into words. they trusted one another, believed in one another, and Mydei was confident that Phainon could do the things that Phainon himself struggles to think he can. i'm definitely not diminishing any of that by any means, it just frustrates me to no end that people think he only cares about Mydei and is so one dimensional in his grief when he just. isn't. he's so unbelievably complex that picking him apart and dissecting him from every angle would take forever. he sometimes struggles to even understand himself but he's trying. he's doing everything in his power to be what the world believes in him to be. he has to, or it all goes in vain.

[quietlyblooms]

@ofurizen | from here!

her heart drops. she would be lying if she said the thought hadn't crossed her mind before, that she hadn't wondered if v could live his years beside her long-term. after display after display of physical feats not humanly possible, she would have been a fool to ignore that little voice in her head. be prepared for the worst. this could all end in tears.

so while her heart drops, it isn't a very long fall. there's a dull ache in her chest that's been there ever since she saw him heal from a wound that would have felled her. it grows sharper as v claims the weight of such pain, and chiyo shakes her head, fully turning on her side to face him. " no, " she replies, almost as soft as the breeze that rustles the flowers around them. " it's mine, too. i want it to be. do you think i haven't considered this before? i just didn't bring it up because, well... it is scary. "

she won't say it isn't. she won't put on some brave face, pretend like everything will be fine if they just believe. that isn't how this world works, but chiyo does smile and reach out, tucking fallen hair behind v's ear. " but you know what? i've been able to face a lot of scary things because of you. i won't let you face this one alone. "

[clare-875]

Flirting For The Mission (Luffy, Sanji, Zoro)

_____ Pairings: Luffy x Reader; Sanji x Reader; Zoro x Reader Summary: You go undercover and flirt for information, your boyfriend doesn't particularly like it. Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Comfort, Harassment, Unwanted Touching/Kissing [One Piece Masterlist] _____

- Luffy -

The man in front of you is charming, or at least that's what he claims as he talks to you. "Women just can't seem to resist me it seems-" You force yourself not to sigh and not to leave your place next to him as you try to remind yourself what is at stake. Your crew was undercover again, on an island full of powerful enemies, and half of you had gotten captured. In desperate need of information, you had volunteered to flirt with this man, but you hoped the grimace on your face had contorted into a believable smile.

Fortunately for you, this man is so in love with himself he barely seems to notice, but unfortunately for you, it means you have to try a bit harder to get him to spill the information for you. You lean closer tilting your head in mock interest and you force a laugh from your throat at a tasteless joke he spills. He looks up and meets your gaze, eyes sparking in what seems to be surprise and desire; maybe he had finally looked at you properly instead of getting lost in his rants about himself.

A short distance away, Luffy, Zoro and Nami watch from a distance. Unfortunately for you, Nami had already been recognised by the enemy earlier on and so she hadn't been able to take your place, more required to keep a low profile. She was eying you carefully whilst Zoro indulged in drinks and Luffy indulged in the meal placed in front of him. In all honestly, Luffy had been so distracted by the prospect of food he had barely registered the plan that was actively taking place.

"Numi whe-re's [y/n], 'might be hungfy foo!!"

An irk mark rises on Nami's forehead as she hears Luffy's words muffled with the plates of food he devours. "She's trying to get us information, idiot! Were you even paying attention to the plan?!" She whisper-shouts to her Captain who tilts his head in utter confusion, hands not stopping as he continues to reach for food. "Reaflly? Where?" He swallows another plate-full harshly as he grabs a piece of meat. Nami nods her head in the direction of you.

You had leant even closer to the man in front of you, to the point where you were reaching for his hand and causing him to flush red at the proximity. You smiled prettily and gazed up and through your eyelashes, your dress revealing soft flesh that the man couldn't help but admire. He whispers something in your ear that has light laughter fill the air, though Luffy only thinks of the fact that it sounds more strained than usual. Your Captain doesn't know why a sudden twisting feeling erupts within him at the sight of you and him.

"Wow, so you're a commander of this lot, are you?" You say in what you hope is a teasing tone, playing with the man's hands in what you hope is a believable flirt. You nod to the others who are at the bar where you and some of your crew reside; at the men who enjoy their drinks and their meals. "Impressive, isn't it sweetheart? You know, we even captured some of the Strawhat crew this morning. They're nothing compared to our strength-" Finally, a glint of a true smile makes its way onto your face at his words. "Is that so..."

Back at the table, Luffy pouts and suddenly and surprisingly to Nami, slows the pace at which he eats as he watches you. "Why's she there with him?" Nami sighs deeply, though she looks proudly at the way you seem to be getting them the information they so require. "I told you, she's getting information. We need to find out where they're keeping Sanji and the others." Luffy's frown remains on his face. "Why can't we just beat them up?" Nami keeps her eyes trained on you. "Because we don't want unnecessary fighting-"

Her words seem to die on her tongue however as she witnesses a sight she wishes she didn't have to.

You had been about to leave the man in front of you, having got the information you required. But, in your distraction and excuses, you hadn't seen as he leant forward, and suddenly his lips were on yours. Freezing in utter shock, you pushed him back and away as bile rose within you. You see a flash of his confusion before all of a sudden he is flung from the seat in front of you, your boyfriend standing from his seat with an outstretched fist in the air.

Steam seems to unravel from Luffy's skin, his eyes sharp with an anger you have only seen in battles. He pulls his arm back to him from where he has punched the man who had harassed you. "Hey, what do you think you're doing to [y/n]!!" The man you had just taken information from was now unconscious, but his subordinates took notice of your boyfriend's actions. "Hey, it's Strawhat Luffy!!" Zoro takes it as a cue to retrieve his swords but it is for naught as Luffy goes on a rampage, fists flying along with the bodies of men.

You look on in shock until Luffy finally finishes and makes his way to you. "Luffy I-" But before you have the chance to continue, he has connected his own lips to yours, making your words falter in your mouth. When he lets go, Nami and Zoro are looking at you dumbfounded as Luffy grins at you. "There, all better." You blink in utter surprise until a soft, true smile reaches your face, causing Luffy's insides to churn in warmth. "Thank you, Luffy." Your boyfriend grins wider, satisfied with your contentedness.

"No more kissing for information next time! We can just beat them up!"

You continue to smile and try not to roll your eyes.

"... okay Luffy."

- Sanji -

"You expect me to stay here while that no-good, brainless, revolting, bastard touches my [y/n]-chan so carelessly?!"

Zoro's teeth clenched together in blunt irritation at the crew's cook who looks like he is about to explode from the utter rage that fills him. "Yes, now would you control yourself, damn cook?!" Sanji's anger remains on his face, fire building in his eyes at the nonchalant expression on Zoro's face, vastly contrasting his own. "Get out of my way!!" Sanji tries to side-step the swordsman who pulls out two of his swords. "She said she can handle it!"

There is then a flurry of movements as Sanji and Zoro attack each other, legs kicking and swords slicing. They continue only for a short moment, however, as Sanji hears your light laughter from within the building they wait for you outside. The two men pause, looking into a window and at the elaborate party that takes place from within it. As Zoro looks for potential threats, Sanji's eyes instantly go to you.

You are adorned in an utterly beautiful dress that elegantly glides across the space in which you walk side-by-side with a man you try to pry information from. Your group - the Sanji, Zoro, [y/n], group - had come to this Island later than other members of the crew after being separated. However, you had all learnt that Luffy and the others had been captured, resulting in the need to know exactly when and where. The place you were at now was large and full of enemies, so discretion was necessary, thus you volunteered to flirt with one of the executives in charge, much to Sanji's dismay.

Sanji's heart jolts in his chest as he looks at you from outside. How can you be so beautiful? You were like a goddess, an angel. But inside, Sanji felt as though he was also thrown into the pits of hell. The man you talked to was old and rich and completely enamoured by you it seemed. Your flirts and charm were working, as the man seemed entranced by the younger woman on his arm, showing such keen interest in him; Sanji's woman.

"So, powerful man, large mansion, elaborate party, what's the occasion?" You look up with sharp eyes glinting hypnotically; the older man is no match for you. "Well, we captured the Strawhat Crew this morning, if you could call that a source for celebration. Especially their Captain, though his bounty would only be enough to pay for this one party." You smile and let out light laughter, the sound like ringing bells to the man next to you, but it sounds strained to your boyfriend who listens in.

"Care for a drink?" The man holds out a glass of champagne, and you reach for it, but his hands linger and pull you closer to him so you are flush against his side. You force away the sick feeling in your chest and fight to keep the smile on your face at the sudden proximity of him against you. "Thank you," you murmur, as an uncomfortable feeling erupts within you. But you remind yourself you are so close, finally having heard the utterance of your Captain's presence here on this island. Your thoughts, however, are unlike Sanji's.

"That slimy bastard!"

Sanji's anger erupts with such vigour, that he is practically clawing at the glass he looks through, causing Zoro to have to push him back and away from the visibility of those inside. "Have you lost your mind?!" Zoro basically shouts at the cook, but Sanji retorts just as quickly. "Have you?! That's my girlfriend in there-" Zoro tries not to slice off the head of his crewmate, not understanding why he finds it so hard to let you just do what you need to do.

Lucky for him though, amid Sanji's incoherent rambling you have finished your task and were running up to them. "Hey, guys!! I got the information!" Sanji instantly freezes his words and turns, whilst Zoro finally lets his headache ease. "Finally-" "My Love!!" Sanji turns to you instantly, heart in his eyes at the sight of you still adorned in your dress. His hands however then reach for yours, suddenly as serious as his sudden happiness had come.

"Are you okay, love?" You smile gently at the concern that brims in his gaze but you nod easily, finding comfort in the presence of your boyfriend. "I'm fine, but I think we need to go quick before he notices I haven't just gone to the bathroom." Sanji seems to tense once more at the remembrance of the man and how he had touched you, but you seeing that, gently kiss his cheek before guiding him away. "Come on!" Sanji can't seem to say no to you as he nods hesitantly, all the while Zoro grumbles under his breath about how the show of your love has him nauseated and confused.

"Don't pull that lovey-dovey shit while I'm around-"

"Shut up Marimo!"

- Zoro -

"... I don't like this."

Zoro's voice was low as he eyed your figure by the bar, teeth gritted against the other. You were adorned in a beautiful black dress, one you know that he loves, one the man in front of you is enjoying a bit too much. "She'll be fine, she can handle this." Nami rolls her eyes at your protective boyfriend and the permanent frown on his face. He could trust you in battles to take down a thousand men, but not one at this bar who looks to you in clear desire.

"Why couldn't you do this?" Zoro sharply retorts, grip tightening against his bottle of sake to the point where it creaks beneath his fingers. "[y/n] knows these people, and you know we need to keep a low profile if we want to find where they're keeping Luffy and the others." Nami sighed as she thought of the crew who had somehow become captured again by powerful enemies. They needed information, and you were their best bet; it was the best plan they'd got.

Zoro stays silent to Nami's words, eyes not wavering from yours. He can see how you force a smile, hands lingering on the arms of the man in front of you flirty. You batted your eyelashes and laughed, making Zoro's insides churn. He tries to control his emotions and his haki that threatens to spill out from within him, cursing the way you have him so wrapped around your finger. He takes a rough swing of his beverage and continues to brood in the low lighting of the room next to Nami.

You, on the other hand, are getting bored beyond your mind listening to this man talk to you about his role on this vast Island controlled by pirates. The only reason you knew anything of these pirates was because their Captain had taken a liking to you many years ago, before you joined Luffy. But now you see how lucky you were that you rejected his advances to join such a revolting crew. The man in front of you reeks at the proximity you both share and his hand is coming dangerously close to your upper thigh.

"We actually captured a bunch of rookie pirates tonight, the crew of some idiot with a straw hat." The man continuously seems to lose himself to the alcohol in his grasp, but your heart jumps at the mention of your Captain's name. Finally. But just as you are about to get him to expand, that is when his lingering hand finally grasps for the flesh of your upper thigh, his yellowed teeth flashing beneath a sickening smirk. "So, sweetheart-" His words are cut short with the sound of shattering glass.

"Zoro!" Nami whisper-scolds the swordsman and tries to tug him back to his seat to very little avail. "That bastard..." The shattering of glass had been from Zoro's bottle of sake, its contents now spilt upon the table and his unrest causing many eyes to turn to them. But Zoro doesn't care anymore. All he sees is the uncomfortable expression on your face, the grimace that you try to contort to a smile, the hands of a man that isn't his on your figure; the woman he's meant to protect. He witnesses you try to pry back the attention of the man as you lean close to him, making him sick.

"Zoro, come on, please!" Nami continues to whisper as eyes still linger on her and the swordsman. Zoro finally turns to meet eyes with the navigator and her touch falters on his shirt as she looks at the deadly glint in his eyes. Zoro knows what is at stake, but isn't used to being forced to stay put when you are so uncomfortable. He knows what is at stake, but at what cost? At least on battlefields, he can step in if he deems it necessary. He grits his teeth defeatedly and sits back down, eyes now trained on the table to try to control himself.

It feels like eons when you finally make your way back to them.

"Okay, I know where they are we can go now!" Zoro's eyes snap upwards to meet your warm gaze, before travelling behind you to the man asleep on the bar table, most likely your doing. His hand itches for his sword to go and make sure that when the man wakes, he will have no wretched hands any longer, but he recedes. "Let's go," Zoro's voice is short and sharp and he avoids your gaze. Nami rolls her eyes once more at his attitude as you give her a questioning glance, but she shrugs in response as you go to lead them to the crew.

Only a few moments pass when Nami goes to find the keys to where the crew are confined and you go to Zoro who leans against the wall of the room you are yet to enter. "Zoro," you murmur as his gaze reluctantly meets yours. "Are you mad? Look, it was all just to get information, you know I wasn't flirting with that guy on purpose I-" Zoro cuts you off sharply, as he eyes the way your eyebrows furrow together and he realises his anger of the revolting man had seemed like anger towards you.

"I know. I trust you."

Your eyes widen in surprise, and even more so when a slight flush reaches the tips of his ears. Your surprise then morphs into a sigh and a smile lingers on your face as you realise he had just been worried for you, and most likely trying not to commit murder of the man you had to manipulate for information. "If you want some consolation, I did give him a good punch to the ribs before he was knocked out." You whisper as you reach for his hand that had been clenched into a fist. It instantly unravels at your touch as he allows you to hold it and you guide it to the side of your thigh where the man had touched you.

Zoro's eyebrows seem to furrow, but he seems to concede to your words as he traces your figure, trying to eliminate the man's touch from your skin. "That's my girl." You grin as you look up to him when Nami sprints back to you, a hoard of men on her heels. "[y/n]!! Zoro!! Deal with them!!" In her grasp is the key to your crew's confinement and Zoro smirks as he readies his swords, seemingly more at ease now that you are next to him again.

"Mind if I take care of them?"

"By all means."

[seungcheorry]

Ot13 reaction on how many kids SVT would have?

how many kids svt would have:

seungcheol probably wants to have two at least. i can picture him having a baby girl and then getting too excited once his partner is free from the whole post partum thing and getting them pregnant again right afterwards. he would really wish for a baby boy then.

jeonghan would love to have two as well, and i can see him having twins - i don't know why, something in him just screams FATHER OF TWINS to me. probably two girls? it's a lot of work though, he'll be done with having kids, would probably even do the surgery so he can't have any anymore.

joshua is very similar to seungcheol to me, would probably have a boy and then get too excited and have a girl because his dna is just good like that. the prettiest kids to ever exist actually, and he's so in love with them that it can be quite easy to talk him into having another one after a few years.

junhui screams boy dad to me, so yeah. i can see him having only one child, a really savage boy just like minghao was back in the day? weird but in a good, chomical way. he would be really good friends with his kid, like a partners in crime type of relationship.

soonyoung... oh, soonyoung. he says he wants to have lots and lots of kids because he loves having his house full but after the first one - a baby boy -, he gets so tired that he actually apologizes to his mom. might slip or be talked into having another one (he just wants his kid to have a relationship like the one he has with his sister); would really hope for a girl then, would probably get another boy though.

wonwoo is a definitely a girl dad too. he would really hope for a boy (i don't know why, i just feel like he would) but then it comes a baby girl and he turns into mush for her. such a goner, i can't even begin to describe - she can tell him to stay put for 20 whole minutes while she pretends to make tea and he won't move a muscle, just stay there and watch her because she told him to. would probably just want one.

jihoon is a girl dad and i will die on this hill. he's also a goner for his girl, he's very strict with things but also he doesn't like to be rough to her so he's just, i don't know, the perfect balance? most likely to be the favorite parent and learn about his daughter secrets before his partner because she just trusts him like that. would also just want one.

seokmin would love three - the first one (a boy) is probably planned; the second one (a girl) is probably an expected accident as he doesn't mind having sex without protection even though he knows the risks; the third one (another boy) is probably an unexpected accident that he cries in joy when he sees for the first time. he would definitely tell his partner "i'm so glad we got drunk that night" while seeing his two oldest children ganging up to change the new baby's diaper.

mingyu definitely wants two kids, he loves his sister too much and knows how a sibling relationship can literally save someone. most likely to have two girls, and his partner might ask him if he isn't sad that they didn't have a boy but he's too busy to answer as he's teaching the girls how to make ramyeon :(

minghao already said himself, he's not the one who gets to decide how many kids he and his partner will have, but he wants two - and can be bend into having a third one. i can see him having a boy and then a girl, and if he and his partner decides for another one, then it would be another girl, probably.

seungkwan would have two girls and his dramatic ass would say it's karma because what do you mean he grew up with his older sisters and now he has to take care of yet other two girls who will bicker and gang up on him just like his sisters did? behind that facade though he would love to take care of them and to see them grow together. most emotional dad, for sure.

vernon is a boy dad to me and he would say he only wants one kid but then he sees him growing up on his own and don't get me wrong, the kid is totally fine with it, but vernon can't stop thinking about how sofia changed his life and he would go "yeah, we might need another one" to his partner. makes a whole deal about it when he finds out his second child is gonna be a girl. "REALLY, WHAT ARE THE ODDS?"... but it's not that hard, vernon. i'm glad you're happy though, i know you love your kids.

chan is also a boy dad and he would probably want another kid but once he realizes how much work and effort it takes, he's sticking to just one. if his partner ever wants another one they would have to really talk him into it, might even need to ask seokmin for help, because chan would stand his ground and say no. but honestly? he's a loverboy, at the end he might just say yes and then meet his cute little daughter and be like "oh my god, why didn't we make her sooner?"

[prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue]

WEEPING WILLOW

summary: alternative universe where die young reader lived and actually met her siblings yet still she meets her end even in another universe.

Time never stops, nor does the world yet, whenever I peer back at your picture name , I feel like time has for you. You still look youthful , still vibrant as if the world's cruelties haven't touched you yet. Haven't gutted you out and left you for nothing.

For the first time in twelve years, I visited that tree you were so insistent on seeing that day . It's an old willow that overlooks a sea - straight out of a picture book like the ones you always read before you sleep.

Home doesn't feel like home anymore name , not without you here anymore . It feels empty and cold without you. Big brother Dick has yet to visit Gotham , his last visit was your own funeral.

Your other older brother Jason started getting violent again every patrol , he beats up criminals so bloody they practically flee. Tim hasn't said much , he's been so quiet, and he just floats around now . Damian took your death the hardest .

He sleeps in your bed every night , wailing to himself about it. Barbra and Stephanie are trying to keep the family afloat, but they know deep down we're cracking. Duke stopped playing hockey - he says it feels so wrong to not when your not there to throw the puck back at him.

Alfred started back drinking and smoking - we hear him in dead of night sobbing and pleading for you to come back home. Bruce stopped living - he barely eats , sleeps , he barely does anything . Every day, he visits your grave , flowers in hand, and just wails about everything.

Again, the willow tree on that hill just sways to the beat of the calm breeze , as if time doesn't affect it. No one would ever understand why on that Sunday you went to that willow tree alone .

No one would understand why you hugged us all so hard before you had set off . No one will ever understand why your body was found laying on the bark of the tree so lifeless and cold .

We will never understand why you choose to go by yourself - why not go with us around you. Uncle Clark told Bruce, " Name was always a kind child , she didn't want you all to have the last memory of her to be sad sad." Your dad punched him in the face - he had argued , " my child didn't have to go through death by herself!" .

We would never know why - it's not like you're here anymore to tell us to comfort us. Long gone with the Friday nights, we all stayed up past 4 A.M. , all ganging up on Bruce and Tim in monopoly, Dick always quick to tackle Tim to the floor because he swears he robbed him of $100.

Gone were the days we'd all make bets if Damian was going to walk in with a new stray to his name and watch him and Bruce go back and forth on it. It feels like yesterday when Barbra , Steph and Cass took you to sephora and convinced you to buy that one overpriced lipstick. It's still sat on your nightstand idly.

Gone were the late nights , Jason and you would have snuck out late to drive around Gotham on his motorbike and stop by Dairy Queen. Gone were the quiet evenings spent with you and Tim building a castle on ya'lls minecraft base.

Gone were the days you and Damian would argue when you would both try to build legoes and would fail miserably . Alfred misses the times where you use to join him in attempting to cook - god knows the evidence of your attempt to fry an egg is still stuck on the ceiling.

Bruce misses your hugs the most - you were the only child he had that actively hugged him, and he missed the way how after patrols you always made him hot chocolate .

Nothing feels right - never will because you're not here . It feels wrong to walk these halls, knowing you would have walked them too . It's weird living knowing you could have been living - breathing along with them.

It feels like no matter what universe we have you in , you always leave, and it always hurts. Why must in every universe you leave us behind ? Why must every other universe does God have to take you away ?

Why must in every universe we always mourn you ? It hurts - it hurts so much to watch your body be covered in soil . No one talks about how you practically hold your breath when you see your loved one go down in that grave as if - by some miracle, they'd open their eyes and jolt out the grave. It sounds so ridiculous, but they'd never get that desperation of wanting that loved one to be alive.

It hurts when we hear about the rumors - the rumors that you killed yourself ? That you went to the willow tree to end your life ? Bruce had practically went raging mad that evening when he got word - that same night, the entire PR team got to work into suing those persons.

Some suspected you got possessed because you had sold your sold your soul off - that's why you hugged us all before you left - you didn't want the demon to follow the family back home. It was a stupid rumor going around in school, and Damian had practically beat the shit out of the senior who started it.

Some said we abused you - that had Alfred cursing them out because how dare they - you were loved in this family and still very much loved even though you are long gone.

No one would know , not even we will - all we know was one Sunday evening . Dinner was being set up when Bruce got a call from Comissioner Gordon , " Two passerbys reported seeing your daughter laid unresponsive atop Willow Hills" .

Bruce dropped everything in that moment and immediately bolted to that willow tree , the others running behind him . He didn't wanna believe it - wants to believe you're just asleep - had just accidentally dozed off and lost track of time because there was no way in hell his 15 year old daughter is dead.

When the others reached him , they just saw him embracing you and crying his heart out . You were long gone , had long passed away without them, and none of them knew how to handle that reality .

We miss you name , please come home , we need you back .

▬▬ Wayne Family

Taglist ▬▬

@itsmossy @sugarrush-blush @shirp-collector-of-fixations @anteroz @cxcilla @shynerdtriumph @amber-content @azulesworld @1abi @crazycaoticsimp

ty for reading <3

[wonderlandwalker]

The promises we cling to | Finnick Odair x reader

thg masterlist / inbox / part two

summary: this is basically just me starting with the "people are watching / then lets give them something to look at" prompt and maybe getting a little lost in the process

word count: 3.6k

tags / content warnings: angst, fluff, violence, blood, injury that whole shebang, I actually proofread this one but that doesn't mean I spotted everything sorry in advance

a/n: apparently the only time I'm capable of writing is when im less than a day away from my constitutional law final and delusional because i've been awake for 38 hours so hopefully this will give me enough dopamine to actually get a passing grade

Finnick knows how this works; he’s known it since he was fourteen years old and first stepped foot in an arena. Since the moment he lost sight of you, since the bloodbath separated you, Snow’s words haunt him with every cannon he hears: "She is just another thing I can take from you."

And yet—

He still dares to believe you’re alive.

Not because the Capitol hasn’t tried. Not because the odds are kind. But because you promised. You swore you’d fight. And Finnick clings to that vow like a prayer, even as the arena’s cannons rattle his bones. Last night, he’d counted the fallen—your name absent from the sky’s grim ledger. But three more cannons have split the air since dawn, and now—

Now he’s not sure what to believe. The rational part of him—the part carved into survival by years of Capitol cruelty—knows the truth: They’re playing with him. But the other part, the raw and bleeding thing behind his ribs, doesn’t care. The rebels’ plan echoe in his head, "Stay put. Wait for extraction." But he’s itching to move, to act, to do something besides sit here and wait. Every muscle in his body is filled with restless energy, his fingers tapping a precise rhythm against his trident. The inaction is worse than any challenge the arena could give him. He wants to run back into the jungle, to tear through the branches until he finds you, but he knows you. That's the cruellest part.

He knows how you think, the way you map escape routes before you even enter a room, the way you always have a back-up plan for your back-up plan. And right now, this beach is your plan. It’s the rendezvous point you had all agreed on before the Games even began, a secret strategy the rebels had managed to lay out. If he leaves, he risks missing you. If he stays, he risks leaving you to die alone. The dilemma claws at his ribs, and around him he can hear the others strategise, but their words blur into static. All he can hear is the phantom echoe of your voice in his head as you tell him it will be okay. Johanna catches his eye from across the beach, her glare sharp enough to cut. “Stop pacing. You’re making me twitchy.” He forces himself to let out a deep breath, focusing on the movement of the water in front of him. He needs to put himself back together; he needs to stay here.

But then—your scream. It tears through the jungle, a sound so visceral his body moves before his mind catches up. He’s already sprinting, the grip on his trident tight as his instincts kick in.

"Finnick, stop—!" Johanna’s voice is lost to him over the rushing of blood in his ears. The trees blur as he runs; he doesn't think about the careers that could be close by, the traps that he could trigger or the fact that he’s doing the exact opposite of what he’s supposed to. The flicker of movement to his right catches his attention, and he’s about to change directions when the jabberjays descend. They’re a swarm of wings and needle-sharp cries as they surround him, their voices stitching together into an illusion of you: your gasps, your sobs, the way you’d whispered his name before being forced apart. He stops moving and staggers to his knees. It’s not real. He knows it’s not real. Knows that Snow’s fingerprints are all over this new form of torture. But logic means nothing when his hands are shaking, when his lungs refuse to work, when every instinct screams to run, find, save—

Johanna grabs his shoulder, her nails biting through his skin. "Breathe, Odair."

The jabberjays' cries fade into the jungle's chorus, leaving Finnick hollowed out and raw. Johanna's grip on his shoulder remains, her fingers digging into muscle like she's the only thing keeping him from splintering apart.

"Get up," she hisses, voice low and urgent. "We need to move before those things lure anyone else here." Finnick's hands still tremble as he pushes himself to his feet. The phantom echoes of your voice cling to him, sticky as blood. He wants to argue, to plunge back into the green hell after you, but Johanna's right—the sound of the jabberjays could be a beacon for every tribute left in the arena.

The walk back to the beach is a blur of snapping branches and Johanna's muttered curses. When they break through the treeline, Beetee's head jerks up from the makeshift radio he's been tinkering with, his glasses flashing in the sunlight. "Did you find—?"

"No," Johanna cuts him off, shoving Finnick toward the water. "Go clean up before I toss you in the water myself.” Finnick's gaze drifts to the treeline, his fingers twitching at his sides. You promised you'd fight. He just needs to believe you're still fighting.

You wake to the taste of copper and dirt. The world swims into focus slowly—first the ache in your ribs, then the sticky warmth of blood matting your hair to your scalp. Somewhere in the chaos of the bloodbath, a blow to the head had sent you sprawling into the undergrowth, separating you from the others. The jungle hums around you, deceptive in its tranquillity. Every rustle of leaves could be a mutation, every snapped twig a Career hunting for stragglers. The beach is your only chance—you know Finnick will be waiting there, even if it kills him. You press your back against a tree, lungs burning, and your ribs scream where a Career’s boot found its mark yesterday, but you know you need to keep moving; too much time has passed already. You know the way his voice cracks when he’s trying not to beg, the way his hands shake after nightmares, you know he’s counting cannons, just like you are—each one a fresh wound. So you bite down on the pain and move.

The arena doesn’t kill you quietly; it creeps in through the cracks—the stench of rotting foliage, the too-sweet tang of tracker jacker venom lingering in the air, the way your own sweat stings the cuts on your palms. So you move in bursts, pausing to listen between steps. The arena's traps are everywhere.

When the jabberjays come, their shrieks weaving together your name in Finnick's voice, you almost believe it's real. Your chest cracks open with want, but you bite your tongue until you taste blood. The jabberjays' voices fade, but their poison lingers in your bones. You press a trembling hand against the rough bark of a tree, counting breaths until the phantom sound of Finnick's screams stops echoing in your skull. Every rustle of leaves sends your pulse skittering. The wound on your ribs throbs in time with your footsteps, a fresh bloom of pain with each misstep. You try to focus on the memory of Finnick's hands steadying you after nightmares – his thumbs brushing your wrists in slow circles. Breathe. Just breathe.

The first hint of salt air cuts through the jungle's rot. Your knees nearly buckle at the scent – it smells like Finnick's skin after swimming, like promises whispered against damp hair. The ground begins to slope downward. Somewhere beyond the trees, waves crash in a rhythm you'd know blind. You're close now. So close. A twig snaps; you freeze, muscles coiled.

Then—a sound. Not a cannon. Not a mutation. A rhythmic tap, too precise to be accidental. You know that sound, like you know the hitch in Finnick’s breath when he wakes from nightmares. Like you know the way his fingers drum against your hip when he’s impatient, when he’s afraid, when he’s trying to pretend he isn’t either. The beach is close. You know that rhythm, the way his hands move when his mind is racing, when the nerves he’d never admit to are fraying his control. And just like that, you’re running; you’re reckless. You can smell the sand now; you can almost hear their hushed voices. But the arena has one last cruelty in store.

You feel it before you see it, that split-second prickle at the back of your neck, the sudden hush of the jungle like the arena itself is holding its breath, and you know the fatal mistake you’ve just made. Memories crash over you like a riptide. The bouncing of his knee under the kitchen table on the morning of the reaping, the way he’d flinched when your fingers brushed his wrist, then clung to you like you were the only anchor in a storm. You remember the Tuesday he’d shattered a teacup at 3 a.m., his breathing coming out in jagged bursts. You hadn't asked him why; it didn't matter why. You had just slid down beside him, pressing your forehead to his temple until his lungs remembered how to work.

And that damned peach pie, the memory of flour dusting his lashes as he’d laughed at your frantic perfectionism, only to turn pale as a ghost when you’d yelped at the oven’s burn. His hands, so careful, always so careful, cradling your blistered palms while his voice stayed as steady as the tide. “Breathe, sweetheart. It’s just pie.” It had been his mother’s recipe, the first thing he trusted you with that hurt to share, and you were more upset over messing it up than the burn on your hands. And that night on the beach, salt air clinging to his lips as he whispered “Promise me” with a desperation that carved itself into your bones. The version of Finnick the Capitol moulded was gone; there was only the raw, trembling truth of him.

It had reminded you of the first time you met. The way Finnick’s laugh had faltered when your eyes locked across the room years ago—like he’d been sucker-punched by his own heartbeat. The Capitol’s golden boy unravelled in an instant. The sun was starting to rise over the water, the soft light showcasing the tension in his shoulders.

You’ve seen Finnick Odair wear a hundred masks, but this—this restless hesitation, his fingers worrying the edge of his sleeve—is new. You open your mouth to ask him, but he speaks first. “I know you like to tease me about the clichés I tell you.” His voice is rough, like he’s been screaming into the tide. “But I need you to know I mean every fucking word.” When he turns, the look on his face steals your breath. This isn’t the polished charmer from your early days or even the fractured man who once sobbed into your collarbone after a Capitol party. This is something rawer. Something terrified.

Your fingers find the nape of his neck on instinct, threading through sweat-damp curls. He shudders, leaning into your touch like a dying man offered water. “I know,” you whisper. “No.” His hand clamps over yours, pressing your palm flat to his pulse. It’s racing. “When I say I’d die for you, I mean it. Let me mean it.” The words are a blade between your ribs. “Finn—”

“We’ve both known what will happen at the reaping, even if we pretend we don’t.” His thumb traces your knuckles—so gentle, so at odds with the fire in his eyes. “You’d walk into that arena alone just to spare a stranger. That stubbornness is why I—" He chokes. “But you have to let me be selfish too.” A tear slips down your cheek, but he catches it before it can fall from your face. “Promise me.” His voice cracks.“Promise you’ll survive, even if I don’t.”

You want to argue. To shake him until his teeth rattle. But the plea in his gaze is a mirror of your own soul. “I promise.” His exhale is a seismic thing, like he’s been drowning for years. You seize his wrist before he can pull away. “Promise me too. That you’ll fight, no matter what.” There’s a flicker of agony in his eyes, but just like you had known, he knows you need to hear him say it. “I promise I’ll try.” There are so many unspoken words as he looks at you. So many more clichés you know he wants to give to you, so many reassurances you wish you could give him, but the one promise you have always shared is louder than ever: you won’t let them have the satisfaction of knowing they can break you.

So maybe this is how it was always meant to be. The thought comes to you with eerie clarity as Brutus enters your line of vision and his fingers crush your windpipe. You’ve kept your promises, you’ve fought like hell, and now—now you’ve made it back to him, even if only for a final heartbeat. Your vision tunnels, and every gasp is like a knife being dragged through your lungs, but you don’t stop moving. Your fingers reach for the blade embedded in your palm — the one you’d taken from another tribute hours ago, the one still slick with your own blood. Brutus snarls as you drive it into his wrist, and for one glorious second, his grip loosens. You suck in a fractured breath, but then his other hand slams you against a tree. “Is that all you’ve got?” His breath is rancid, and stars burst behind your eyes, the world around you fracturing into fragments as he lifts you off the ground, once again stealing your breath from you.

You think of Finnick, the real him, the one who kissed you like he was starving as he trailed a path all over your body, who whispered against your thighs like he was reciting a prayer. Just as you’re about to give in to the memories, throught the static in your ears, you hear it, and Brutus’ head snaps toward the sound.

"Get your fucking hands off her."

The voice is raw with fury, edged with something worse—terror. Brutus actually flinches. It’s a voice you’d recognise anywhere; you’d know it underwater. In a hurricane. At the end of the world. Finnick.

You hit the ground hard, your lungs screaming as they try to reclaim the air you’ve been gifted once more, but all you can process is him. The unmistakably feral look twisting on his face as he slams into Brutus like a tidal wave, the sickening crunch of his fist meeting jawbone—once, twice—each blow precise and vicious, the way his trident lies abandoned behind him; he didn’t even bother using it. This isn’t combat; this is butchery. Your vision swims as you stagger upright, only to collapse again. Every gasp feels like swallowing broken glass, but you have to get to him—

Crack.

The sound isn’t just heard. You feel it in your bones. Brutus’ head snaps sideways, his knees buckling as Finnick drives an elbow into his temple. There’s no finesse, just a boy who’s spent too many years sharpening himself into a weapon, finally cutting loose.

A wet cough wrenches from your throat, and Finnick’s head whips toward you so fast it’s a miracle his neck doesn’t break. For one fractured second, his rage falters. You’ll remember that look forever. How his eyes went wild, how his breath hitched—like he’d just watched you die. The sound of your wheezing seems to snap him out of his trance. Though he’s covered from head to toe in blood spatter—none of it his—he has never looked more fragile to you. He rushes to your side, dropping to his knees as one hand cradles your face while the other takes yours, pressing your palm against his ribcage to help you steady your racing breaths. His thumb strokes your cheek in slow, uneven sweeps—a nervous habit. The blood smearing your skin is thick, still warm, but you can’t bring yourself to care, not when Finnick is looking at you like this, like you’re dawn breaking over the ocean after the longest night of his life.

Despite the ache in your arms, you lift your free hand and catch his—the one that had been tracing restless patterns against your skin—and press his palm to your chest. You know the steadying rhythm of your heartbeat is one of the few things that can anchor him now. A spark flickers to life in his eyes as they roam your face, as if he’s memorising the proof that you’re here, alive.

“I’ve missed you.” The words are too small for the weight in your chest, but they’re the only truth you can grasp. His chuckle is rough, warmth bleeding into the sound, and it reignites the dull ache in your heart—then fans it into a wildfire when he murmurs, “I missed you more.” You can feel the want boiling inside him—the way his adrenaline sings for him to crush you against his ribs, to kiss you like he’s pouring every unsaid vow into your lungs. But he hesitates, fingers twitching against your collarbone. Still afraid, still fragile.

“I’m okay, Finn. I promise.” A smile ghosts his lips, but his next words are barely audible. “Everybody’s watching.” He doesn’t need to say anything else. You remember the first oath you ever swore to each other: Don’t let them in. Don’t let them twist this. Your relationship was never just yours—it was a stage play for all of Panem, a performance where even you sometimes forgot where the script ended and the truth began.

Yet here he is, clinging to another promise—the one where he swore to shield you, even from himself. You see it in the way his jaw tightens, the way his hands hover like he’s afraid touch might shatter the illusion of control. He’s trying so damn hard to be what you need: steady, selfless, safe. But the irony is delicious. His restraint is the proof you crave. It screams what the cameras will never understand—that this, right here, is the most real thing either of you has ever had. So you tilt your chin up, your voice a challenge and a dare as you scan his face: “Then let’s give them something to look at.”

Your words are another whisper, so quiet you fear they might dissolve before they reach him—but then his head snaps up, his gaze scouring your face like a man reading a map in the dark. And then he breaks. He lunges forward, lips crashing into yours with a desperation that steals your breath. It’s overwhelming, it's perfect, the familiarity of his mouth against yours is everything you had been craving since you last saw him. You kiss him back like it’s the only language left to you, pouring every unsaid ‘I love you’ into the press of your lips. His touch is featherlight yet feverish, hands tracing your arms, your spine, as if trying to memorise you through his fingertips. And in this fragile bubble of shared breath and tangled limbs, you find it—the truth you’ve been starving for.

Finnick kisses like it’s his salvation. His teeth catch your lower lip, tugging gently, insatiable, while his arm bands around your waist, hauling you flush against him until not even air separates you. You feel the frantic thudding of his heartbeat where your chest meets his, a wild counterpoint to your own. When he groans into your mouth, it’s a sound you want to bottle. It’s not enough. Even now, with his skin against yours and his pulse thundering under your palms, you’re already aching for more—more of him, more of this, more of the way he makes the world vanish.

A very deliberate cough shatters the daydream you’d been lost in, and the two of you spring apart like kids caught making out behind the gym. “You two never fail to disgust me.” Johanna’s voice is flat, devoid of even her trademark sarcasm, and the heat that floods your cheeks is embarrassingly familiar. “If you’re done trying to swallow each other’s faces, we’ve got shit to do.”

Finnick snaps back to reality first, hauling himself upright before pulling you up with him. His hands linger, like he needs the contact to convince himself you’re really here. Johanna rolls her eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t stick, already stalking back toward the clearing—but not before you catch her gaze flickering over you, her lips twitching like she’s fighting a smile. Of course she cares, she's the one who introduced the two of you to begin with.

“I think she might actually be glad I’m not dead.” You murmur, and his laughter is warm against your ear. The sound settles something in your chest, a reminder: You’re here. You’re together. Maybe, against all odds, things will be okay.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he jokes back. “She’s just relieved she won’t have to suffer through my moping anymore.” The lightness in his grin tells you everything—he’s found his footing again. And so have you. But as Finnick’s thumb brushes your wrist, you both hear it: another cannon in the distance. The Games aren’t over yet.

[prequel: The masks we wear]

[moldycheezeit]

Prologue

Before You read I'm letting you know again this is the first time I've ever written fan fiction so if it sucks I'm sorry. :(  This does have swearing and mentions of death and blood. Also I think I'm just going to make batsis just a mix of Nami and Uraraka b/c idk how to incorporate Mitsuri into her. And if you watch mha or one piece I'm sorry if I don't make batsis accurate to both characters, even though I've watched both shows I feel like I'll mess it up somehow.

By the time you were born Bruce Wayne and his wife, your mother, had adopted Richard Grayson also known as the first robin or Dick. Your mother was heavily pregnant at the time and about to pop. But when the birth happened about a month later something went wrong, she lost too much blood and did make it. Overcome with grief Bruce nor Dick could look at you, because they couldn’t see a daughter/sister all they would see was the thing that killed somebody whom they loved. 

This caused Alfred to be the one who had named you because no one else would, so Alfred picked the name (y/n). He can remember how much your mom loved the name. But let's interrupt the sadness if you had to talk about your run in with your so called “family” it would be like this…

Dick would talk to you but it’s not like he enjoyed or wanted to so he made excuse after excuse to get out of talking with you. Like how he’d said “ I’m sorry (y/n) but Damian asked me to help him study you know how it is.” you knew he really meant training with Damian. another lie he'd say was “oh I’m busy at the moment i'll catch you next time.” which was never.

Jason was a great brother. keyword was, when he first joined he loved to hang out with you even if you couldn’t do much because you were a toddler. When he died no one told you well Alfred tried to explain that Jason would never come back but all it did was confuse you and made you start looking all around the manor for him hoping he would appear. When he did return you were 10 and wow was he an ass. When you tried to talk or bond with him like you used to he’d yell things like “go the fuck away” or “stop being such a whiny princess” God that man got irritated easily.

Tim, well you didn’t really talk to him. I mean you tried to, he seemed to like similar things to you, like building and inventing gadgets. But all he did when you tried to talk to him was just look at you with disgust in his eyes. Well screw him too. 

Now Damian what to say about this demon you're related to. The first time you met him was when you were 16, you were 2 years older than him. And kinda excited to meet someone other than Bruce you're related to by blood. God how blind you were. Damian had walked into the library while trying to find his way around the Wayne manor.

“Oh hello I’m (y/n) you must be Damian, Alfred had said you were to arrive some time today.” you had happily said to him. But he took one look at you and had the impression of who you were. “Tch.” Was all that was said but you knew instantly he thought you were some weak defenseless bimbo.

Bruce, god how you hate being related to this man. As you could tell he practically seemed to blame you for your mothers death. Like how is it your fault, you couldn't control if she was going to live or die. Anyways the man seemed to not care for what you do and where you are. The media doesn't even know about you so why bother acting like he cares. But why do you care about what he thinks you can practically have done everything on your own. Some father he is.

Lastly Alfred. He's the man that practically raised you. He was there for you when you were younger but the older you got the more you pulled away from him. You love him but anytime you bad mouth any of you “family” he instantly defends them.  You also have to remember he serves the whole family, not just you.

YIPPIE I FINALLY FINISHED IT (≧∇≦) hopefully you guys liked it. Well thats it for rn buy :)

Taglist: @cxcilla @starslightzz @jackchanzzz

[suguru-getos]

"Please- please-" you raggedly breathe, knees scraping against the hard floor as Satoru dragged you by your wrist, a soft whimper escaping your lips. You had no idea why he had gotten so angry. You have been nothing but good. You're forced to stand up next, hard grip on your hair sure to give you migraines. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I don't understand-"

This is the first time Satoru has been so silent, it terrifies you, the very marrow of your bones. He is big, tall, looming and so unwavering when he wants to be. Your hurt and panic breaks into a sniffle, lips parted to utter what he'd call a pathetic excuse of an apology. "What did I say, when I said I would be okay with you going out?" He raised a brow, and your pupils wavered in the bone-chilling coldness of his tone. Harsh blue eyes and pursed lips ready to attack his little prey. "Yo- You- you-" Fuck, you're stuttering. Just like you always do when you're scared and panicked. "Yo- You- you-… what. Did. I. Say?" Satoru hums, after mocking your tone.

You sniffled, "s-said to me to not go out apart from the estate premises."

"Do I need to make sure you listen to me in a different way?" For Satoru, it's simple. You have tried to run so many times that his patience has worn out, the constant fear of you going away is making him the monster he is now. The outside world is filled with curses, and bad things. You, are a non-sorcerer and you should know better. Besides, after today's incident. He is ready to do anything.

"Why the hell were you outside then?" He yelled, Satoru… doesn't really yell. The problem is, a special grade spirit was sighted near the store you decided to go see for yourself. While that's something rare, it's increasing his anxiousness a tenfold. What if you had been there, you had been a bag of fucking bones! "I just- wan' wan' wan'ed you know- I just-"

"Speak to me properly or I will break you in ways you can't take. Wouldn't let you walk for days." That causes you to cry out, why is he overreacting so much! Christ! He already has you here, rotting, against your will. You sobbed, heart racing and breaths shallowing.

Satoru was… tolerable… you wouldn't call yourself the unluckiest person in the world until today. He had abducted you, but he was never… this.

"Can’t talk to her or she will have a FUCKING panic attack." His jaw grits, holding you by the neck and pinning you against the wall. Your hands instinctively hold his wrist, but they're meek, sweaty with fear, and powerless. "If I see you step out again, I will kill everyone you hold near since you love watching me helplessly try to make you compliant, without hurting you, no?" Without hurting you… yeah right.

You nodded, "W- Won't step out." It's getting harder for you to speak with every second, eyes losing focus and fight or flight kicking in. Satoru's harsh expressions are blurring out, you were passing out.

And you do, fall limp against him. His feet impatiently tapping the floor once he sees you collapse. Another reminder of how you could die in an instant and leave him like Suguru did. A soft sigh escapes him once the throbbing headache kicks in. The high adrenaline calming down and kicking in with brutal headache. He lets you fall on the floor, ignoring the slight bruise in your head at the impact. You should know better. At least this is keeping you from not fucking dying.

He walks away to get the medication for his head, looking at himself in the mirror. He doesn't… look like himself. He leans in, watching the colour of his eyes greying. Something's wrong. That's when it kicks in.

Yandere Satoru was influenced by the same special grade curse he had killed. Why else were his thoughts so messy? You had escaped so many times but he always thought you'd just… understand one day.

A cold blood rushes through his spine once his cloudy thoughts clear up, and the idea of you passed out on the cold flooring floods him. Satoru has never been more quick to pick you up, cradling you close. Some part of him is happy, you wouldn't run away anymore. Another part of him is unsure if it's him truly thinking it, or if it's the curse's energy tampering with his own. A small part of him wants to die for putting you through this. Satoru Gojo needed to figure this out.

And then… he needed to build his relationship with you from scratch once he finds out what you did go out to buy. There were ingredients of his favourite Kikufuku. You were trying to make him… Kikufuku.

The small part of him that wanted to die isn't so small anymore. Months, if not weeks, it will take months to get you to love him like this again…

[jq37]

Aelwyn is sixteen and preparing for midterms at Hudol. Uniform pressed and starched, head full of incantations and spell components. She doesn't mean to bump into Adaine and get orange juice all over her shirt but today isn't the day she's going to start showing weakness.

"You know, you really should watch we're you're going," she says archly, playing off the clumsy mistake as a purposeful jab.

Playing it off a bit too well because, the next thing she knows, Adaine is flipping her off and a bolt of queasy looking, green energy is coming towards her. Ray of Sickness. And she can't spare the spell slot for Counterspell because she needs it for her exams.

"You little bitch!" Aelwyn says once she's emptied the contents of her stomach down the front of her shirt.

"Good luck with your exams," Adaine says sweetly.

Aelwyn is eighteen and the oldest, mangiest cat she's ever seen in her life has just vomited on her shoes.

"My," she says, casting a shield spell around her ankles to stop the cat from clawing at them. "You weren't kidding. He is a little bastard, isn't he?"

The shelter volunteer looks mortified. "Oh, gods! I am so sorry. I tried to warn you--I mean, not that I'm blaming you but--"

"No, it's alright. I did ask you to show me stragglers."

The shelter worker gestures to another pen on the other side of the room. "I can show you the kittens we just got in or there are some very well behaved older cats as well if you'd--"

But Aelwyn cuts her off, scooping up the old cat--though she holds him at arm's length for now, just to be safe. "No need. I haven't changed my mind. I'll take this one." She looks at the tag on his collar. "Hector."

Aelwyn is three and, as of a month ago, no longer the youngest Abernant.

She's had baby dolls in the past but never a baby sister and this is exciting new territory. She's full of questions. When is she going to be able to walk? When is she going to be able to talk? When will she be old enough to have lembas bread instead of formula?

Her parents seem less fascinated by the new addition to the family than she is but her mother is amused when she slaps away the hand of a colleague of her father's who tried to touch Adaine before sanitizing his hands, standing between the much larger man and her sister.

"So defensive. Perhaps she'll be an abjurer."

When Aelwyn asks what that is, her mother says that it's a kind of magical protector and she likes that a lot. That sounds like a good thing to be.

At night, Adaine cries. Except, she doesn't hear it because the mobile above her crib is etched with runes that cast the Silence spell.

"But what if she gets hurt?" Aelwyn asks.

Her father brushes her off. That's what the Unseen Servants are for. But she thinks that's what an abjurer might be for too and even though she isn't one yet, that doesn't mean she can't start practicing.

So, every night, Aelwyn waits until her parents have put Adaine down for bed and then tiptoes into her room. She checks to see if Adaine is silently wailing and if she is (and even sometimes if she isn't) she presses her face between the bars of the crib and sticks her little hand over Adaine's face.

"Don't cry," she says, even though the Silence spell mutes her words as completely as the tears. "Mum said I'm an abjurer. Nothing will get you. Don't cry, baby."

Adaine grabs her hand with impressive grip strength for something so small and, within a few minutes, she's trancing peacefully.

Aelwyn is seventeen and her sister is off to save the world again. This time from a Night Yorb--whatever that is.

It feels cruel that Adaine should have to go risk her life again so soon after she just almost died--not almost died, she did die before being raised by her cleric.

She wants to come with, to help in some way. Surely she could be helpful--last quest they brought Gilear for Helio's sake!

But Adaine doesn't ask her and she can't bring herself to say the words she needs to have the conversation she wants. So, instead, she lightly whaps Adaine on the shoulder with her spellbook as she's packing for the quest.

"I know you haven't done much studying lately what with your grades being based on how many hobgoblins you kill or whatever ridiculous system Aguefort has cooked up," Adaine rolls her eyes at that, "But if you don't mind a little cram session before you leave tomorrow, I can show you how to cast Teleport like I said. Might help you stay a touch less dead on your quest."

Her tone is light but her eyes betray her: Please, please, please don't die again.

Adaine's expression softens but then she scoffs, playing her half of their game. "I don't know what a Hudol dropout who's been in jail for the past year is gonna teach me but do your best."

Aelwyn is seven and her father is cross with her.

"Really Aelwyn," he says and even though they're talking via crystal she can feel the frost of his glare. "You thought it was appropriate to call me at work for no good reason? How many times have I told you and your sister to not bother me while I'm working."

She hates the word bother. She doesn't want to be a bother. She tries very hard not to be. Maybe she just didn't explain herself well enough.

"I know, father. But Addy got really scared and panicky on the playground. She was breathing really hard and--"

Her father makes a noise of disgust. "I don't have time for this. She is in primary school now. Stop coddling her. And her name is Adaine, not Addy. Please speak properly. I'm raising you better than that."

He hangs up before she can say anything else.

Aelwyn is eighteen and most of the claw marks on her arms have healed, which is nice. On her lap asleep is Hector who has apparently decided he likes her enough to use her as a radiator but not enough to submit to medical treatment without using her arms as a scratching post.

"You little heat vampire," she says as she slides her thumb across the screen of her crystal, searching for a video that will help her out. Eventually she finds one that looks promising and she calls it up.

On the screen, a halfling is standing next to a cat who is actively shredding her sweater with its claws. "You're going to be tempted to use some kind of a shield spell when applying the ointment," says the halfling. "But cats can smell abjuration magic and they don't love it. You won't get close enough to do the job. Isn't that right my darling?"

In response, her cat hacks up a hairball.

"Darling indeed," she says under her breath.

But even laced with sarcasm, the word is sweeter against her tongue than she anticipated.

She sinks her hand into Hector's fur and scratches his back for a few moments before tentatively speaking aloud. "Sleeping well, my darling?"

Hector says nothing--he's asleep and a cat. But warmth blooms in Aelwyn's chest--more than enough to make up for what Hector is leeching from her.

Aelwyn is seventeen and her father has just given her the most horrible command she's ever received in her life--and she's counting being made to sink a ship full of people in that calculation.

She knows her father doesn't expect her to delicately extricate the knowledge he needs from Adaine's mind. He expects her to get it at all costs. To ransack and pillage the memories if necessary with no heed of the consequences on her psyche. He'd probably prefer it that way--the more broken Adaine is, the easier it will be to mold her into a version of herself that is more useful to him.

Aelwyn is usually a smooth talker and a convincing liar but now, she stumbles all over her words, babbling out a stream of deflections and pleas as her heart squeezes tighter and tighter in her chest until she can't hold back the truth that she's been suppressing for years anymore.

"Adaine's just…she's a baby."

Aelwyn is eighteen and her apartment is full of cats.

She's always thought that the phrase, "One thing led to another" was a bit of a cop out--clearly there were key steps between point A and point B being glossed over--but in this case, there is truly no better way for her to articulate how she went from zero cats to ten cats in such a short amount of time.

She's sure that if she was still living with Jawbone, he'd have something to say about it but that's exactly why she isn't currently living with Jawbone.

She portions out food for all of the cats, saving Hector for last because he likes to eat curled up next to her.

"My darling baby boy," she says, lifting him onto the couch with her because the jump up is a bit much for him and his old bones. She kisses him on the top of the head and then pulls out her crystal. She scrolls mindlessly for a bit before checking her messages despite the fact that there's conspicuously no notifications.

Not that she has many people to expect texts from but she hasn't heard from Adaine in a few weeks and it's unsettling. When they weren't getting along, they were still living under the same roof. She was able to keep tabs on her, more or less. Now, they're closer than they've been in ages but barely talking.

I'm the older sister, I suppose, Aelwyn thinks. I should take the initiative.

She pets Hector with one hand and drafts a message with another: Are you alive, bitch?

She's about to press send but then she frowns and deletes the draft. After a few moments of thought, she taps out a new message: Can't believe I'm gonna say this. Miss my little sister. Everything all right?

Aelwyn is seventeen--though she doesn't feel like it.

Her mind is telling her that she's sixteen and that she was just been broken out of a jail cell in Solace but Adaine is telling her that she's just been broken out of an entirely different prison after being tortured for months even though she doesn't remember any of that.

But her body feels frail and Adaine says she's been in her mind which means she must have used the hard reset.

She's suddenly feeling very vulnerable--not because of the disorientation or the of the levels of exhaustion she can feel weighing on her like leaden chains. No, it's because of the fact that Adaine using the reset means that she must have read the treacle-y note that she left there for her to find.

It was just an insurance policy, she tells herself. There was wisdom to buttering up your savior to make sure she'd do what you needed her to do.

She manages to mostly believe it. But the small, truthful part of herself that knows how deeply she meant the words is so uncomfortable that she antagonizes Adaine until she's annoyed enough to hit her with a spell, sending her into blissful unconsciousness.

Aelwyn is nineteen and she's going to kill her mother.

Well, not alone of course. Adaine deserves the kill at least as much as she does if not more. It'll be a group effort.

It's a strange mix--the cold fury at her mother mixed with the warmth she feels for her sister, sitting across the table from her. She summons a flame to her palm, a preview of what their mother has waiting for her. She watches Adaine's eyes harden with resolve and she sees the face of her baby sister, left to wail alone silently for hours, soothed by her presence. "Let's get her."

"Yes, my dear," she says, the endearment coming freely as if this has always been their dynamic. "We'll get her."

But there will be time for that later. Right now, it's time for ice cream and seeing Adaine so content in such a simple pleasure causes the warmth in her to surge so suddenly that it would be startling if it wasn't so pleasant. The urge to voice it is so powerful that she doesn't know that would have been able to stop it at any point in life, let alone now.

"I hope we get to eat ice cream and cast magic forever," she says, words that would have been impossible for her to say one short year ago and impossible not to say now.

And, to her delight, Adaine agrees.

[thewritetofreespeech]

I really think Gale needs to know that he is competent and good at things even without his magic/ without doing his magic.

Gale× woman girlfriend tav where they have soft sex and Gale want to enhance the experience with his magic, but reader shows him that he doesn't need to.

---------------------------🟣----------------------------------

When Tav told him that she loved him back, he thought his chest might explode from just pure excitement & relief. Not the orb.

He had been fairly certain that Tav felt the same as him. Mentally reviewed all their moments together. Stolen glances. That moment in the Weave that still seemed to linger on his fingertips even now. But one was never sure of these things until they happened. And given how his last ‘grand gesture’ had ended, Gale was nervous that this would be another defeat as well. Yet to be accepted, to be loved in return by someone he respected & admired again, Gale could die a happy man. Should the right moment Elminster spoke of was to come.

For now, however, he wanted to focus on the now. He wanted it to be perfect. A vision, just like Tav was to him. To show her how deep his affection was for her, even with their short time together. He had it all planned. To show her his home. To show him where he found the most peace and solace when not at her side. Then to make love in the way of the gods by a perfect mending of souls & mind. It would be perfect.

Yet when he told Tav of his plan, she denied him. Saying that she didn’t want illusions, just him.

“Are you sure?” Gale was caught off guard by her response. Expecting that, when offered the opportunity to experience what so few mortals could, she would jump at the chance. Even with his limitations on the Weave between the tadpole and Mystra’s bars, Gale knew he could get them close to his experience in the heavens. He wanted that for both of them. More than what these simple husks of flesh could bide them. “I can do more than woo you. I could wow you.”

Tav chuckled at his comment. Amused, even though he was being totally serious, and reaffirmed that she wanted the man, not the magic.

Gale was entirely nervous at this point but tried not to show it. He had a plan and all that was out the window. What was he supposed to do now?? The wizard endeavored to stay calm and continue with at least the original plan of being with Tav. He didn’t know if they would have a moment like this again and he would be gods damned if he was going to waste it.

Conjuring just a small bit of magic for a bed, as his back would never recover from making love on the hard ground, Gale smiled when he saw Tav fall back on it playfully. She was always so funny. This odd kind of silly mixed with bravery. Gale couldn’t remember the last time he had been with someone who was silly. Mystra was always so serious, and her wizard acolytes from his school days were no different.

He watched Tav sit up on the bed. Beckoning him over with a look and gesture of her hand that held more magic in it to command than any spell Gale could conjure. He had to obey.

Climbing onto the bed with her, Gale leaned in to kiss Tav a second time. Deeper than the first. Her lips were soft, but a little chapped from their journey. It was warm though. That heat seemed to fill Gale to his bones. He’d forgotten what it was like being with a mortal after so much time with an immortal. Mystra always seemed happy with their coupling. Open and willing to reciprocate, but it was always incorporeal for them. Gale had made offers to pleasure her in other ways. Use what skills he had to please his goddess, but she always declined. As if unwilling to let her once mortal body turn divine be touched in any way resembling a human. At the time Gale had been contented with that. But with the clarity that distance and perspective could now offer, he could now see the benefits of both.

Gale gasped into their kiss as he felt Tav’s fingers brush over the front of his tunic. Down from his chest to his belly. The muscles twitch even with the slightest touch. He had forgotten about that too. Touch.

He moved from kissing Tav’s lips down to her neck. Her breath hitched as her pulse hammered against his lips. Feeling her life’s drum just there against her skin. Gale could understand why Astarion was so tempted now. As he kissed her neck and collarbone, his fingers danced over her body. Gale may not have magic in his fingers when it came to locks, but he was certainly dexterous enough to be able to do lacings & the like. Their garments melting away as if by actual magic.

Gale took a moment to push up on his hands and get a full look at Tav. She was beautiful. Radiant. The light on her skin. The pert of her breasts in the night air. The imperfections of scars, freckles, and spots here & there all perfect. The perfection of realism.

The wizard swooped back down to finish kissing Tav all the way down. Moving to her sternum. Toying with her breasts. The weight of them soft but noticeable as he worked them in his hand. He moaned in tandem with Tav as her fingers brushed into his hair as he suckled at her breast. Feeling her there, reciprocating, listening to her enjoy what he was doing to her, Gale thought he might burst. He was so hard, and the bedding he had conjured provided little relief to the pressure as he rubbed against it.

Gale continued his path down. Kissing over Tav’s stomach until he came to the apex between her thighs. “Can you open a little more for me, my love?” He was hesitant to use the term of endearment. Fearful that he might have pushed too far. Perhaps they were not ready for pet names. But when he saw Tav part for him with a shy little smile, he decided he would call her that every day.

Her scent flowed up to him as her legs parted. Sweet yet sensual. Gale felt his mouth literally water in reflex. How long had it been since he tasted a woman fully? How longer still had it been since he’d done this with a woman that he loved?

Even with the lapse in time, it was like a fish to water for Gale. Based on Tav’s moans & shutters he had not forgotten how to please with his verbose, practiced tongue. He swiped up through her center, teasing the nub at the cleft, before sliding back down to collect her sweet honey. His hands massaged her thighs which were warm and lax by his ears. Gods. How had he gone so long without this in his life? He felt like a starving man sat down in front of his first meal.

Gale moaned into her cunt as he felt Tav reach for him between her legs. Fingers in his hair. Gripping and pulling in pleasure. His cock was already rock hard but it jutted in excitement with every tightening of her fingers. He made quick work to finish lest he truly embarrass himself on their first rendezvous.

Tav cried out as she came. Her thighs tightening in his hand. She looked beautiful lying there all spent. The slightest hint of perspiration on her skin illuminated in the moonlight. Gale had seen gods, but he could think of no sight finer.

He crawled over Tav again until they were nose to nose. “Are you sure?” He wanted to ask again. Maybe she had changed her mind? Maybe this was enough for him to hope for?

Tav just wrapped her arms around his neck and braced her knees against his side. “Do it.”

The commanding voice sent a shiver down Gale’s spine. Enough to make him almost cum right there. He restrained himself and reached down to moisten his cock with spittle and pre-cum. Then he lined up with Tav’s entrance and pushed forward.

The two of them moaned. Gale did not expect how hot inside her would be, how tight. With Mystra everything was so open and vast. The vastness of eternity and the Weave open to them to express their feelings. Here, with Tav, everything seemed to file down to a single point. A single moment. Just the two of them in the whole wide world. Gale moved his hips back and pressed forward again. Starting a slow, easy rhythm. He wanted this moment to last forever; or at least as long as possible.

Tav held on to him and moved her hips back to meet him. The perfect partnership, just like their adventure. Gale leaned down to kiss her and was met with equal passion. Tongues melding, gasping breaths, hearts racing. Everywhere Tav touched him seemed to leave a burning trail across his body, waiting to consume him. Had it always been like this with mortals and he had just forgotten? No. Gale knew he would remember this if it had happened. It had to be Tav.

His hips sped up and Tav rose to meet him with glee. He could feel that he was going to climax soon, and it became his single focus for the next few moments before stumbled in his thrust with a low, powerful moan. White hot flashes across his eyes as he was sure was spilling inside her.

Gale broke from a final kiss with Tav in their coupling and rested his head against hers. He felt tired, but indeed sated as he anticipated he would be. Complete. Should the world and the orb come to swallow him whole, Gale would be able to do it with but one regret now on his mind. That he couldn’t be with her longer.

The wizard carefully dislodged himself from Tav and pulled her close with the conjured blanket to wrap them in. “We’ll need to head back before morning.” He reasoned. The others would come looking for them, and his spell of stars would not last forever. But it would for a little while longer. For now, he just wanted to spend the remainder of the night with Tav in his arms. As a man. As two lovers. Not a wizard and adventure on a path to save the world. Just him and Tav.

[katakaluptastrophy]

Masterpost of TLT metas

This is mostly for my own reference, as tagging doesn't seem to guarantee something being findable on Tumblr...but if you like wildly overthinking lesbian necromancers in space, enjoy!

Overthinking the Fifth House:

What is a "Speaker to the Dead"?

Actually, Magnus Quinn isn't terrible at sword fighting

Imperial complicity: Abigail the First

Pyschopomp: Abigail Pent and Hecate

Did Teacher conspire with Cytherea to kill the Fifth?

What does the Fifth House actually do?

The Fourth and the Fifth can never just be family

Cytherea's political observations at the anniversary dinner

Abigail Pent's affect: ghosts and autism

Were the Fourth wards of the Fifth?

Abigail probably knew most of the scions as children

Magnus Quinn's very understandable anger

Fifth House necromancy is not neat and tidy

Are Abigail and Magnus an exception to the exploitative nature of cavaliership?

"Abigail Pent literally brought her husband and look where that got her" (the Fifth in TUG)

The Fifth's relationship dynamic

The Fifth's relationship is unconventional in a number of ways

The queer-coding of Abigail and Magnus' relationship

Abigail and Palamedes, and knowing in the River

Was Isaac the ward of the Fifth?

Did Magnus manage to draw his sword before Cytherea killed him? (and why he probably had to watch his wife die)

How did Abigail know she was murdered by a Lyctor?

Fifth House necromancy is straight out of the Odyssey

The politics of the anniversary dinner

Was Magnus born outside of the Dominicus system?

Overthinking John Gaius:

The one time John was happy was playing Jesus

Is Alecto's body made from John's?

Are there atheists in the Nine Houses?

Why isn't John's daughter a necromancer?

The horrors of love go both ways: why John could have asked Alecto 'what have you done to me?'

Why M- may have really hoped John was on drugs

What is it with guys called Jo(h)n and getting disintegrated? (John and Dr Manhattan)

John's conference call with his CIA handlers

Watching your friend turn into an eldritch horror

Why does G1deon look so weird? (Jod regrew him from an arm)

When is a friendship bracelet not a friendship bracelet?

Why did John have G1deon hunt Harrow? (with bonus update)

The 'indelible' sin of Lyctorhood and John's shoddy plagiarism of Catholicism

Are John Gaius and Abigail Pent so different?

What was Jod's plan at Canaan House?

John and Ianthe tread the Eightfold path

The Mithraeum is more than a joke about cows

When was John Gaius born? (And another)

John Gaius and the tragic Orestes

John and Jesus writing sins in the sand

John and Nona's echoing chapters

John's motivations

Overthinking the Nine Houses:

'No retainers, no attendants, no domestics'

Funerary customs and the violence of John's silence

Juno Zeta and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad time

The horror of the River bubble

Every instance of 'is this how it happens' in HTN

Feudalism is still shitty even if you make it queer and sex positive

How do stele work?

Thought crime in the Nine Houses

The Houses have a population the size of Canada

What must it be like to fight the Houses?

You know what can't have been fun? Merv wing's megatruck on Varun day...

Augustine's very Catholic hobby (decorating skeletons)

Necromancers are not thin in a conventionally attractive way

Matching the Houses with the planets of the solar system

Why don't the Nine Houses have (consistent) vaccination or varifocals?

How would the Houses react to the deaths at Canaan House?

How does Wake understand her own name (languages over 10,000 years)

What pre-resurrection texts are known in the Houses?

Camilla and Palamedes very Platonic relationship

The horrors the Cohort found at Canaan House

Do the Houses understand the tech keeping them alive?

Overthinking House religion:

What do the Houses believe about death?

Was M's nun a Franciscan?

Cavaliership and arbitrary socio-religious structures

Ritual scarification

Sacraments and sacramentals

What did Silas think god wanted at Canaan House?

In defense of Silas

There's no such thing as a 'good' necro/cav relationship

Veiling and shaving in Ninth House cult practice

Tongue-in-cheek thoughts on Eighth and Sixth religion

A very long deep-dive on House belief and practice

Overthinking Harrowhark Nonagesimus:

'The meat of your meat...belonged to god' and 'that is how meat loves meat'

The horror of parental touch: Harrow, John Gaius, and Abigail Pent

Why is Harrow so obsessed with Abigail's hands?

Frontline Titties of the Fifth and transgressive necro/cav relationships

Harrow, Wake, and permeability of the soul in HTN

Bible studies for weird queer necromancers:

Epiphany: revealing god's child to the wider world

The Holy Innocents and the creche massacre

The Virgin Mary and Commander Wake

John Gaius and John the Baptist

Instantiating the Trinity and the Second Resurrection

What's the significance of Paul?

St Paul's theology of gender and sexuality and the House theology of cavaliership

Maundy Thursday: consuming another for eternal life

Harrow and the Harrowing of Hell

[hughiecampbelle]

The Boys Preference: You Falling Asleep

A/N: Not requested! I just thought it would be a cute idea! Requests are still open. Be sure to read my rules in the pinned post :) Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Butcher didn't want anyone visiting him in the hospital, but you weren't taking no for an answer. He'd been sleeping on and off, but when he work up again, you were asleep. Curled into a ball in one of the visitor chairs. You looked uncomfortable and cramped, but your expression was that of relief. For a little while you weren't worried about the state of the world or the future or his health. He knows you haven't been getting enough sleep. That didn't really matter when it felt like the world was ending every other day. When the nurses come in he makes sure to warn them. He couldn't be the cause of your fears and the one to wake you up. Someone brought a blanket and he gently placed it over you. He watched you, taking in this moment. You were finally relaxed. He knew you'd only done this because you were completely exhausted, you could barely keep your eyes open. It hurt him to know that he was a big reason why you couldn't eat or sleep or take care of yourself. He never meant to hurt you like this.

Hughie notices you can barely keep your eyes open. After that night at Tek Knights, you haven't been sleeping very well. You'd been so scared, so sure you were going to die with five new holes punctured into your body. You woke up from nightmares gasping for air, checking your skin for holes, afraid you were still in the sex dungeon. That you never got out. He's not sure how to talk to you about it and the guilt eats him alive. You and him are going through his files on Neuman when your head starts to fall only for you to startle awake. He insists you take a nap in his bed. You're reluctant, but you're so exhausted you eventually give in. He doesn't shut the door completely, wanting to be there if you have another nightmare. It's the least he can do.

Annie insists she'll stay awake for the both of you. The shape shifter captured you both. You were just at the wrong place at the wrong time. They ended up drugging the both of you. They switched between your two identities, tearing off their skin, taking your memories as well as your faces. Annie can see just how tired you are. Your skin is raw and you've run out of tears. She doesn't hold it against you. She fights against the chains quietly, hearing your breathing turn shallow. She would find a way out of this. She would get you out of this. You'd feel better after getting a good night's sleep. You weren't a Supe. You didn't have the abilities she had. And yet, she couldn't get them to work. She cursed herself for not protecting you, not saving you, not being a good enough Supe. She was grateful you weren't awake to see her fall apart like this.

M.M. does everything in his power not to wake you. You fell asleep on a surveillance mission in the van. You'd gotten so quiet, he felt like he was talking to himself. When he looked over, putting the binoculars down, you were curled in a ball in the passenger seat, fast asleep. He knows you haven't been sleeping well. If it's not the nightmares, it's the fear, the worrying. You recently admitted you'd kept a loaded gun where you could easily reach just in case. You were petrified something terrible would happen if you relaxed even a little, if you let your guard down. You needed this. He turns the engine off and puts his coat over you. He would've loved being able to talk about your heightened stress and anxiety, ways to cope, but this was a lot better. He hoped you'd feel safer, calmer after you woke up.

Frenchie freaks out a little internally. He thought you were dead. Your head was resting in your folded arms on your desk. Once he saw your body rise and fall with your breathing, he realized you weren't knocked out or dead. You were asleep. He thinks it's a little funny after getting over his initial panic. You've been working really hard lately. He wasn't sure how much sleep you were getting, if you were getting any at all. When the others walked in, bickering and laughing, he motions for them to be quiet. You needed this. Everyone whispers, going their separate ways. Frenchie turns down the lights, leaving a lamp on so that you're not totally in the dark. He wants you to rest as long as possible. You've been giving everything to this job, this cause, lately. You needed a lot more rest than this.

Kimiko knew you'd been having nightmares. It wasn't a secret. You confided in her one night that you haven't been sleeping well. Every time you close your eyes, you see Homelander. You feel his lasers slice through you until you're two halves. He's not just angry or upset, he's furious. You can't escape him. You two are hanging out when she notices you can't keep your eyes open. She tells you to lay down with your head on her lap. You laugh it off, but she's serious. She rubs circles between your shoulder blades, trying to ease you to sleep. When she notices your eyes are closed she doesn't stop. It brings her a lot of ease and relief knowing she can help you, at least a little. If you have another nightmare, if you face Homelander alone again, she'll be there when you wake up. She'll be there.

Bonus! Homelander either let's you sleep or orders you out of the room. If he likes you, he might warn the others to shut the fuck up. He'd move your meeting to another time and simply let you be. He might check on you every so often and when he sees you stirring he would gently wake you up, walk you to your room where you can sleep in a real bed instead of holding your head up in the board room. If he doesn't like you, he yells and berates and is this close to firing you before he realizes The Seven and Vought need you for your powers. You can apologize all you want, he won't listen. Either way you're completely embarrassed. You've just been so busy lately, it's been hard to fall asleep with everything going on.

[clare-875]

Despair (Sanji x Reader)

_____ Pairing: Sanji x Female Reader Summary: You start to skip meals, doubting yourself and your image. Sanji doesn't notice until it's too late. Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Body image, Comparing yourself to others, Not eating enough (TW: eating disorder), Passing Out [One Piece Masterlist] _____

You prod at the food that lies on your plate absentmindedly, telling yourself to eat. It looks delicious; of course it does. Sanji's food was to die for, and you felt your heart sink at your thoughts to not eat what he has poured heart and soul into. But then again, your thoughts haven't been nice to you recently. You have found yourself comparing your image with Nami and Robin and all the other women you come across and you feel buried insecurities rising because of it. You know it's ridiculous; that you should really just embrace yourself and just deal with it. But you can't just deal with it. It's been running your mind rampant. I'm not pretty enough. I should work out more. Why can't I look like her? I should really start watching what I eat. You know the last thought is the most ridiculous; Sanji makes his meals to cater to every necessity your body could need. But you have tried everything, and the beautiful figures of your female companions are overwhelming. What if he realizes... I can never look like them. Will his eyes wonder? Will he leave me?

"Love, is everything alright?"

Your gaze snaps upward at your boyfriend's voice and he looks to you with deep concern in his eyes. The cook eyes you questioningly before looking at your untouched plate of food. "Is the food not to your liking? I could make you something else if you-" You quickly cut off his words, not wanting him to question the meal you know he has prepared so intricately for you and the crew. "No, no, I was just thinking. Thank you Sanji, it looks lovely." You try to undo his concern and make your lips quirk upwards, but you know what you produce is a half-hearted smile. Sanji looks at you, the furrow of his brows not giving way. However, as he goes to ask you something, he is interrupted by the voices of the crew. "Sanji! Another!" Luffy has his now empty plate high in the air, craving more of the meal, Ussop and Chopper doing the same next to him with wide grins on their faces. It has the cook rolling his eyes but he stops when Nami joins the fray. "I wouldn't mind some more too Sanji-kun!" Robin nods along, a soft smile on her face. "Me too!" The cook turns hesitantly from your side then, going to fetch their plates. "R-right, straight away ladies!"

He leaves you to your thoughts again.

In his distraction, you push your plate to Luffy who sits near you. "Here Luffy, take mine, I'm not feeling that hungry." Your Captain turns to you, eyes gleaming as he ponders your words. "Really?" But he has already taken the meal outstretched to him. "Thanks [y/n]!" You find yourself standing as he devours your meal in an instant, and hope Sanji doesn't notice it wasn't you who ate it. Robin perks up at your sudden movements. "Is everything alright, [y/n]?" You freeze as you turn to her, and you are met with her kind smile, the concern in her eyes. But you also see all that you cannot be. It is insufferable: your jealousy. It makes you loathe the depths of yourself and so you force it away and nod. "Yeah, I'm just turning in." You try to ease her concern and you don't know if she believes your words, but you move before she can question you further. You leave the rowdy crew to their dinner and open the kitchen door, not seeing how Sanji turns in surprise at your sudden absence.

You breathe in the crisp evening air, not noticing how desperately you needed it until it hits your face. A single tear slips from your eye but you catch it quickly, shaking your head. What's wrong with me? You move across the ship to the bathroom, hoping that a bath might help wash away your suddenly erratic thoughts. However, when you strip yourself of your clothes, you realise it is a mistake; there are mirrors. Your lips turn downward as you look at yourself realizing how impossible it would be to look like Nami and Robin. How impossible it would be to contort yourself to that image: pretty eyes, perfect smile, lack of waists and slim figures but still with curves where you needed them to be. How do they do it? Your thoughts then turn to how Sanji's face looked as they asked for seconds of his meal. He seemed so happy to cater for the beautiful women; of course, he would be. How long until his thoughts drift away from you? You turn away quickly and continue your tasks until you're wrapped in a towel again, hating your envy and hoping sleep might control it.

However, your insecurities can't disappear that easily.

Your thoughts mingled the rest of the week, and because of it, you found yourself eating less. You found yourself pushing meals to Luffy when Sanji was distracted, desperately hoping he didn't notice. You worked out more, glad that Zoro said nothing when he saw you more frequently in the crow's nest. You slowly started to slip into the rhythm. Skip breakfast, work out, a little lunch, work out, skip dinner. It was becoming easier to ignore your hunger, you told yourself you were seeing progress. You could never hate the beautiful women around you for your sudden revelations, you saw it as your own problem. You told yourself it was for the best. However, what you failed to see was that among your suddenly obsessive thoughts, you have slowly started to neglect your health, and on top of that, you have slowly started to neglect Sanji.

The cook had barely seen you the past week, and he missed you. What hours you would usually spend by his side you now spend in the crow's nest and he wanted your presence by him again. You used to always be in the kitchen as he prepared meals; his personal taste tester always gifting him compliments that made his heart soar. You would always share stories as he chopped and mixed, and he would be blessed by the soft sound of your voice. You would dry dishes you insisted on drying as he passed them to you, and he would hear your sweet laughter at something that had happened earlier in the day; he would have to struggle not to swoon just by the sound of it. You used to hold him gently as he cooked the crew's meals and he would feel your warmth make his heart stutter, make him want to create even better dishes just as a thank you for being his; for being you. Your fleeting touches, your pretty smile, your gleaming eyes, your perfect figure that melds into his; they were all suddenly taken from him and he didn't know why.

Sanji had tried to approach you several times but you had evaded him. "Sorry, Sanji I'm too busy right now." "Sorry Sanji, maybe another time." "Sorry Sanji, I think I'm gonna go to the crow's nest again." Sanji's lips downturned at the thought. Had he done something wrong? His fingers flicked on his lighter as he pulled out another cigarette; he had been going through them like lollipops recently. His heart twisted in slight envy as he thought of you in the crow's nest again, no doubt with the stupid marimo nearby. How had Zoro of all people seen you more than he had? It took all his strength not to (for no reason) go beat up the green-haired swordsman. His thoughts then lingered on an event he had considered over and over; the night when your smile didn't shine as it should as you poked and prodded your food. Of course, Sanji noticed the unusual despair on your face; he was basically a professional at catching on women's true emotions.

Had something happened? Had someone done something?

As Sanji thought on and continued to blow on his cigarette he finally considered something he had yet to acknowledge. Now that he had thought about it, he hadn't seen you much during meal times with the crew. You would either pop your head in for a brief while, leave quickly, or barely even show up at all. Sanji raked his brain harder for answers. He had thought he'd seen you slip something to Luffy during those times, but could it be your meals? He had seen your fleeting figure and he had seen how your eyes had seemed duller, your face a bit paler, your figure a bit more littered with exhaustion. But it couldn't be, could it? Were you skipping meals? He then thought of how your eyes seemed to sadden at the last island you and the crew had gone to. They were saddened by the presence of the women on the island; known for their beauty and charm. And, of course, they were beautiful, but they weren't you. Sanji had toned down his woman-crazed ways the instant he understood what his feelings for you meant. Had he let slip? Had you misinterpreted his care for flirt? Was it all his fault?

"Sanji-kun!"

He snapped out of contemplation as he registered Nami's worried voice as she ran to him quickly. "Nami-san? What's wrong?" Sanji feels his already racing heart pick up pace as the navigator frowns before spilling the words that has her rushing to him. "[y/n]... she passed out. She's with Chopper."

......

When you finally reopen your eyes, you are lost for a moment, not knowing what happened. But then, your memories start to flood back in. That's right, you think to yourself. You had finished your workout again, but something hadn't felt right. As you descended from the crow's nest and went to rest you had suddenly felt dreadful. Cold sweat had started to seep from your skin, your vision had slowly become clouded by spots and you had felt nausea wash over you quickly. You had stumbled, luckily Nami had been walking past as you did. You had felt her arms, heard her muffled voice in the ringing of your ears - something about staying awake - before the darkness had pulled you in. You sigh looking at the tube ingrained in your arm with despondency, before registering a warmth around your hand. You instantly look down to see that it was Sanji, and he had also just realised that you were awake. Your heart beats faster, shame befalls you, but he speaks first.

"Love... what happened? Chopper said you were malnourished..."

Your heart twists as you look at the cook who has utter concern and sadness and determination in his eyes. Why? "Love, please... talk to me." Sanji's voice sounds desperate for answers already lingering from Chopper's diagnosis, but he needed to hear it all from you. You let the silence remain for a moment to try and control your emotions, but your tears let slip and Sanji's eyes widen at the sight. "I-I'm sorry Sanji. I just- I just haven't been feeling like myself and- and I just wanted to feel better. I skipped meals and I guess I trained too hard. I-" You swallow harshly as you look at the man who squeezes your hand in comfort despite your despair causing his heart to ache. "I just wanted to be good enough, I didn't want you to realise that I'm not as pretty as-" You pause as you tear your eyes away from Sanji. "I just didn't want you to leave me." Sanji can't even describe the amount of disbelief that filled him at your words. You were scared that he would leave you?

"Love... How could I ever- What made you think- It's all my fault."

Your gaze snaps upward at his remark as you shake your head about to retort but he continues on. "I'm sorry love. I should've noticed sooner." Sanji feels his heartbreak for you as his lover, but failure seeps in as the cook of the crew. How can he dream of being a renowned chef, when he can't even notice his own partner, clearly having skipped and pushed away his meals. It was his job to make sure all the crew were fed and nourished perfectly, and he had failed to do that with the one person he cared about most in the world. What's more, he hadn't even noticed your insecurities; he had let you wither and deal with your pain alone. He grits his teeth. "[y/n]." Your heart jumps slightly at the sheer will in his eyes. "Believe me. You are beautiful, perfect, you are the only woman for me. Please, let me be there for you, let me help you..." He holds your hand up in his but you eye him hesitantly and so he continues. He presses his lips to your hand and you feel the heat rise to your cheeks; missing the intimate moments you have traded because of your irrational fears.

"I could never love someone else."

Your eyes glisten with his care and you squeeze his hand gently before peering into his gaze. "I'm sorry Sanji, I didn't eat your meals. I- I've been so distracted I haven't even come to see you... I missed you." Sanji's lips quirk upward then into his kind, warm smile.

"I missed you too, love."

In the following days that passed, you made up for the lost time with Sanji. In his kitchen, you went back to your usual routines and he swooned at your presence, also back to his normal self. Almost all the crew, except for those forever oblivious, let out a collective sigh of relief at the sight of the both of you together and back to your usual ways. Nevertheless, even as insecurities may bubble and rise within you from time to time, you didn't find yourself contesting your beauty or his love for you again; more like Sanji wouldn't let you. Each time he saw your eyes wonder, he held you closer. Each time he witnessed your thoughts drift away he brought you back to him. Each time you considered your self-worth, he would be there to reassure you of your beauty, and his adoration; all almost painfully obvious in the way he basically screamed of his love for you each passing day. He never wanted that look of despair in your eyes again, and so he made sure he didn't.

You looked at your boyfriend, the loving, doting, devoted chef of the crew and you didn't doubt him; you didn't doubt his words. You accepted yourself and you accepted his love, letting despair dwindle away; relishing the brighter days that lay ahead.

[luvyeni]

THEY GO TOO FAR 𖹭 엔하이픈 ( reaction ) !

genre yandere 𖹭 warning dark fic, mentions of hitting , blood , starvation , psychological torture — parings OT7! enhypen x fem reader | back to library .

request: what about yandere!enha when they've gone too far ? like punished you/messed with you enough to the point the person is non-verbal/fainted/really mad at them etc.

— what happens enhypen goes too far with a punishment?

「 authors note 𖹭 」

﹙ 𐙚 : heeseung﹚ .ᐟ

he doesn't think he went too far , in fact he got you exactly where he wanted — all to himself , that's why he did this , this why he isolated you from your friends, your family; anyone who loved you — cause only he could love you, you were his. all you did now was follow him around the house , not wanting to leave his side, you even sat on the toilet while he showered. he couldn't even leave the house without you screaming for him to stay , and that made him smile wickedly , he went too far and he loved it. "pl-please don't leave me." you sobbed , grabbing his arms , he wasn't even going anywhere, he just wanted to see what you were gonna do , smiling , he closed the door , pulling your shaking body into his arms as you begged him not to leave.

"see how easily i can leave , remember that."

﹙ 𐙚 : jay﹚ .ᐟ

when you did something he didn't like, he withheld everything from you; shower , food water for as long as he saw fit , he even ordered the maids and everyone else to ignore you. this went on as long as he saw fit , mostly a week , but he wanted to try and prolong it to prove a point to you. — until one day he heard a thud and scream of a maid , you had fainted. "shit." he pulled the tie of his suit. "don't just stand there pick her up take her to the room , call the doctor." he sighed. "how long did she go without eating?" He asked ,everyone was silent. "how long!" he shouted. "about a week and a half." he cursed , he went too far.

"stupid girl i told you to listen to me , call the fucking doctor."

﹙ 𐙚 : jake﹚ .ᐟ

jake knew he'd gone too far, you didn't care anymore. you didn't cry when he cut himself anymore , you didn't stay up for days making sure he didn't hurt himself , you were desensitized to his actions and he didn't know what to do , you were gonna leave him for sure now , he no longer had control. "I'll really kill myself this time , I promise." you stood there watching him bleed from his arms , every emotion flowing through your brain — you snapped , picking up the knife. "fine." he watched you put the blade to your arm , slicing it. "y-yn." you screamed as he began to cry. "shut up , shut up." you shouted at him. "you wanna die? you can't live without me? let's die then." you said , he was watching you go crazy.

he didn't know what to do , he'd gone way too far.

﹙ 𐙚 : sunghoon﹚ .ᐟ

sunghoon was short tempered at times , and you both knew it was only a matter of time before he went too far with his punishments , and he did. "su-sunghoon please." you could see he face turning red. "i'm sorry." he didn't hear you , all he saw was you hitting him and running towards the door , it was locked and he had the key , but he was pissed. "sunghoon please im sorry." all he wanted to do was push you to the floor , but he pushed too hard , you fell to the ground not before hitting your head on the table , knocking you out cold. "shit." he ran his fingers through his hair , checking your pulse— you were still breathing. he picked your body up off the floor taking you back to his room.

he actually felt bad this time

﹙ 𐙚 : sunoo﹚ .ᐟ

it happened too fast , you were leaving out the door, you were gonna leave him all alone , you were falling for his manipulation tactics anymore , you didn't pack anything ready to leave , he blacked out , like everything was in flashes; one minute your hand was on the door knob , another flash and the lamp was in his hand and he was behind you , then another flash and you were on the floor , he'd hit you. "oh no." he dropped the lamp , tears welling in his eyes , you were breathing but you were out cold . "im so sorry." he sobbed , holding you in his arms. "yo-you were gonna leave me , i couldn't let you go." he cried. "I'm so sorry." he moved you to the bed.

"i-im sorry i went too far."

﹙ 𐙚 : jungwon﹚ .ᐟ

so maybe he left you in the isolated room too long; normally it was only a week, he knew you could take it— so then what about 2 weeks? 2 and a half weeks? 3 weeks? no you couldn't take it , and jungwon soon found that once he stopped hearing you scream , when he went to give you food , you barely ate it , then you stopped eating all together. he started to fear you were dead , he didn't want that , so he opened the door , where you were balled up in a corner , hair messy , you whimpered from the light shining into the room. "hey come on." he said, you didn't move , he tried to come near you , but you tried to bury yourself into your knees , muttering im sorry over and over again , until he picked you up from the floor taking you to his room.

when you crawled into a ball silently sobbing to yourself , he realized he went too far.

﹙ 𐙚 : ni-ki﹚ .ᐟ

ni-ki doesn't think he went too far , he didn't even twist your arm that hard , why are you crying like a baby? "it's not broken , get up." you don't get up , so he grabs you by that arm which makes you scream in pain , he drops you on the couch. "shit." he realizes it might actually be broken. "i told you not to leave again and you did , this is your fault." he said , how the hell was he gonna explain this to a doctor? he won't , cause he's not taking you to the doctor, well not at first. "go take a pain killer and stop screaming before someone hears you." he only takes you to a doctor because he's sick and tired of hearing you scream.

"fine i'll take you , just shut up."

[flwrkid14]

another gotham, another fate

Gotham never gets a Batman.

Bruce Wayne disappears into himself. Maybe he travels. Maybe he drinks. Maybe he walks the edge of the Cave and never steps down. Maybe he just grows old behind cold marble walls, haunted in a quiet, personal way. A man who never found a way to scream back at the world. Either way, there’s no cowl. No mission. No signal in the sky.

And the city… adapts. It grows meaner in places, quieter in others. Crime learns to wear a suit and speak politely. The monsters don’t vanish—but they go unchecked. Gotham learns to live without hope.

The tragedy isn’t what it becomes.

It’s what they don’t.

---

The circus keeps moving.

Dick Grayson still loses his parents, but no hand reaches out through the crowd to catch him. No cape wraps around his shoulders. No name whispered through a cowl. He mourns, of course. He bleeds. But he doesn’t break.

He stays. With the cast mates who knew him as a toddler, who helped raise him between acts. The circus becomes a family in the truest, rawest sense—fractured, mismatched, and fiercely protective. He learns to laugh again.

Some nights, after a standing ovation, he disappears from the tents. He climbs buildings barefoot, somersaults across rooftops just to feel the wind kiss his face. There’s a pull he doesn’t understand, a familiarity in the city’s breathless heights. He never becomes Robin—but he dreams of being something, of doing more. And on the nights he flies, Gotham holds its breath like it almost remembers him.

---

Jason Todd stays dead to the world, but he doesn't die.

He becomes a ghost anyway. Just not the dramatic kind. He becomes something softer and sadder—just another kid in Crime Alley whose name nobody knows.

He finds peace in the quiet corners of the city: secondhand bookstores, shuttered libraries, crumbling apartment stairwells where no one asks questions. He steals poetry like he used to steal bread, tucks it under his shirt like it might keep him warm. His world is stitched together with phantom echoes and survival.

Some nights, he walks past a building he doesn’t recognize and feels like he’s being watched. Some mornings, he wakes up with a bruise on his knuckles he can’t explain.

He passes a graveyard one night and feels something tug at his ribs. A name he doesn’t remember. A blow he never took.

---

Tim Drake learns to sit still.

There are no shadows on the wall to chase. No dark knight to unravel. Just quarterly reports and dinner parties and whispered disappointment behind every door.

He keeps to himself. He’s good at it. He excels in every subject, learns how to navigate the Drake Corp boardroom like it’s a warzone. His parents are proud. He tells himself that’s enough.

But his hands twitch when the city goes quiet. His eyes flick toward rooftops like they’re supposed to mean something. He doesn’t know why.

Still, he watches the skyline like it’s a secret. Like if he studies it long enough, he’ll catch a glimpse of something important. Something he missed.

---

Stephanie Brown gets away with a lot.

No Bat means no one’s watching the alleyways. No one’s tracking the daughter of a third-string villain. She still puts on a homemade suit—just once. Paints a domino mask on with eyeliner, tapes foam to a sweatshirt, and climbs out her bedroom window.

It rains that night. She falls off a garage roof and cracks her elbow. She doesn’t try again.

Instead, she gets really good at pretending. She aces tests she didn’t study for. She flirts with danger in all the wrong ways. Gotham doesn’t need saving, she tells herself. And even if it did—who the hell would want her?

But some nights, when she sees police tape or hears a scream echo through the dark, she wonders what she could’ve been. What she almost was.

---

Cassandra Cain is made into a weapon.

There’s no one there to stop it. No Bat in a rain-slick alley whispering that she’s more than muscle memory and silence. No hand reaching out to rewrite her story.

So she runs. She slips through Gotham like mist—half myth, half shadow. People call her a ghost. A rumor. A girl-shaped legend with hands that only know how to end things.

She doesn’t know how to be anything else.

She hides in the forgotten places—abandoned church basements, subway tunnels worn thin by time. There, in the dark, she traces shapes into the dust with trembling fingers. Her body remembers violence, but her soul aches for language.

She learns to speak without words—through stillness, through motion, through the ache behind her eyes.

She watches dancers on the corner and mimics them in secret. Studies the curve of joy in their movement.

And sometimes—only sometimes—she watches from the rooftops. Watches a boy leap buildings like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. Watches a girl in a patched costume refuse to give up. And it hits her like a bruise she doesn’t have a name for.

On rare nights, she dreams of masks. Of meaning. Of something that could’ve saved her.

But dreams slip through her fingers. And she always wakes up alone.

---

Barbara Gordon still gets shot.

Not by a man with a painted smile and a laugh that curdles blood. Not in a sick cosmic joke meant to break her spine.

Just... by a man with a gun on a street she shouldn’t have walked down. Wrong place, wrong time. Gotham doesn’t care either way. It never did.

She survives. Barely. And that’s the end of her independence. Of her plans. Her father cries at her bedside and she learns to swallow bitterness for his sake.

Eventually, she gets a chair. Then a keyboard. Then the city itself beneath her fingers. She becomes a digital ghost. A phantom in the wires.

She doesn’t call herself Oracle. No one does. But if you know where to look, she’s there. Watching. Listening. Waiting for someone who never came.

---

Duke Thomas still shines.

He loses his parents anyway. But not to Joker gas. Not in the headline-worthy way. Just quietly—Gotham’s way. Slowly. Unfairly.

He learns to survive without light. He walks through shadows like he owns them. There's something special in him, but no one’s around to name it. So he names it himself. Hope.

He joins protest groups. Breaks up fights. Tutors kids. He’s the kind of good that burns without needing a symbol. But still—when he’s alone, he dreams of yellow. Of armor. Of being chosen.

Instead, he chooses himself.

And maybe that’s enough.

---

Damian Al-Ghul Wayne is never born.

The League sharpens blades, not bloodlines. Talia walks away from the idea of motherhood, and Ra’s doesn’t see the point in heirs when there’s no Detective to challenge him.

But sometimes, in the quieter halls of the Lazarus Pits, something echoes. A flicker of potential that never arrives. A space left empty. The world feels strangely unbalanced, like it’s missing a knife it was meant to be cut by.

And somewhere—perhaps in a life that never gets to begin—there’s a boy who dreams in perfect sword strokes and paints his nightmares in watercolors. A boy raised by monsters, who could’ve become something else.

Someone no one ever gets the chance to save.

---

There’s no Batcave. No signal in the sky, rising above the city like a promise.

But still—Gotham makes something in the dark. Not quite heroes. Not quite villains. Just people. Half-formed. Half-healed. Haunted by versions of themselves they’ll never get to be.

You can almost catch glimpses of them—out of the corner of your eye, just past the edge of memory.

A boy in a circus who still flies. A kid in an alley who still aches. A quiet heir who still waits. A weapon shaped like a girl who moves like silence. A spark in purple who refuses to dim. A lightbearer who still shines. An oracle in the dark who still listens. A son who was never born.

And a city that never got saved.