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maypiles · 1 day ago

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Next pac on self love or growth ?? 👀

Ooooh, now this is a vibe I’m all about 😌✨ Let’s see what Spirit has to say for your self-love and growth! I’ve got the perfect energy coming through to help guide you on this. 🧘‍♀️🌱 Stay tuned for some fiery truths and some soothing affirmations, because we’re going deep on this journey of self-love! 🔮💖

Pick a Pile: What Do You Need to Focus on for Your Self-love and Growth at This Time?🌱🌼💕

❗ This is a collective reading so take what resonates and leave what does not❗

Pile 1: "The Only One Who Needed Saving"♥️📿

Pile 1, your word is Illumination. This is about shedding light on your shadows, uncovering the truths you've been avoiding, and realizing that you can't keep running from the parts of yourself that need healing. Spirit is asking you to confront and illuminate the corners of your heart and mind that have been in darkness for too long. This is your time to face it, to rise, and to grow.

Hello, my loves. This is Pile 1 for my collective, or for whoever is meant to cross paths with this reading and resonate deeply with it. The question we're diving into today is: what does my collective need to know for Pile 1 to focus on their self-love and growth at this time?

And let me tell you, Spirit did not hold back.

The cards are the Moon, Page of Swords, Eight of Swords, Four of Swords Reversed, Seven of Swords, Strength, the Hanged Man, Ten of Cups, Knight of Pentacles, Seven of Cups, Nine of Pentacles Reversed, Knight of Cups, Justice Reversed, Death Reversed, Page of Pentacles, Eight of Swords Reversed, Two of Wands, Nine of Cups, Eight of Wands, the Hermit Reversed, Three of Cups Reversed, Two of Cups Reversed, Queen of Wands Reversed.

At the bottom: Judgment.

Split the deck: The World, the Fool Reversed, Ace of Wands, Ten of Swords.

And let’s not even get into how Rihanna's "Stay" kept playing in my head. That specific line: “I’m the only one who needed saving.” Baby, this pile is screaming at me with savior syndrome vibes. It feels like you’re trying so hard to rescue others, but here’s the catch—you’re the one who’s drowning.

Energy Check: The Tarantula

Before we even break down these cards, let’s talk about the energy I channeled for this pile: the tarantula. This fiery, primal creature represents a crossroads. You’re at a point in your life where you need to make a crucial decision: keep running, or finally confront what you’ve been avoiding. The tarantula doesn’t rush—it pauses, listens, and makes its move when the time is right. But, darling, time is ticking, and you can’t stay stuck at this crossroads forever.

The Core Message:

Pile 1, the story here is one of resistance. The Moon paired with the Page of Swords and Eight of Swords tells me there’s a fog in your life—an uncertainty that you keep poking at but refuse to fully face. You’re trapped in your own mental labyrinth (Eight of Swords), and the Four of Swords reversed shows you’re restless. You know something needs to change, but instead of taking the leap, you’re clinging to avoidance tactics (Seven of Swords).

Here’s the tea: you’ve got Strength and the Hanged Man here, which is Spirit’s way of saying, “You’re stronger than you think, but it’s time to shift your perspective.” You’re being called to let go of old patterns that no longer serve you.

The Ten of Cups and Knight of Pentacles show potential for emotional fulfillment and stability, but it’s slow-moving. Why? Because the Seven of Cups and Nine of Pentacles reversed suggest you’re overwhelmed by choices, doubts, and insecurities. You’re spreading yourself thin, chasing after too many things at once, or holding onto situations that are draining your energy.

The Savior Complex:

Justice reversed and Death reversed? Baby, you’re resisting the scales tipping and the transformation that comes with it. You’re out here trying to “fix” or “save” others, pouring your cup into everyone else’s, but who’s filling yours? The Page of Pentacles and Eight of Swords reversed suggest a fresh start is possible, but only if you decide to step out of your mental cage.

Spirit is asking you to pause and ask yourself:

Why am I so focused on saving others?

What am I avoiding in my own life?

What part of myself am I neglecting?

The Shift:

The Two of Wands and Nine of Cups show that you have the power to manifest your desires, but only if you stop running from your shadows. The Eight of Wands tells me that when you do finally face your fears, things will start moving fast. But until then? The Hermit reversed, Three of Cups reversed, and Two of Cups reversed show a sense of isolation. You might feel disconnected from yourself and others, but this is a sign to reconnect with your inner Queen of Wands energy. (Though she’s reversed right now, honey—she’s there, waiting to shine again.)

Judgment, The World, and The Fool Reversed

The underlying theme here is a wake-up call. Judgment is asking you to reflect and rise. The World says you’re nearing the end of a cycle, but The Fool reversed warns against taking shortcuts. You can’t skip the work, darling. Self-love and growth require patience, effort, and honesty.

Closing Message:

Pile 1, Spirit is asking you to step into your power. You’ve been running for too long, trying to save everyone but yourself. It’s time to pause, face your shadows, and let the tarantula guide you towards alignment. You’re stronger than you think, and once you confront the truth, you’ll unlock a new chapter filled with growth, abundance, and peace.

And remember, as Rihanna said: “I’m the only one who needed saving.”

Take that as your mantra, baby. It's time to save yourself.

Pile 2: "The Reason to Hold On" 🎀🪞

Pile 2, your word is Grounding. Spirit is calling you to center yourself and get back to the basics—your foundation, your values, and your heart’s desires. You're holding on to something that might not be serving you anymore, and it’s time to evaluate why. By grounding yourself, you'll find clarity and the strength to move forward, step by step, toward what truly fulfills you.

Hello, my loves. This is Pile 2 for my collective, or for whoever is meant to cross paths with this reading and resonate deeply. Let me preface this by saying: this message isn’t necessarily what you want to hear, but Spirit says it’s what you need to hear.

The Cards Speak:

The cards here: Three of Pentacles, Four of Wands, Page of Cups, Knight of Pentacles, Four of Cups, The Hierophant, Three of Cups, Ace of Pentacles Reversed, Five of Cups Reversed, Five of Wands, Queen of Cups, The Star, The Moon Reversed, King of Pentacles, Three of Swords Reversed, The Hanged Man Reversed, Seven of Wands Reversed, Knight of Wands, Justice, Knight of Cups Reversed, Nine of Cups, The Devil Reversed, King of Wands Reversed, Eight of Cups Reversed, Seven of Pentacles Reversed, Seven of Cups, Ace of Cups, Two of Pentacles Reversed.

Bottom of the deck: Nine of Pentacles Reversed.

Split the deck: Ten of Pentacles, Ten of Wands Reversed, Four of Pentacles.

Energy Check: The Fox

The energy of this pile is represented by the Fox from the Wild Unknown Oracle. The fox is cunning, observant, and intelligent, but in this context, there’s something about its watchfulness that stands out. It’s as though you’re waiting, watching, holding onto something that feels like the only thread tethering you to stability or purpose. There’s this overwhelming sense of “the only reason to hold on,” as if your grasp is fixed on something that simultaneously grounds you and weighs you down.

The Core Message:

Pile 2, you’re holding on to something—whether it’s a relationship, a dream, a belief system, or even a version of yourself—that no longer serves you in the way it once did. The Three of Pentacles and Four of Wands suggest that this thing did bring you joy and stability at one point. It gave you a sense of belonging, a reason to celebrate. But as we move into the Four of Cups, we see dissatisfaction creeping in.

You’re in this limbo, caught between nostalgia for what was and the fear of letting go. The Hierophant indicates you’ve built structures or traditions around this thing, making it even harder to release. But here’s the truth, darling: just because something was good for you doesn’t mean it still is.

The reversed Ace of Pentacles and Seven of Pentacles reversed show stagnation. You’re planting seeds in soil that no longer nurtures growth. The Five of Wands and Five of Cups reversed suggest inner conflict and a desire to move on from pain, but there’s hesitation.

Why Are You Holding On?

The Devil reversed paired with Eight of Cups reversed shows you know this thing is no longer healthy for you. You’ve done some of the work to untangle yourself from it, but you haven’t fully walked away. The reversed King of Wands and Knight of Cups show a lack of confidence or direction. You’re holding on because you think letting go will leave you empty.

But Spirit says, “Letting go doesn’t mean losing yourself. It means making space for something new.”

The Shift:

The Star, Justice, and Ace of Cups show that healing and emotional renewal are on the horizon—but only if you release the burden you’re carrying (Ten of Wands reversed) and open your heart to possibilities you can’t yet see. The Knight of Pentacles urges you to take small, deliberate steps. You don’t have to figure it all out at once.

The Bottom Line:

The reversed Nine of Pentacles suggests a fear of independence or self-reliance. You may feel like you’re not ready to stand on your own, but Spirit is reminding you of your strength. The Ten of Pentacles shows that true stability and abundance await you, but you have to loosen your grip on what’s no longer working (Four of Pentacles).

Closing Message:

Pile 2, you’re being asked to trust the process. The fox watches, observes, and waits for the perfect moment to act. But the time to act is approaching. Spirit is saying, “Let go of what no longer serves you, even if it scares you. Trust that what’s meant for you will find its way.”

And remember, you’re not losing anything. You’re making room for everything.

Pile 3: "What Do You Need to Close the Cycle?"🍒💄

Pile 3, your word is Transformation. Change is in the air, and it’s asking for your participation. Spirit is nudging you to close out cycles, do the work, and step into the next chapter of your journey. This isn’t a time to fear change but to embrace it as a necessary step toward your personal evolution. Trust the process—it’s all leading to your highest good.

P.S: this collective could be bloggers, content creators, use TikTok a lot, could be watching tarot readings on TikTok as well, a tarot reader called Chen could be significant. Also, they could be doing a lot of shadow work, there's something to do with beauty for this collective, either a business or something. Some of the collective could be ruled by Venus.

Hello, my loves. This is Pile 3 for my collective, or for those who are about to cross paths with this reading. Spirit says this message is for someone who needs to focus on their self-love and growth, but here’s the twist: you’re being asked to DO something. This isn’t passive reflection; this is about action, movement, and embracing change.

The Cards Speak:

The cards for this pile: The Empress, Four of Pentacles reversed, The Hermit, Ten of Cups reversed, The Tower, Two of Pentacles, Queen of Swords reversed, The Sun reversed, Five of Cups, Five of Pentacles, Two of Wands, Ace of Swords, Queen of Pentacles, The Moon, Four of Cups, Six of Cups, Nine of Swords, Four of Wands, Knight of Pentacles reversed, The Fool, Eight of Cups reversed, The World, High Priestess reversed, The World reversed, Eight of Swords reversed, Ten of Swords, Ten of Pentacles, King of Cups reversed, Page of Pentacles, Four of Swords reversed, Strength, Knight of Cups reversed, King of Pentacles.

Bottom of the deck: Eight of Pentacles.

Split the deck: Justice, Six of Swords reversed, Three of Pentacles.

Energy Check: The Elk

The energy of this pile is represented by the Elk from the Wild Unknown Oracle. The elk symbolizes groundedness, strength, and perseverance. There’s a strong earth energy here (Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn vibes), and with the number 555 appearing prominently, Spirit is screaming change. You’re on the cusp of a transformation, but it’s going to take effort, focus, and an open mind.

The Core Message:

Pile 3, you’re being called to close a cycle. This isn’t a gentle nudge—it’s a push, a wake-up call. The Tower and Ten of Swords don’t mince words: something in your life is no longer sustainable. It’s time to let go, to rebuild, to transform.

But here’s the thing: you’re holding back. The reversed Eight of Cups shows reluctance to leave behind what’s familiar, even if it’s painful. The reversed World confirms this cycle isn’t closing because you’re clinging to it. Spirit says, “It’s time to stop procrastinating.”

What’s Holding You Back?

The reversed Queen of Swords and Sun suggest confusion and lack of clarity. You might feel lost, like you don’t know which way to turn. The Five of Cups and Five of Pentacles show grief, loss, and feelings of abandonment. But darling, you can’t build a new foundation if you’re standing in the rubble of the old one.

There’s a fear of stepping into the unknown (The Fool), a fear of leaving behind comfort and stability (Four of Pentacles reversed). The reversed Knight of Pentacles shows hesitation, a reluctance to take those first steps.

What Do You Need to Do?

Shadow Work: The presence of The Moon and the word “shadow” coming through loud and clear means you need to confront your fears, insecurities, and patterns. What are you avoiding? What are you afraid to face?

Close the Cycle: The reversed World and the question, “What do they need to close this cycle?” indicate unfinished business. The Ace of Swords suggests clarity and truth are key. Be honest with yourself about what needs to end.

Embrace Change: The number 555 is all about transformation. The reversed Six of Swords shows resistance to moving forward. Spirit says, “You can’t grow if you stay where you are.”

Step Into Your Power: The Empress and Queen of Pentacles show you have the potential for abundance, beauty, and stability. But you need to believe in yourself. The reversed High Priestess suggests you’re not trusting your intuition.

Work on Your Goals: The Eight of Pentacles and Three of Pentacles show the importance of effort and collaboration. Whether it’s personal growth, career, or relationships, put in the work.

The Shift:

Once you take action, the Ten of Pentacles and Strength show that long-term success and stability are within reach. The reversed Knight of Cups suggests it’s time to focus on practical, grounded action rather than chasing fleeting emotions or distractions.

Closing Message:

Pile 3, Spirit says: “You are stronger than you think. Stop doubting yourself, stop delaying the inevitable, and take that first step. The cycle won’t close itself—you have to do the work. But once you do, you’ll find freedom, clarity, and a sense of purpose like never before.”

P.S: Spirit really isn’t playing with you today! Seeing 15:55 as exactly as I'm writing this part is a powerful confirmation. The number 555 is all about transformation, major changes, and growth, and it ties perfectly with the energy of Pile 3.

This is your nudge from the universe that you’re aligned with the message. Whatever you’re holding onto, it’s time to release it. Big shifts are coming your way, and they’re leading you toward something better, more fulfilling, and more aligned with your higher self.

Take it as a sign: the change you’ve been resisting is the change you need.

All right, loves, I feel like Spirit really came through with some powerful messages for all three piles. And listen, I know some of you might be side-eyeing me, thinking, 'What kind of cosmic call-out is this?' But trust me when I say, Spirit doesn’t whisper when you need to hear the truth—it SHOUTS. Whether it’s shadow work, releasing what no longer serves, or embracing the change that’s been knocking at your door, this reading is your invitation to level up. No more hiding, no more resisting—this is about stepping into your power, facing those shadows, and letting your inner light do the talking. And remember, self-love isn’t just bubble baths and affirmations; it’s about confronting what’s uncomfortable, healing, and showing up for yourself in ways you never have before. So take what resonates, leave what doesn’t, and, as always, stay bold, stay growing, and stay you.

Alright, babes, let’s do a poll because we love options. Spirit's been loud today, but I’m curious—what are we focusing on next? Y’all know the vibe. Let’s keep it spicy and soul-shaking, shall we?

Let me know which one has you screaming 'That’s the one!' Voting closes whenever Spirit says so (lol I mean Tumblr says one week so...). May the best vibe win!

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stormyoceans · 2 days ago

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MONICA'S INCREDIBLY BIASED TOP 5 GL SHOWS OF 2024

1. the loyal pin. a period piece QL with a (believable) happy ending and a fairytale-like quality to it that was able to charm me from the very first episode. while the pace of the story can definitely be slow at times, i was personally just too absorbed in the world that this show created to mind it. the display of traditions, customs, and food from thai culture, along with the beautiful cinematography and the colorful cast of characters, all helped to achieve this fully immersive experience, giving the perfect frame for anin and pin’s romance. becky as anin was also a revelation.

2. ayaka-chan wa hiroko-senpai ni koishiteru. I ADORE THIS LITTLE SHOW WITH ALL MY HEART AND SOUL. i admit that, as a bisexual woman myself, i found the bisexual erasure pretty maddening at first, however i am willing to forgive it in the face of how bright, lively, sweet, and at the same time deep and full of emotion this series is. it’s an age difference office romance that actually addresses the generational gap between the leads by exploring how society’s view on queerness changed throughout the years, and it does so by being funny, delicate, and unapologetically lesbian.

3. reverse 4 you. this is where my bias comes through, because while this show is far from perfect, i have the biggest soft spot for it. in general i tend to really enjoy stories that feature any kind of time related powers, but compared to others the true strength of this series is the familial bond between wa and vi, which shines as much (if not more) than the romantic relationship between wa and four. i do feel like the story needed at least one more episode to wrap up the loose ends more neatly, as some things kinda left me baffled and pretty confused, but my love for this little family of three makes me willing to overlook everything else.

4. pluto. if my meter of judgement to make this list had only consisted in chemistry and performance, then this show would have definitely landed in the first three spots, as namtan and film are incredible in it (the bridge scene in episode 11 is one of the most memorable of the year for me), however some of the plot points don’t sit quite right with me, and the execution of others was a bit lacking, so i unfortunately had to detract a few points. still, i enjoyed the show a lot: it presented a unique story in an interesting way, there was never a dull moment, and not once i skipped the intro because the OST is just amazing.

5. the secret of us. this show being so low in the list doesn't sit quite right with me, but at the same time it doesn't have the originality or the effectiveness in storytelling that other ones have. what it has, however, are ling and orm showcasing fantastic chemistry and very natural acting, which elevated a plot that im not usually particularly fond of (exes meeting again years later) and gave a lot of personality to their characters. the happy ending also feels earned, and some of the side characters are very memorable.

+ honorable mention (because once again, im a cheater)

23.5. i wanted to do a quick shout-out to this show because i feel like the fandom tends to give it a way harsher judgement than it deserves. while the second half did have a few things that bothered me, i still find this show a very accurate representation of teenage emotions, and the way it depicts young queer love healed the part of me that didn't have this kind of series growing up. all in all, it brought me a lot of comfort, and im incredibly grateful for that.

#im aware there are two popular GL shows missing here #but i haven't watched blank #and as for affair.....like with pluto if i were to base this just on chemistry it would have definitely made it into the list #but im gonna be honest. the second half of the show was very much not for me #ANYWAY. i changed my mind on this so many times i just need to post it and be done with it #the loyal pin #ayaka chan wa hiroko senpai ni koishiteru #reverse 4 you #pluto the series #the secret of us #23.5 the series #gl series #m: txt

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egosdelirium · 2 days ago

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My Marauders Headcanons:

(Part 1)

- Sirius sings in the shower, no matter the hour, the situation or whether he has company, if he's in the shower he WILL perform (however he sings really quietly if he knows someone is sleeping close to the bathroom, or he just resorts to humming). When he was a child he was forbidden from making too much noise around the house, so he just hummed or sang whenever he happened to have a moment of privacy, which often meant during a bath or in his bed chambers. The habit kind of stuck.

- Peter is a giggly drunk. He laughs at every little thing in a really carefree way he'd never be comfortable with when sober, and it's so contagious that it usually ends with everybody in stiches

- Remus has always had a lot of anxious tics as a child and he's never really managed to outgrow some of them, so he picked up smoking to try to stop biting his nails or the inside of his cheeks. Only now he's addicted and he's always fidgeting with a cig or a lighter in hand

- Marlene was mainly raised around boys. She was the second child and the only girl out of four siblings, and she had an especially close relationship with her older brother. James and Peter were among her first friends ever and she only ever played or hanged around boys who were her brothers' friends.

Mary was her first female friend ever (and she had a monstrous crush on her from Day 1)

- James HATES sleeping alone. Up until he was around six years old he would sleep in his parents' bed every single night (spoiled brat that he was) and since then he has always felt really off when he's had to sleep alone. His mum used to cover his bed in stuffed toys and plushies to make up for the lack of company, but James still missed the presence of someone else. After meeting Sirius, James rarely slept on his own for the first two years, and it was bliss for both of them (Sirius used to get horrible nightmares and being held helped)

- Peter practices stand up comedy in the dorm room and he has such immaculate comedic timing that the marauders always end up with tears in their eyes at his stories. He usually tells them about stuff he overheard in class or his horrible Hogsmeade dates. One time James pissed himself from laughing

- Sirius thought he'd never love anybody as much as he loved James or Remus, but the day Harry was born he instantly became Sirius' number 1 favourite person in the world. He bonded a lot with Lily over it

- Mary dances really, really well. Her bachata and merengue are so hypnotizing that once she put up a little show in the common room, per Sirius' request, and it was all the entirety of Gryffindor would speak about for the next two weeks. She was given lessons since she was a toddler by her caribbean relatives when she went to visit them in Martinique, and her parents later signed her up for summer classes during Hogwarts. She tried to teach each and every one of her friends a couple of times, of course, but they all sucked in their own way. Surprisingly, the only one who kind of got the hang of it in the end was Peter, who had a severely underestimated sense of rhythm. (Sirius was admittedly very good at the technical aspects of both dances, but he couldn't seem to shrug off the stiff posture he'd learnt to Waltz in, so he never looked quite natural enough)

- The marauders are codependent™️.

And it's not just James and Sirius, it's all of them! If ANYTHING happens to one of them without the other three knowing/being present to witness it, a reunion MUST be held in the dorms recounting the events in chronological order. And when I mean that they share almost every single detail of their daily lives, I mean every single one. James and Sirius are obviously the worst, and it took Remus a while to get used to being so open with them, but over time, it just became natural to him too. Peter just loves it because he likes being listened to and giving advice, so he's having the time of his life.

As a result of it, they're insane gossips. They know everything about almost every person in Hogwarts because one of them always ends up in a situation.

Mary, who's a sucker for good stories and scandals, has weekly meet-ups with James to share gossip.

Obviously this becomes a problem when Wolfstar get together. Their secret relationship lasts a grand total of four days before one of them eventually crumbles and spills everything to James and Peter (it was Remus)

- Lily likes tinkering. Manual labour helps her get her mind off of things that make her uneasy or anxious, so if she wants to disconnect for a couple of hours she resorts to knitting or making jewelry from scratch. Mary and Marlene start collecting colorful rocks around the perimeter of the lake and bringing them to Lily so she can make bracelets, necklaces and earrings. In a few months they have a whole collection of matching pieces that they wear all the time. Lily eventually moves on to bigger projects, like sewing dresses or knitting bags, usually as gifts for the people she loves.

She makes James a sweater of his favourite quidditch team for his 18th birthday because money is tight (which she feels incredibly bad about), but he likes it so much that he wears it every day for a month straight and the others have to wrestle him out of it to have the elves wash it

- Remus is unexpectedly very touchy with Sirius. He's always generally shied away from hugs or pats or kisses from his friends (mainly James), so everyone expected him to loathe PDA too, but Remus doesn't. On the other hand he craves it, and he always searches for a way to be touching Sirius in any and all situations. Holding hands or playing with Sirius' fingers stops him from wanting to bite his nails, having his hair played with relaxes him, and being kissed is one of his new favourite things in the world. So if it were up to him, he just simply would never want to detach himself from Sirius, like ever, but he's anxious about coming off as too obsessive, so he makes do with small touches

- Marlene has only ever had a small crush on one boy before realizing that she liked girls, and that boy was Sirius (she liked the longer hair and the cheekbones, the rest of his body not so much)

And, lastly, here's how they rank on most to least likely to be a sore fucking loser during any type of competition:

- Sirius (he's absolutely insufferable, complains and whines for hours even if he loses at goddamn tic tac toe)

- Lily (also insufferable, complains really loudly and quickly turns into a the most paranoid conspiracy theorist who thinks everyone else cheated)

- Marlene (not as bad as the first two, still very annoying. After losing, she gets in a sour mood for a while that only Mary can snap her out of)

- Remus (this man never makes a scene so, at best, he simply looks frustrated about losing. He can still get really competitive, though, especially academically)

- Mary (depends on the competition, but she's generally not a sore loser)

- Peter (a very decent loser, he takes a loss gracefully. Except at chess, because no one can beat him without cheating so he only gets mad because he knows that he's being tricked)

- James (he believes that a win should always be earned, so if he lost fairly he has no right to get mad about it. Unless someone cheated. In that case it's fucking over for everyone because he WILL be out for blood. 99% of the time he just pats his competitor on the shoulder and congratulates them)

#marauders #sirius black #remus lupin #james potter #peter pettigrew #marlene mckinnon #mary macdonald #lily evans #jily #wolfstar #marylene #fuck i love marylene #anyway they are all real people to me #and i love them dearly #use these as kin quizzes the way I'm right about absolutely everything

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thyras · 1 day ago

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→ of the purest heart

PAIRING → halbrand | sauron x female!elf!reader

WORD COUNT → 4k words

SERIES → of sauron & the moriquendi

WARNINGS → more angst, arguments, and sacrifices

SUMMARY → you continue to struggle with your emotions over your husband, but in one final act you make your choice.

AUTHORS NOTE → so i originally was not going to go past twelve parts, but in normal sam fashion that looks like it will not be enough. i am for real taking a break after this, i need to watch s2 again so i can map out that part of the story, i have things in the works but i need to refresh my mind on stuff. hope y'all enjoy 💕

PARTS → one // two // three // four // five // six // seven // nine

The heaviness in your chest pressed down on you as you stared blankly at the ceiling of your chambers. The weight of your emotions was nearly suffocating, yet the crisp morning air filling your lungs brought a fleeting clarity. But even the coldness in the air carried a presence—one so distinct that it made your skin prickle.

You rolled over, expecting to find something, someone, yet all that greeted you were the soft rays of sunlight streaming through the slits in your balcony doors. The quiet stillness of the room should have been reassuring, but instead, it unsettled you.

Then, something caught your eye.

A flicker—a silver glint in the light. It drew your attention so sharply that you sat up, your breath catching in your throat. Across the room, on your dressing table, sat an object you thought long lost to time and memory.

It was unmistakable.

A piece of your old life, placed so carefully that it seemed almost like an offering of peace. Yet, as you swung your legs over the side of the bed, you hesitated. The mere sight of it made your heart race, both in recognition and in dread.

It was not the same as you remembered.

The object almost radiated with a shadowy presence, its aura heavy and dark despite the faint trace of light that still clung to it, reminiscent of the night you were wed. The silver’s once pure gleam was now marred, the diamond-like gems that once adorned it replaced with shimmering sapphires that mirrored the one on your chain. The delicate etching and petals in the silver twining were new, masterfully crafted, but there was an unease in its beauty.

A tear slipped down your cheek, unbidden, as though your soul mourned its transformation. The craftsmanship was breathtaking, yet it carried an undeniable malice, a darkness woven into its very ore.

You dared not touch it.

Its beauty was a lie—a shroud masking the malice and hate you knew it held within. To touch it would be to invite its shadow into your heart, and you could not bear to carry its weight.

So you sat there, staring at the object that had once symbolized love and light, now twisted into something unrecognizable. It was a reflection of him, a reminder of how far he had fallen—and of the distance that now lay between you both.

But that part of you that still craved him—coveted him, even—seemed to pull you toward the hairpiece. It called out to you in the same way the mark on your arm did on certain nights, an irresistible pull that you could neither fight nor understand. Slowly, you rose from your bed, your bare feet silent against the cool floor as you crossed the room.

Your hand hovered over the piece, suspended in indecision. You braced yourself for the familiar burning, the searing pain from the mark that would drag you into the darkness threatening to consume you. But there was nothing—no pain, no fire.

Tentatively, your index finger traced the silvery metal, its surface cold beneath your touch. The sensation was chilling, but it was not the temperature that sent shivers through you. It was the shadow, the unmistakable weight of his presence, like an embrace both tender and suffocating.

The sharp fingers of his darkness seemed to clench around your heart, pulling at the very core of your fëa. How could you not love him? It was a question that gnawed at you, sharp and relentless. He was intertwined into your very being, woven so deeply that no force in Arda could unravel it.

But then, how could you also hate him so profoundly?

Your body and heart betrayed your mind as your fingers continued to caress the ridges and delicate flows of the metalwork. The intricate design spoke of his brilliance, his mastery, his unrelenting pursuit of perfection. It was undeniably Mairon. It would always be him—no matter what shape he took, no matter what form or mindset he inhabited, it was always him.

The void that was Sauron, the shadow he had become, could never erase the memory of the light that was Mairon. And despite everything, despite the grief, the rage, and the pain, a part of you would always reach for him. Always.

Your fingers closed around the hairpiece, gripping it tightly as if to crush the weight of its presence. The tightening in your chest returned, sharp and unrelenting, a familiar ache that you refused to succumb to. You squeezed the delicate metalwork, the cold silver biting into your palm as you reached for your robe with trembling hands.

How dare he, you thought, your anger flaring to life and burning away the sorrow, if only for a moment.

You stormed out the door, your steps quick and determined. The corridors blurred as you moved, each stride fueled by the fiery indignation coursing through your veins. You would confront him. You would demand to know how he dared to think that this one relic of the past, however beautiful, however meaningful, could sway you.

And yet, as the thought settled, you faltered.

Because, for a fleeting moment, it had swayed you.

The memory of his touch, his voice, his presence wrapped around you like a phantom, and you hated how much you wished to fall into the void with him. To forgive him for everything—for the destruction, for the betrayal, for the pain he had wrought upon your lives and your love.

The thought shamed you, but it was there, undeniable. That fragile piece of your heart that still yearned for him, that whispered of a life where the darkness had not taken him, where the light of Mairon had shone brightly beside you, untainted by shadow.

But you couldn’t let it consume you. Not now.

You tightened your grip on the hairpiece, the cool metal grounding you as you pushed forward. The confrontation would come, and when it did, you would remind him—and yourself—of the strength that still burned within you. A strength forged in the love he had destroyed and the resolve you had built in its place.

As you followed the invisible tendrils that bound you to him, they led you to the courtyard, where the sight before you stopped you in your tracks. He stood with Galadriel, their heads inclined toward one another, their conversation low and intimate. You lingered by one of the ivy-covered pillars, your elven ears catching fragments of their words. Though the content was veiled, the tone was not.

The heat rushed to your face, anger and jealousy blooming as you watched him lean in to whisper something into her ear.

She stepped back, her expression unreadable, and his lips curved into a soft smile before he turned away from her. Your heart pounded, your grip tightening on the hairpiece in your hand as he began to walk, his long stride quickly closing the distance between you.

His dark emerald eyes met yours, and you knew instantly that he had seen everything—your fury, your pain, the jealousy that you couldn’t fully conceal. He lingered before you, his gaze intent, a hint of amusement dancing in those cursed eyes.

“Something wrong, my lady?” he asked, his silvery voice smooth and teasing, the knowing smile that played on his lips only adding fuel to the fire raging in your chest.

He knew. He always knew. He was playing you, twisting the strings of your emotions with precision, as though it were a game only he could win.

“No,” you hissed, barely restraining the venom in your voice. But before the word fully escaped your lips, you forced yourself to collect your composure.

He inclined his head slightly, the motion laced with mock courtesy, and stepped away, moving toward the forge with a grace that only deepened your frustration.

You stood rooted to the spot, your hand trembling with the effort to keep from reacting. As his figure disappeared from view, the fire in your chest only burned brighter. You hadn’t noticed Galadriel approaching until her soft voice broke through the haze of your fury.

“Thilwen?” she asked gently.

Your gaze snapped to hers, and you quickly softened your expression, letting go of some of the tension in your features.

“What can I do for you, my lady?” you asked politely, tilting your head slightly as you observed her curious expression.

“Is Lord Halbrand spending all his time with Lord Celebrimbor?” she asked.

The question was not unusual, given your position as Celebrimbor’s most trusted confidant. You nodded slightly, masking your unease.

“It would seem so. Is something the matter I should know?”

Galadriel smiled warmly, but her sharp blue eyes betrayed the hidden suspicion beneath her outward kindness.

“No, I wish not to worry you,” she said, though her gaze dropped pointedly to your hands. Her eyes lingered on your fingers, still tightly gripping the hairpiece. “That piece— is it yours?”

You glanced down at the hairpiece in your hands and then back up at her, nodding with measured calm.

“It is,” you replied, carefully choosing your words. “A gift from someone very close to me. I wore it when I was wed.”

You dared not say more, aware of the quiet scrutiny in her gaze. Galadriel’s curiosity was often masked in diplomacy, but you knew better than to underestimate her perceptiveness.

“May I?” she asked, holding out her hand.

You hesitated for a moment, your grip tightening instinctively around the piece. But after a pause, you placed it in her outstretched hand, watching her carefully as she examined it.

She turned it over gently, her fingers tracing the delicate silver etching. For a moment, you half-expected her to recoil from the shadowy aura that clung to it, but she showed no such reaction. Instead, her expression remained serene, almost thoughtful.

Something inside you stirred uneasily. She had touched your husband’s darkness before—you could feel it. And unlike most, she seemed unbothered by its sweet, insidious allure.

Galadriel handed the hairpiece back to you, her movements smooth and deliberate. You accepted it wordlessly, your mind racing.

“It looks like something I wore at my own, though this one is far more exquisite. Thank you for letting me see it.” she said softly, her gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before she turned to leave.

As she walked away, you clutched the hairpiece tighter, your heart pounding. Her quiet interest left you with an unsettling sense that she understood far more than she let on.

You slammed the hairpiece down onto the workbench, the sharp sound echoing through the empty forge. Halbrand, standing opposite you, removed his gloves with deliberate slowness, laying them carefully on the other side of the bench. His brow lifted slightly as his gaze lingered on you, watching your seething anger with an expression that bordered on amusement—satisfaction, even, as though he was reveling in the effect he had on you.

The forge was quiet at mid-afternoon, but you knew better than to assume you were entirely alone. Elven ears were keen, and whispers traveled quickly, so you fought to keep your voice low, controlled.

“What is this?” you asked, your voice sharp but composed, though you could feel the fury bubbling just beneath the surface.

A sickly smile spread across his face as he leaned in, the distance between you shrinking until there were only inches left. His emerald eyes glimmered with that same insufferable arrogance, yet they drew you in despite yourself.

“It’s a gift,” he breathed, his voice smooth and laced with something dangerous. His breath was warm and spiced, washing over your face, making your heart hammer uncontrollably in your chest. “To complete your set, as I always meant to all those years ago.”

Your index finger jabbed at his chest, your glare unwavering even as his fingers wrapped around your wrist. The touch sent a jolt through you, electric and impossible to ignore, just like the brief contact you’d had the night before.

“If you think this—” you began, your voice trembling slightly, but he cut you off.

“Will do what, Mori?” he murmured, his voice low and intoxicating as he leaned even closer. Your noses were nearly touching, and your eyes fluttered shut involuntarily as the heat of his presence enveloped you.

You braced for the searing pain you always felt when he was near, but it didn’t come. There was only a dull ache in your wrist, a strange reprieve that left you off-balance. Your finger faltered, dropping from his chest as confusion mingled with the fury roiling inside you.

“You claim to not want to forgive me,” he continued, his voice soft but cutting, “but all I can taste on your fëa is the urge to forgive.”

His fingers traced up your wrist, slipping beneath the sleeve of your robe. The warmth of his touch against your bare skin sent a shiver down your spine, one that blossomed outward and left you trembling. It was a sensation you hadn’t felt in an Age, awakening something you had long buried, and it frightened you how easily he was unraveling your defenses.

“Your thoughts betray you,” he whispered, his lips so close you could feel the faintest brush of his breath.

Every fiber of your being screamed at you to pull away, but the pull of his presence, his words, was impossible to resist. He was plucking the strings of your harp, and the melody was one you both knew far too well. His lips brushed against the shell of your ear, the faintest contact sending ripples of heat through your very core. “Come to me,” he breathed, his voice a low, magnetic pull that wrapped around your mind. “Fall back into my arms, and let’s be who we were always meant to be.”

Your breath caught, your chest tightening as your eyes slammed shut, shutting out everything but the sound of his voice and the warmth of his touch.

You wanted to. You wanted to more than anything. The desire burned within you, an ache that refused to be extinguished, no matter how much you fought against it. His hands gripped your forearms softly, almost reverently, and the darkness he carried wrapped around you like a sweet, intoxicating fog. Its scent was alluring, tempting you to surrender.

But then, with a sharp intake of breath, you opened your eyes and yanked yourself back from his embrace.

“Get out of my head,” you snarled, your voice sharp and unwavering.

His eyes darkened instantly, the brilliant emerald of his gaze bleeding into a rich, consuming black as he stared down at you. The shift would have terrified most, but not you. It never had.

You were not frightened of him—not of his darkness, not of his power. You were frightened of the part of yourself that still longed for him, that ached to fall into his arms despite everything he had become.

But you would not yield. Not to his silvery words, his gentle touches, or the manipulations that dripped from his every word.

Like he had with you.

You had pledged to love him, no matter what—but that pledge had not included this. The schemes, the grand desires, the manipulations, the lies. You had promised to love the being he truly was, the Mairon you had once known, not the manipulator he had become.

You stood taller, meeting the dark abyss of his gaze with defiance. “I loved the light in you,” you said, your voice low but steady. “Not the shadow that consumes you now.”

For a moment, his expression flickered—just a moment—but you held firm. You would not be swayed. Eru had given you that power—the strength to resist, even when the very song that created both of you cried out for you to lose yourself in him, to let the harmony bind you once more.

“Keep it, deceiver,” you said forcefully, your voice sharp with finality. You spun around to leave, but his fingers caught your wrist with startling speed, blunt nails digging into your skin just enough to make you wince.

Your eyes snapped to his, meeting those abyssal depths that seemed to pull at your very soul. They were dark, unrelenting, and they watched you with a fierce intensity that made your chest tighten.

“I have never once deceived you, Mornelótë,” he said, his voice low and edged with darkness.

You swallowed hard, the use of your name a dagger to your resolve, but you steadied yourself.

“Then what were those centuries when you hid who you really were?” you retorted, your voice trembling with anger. “Stop deceiving yourself in these attempts to rationalize what you’ve done, Sauron.”

The name cut him, just as you knew it would. He snarled, his grip tightening as he yanked you closer. Pain surged through your wrist as his blunt nails seemed to sharpen with the force of his fury. His abyssal gaze bore into you, and you could feel the weight of his hatred for that name.

“Do not call me that,” he growled, his voice thick with barely restrained rage.

“That is who you are, is it not?” you countered, your brow arching with mock sincerity. “Or have you taken on another I should know about?”

He said nothing, his silence stretching between you like a taut string ready to snap. His gaze never wavered, unblinking as he studied you, but the minutes dragged by, and still he did not speak.

Finally, you yanked your wrist free with a sharp motion, shaking his grip off violently. “You know what?” you said, your voice cold as you reached for the hairpiece on the workbench.

With a mock smile, you let out a chilling giggle, the sound reverberating in the quiet forge. “I think I’ll keep it. I could get a pretty penny for these jewels and ores, you know. Since they’re the work of a master smith of Aulë himself.”

You gave him a mocking bow, your sarcasm biting, and turned on your heel to leave. Without looking back, you strode into the corridor, your steps quick and purposeful as you disappeared from sight.

The moment you were out of his presence, you let out a shaky breath, the tension in your chest loosening slightly. Relief washed over you—not only from being free of his dark gaze, but from the knowledge that you had stood so close to him, felt his power pressing down on you, and still had not given in.

For now, you were still yourself.

He did not invade your mind, nor did he speak to you during the moments when you checked on Celebrimbor’s progress. Yet, you always felt the weight of his gaze, dark and heavy, lingering on you like a shadow. He was waiting, hoping to provoke you—a word, a reaction, anything—but you gave him nothing.

So when he didn’t appear, and Galadriel stormed in, soaked to the skin with Elrond close behind her, your stomach twisted in unease. Her fear was palpable, reflected in her wide eyes, and the look she gave you—somewhere between understanding and resolve—confirmed what you feared most.

He told her. And he was gone.

You thought grimly, though you didn’t dare voice it.

“None of us are to treat with him again,” Galadriel declared, her voice steely and final.

The words sent chills down your spine, and you struggled to keep your emotions in check as Elrond pressed her for more. Their voices blurred together, becoming background noise as your mind raced, your heart pounding in your ears. He would return. You were certain of that. Celebrimbor was what he needed, and you—you—were what he wanted.

He would not abandon either.

“So, do we proceed?” Celebrimbor asked, rubbing his temple as though the weight of the moment was bearing down on him.

“No,” Galadriel said firmly. “We must make three.”

“Three?” you asked, hesitant to even speak, unsure if you could fully trust your voice.

“One will always corrupt. Two will divide,” she explained, her tone decisive, and you silently cursed yourself for not having thought of it sooner.

“But with three, there is balance,” you finished, the realization dawning as you met her gaze.

She nodded softly, her sharp eyes sweeping across the room, resting on each of you in turn. “What we forge here today must be for the elves, and the elves alone.”

The tension in the room grew, each word she spoke carrying a weight that settled over all of you like a heavy cloak.

“Galadriel, I have determined that the purity of the lesser ores in the alloy is crucial,” Celebrimbor said, nodding toward her brother’s dagger still clutched tightly in her hands.

You saw where his thoughts were leading and placed a steadying hand on his arm.

“Lady Galadriel has already sacrificed enough,” you said softly, your voice resolute. “Let me.”

You turned to the workbench where the hairpiece rested, its gleaming silver and sapphires catching the light. Taking a deep breath, you picked it up, its familiar weight in your hand grounding you for what came next.

“Use this,” you said, your voice firm, though your heart ached with the enormity of the gesture. You reached for the golden chain around your neck, unclasping it carefully. “And this.”

“My lady,” Celebrimbor said, his voice heavy with disbelief.

“They are the past, my lord,” you replied, meeting his gaze with quiet strength. “A past I have clung to for far too long.” You placed the chain into his hand alongside the hairpiece, gently closing his fingers around them. “True creation requires sacrifice,” you said, barely above a whisper.

“True creation requires sacrifice,” he repeated, his expression softening into a small, grateful smile.

You watched as he moved to the furnace, beginning to remove the jewels and prepare them for their transformation. Tears welled in your eyes and spilled over as the realization of what you were giving up settled over you.

That chain, that ruby, held Mairon’s light, the essence of the man you had loved—your husband, before he was swallowed by shadow. And the hairpiece, no matter how he had reforged it, held a piece of your soul. Together, they were the hearts of beings destined for each other, even through ages of pain and separation.

But no longer.

You had tried to heal him, to pull him from the darkness with your light, but it had not been enough. He was too far gone, and now you were finally letting go.

Galadriel stepped up beside you, placing a firm but gentle hand on your shoulder. Her grip was grounding, and her words carried a rare warmth. “The Valar will smile upon you this day, Thilwen, for your sacrifice. And you will see the golden shores for it.”

You turned to her, a faint, bleak smile on your lips. “Thank you, my lady,” you said softly, “but there is no place for me there. No ship could bear the weight of my fëa longing for its other half.”

“I know,” she whispered, taking your hand in hers as Celebrimbor placed the jewelry into the furnace.

The fire flared brightly, the glow lighting the room as if the pieces themselves mourned their destruction.

True creation requires sacrifice.

As the flames consumed what you had held so close for so long, you felt something shift within you. To heal the dark part of yourself, the part that had clung to what was, you had to let go completely.

You had been called to this moment, and with a pure heart, you had answered.

#sauron x reader #halbrand x reader #sauron #halbrand #trop fic #the rings of power #rings of power fic

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bullet-prooflove · 1 day ago

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Kiss prompt for OA Zidan x Hanna 20. ...on a scar

Tagging: @kmc1989 @rosaliedepp @district447 @yousigned-upforthis @stelacole

Companion piece to:

Prey!Series:

Part One: Trafficking - It's during a human trafficking case that Omar meets you.

Part Two: Mentality - Omar learns more about the mentality behind human trafficking.

Part Three: One In Five - Omar makes makes a realisation.

Part Four: Free - Omar and you spend some time together.

You still have scars from the night your life changed. They’re etched into your skin like a tapestry, woven into the fabric of your being.

“I wish that I could be beautiful for you.” You had whispered, the fabric falling away from your body when Omar had undressed you for the first time.

“Oh Hannah.” He had murmured, his lips brushing over them. “You don’t understand just how perfect you are do you?”

He’d shown you with teasing kisses and a tender touch, his fingertips stroking over you through the fabric of your panties. He was first man you had been with since the attack and he had understood that it was not a sprint but a marathon, that the two of you would have to build up to the main event no matter how much you may want it.

When you come for the first time, there’s tears on your cheeks and he kisses them away as he cradles you close, ignoring his own pleasure. That release, it feels freeing because you’re finally taking back a part of yourself, one that you thought was lost forever.

“Thank you.” You whisper as you look into his dark soulful eyes. “I thought that I was…”

You don’t say the words but he understands, you thought that you were broken, that you’d never get to feel love like that again.

“You don’t need to thank me.” He tells you, his thumb ghosting over the apple of your cheek. “We’ll take it just as slow as you need.”

Love OA? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won't be added.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#oa zidan #oa zidan x reader #omar zidan #omar zidan x reader #fbi cbs

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housederiva · 3 days ago

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I added a prologue to Facets of Determination if anybody's interested in reading it! The beginning of it is under the cut and the rest of the chapter as well as the first four of the story are here!

The part below's based off a nightmare I had a few years ago that I've never been quite able to shake, so I hope it reads well! And thank you guys for over 3000 hits on it, I wasn't expecting so many people to be interested in my little slow burn xx

The touch pressing into her skin was kinder than the one she had felt most nights. It was filled with trepidation, soft like the first droplets of rain hitting skin. A tender movement that asked for silent permission before continuing. An act to swoon over and write about – not to disassociate through and then forget.

Try as she might to remain still, shivers still ran through her as fingers before carefully placing themselves along the length of her arm. Slowly it traced upwards. These were not the Master’s rough groping hands. Instead they were slender, the nails curved and moving with a heartbreaking gentleness. The softness of them slithered across muscle in just the right fashion to trigger goosebumps across her skin. An unknown hand that whispered a promise of care – admiration.

What a dangerous thought that was; to think that she would be worthy of such affection. But the nails against her flesh were nothing short of soothing, making her think that there was no threat at all. Never before had she been treated as if she were some fragile ornament that needed protecting. And yet, the thumb circled around the pulse inside her elbow, repeating the motion lazily as it blanketed her in a security that would be afforded to the finest crystal. “I will protect you.” It whispered, “Nothing will harm you as long as I have the power to do something about it.”

She hated it; or at the very least was unnerved. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t wanted.

A prick of pain washed up with a vein of her arm, the nail catching skin. Its rounded curve became a needle as the hand around her forearm morphed into another with a sickening crunch. It followed the same path, curving up her body, sharper - almost annoyed or perhaps disappointed at the Desire of being denied.

Two hands became three. Three became four. What once was a sweetened hum of touch shifted into an enraged shout. The press of fingertips turned into clawing, greedy shards of glass. They pulled at her, like she was a rag doll in a game of tug of war fought against rabid mabari.

More hands now, pressing up the meat of her calves as the unwelcomed touch crooned its way into her. The fingers drilled inwards, fish hooks that writhed through tendons and muscle before splintering bone. She fought to break the barrier of her skin. To tear the intruders out.

Tearing. Peeling. Bloody. Absent of the beauty that first touch had promised. She tried to look away, to somehow change the red to darkness.

Several nails tore into her scalp at the realization of this, pulling her hair with such force that chunks were ripped out while other claws slithered to her eyelids and pried them open. Forcing her to watch the massacre of hands leeching inwards until she couldn’t tell where she started, and they began-

#dragon age #ao3 #dragon age fanfic #veilguard fic #rookanis #lucanis x rook #writing a bit of 15 year old Lucanis was fun I'm gonna do more bits from his perspective down the line i think #ohhh no its 3:30 am on a tueday ohhhh noooo whoops

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kariachi · 16 hours ago

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Damn this fandom is split on this one. Apparently the only thing fuckers can agree on is that this is not a case of Servantis implanting false memories. Which is a shame because I do think that's the funniest option in the poll.

But I digress, we move on to the breakdown.

Only one person thinks that it didn't actually happen until Ben fucked things up, which i suppose would be a fitting punishment for Argit's part in the whole destruction of the universe thing. But that's only half the people who think that it used to have happened, but Ben- presumably accidentally- absolved him of the crime when he remade everything.

Two people think Argit sold his mom for reasons that either aren't listed in the poll or are just very complicated.

Two people think he didn't sell his mom and instead lied about it for reasons that aren't in the poll or are just very complicated.

And another two believe that either something entirely different happened that isn't in the poll (I tried to be thorough but there's only so much I can do) or the whole thing is a complicated mess that doesn't fall into one category!

And all those three make sense. Selling your mom, or in the case of the latter just Argit's backstory in general, is probably a very complicated situation. There's probably a lot going on.

Meanwhile, three people voted for Argit having lied about selling his mom due to trauma. Which, yeah, we've seen the guy, would not be surprising to learn that there's some shit going that deep. I've seen at least one person elsewhere mention the idea that he lied about it as a way of dealing with being sold by her, which... Would be an option.

Then four people voted for Argit having sold his mom because he's an asshole which, yeah, we've seen the guy. He's an asshole. And it's probably what was intended by canon.

And another four voted that he sold his mom out of desperation, which would make a hell of a fucking story. You don't see too many things with kids getting desperate and selling their parents, normally it's the other way around.

And then, a fucking tie for first place, because of course it is I've seen this fandom with polls.

In Corner A, five people stand for the idea that Argit sold his mom out of a desire for vengeance. They looked at this guy, who lets be real has a lot of shit going on so I don't think any of us would be surprised if he had a crap upbringing, and went 'I bet his mom was so shit he sold her out of a sense of 'fuck you and the horse you rode in on''. Which, valid.

In Corner B, five people hold that it didn't happen, and instead that Argit lied vehemently about it to bolster his ego and standing. Which again, valid, we've all met him. I mean come on, he went into politics of all things, what can we put passed a corrupt politician? Nothing. Again, completely valid take.

So our opinions are spread out, but what does that mean for the baseline concept? Where does the fandom fall on whether or not this guy sold his mom?

If we include the 'Ben changed shit' options, working with the original state of things, and leaving out the 'it's complicated'- 56.7% believe Argit sold his mom, while 36.7% believe he didn't.

If we leave out the 'Ben changed shit' options alongside the 'it's complicated'- 50% believe Argit sold his mom, while 33.3% believe he didn't.

Out of those who think Argit sold his mom and gave specific reasons-

33.3% believe he did so out of some sort of vengeance

26.6% believe he did so because he's an asshole

Another 26.6% believe he did so out of desperation

13.3% believe he did so for some other or more complicated reasons

Out of those who think Argit didn't sell his mom and gave specific reasons-

50% believe he claimed to to bolster his ego and/or standing

30% believe he claimed to as a way of dealing with trauma

20% believe he claimed to for some other or more complicated reason

Overall, when it comes to reasons for Argit's action, whatever they are-

36-56% believe his reasons were likely tied to poor morals (depending on how one classes 'act of vengeance')

48% believe his reasons were likely tied to a tragic backstory (including 'act of vengeance' because, well, you gotta have something to be vengeful about)

16% believe his reasons weren't listed in the poll or were likely complicated

So, there you have it folks. The numbers for our fandom, such as they are. A small majority of us seem to think he sold his mom, and roundabouts half believe that whether he did or not there's probably tragedy behind it. But even then, it's all rather close.

That's fandom for you.

Said I'd do this eventually, get some opinions from the fandom...

#ben 10 #argit

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robotsafari · 10 months ago

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i havent even watched legacy yet but that fucking kh world did some.. unexpected things to me (update: i watched it. the movie was okay. <- short for im deranged about it but it missed so much opportunities and omfg i cant list all of my thoughts here.)

#beep boop you want fries with that #kingdom hearts #re:kh #re:ddd #sora #quorra #tron #riku #was trying to redesign rinzler’s helmet bc god. its. kinda fucking boring. leaning into the beast more #also teh helmets eyes are supposed to look angry when its down and sad when its up. bwaaa #i heard rinzler acts like a cat. thats soemthing to look forward to when i watch the movie. grins.#the three dots are supposed to be the classic t. btw.#theres four you just cant see the last one.#made sora look more liek his space paranoids look because he needs to retain the 80s swag.#this reads like a change log.#and my good friend quorra. idk if i’ve even posted that redesign b4.#yes im making her quote the ur my pockets eddie post #i think she needs to chew on things. maybe she should maul clu with her fucking teeth.#shes so unorthadox girl to me. do you see my vision.#also dw about riku falling or paralelling tron or anything hes fiiine.#speaking of the falling art. its old. so its inaccurate to how i draw riku now #before my brain was huge basically.#its so funny how i drew this much art for legacy like. i love tron 1982. i havent watched legacy yet but i feel like im gonna hate it.#the kh world was okay but it had a lot of potential and. uh. made me a BIT insane at the last part in sora’s story (EXPLODES)#also this post is tagged re:ddd for. reasons. dw about it.#ANYWAY GN ITS 1 AM. RUNS AT MACH SPEED.

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itsnobodysproblem · 2 months ago

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The Sign of Four - Part 7

(live reactions)

Jesus Christ John you've known her for a week

HE SAID THE THING!!!!!

"And we saw some tigers too☝️"

"Poisoned by a individual he claimed was a white man."

A white man??! No!!

Ok John God chill

It's not himm

Cricket.....

Someone give John a hug rn!!!

Oh no not Gwen!👀

(when are we meeting her!! Ughhhhh come onnnn)

Was Aurora the boat? In the book?

"I'm completely stumped" was that a pun

"(...) and then I’m there like help me I dunno, diamonds or something"

Ok that was funny :))

"Yuuuuge"

Ugh

(Yes I did say that out loud)

Oh no is she gonna say ily

Oh no.. :(

Yup she's blaming herself

(I mean, there was only one reaction that information could've elicited)

"I was looking for you!"

*Sigh*

Stop being sweet John

Yeahhhhh the irregulars!!

Calling John out for his unusually minty breath

Yeah John why was the wine out

Tommy??????

"are we also up your arse" :))

Tobyyyyy

I need to know who the sniff actor for Toby was

"Watson :D"

"Yeah I know what you're gonna say!"

"You do??"

"Yeah, the game is afoot!"

Awwwww

#sherlock & co #the sign of four #god im tired of tagging this episode #i mean story #part 7 #just three more... actually no cuz I'll probably make some posts that arent reactions too #ughhh

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arolesbianism · 2 months ago

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Just realized I forgot to post these

#keese draws #oc art #oc #ocs #these guys are from the same story as the grape twins btw #root beer is their cousin and one of the four main characters #dragons beard is merlot's boyfriend and fellow antagonist #and lemon taffy is the older sibling of one of the other main characters who spends most of the story 'kidnapped'#and by kidnapped I mean the super villain polycule asked them if they could help them with some tests and they went 👍#important context! lemon taffy (and their two siblings) are the kids of three superheroes and merlot and fox grape are the kids of four #supervillains both of which are mostly absent for the main story (although the supervillains at least get to be more of side characters)#the heroes are off in space dealing with alien political drama that doesn't matter to the main plot #the two groups have a fairly casual rivalry but they still have genuine beef #merlot and fox grape were left home alone after their parents set out to work on some big project and merlot took the chance to go fuck #off and get a boyfriend to do crime with leaving fox grape desperately trying to find them and get them to come back home #and for the other side root beer was roped into helping rescue lemon taffy by their two younger siblings pop rock and jelly bean #he and pop rock are the main duo on that side with jelly bean being their guy in the chair #merlot and dragons beard are mostly antagonists to those three with fox grape and the other main guy cayenne pepper chasing after them #cayenne is dragon beards childhood friend and I have never drawn him before despite adoring him 😔#hes such a piece of shit I love him #in my old original concepts for him he was going to be an incel but then my brain went but what if. aro. and I instantly hard committed #hes a bitchy asshole who's made all the more annoying by the fact that his anxieties are low key completely justified #hes a sad wet cat abandoned in a cardboard box all alone 😔#oh yeah also worth noting that root beer is a vampire who has a strained relationship with his adoptive dads #oh and dragons beard's parents are a dragon and a royal fae so he has a lot of power that he doesnt know how to use lol #lemon taffy is like. sort of part dragon in a very distant way? their grandma was a failed revival of an old god who was a dragon who made #their dad out of her own magic which included that same magic from the dragon god who was basically made of magic #so he was also sort of part dragon but not really? idk its complicated #merlot and fox grape are miraculously not part dragon somehow despite my track record of making too many ppl dragons in this world #they are however vampires and also directly decend from a god so thats fun

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kneworder · 4 months ago

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i have all these draft documents of half finished fics full of lines i love but that are so fundamentally flawed i can't figure out how to finish them and can't kill my darlings mercilessly enough to get past the roadblocks so i just reread them over and over and think damn this is kinda fire. wish it was anywhere near shareable.

#UGHHHHH 10k allydia fic full of dead end plotlines that lives in my google drive you will always be famous to me and me alone #allison is resurrected and i have this short bit about the five stages of grief vs the five stages of decomposition but idk if i can keep i #bc it works better if allison was dead longer. but i LIKE those lines............#i have like the barest of bones for like 6 different parts of the tw hunger games au fics......#scott one is at 4500k but i decided a while ago i need to change one of the main plot points and it's killing me bc that's like 90% of it #but i like the writing and it's like three scenes from completion!! but i can't bring myself to be happy with where i brought the plot 😔#SICK AND TWISTED!!!!!!!!!!#the tua fic that is my white whale..... reverse robins plot points plan and like four different false start documents......#the robins ghost au i never figured out a plot for....... the tommy dies instead of barb au........ THE JASON CARVER TIMELOOP STORY.......#i really like the opening i wrote for the jason time loop but that's all i wrote bc i realized i'd have to figure out a plot and rewatch s4 #and like. :/ idk if i'm willing to do all that. for jason carver?? well.#i have this criminal minds fic where reid gets the flu bc he refuses to get vaccinated bc he's terrified of needles after georgia #and jj shows up to check on him bc she's also dealing w the georgia anniversary so she's desperate for proof of life #and it's like 80% done but i stopped super caring about cm a few years ago and now every time i remember it i'm like :/#i could spruce that up and post it if i really wanted to! it's not bad at all! but will i ever do that.........#OH MY GOD the like 4k i wrote from the POV of this girl stalking reid?? like i wanted to do a casefic from the unsub's perspective #i forgot about that one i was really invested in it for a while actually did a lot of research and really tried to make her sympathetic #shoutout to the random extra from that episode w jason alexander who i decided was gonna be Gwen The Stalker <3 #throwback to my criminal minds era that was wild #anyways truly it is the allydia one the twthg xovers the reverse robins and the tua longfic that haunt me constantly #i always cycle between thinking about one of them on and off

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quaranmine · 2 years ago

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in addition to writing i better get drawing if i want firewatch au out in any reasonable period of time. chapter one is basically ready to go, and has its one piece of art completed, but chapter two is shaping up to potentially have three or four pieces in it, and i don't have any of that done

because, of course, the wip drawing i do have goes in chapter three instead. since i'm smart in my planning like that

#i say three or four #because theres a scene i def wanna draw #but idk if it'll be inserted in the fic or jsut posted separately as extra content #since it is....more cute than vibey lol #the others are more visuals of things in the story but in a artistic-landscapey way i guess #and not so much of 'heres character being silly ;)#anyway chapter two is a doozy i wanna release chapter one pretty soon #but idk chapter two may take a bit to complete since it's gonna be both long and has a big part at the end #i have 2k words on chapter two though #and theres still five major scenes left...#maybe i'll split it and yall will get the heavy part in chapter 3 #make u wait just a little longer for one of the pennies to drop :]

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hayanahed · 6 months ago

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Emergency: Help Evacuate My Family From GAZA WAR

Dear Humanity,

I'm Haya from Gaza , from a family of 8 people: my parents, two sons, and four daughters (two of them suffer from allergies).

I've witnessed the evidence of the tragedy that has struck our lives in Gaza, where my family and I have survived amidst numerous previous wars. But today, we face the most dangerous and fierce battle in the current war. The urgent need intensifies for us, as we have nothing left and are unable to secure our basic needs such as food, water, and safe shelter.

Here is our story - On October 7th, our lives changed forever, my family and I evacuated from northern Gaza to southern Gaza, hoping to return soon, but it wasn't meant to be. Our home was surrounded, burned, and then completely destroyed, Our home, once a fortress of hope, now lay in ruins, a stark reminder of our shattered dreams.

The night before we left from the north to the south was terrifying. Shelling sounds were everywhere, making a loud noise that felt like it went through our souls. Every explosions shook the ground like earthquakes, sending shockwaves of fear through our trembling bodies. filling us with fear. The air smelled of destruction and blood, making it hard to breathe. When dawn came, we saw the devastation around us, realizing our home was now a symbol of loss and despair.

We ran into the streets and with each step we took into the unknown streets, we felt as if we were plunging deeper into the abyss of our shattered existence, leaving behind everything we own in our home: Clothes, important official documents, the car, and literally it's almost everything - the enormity of our loss weighed heavily upon us.

Our home it was where we found hope, safety, and made precious memories. Losing it felt like losing years of our lives, leaving us adrift amidst the wreckage of our shattered existence.

youtube

A brief video depicting the devastation that struck our home and our entire neighborhood in Gaza.

Desperate Plea: Escaping Gaza's Allergy Nightmare

I, Haya, suffer from severe allergy to penicillin-derived medications, and my sister, Amal, also suffers from severe allergies to medications from my family such as Paracetamol and Ibuprofen.

These allergies create a deep sense of fear and anxiety for us, as we live in a constant state of tension and fear of anything that may require a visit to the hospital. We fear being given inappropriate medications due to the unavailability of suitable treatments in Gaza because of war or lack of awareness and not informing the doctor of our allergies, which could lead to serious consequences threatening our lives.

MY Father Income

Our dreams are heading towards oblivion in the labyrinth of an uncertain future

My story, along with my siblings, represents a united team of four individuals, three of whom are skilled programmers and one graphic designer. We work as freelancers in the world of freelancing.

As for my younger sister, she is a student studying at the College of Architecture. She has always carried a big dream in her heart, a dream of being part of changing Gaza, of making it more beautiful and better. She looked forward to the day when she would receive her degree and start building this dream. But the beginning of the war changed everything. The destruction of infrastructure and universities cast shadows of despair over her dreams.

When I think of my brother in Belgium, I can't help but feel deep sadness. He has been suffering from unbearable anxiety and insomnia since the outbreak of the war. Sleep eludes him at night, and his physical and mental health collapses under the weight of these heavy burdens, negatively affecting his performance at work. Problems and challenges pile up in front of him without the slightest opportunity for rest.

We all feel psychological pressure and extreme anxiety. The war hasn't been limited to external attacks but has deeply infiltrated our daily lives. We search among the rubble for a little safety and the basic resources for survival. Every day comes with a new challenge that we must overcome.

As we sway amidst the rubble of shattered dreams, our souls wrestle and our hearts beat strongly challenging the ravages of war.

Our parents earnestly seek a way to rescue us from this hell, feeling the heavy responsibility for every moment we spend under the shadows of fear and destruction. They dream of a safe place where they can build for us a better future, filled with security and hope, for we deserve life in all its meanings of comfort and peace.

Perhaps this fundraising campaign represents a light in the midst of darkness, it is indeed the only hope we cling to firmly.

I appeal to the world as a whole to hear my cry and the mournful cry of my family in Gaza. We need the helping hand that reaches out to wipe our tears and build a bridge to safety.

Your donation is not just a donation; it's an opportunity to rebuild life and brighten a better tomorrow. Be part of our hopeful story, for we need your hand to start anew.

The purpose of the fundraising campaign

The goal of this fundraising campaign is to rescue my family - my parents, my siblings, and me - through the Rafah Crossing to Egypt, which currently requires $5000 per person. This campaign is our only chance to stay alive, and I humbly request your assistance at this critical time. I will provide you with a comprehensive breakdown of the expenses, committing to transparency and clarity.

All of our important links are here https://linktr.ee/hayanahed

Verified by :

⭐️ operation olive branch, number 26 on their spreadsheet. (On Master list)

⭐️ Project watermelon,line 249 on their spreadsheet. Or you could see it as number 212 here is the photo for more clear proof

Thank you for your kindness and support.

.جزاكم الله خيراً

yours sincerely;

Haya Alshawish.

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acid-ixx · 2 months ago

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ch.4: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five pt 1

read until the end for an author's note.

tw: self-esteem issues, alcohol abuse, allusions to self-harm.

"baby bird, i know i haven't been talking to you much as of lately. but i just want to let you know that we miss you alright?"

not delivered.

"i really regret ignoring you, we all do. i'm-"

he hesitates, then deletes the last word of his message.

"—we're the ones in the wrong for everything, alright? you blocked me, i'm sure you did for everyone else too, i get that, but we care for you now and that won't change anytime soon. please remember that."

not delivered.

"and it pains me seeing that you're not replying to my messages at all, baby bird. but i promise i'll-"

dick bites his lips at the mistake of addressing himself only rather than that of the family, but a greedy part of him wants you to read the messages and to see only him in spite of everything rather than them, feeling a sense of... need to be the first and only one you see when you think about accepting their apologies, even if he's writing to you whilst simultaneously trying to get his family in your good graces.

dick doesn't know it. why he's suddenly obsessed with you. you? yes you, his stupidly precious sibling, the one who looked up to him, frail and wronged by the world, with so much drive behind that stare. third child of bruce, yet second youngest in the family. the one that got away, the one he has never once saw outside that one memory of glinting, awe-inspired eyes that told more stories than poets, drew more emotions than artists.

nobody saw you outside of your status as the manor's ghost— but compared to your other siblings, he knew you the most. he wants to be the only man good enough to be considered your brother, your oldest brother; an obligation he's willing to uptake just for you. he wants to be the only one with the authority to call you his baby bird. he doesn't know why, despite the thirteen and a half years, it's him wanting, no, needing to see you again.

you, just you.

every bits and pieces of you.

in his mind, it's just him and you. in your tiny little bedroom, with your dozens of sketchbooks and diaries, with only your brother, dick, to accompany you. in your own little world, as you speak to him of your dreams and passions with nothing else in your mind. you'd look up at him with sparkling eyes, look at him like he means everything in the world to you, and he'd see you as his world.

when he thinks of that, the more he hopes of the possibility of you reading his messages; his declaration of never leaving you alone anymore. and with hope comes along this dread that you'd reply with a nasty reply, or that... you'll never bat an eye him anymore.

dick doesn't take a second glance to correct his mistake again this time.

"i promise i'll be better for you baby bird. my little hatchling, my little one. i discarded you, someone so precious. you must've felt hurt, no? i get that, i'm so sorry you have to go through that because of me. but look! you have me now, we have each other now! and that might not be enough yet to mend the bridge i left to fall, but if you just, please reply to me, or anyone else, then we can fix this. i promise, baby bird."

not delivered.

"you won't ever feel hurt anymore, or sad or lonely. hell, even bruce is getting you a new bedroom fixed up, isn't that great!? i'll even convince the old man to make sure your room is close to my old one so you can visit me anytime. i'll even stay over at gotham for even longer, just for you! and i'll spend my time with you, with just the two of us, okay? nobody else can disturb us. i'm sure you'd like that too."

not delivered.

"and we can hang out anytime you want, no? sleepovers, movie nights, journalling— all the cool stuff you wanted to do with me in the past, we can do now! and it'll be fun with you, i can see it happening alrrady, i just know it. you can't convince me otherwise, baby bird."

not delivered.

"that's why i'm begging you to unblock me, little one, or to at least read all my previous messages, please? :( i'm still so sorry over how i treated you in the past. i've nothing to defend myself over how i acted towards you. i was so delusional, ignoring you when all you clearly wanted was to spend time with me, with the family."

not delivered.

"we can even have that dinner together, remember?! at that fancy restaurant you talked about, yeah? my treat, of course. you can order the entire damn menu and i'll leave you room for seconds and desserts. i can even make arrangements to get bruce to rent out the entire restaurant so it would just be the two of us plus the family, but mostly just us— that would be good! then you can sleep at my room after we get home to the manor since we're turning your old one into an atelier just for you! i'll even carry your cute little figure up any flight of stairs whenever you get tired."

not delivered.

"i promise i'll really make it up to you baby bird!!! <3"

not delivered.

"for all the times we neglected you, left you thinking you didn't deserve a spot in the manor (which you truly do, it's us to blame for never seeing it that way), made you feel negative emotions towards us— i'll take your pain and turn that into joy, i promise."

not delivered.

"and if you do manage to read through all this, please remember..."

not delivered.

"i love you so much, alright? we'll find you soon, and you'll be happier with us, i'm sure of it. i love, love, love you so much my baby bird."

not delivered.

he sighs, resigning his thoughts all to himself as he checks his phone every minute for a simple ring of notifications just from you. he prefers to leave his phone in silent mode from the multitude of other contacts bothering him, but god forbade if that means he'd scroll past to a single reply of yours, then he'd rather burn in hell.

and anything is better than the pain inflicted on him when it comes to the thought of you ignoring him.

because after all, he does mean it when he says he loves you, his baby bird, his adorable little sibling.

he'd rather hell than you seeing him any less of an older brother.

what takes longer? is it a seed growing into a bud, a bud into a bloom, or a flower to fully shrivel and die?

how long does it take for it to be considered worthy? deserving of attention and the rightful spotlight to attain its needs for life?

what takes its time? what other variable does it need for it to survive in such harsh conditions? if it's forcefully pried open as a seedling, as a bud growing in a field full of weeds sapping, draining it of its nutrition, or in a scorching, desolate desert, or pestilent lands; would it still be considered a flower?

what does a seed need to grow into a flower? beautiful, treasured, with vibrant colors reflecting off the surface of each petal, growing pollen for every pollinator to spread its bountiful success you call development?

what does it require?

everyone knows the answer, some could only be ignorant enough to turn the other way and reject the idea altogether.

it needs care, nourishment — healthy soil building a strong foundation, its home with roots carefully embedded in the ground, then it also requires water, a source of life given to it in specific times with just the right dose, and sunlight kissing its stems and petals warmly — and finally, love.

lots of love, attention, and patience from mother nature herself and its caretakers we call humans.

but how could a flower receive any, if not, all it needs, if it's raised under a marshy, overgrowth rainforest that speaks of death and cruel poachers that could step on the bloom of any moment?

how could a flower live, let alone survive, if its careless caretakers who took it away from its fertile lands neglect it of its requirements to grow and bloom into its rightful imagery?

just how?

you are a flower.

and you will wilt soon the longer you live in what you once thought was your home.

growing in cracked, dry soil, with no water nor sunlight aiding your growth.

you are a flower.

who had been loved by your creator, mother nature herself; your mother. but you've never once felt the care nor love of your cruel humans you call family, your father had never once saw your budding petals, kissed it, patiently watered or spent time outside in the sunlight with you. your brothers don't notice your dehydrated pets, shriveled leaves and bent stems, nor do they tend to it. your sisters don't decorate the pot you reside it, they don't talk to you every time you sag down in loneliness and isolation as you are forced to stay in the same place and witness the same scenarios over and over again.

not much knows it, but flowers, much like any plant, can communicate, they can feel. and when they do, they do deeply.

and you are a flower. a flower worthy of being pressed into books, storing your beauty forever. a flower worthy of being situated into a stunning arrangements of bouquets, worshipped through birthdays, dates, weddings, and even funerals.

you're a flower, and you're beautiful and deserving of praise and honor from your stages in life as a seed, from a bud, to a blooming flower. yet you're neglected the same way ignorant trespassers would step on growing blooms, uncaring for sabotaging their life completely, and oh-so easily.

you're a flower, a symbol of nature's fertility, resilience, and tranquility.

you symbolize your mother's long standing determination to care for a child whose father looked other ways but her. who raised her seedling with care, watered them with stories of fairytales: fantasies about prince charmings who take their flowers away from barren lands to spoil them with rich soil and neverending sunlight, about princesses who stop by flower shops to awe at the arrangements of bouquets, eyes glazing with fervor as they recount each and every symbolism every unique flower shares.

your mother places you in your favorite, decorated pot: your shared bedroom with her, and she kisses your cheeks, your forehead, your chubby little fingers, the same way the illuminating sunlight kisses at your flushed body whenever you two would go out for your walks.

she was your mother nature, and you were her precious flower.

you were once a blooming bud then, and you wished you would still bloom now.

how could you grow into what you're worth, when even you couldn't grow without the love that was taken from you?

what about the care, the patience, the determination she once held in her warm gaze, now cold and fading with life the last time you saw her; would it all be a waste?

how could you grow now?

and yet you don't even need to ponder for solutions. the answers were clear, clear as the water your petals used to bathe in, clear as the rain that pitters against alfred's car windows the same day you were taken away from your mother's hold—

you simply wilt.

8:31PM.

your friend said she'd pick you up quarter to nine, so you'd at least have the time to prepare and make yourself look good. but right now...

god, right now, you don't feel anything good, not even a wee bit of it at all. ever since he texted you, you feel like shit, utterly repulsed. vile, like the image of you vomiting every contents of your stomach— and now you're going out drinking with an empty one. you can already feel the bitter taste of heavy alcohol mixing in with the acids of your stomach.

you can already feel the breakdown you're having right now as you remember how fucking broke and useless you are for having to ask your friends to treat you to drinking because you have nothing left to offer beyond the fucking taxes you have to pay and the nearly due rent and bills.

you have nothing to offer. you're so shitty. you deserve to die.

the more you stare at the mirror, the more your eyebags seem to deepen, your lips began to dry, and the pit in your chest sunken.

and that makes you exhale even deeper, ignoring the way your throat constricts on itself in instinct.

your eyes flitter to your fingers, nails bitten, skin ripped at the seems with dry blood staining chipped cuticles.

when you looked back at your reflection, you want to cry even more, seeing an image of a moving pile of flesh. all puffy skin and sagging eyes.

you don't remember the last time you felt pretty about yourself.

whether it was in the manor, or back when your mother was the only one raising you— it seems like your memories are in shambles right now.

you don't remember the last time you looked in a mirror, looking healthy, fresh, and proud of yourself for dressing up in your style. in the back of your mind, there will always be hatred, resentment for how you look. and right now, you hate how you every bit of your appearance because...

because you look exactly just like an image of your mother and bruce wayne. a reminder, your punishment for your parents' beautifully tragic affair with one another. a billionaire who courted the lowly dirt-class slut of gotham.

yet you're uglier because you're not them, you couldn't be them. you're not picture-perfect brucie with slick-black hair and a face like fine-aged wine, or the image of your sultry, "man-eater" mother in her lingerie. you're just, you— you've inherited all the stupid flaws you wished you could shave off your damn body.

you remember seeing your father's face in television with your mother beside you by the couch, combing your hair and giggling when your eyes had lit up at the sight of the rich man. you haven't once took your eyes off the news channel whenever he appeared, looking at bruce, always enamored with his aesthetics, only to never notice your mother's tired eyes, or how shaky her fingers would sometimes become.

"momma, that's daddy, right?!" you asked her whilst the side of your body was pressed against hers, with all the enthusiasm a child could muster. your grin was wide, eyes peeled to the screen, enough to ignore the flinch in your mother as you had once thought it was her igniting with the same excitement as yours.

she simply leans down and kisses your cheeks, her eyes, a beautiful shade of your eyes color, albeit lighter in hue, never once left the crown of your small head, ignoring the headline for the news about 'brucie's new fling caught on camera!'.

your mother was so glad you were still illiterate at your age. she wish she could never break off the illusion that it was her who simply birthed to you, with no face for a father. maybe you would've never ask her about why he had never once came to visit your small family, why you could never meet your other siblings, or why he's seen with multiple other women by his side every time you open the television.

you ask at frequent intervals; it makes her wish to strip away the past in which she chose to tell you who your father was. you would've experienced less heartbreak, she would've never seen the way your eyes would dim at her every excuse, or the way she felt your heart crack at the seams, only further breaking hers.

yet after a while, she replies and buries her thoughts, ignoring the tears that lid her eyes. with not so much enthusiasm in her light voice, with the undertones of guilt and sorrow digging deep throat her throat, but it was enough for young, little you to jump on your springy couch with her response.

"... oh, yes, that's your papa...! isn't he so nice looking—?"

"and handsome! i'm so lucky to have such beautiful parents! i wish i was as pretty as you, momma, and daddy too!"

when you had looked up with haste, glinting eyes staring up at her with a wide grin, some baby teeth still present, others absent from your gums, yet you displayed admiration no less; your mother just as quickly wipes her red eyes and sniffling nose with the worn sleeves of her sweater and reciprocates your beaming energy with a small smile.

she wishes you'd dismiss her previous melancholic expression, replacing it with the same fond, yet tired gaze she always offers you, wishing you'd be as oblivious to the pain it brings her to see your hopes and dreams of meeting a father you could only admire through a screen or article. yet you're always so perceptive, so interlinked with her reactions that she's sure that one of the few positive traits your father had given you. she should've expected your words, yet her broken heart finds a path to heal whenever you sense her pain and soft a bandage to the cracks of her bleeding scars with your kindness.

you would always be her little flower. the one she'd nurture in a garden filled with rosy bushes and scarring thorns.

"—you're so beautiful, momma, even if you cry because daddy isn't here with us, or you're too tired taking care of me. you're beautiful because you're my mother, and i'll take you over everything in the world..."

and you tell her, an inaudible whisper to your voice, with eyes that were once wide, beaming with joy, now gazing at her with softness like the wind kissing blades of grass in a gentle dance. you look at her, and she stares back, eyeing your chubby cheeks and lips the same shape of hers, the ends of your lashes curves the same way as hers, and your voice matches her like a lullaby when you speak every vowel in a soothing lilt.

you calm the hurt in her chest, replacing it with a mellow warmth. she even forgot the tears that slowly dripped her eyes, all replaced with the comfortable softness of her precious child's palms, smooth and cozy, resting on both of her cheeks as you pepper her crying face with kisses.

she holds both your palms caging her, and allows the your hold to linger for longer. the silence ensues, yet you both embrace the unsaid assurances.

it's times like these where she realizes you encapsulate the beauty of both worlds.

it's moments like this, she sees herself in you, and maybe she could lead herself to believe that she is beautiful, because she sees her beauty through her child, her grace.

the memory only further deepens the guilt in your heart.

if there's one word to describe you now. it would be disgrace. to your father's honor, and your mother's legacy. for easily letting yourself go, for being so weak, for being the line that jumps between two polar opposites of one another; trying to traverse their path of belonging.

you're a disgrace, a mistake, and you deserve to be treated as such.

it was why you never find yourself beautiful. a person such as yourself would always find allure, worth in all things chaotic - you live in gotham after all - but never find that same value in yourself as you look at your reflection that distorts your image even more, making you uglier and uglier the longer you look.

split ends everywhere, hand tangled, reddish eyes from nearly crying again.

even if you beat at yourself, erratic and impulsive, even if your skin is colored an ashen blue and purple, rotten shades of yellow and red, you think of yourself ugly and repulsive.

no matter how much color you try to bring into your bleak, repulsive life, at the cost of hurting yourself to become pretty— every part of you will always be that ugly, little duckling in comparison of your siblings who always outshone you.

dick with his playboy body, jason and his towering one, tim with soft boyish features, damian's silky tan and smooth skin, and duke's baby face.

you couldn't even have your hair frame you as perfectly as steph's light blonde hair does, or share barbara's proportionate face, or look as gracious yet deadly like cassandra.

you're nowhere near as special, you're not like them. you have features too unique, yet out of place, and you couldn't bring yourself to be conventionally good-looking.

you hate yourself so much. you hate every little mole, every little pimple, every damn imperfection that litter your body, making you even lesser than what you already are.

your family; mother, father, brothers and sisters, god, even your fucking friends! every time you sit by them side-by-side, you'd feel insecure, imperfect, an eyesore and you just want to strip away every part of your limbs one by one if that meant replacing it with even better ones; all for the sake of at least feeling pretty.

you remember the first time you tried to find a sense of style, and damian's comment and– god fucking damn it—!

your hands found its way to your brushed hair, tangling itself through already fragile strands to rip at the seams. you don't care, you don't fucking care, you pray to any god out there to get them out of your head, pleas unheard, you're always left to hurt.

"what are you trying to achieve with that, huh? what even are you trying to think with that horrendous color combination? what are you, a clown? even that damned joker has more coordination than you think you could achieve."

in front of his friend, jon kent, with a scowl on his ever-so angry face and his hand already making a way to grip his sword; an absolute threat to dice you up shall you ever bother being in the same room as him.

he said that to you... you're older, you could've been stronger, could've at least found a semblance of fight in your bones. but no! god, no. your life was ruled with fear with damian wayne being the demon haunting you in the manor, always making living harder, making breathing a heavy task.

how could you ever fight back? not when you've conditioned yourself to tear up at the slightest bit of noise, feel goosebumps prick your skin when you hear someone raise their voice at you, and your heart rate hasten at the slide of a knife against any surface?

you! you who's so fucking weak to even make a comeback. you, who ran away with wide, traumatized eyes. because you're scared, so fucking fearful of an even bigger cut to your skin marked by damian— even if you're accustomed to cutting yourself with even deeper gashes.

because it's him that you fear, not the pain, not anymore. just him and his contempt at you for ruining his pure bloodline just by you being his half-sibling.

you don't want a repeat of your first meeting, or any meeting with him at all. not when you'd drown even deeper in a pit of fear every time you stare at his glaring, emerald eyes. one that tells you he chose to merely not kill you out of the goodness of his heart. but he will, god he will if he feels you've been too comfortable in his presence.

every damn time, everytime you feel fear, you see green. you hate green, any literal meaning of it, every implication of itx even seeing it, and fuck! your outfit has green embellishments.

you feel even uglier, yet the twinge of fear immediately overpowers any concern your had with your appearance. it's as if eyes were suddenly on you, and it's not only yours staring at you in the mirror.

your lips wobble, snot began blocking through the passage of your nose.

fuck, fuck, fuck.

why?! why can't you just forget about them all. why, why, why?!

you bite your lips harshly to conceal the pained whimpers from the back of your throat, but it doesn't work. it only makes the fear worse.

tears rim at your eyes, you merely wipe them away. your heart attempts to beat out of its gilded cage, yet you swallow your quivering chokes and proceed to continue staring at yourself in the mirror, dressed in a rush, with nothing to conceal your ghastly eyebags and sunken skin.

and green. you'll see it everywhere now. fuck, would dick send out damian to kill you now? you don't know, you're scared but you can't chicken out, not when your friend is already near to your apartment. god you wish you had beer in your cabinets instead, but you're broke and unprepared for life and your hair's all in a tangle and you just fucking want to die.

your hands grip at the edge of your sink, you look at your mirror and see the blood on your already bitten lips.

not even concealer can cover the damn scars all over your face all through the neck.

calm down.

you stare even deeper at yourself and ignore the green, trying to think of something else—

something less emotionally scarring, like your appearance. even if it brings you great pain, too, you'd rather that than your family. no more of them, fuck, no more. even if you stare at your eyes and see that familiar mix of colors of your mother and bruce's eyes. the shape of your face, even the curve of your brows all resembled your late mother— and you miss her, her captivating beauty that you never saw aged like fine way before she was taken away from you. you see bruce in the strands of your hair and the way it sometimes fray when too stressed. you see them in every image you wish to erase of yourself.

yet your genetics are nothing to them, not when you can't even care for your tangled hair or ashen skin.

even the dead looked more lively than you ever could.

with a pale complexion, with scars that litter all over your shoulders, wrists, and hidden parts of your body, one you're too ashamed to show anybody— it was no doubt that you looked pathetic and erased the beauty that both your parent's cultivated. and it makes you wonder; would it really be worth it?

would it be worth it if the people around you see you?

you with your melancholic eyes, trying to find an escape in a maze you call your mind? you can picture yourself drinking alcohol until you reach the domain of death, sitting in a stool, alone, as you nearly empty the contents of your stomach remembering the sole reason why you're there in the first place.

would it be worth it if all eyes suddenly were on you? they turn to you to gaze at the ugly bruises on your body, they mock your appearance, call you names, look at your sniveling, red nose and warm cheeks intoxicated from all the heavy liquor you'd down, and whisper. they'll whisper insults, slurs, and every known jab until it's all their words that pierces through your eyes, until the loud bass becomes mere background chatter for all the gossips that ensue.

are you actually going to do this right now?

you don't know, you don't know and you wish never cared as much.

all you could really focus on was your eminent goal of getting out of your stuffy apartment, to rid of the paranoia that somehow, you're being watched over in the confines of your four walls and that the familiar image of green will come attack you. the more you think, the more the hairs on your skin start to raise with every known intention to signal you of your anxiety.

eyes, they may be everywhere.

eyes, eyes, eyes. as you stare at your eyes, you try to ignore emerald eyes, they dilute even further. you gulp, yet your focus remains distorted. images flash at the mirror, and suddenly they're here, with you, with their eyes. bright blue for some, dark green for another, and they all gaze at you with contempt. one's hand claws at your throat, the other pins your wrist down on the edge of the sink. the eyes glare, and they never soften. yours merely shook, unblinking as your breathing becomes heavier; trapped in the cages of their wanton staring.

you yelp, then blink. when you did, they're gone. and you're back to looking at the same image of yourself. you grimace slowly.

ugly, with dry skin and falling hairs. the worst version of you, the normal version of yourself— there was never a best version for you.

as long as it's you, you'll never be enough.

all you wanted was to drink with your friends at a club; some working nightshifts at the location you're going to— yet you want to back down. want to take your phone by the corner of your vision and cancel your sudden plans.

but you're scared, you're so fucking scared of any new messages.

hell, even finding the contacts for your friends was a task in itself you wish to never repeat. with jittery fingers trying to type of messages and blurry eyes navigating through the screen of your slippery, glass screen protector.

you're scared, rightfully so.

you're scared to find his message once more suddenly popping up, your fingers accidentally pressing on it like the clumsy swine you are, and rereading that damn heart over and over again.

you slam your dominant hand against the tiled sink, hard and uncaring for the pain it induced all throughout your body. the tremors of the impact shook you to your core, yet you seethe in your breath and don't allow yourself respite to let the tears flow freely from your already red eyes. you feel your heart beating erratically through your chest, the shivers controlling your body, the shrieks that you contained within you— and you enchain them all with no respect for yourself.

you deserve this. you deserve to be hurt, to be punished for your actions, for your mistakes, for your sins.

even if your hand became swollen, splotched with varying shades of disgusting purples and yellows, you won't treat it with medicine. even if the sharp edges of the sink broke the fragile layer of your already scarred palm, and bled profusely with that familiar shade of red; you won't rush to wrap it with gauze or even spare a droplet of betadine. even if by the next day you'd have to write out your overdue assignments with that specific hand, then you'll force yourself to learn through the other and punish yourself again if you fail once more.

you deserve this.

and as your phone pings, lighting up to show you a notification of one of your friend's messages about being ready to pick you up by the lobby of your apartment's ground floor, you ignore your injured hand and the bruises on your knees from falling so abruptly on tiled floors just moment's ago. you dismiss the ache of your head, the soreness of your eyes and the disgusting beat of your heart.

you ignore the pain that wrecks at your entire body, in favor of destroying it even more, just as you deserve.

you don't recall how many shots you had before you're nearly passed out by the bar, sitting on its stool with your head leaning on one both your arms crossed, drool close to slipping out of the corners of your mouth and heavy eyes lidded, about to fall into the depths of sleep.

you're sure you looked wasted, absolutely drop-dead drunk with no thoughts circulating in your head other than the pleasant buzz in your ears and the flash of colors in the disco balls blanketing the entire room with its neon lights. your face must've been an unearthly shade of red, and you can already feel just how blazen it is, and how your fingertips are ice-cold to the touch (probably colder than the marble you lay your arms upon). in other words, you're actually wasted.

and it's so worth it if it means it gets you to forget. and forget you did, because you can't even dig deep into your head to even remember a single memory of whatever grief you went through earlier in your apartment. not even the throb of your head from when you pulled your hair from its roots, all to the way you slammed your dominant hand on your bathroom sink, bruising it with unnatural shades of purples and yellow.

it makes you omit every type of pain, both physically, mentally, and emotionally. it doesn't cure you of your ails, but god forbid you if you just want to savor moments where nothing but a mind numbing headache is the only feeling present in your current state.

the remix of songs were long forgotten in your mind, they all become an amalgamation of miscellaneous sounds. your body is so inclined towards the flat, rectangular cool surface of the marble glass of the bar that you can guarantee you could sleep here, especially since black behan to cloud both your vision and your mind.

everything feels so hazy, and pleasant, and straight-out peaceful that the screaming tandems of equally drunk clubbers and the occasional sobers holding up their friends who sang along with whatever remix the dj comes up with, or the forming crowd as people began to rock and dance to the bass that shakes up the entire floor to the point you can feel vibrations run along your spine— didn't register within the crevices in your mind.

all you can focus on, is the gratifying pleasure ll alcohol induces in your body. gone is the feeling of fear that emanates off of every inch within your body. your bones don't feel as if it's locking up everytime you feel eyes on you, and your throat doesn't certainly feel constricted with the lack of flow of blood anymore.

god, this is why you've never once regret drinking right after the moment you turned eighteen— not when it's positive effects outweighs all the negative emotions that rule over your body.

you couldn't even notice a man with shades (seriously, who wears that to party? isn't the club dark enough?) sitting beside your drunken form in the corner of your eyes, raptured in the thin line between focusing on reality and drifting off to dream world. you don't even bat an eye to his muffled giggles and the way he twisted his stool just to admire the view: you.

you're oblivious to the entire commotion happening within the depths of his mind because you couldn't feel any aptitude to danger right now— thanks to the effects of the hard liquor overtaking whatever fear you've felt being watched long ago.

or maybe you just felt safe beside the stranger. or, you're merely drunk. you don't know.

fuck, you're so close to passing out.

you don't know where your friends are, where they came running off to but you know you won't be getting out her sooner or later and you definitely don't have a ride home. so your only way back without getting ambushed as a completely vulnerable citizen of gotham, is by a safer, more convenient means of a ride— but that certainly wouldn't be safe if your friends are as equally drunk, or even more so, as you. but does your hazy mind care? no. not when you flip your head to rest on the other side once the other side became hotter that you notice a conveniently attractive man staring right back at you with an entertained grin.

as if your existence alone makes him happy. as much as your mind keeps blanking out, that mere implication made your heart pang just a teensy bit. of pain, or pleasure, or mere joy, you don't know. but you do know that it triggered some unknown feelings and you don't want to feel.

you want to drink some more, feeling solemn all of a sudden just from staring at him. you're sure the obvious frown on your quivering lips and the heavy, hot sigh

and it doesn't help that his face seems similar. the longer you stare, the more his grin seems to sharpen. confidently? or shyly? you can't seem to gain a clear image of him; what when rainbow lights are blazing out through the holes of the disco ball and your eyes recently just opened to your near journey to traverse through sleep.

all you can make out to be is his jet-black hair, side bangs framing the left side of his face, a faint outline of an eyebrow piercing

you also took note of his spiky jacket— yet what draws you the most to him are his sunglasses that he chose to wear conspicuously in a damn club of all places.

he's attractive, to say the least, but he triggers a set of emotions deep into the cages of your imprisoned heart that sets itself free. he gives you a sense of nostalgia, of familiarity that you can't pinpoint but feel; like you've seen him before but don't know when. your eyebrows furrow in and your eyes squint at him, unknowing to the judgement you're subjecting him in. your lips wobble, though, because his presence just makes your heart feel something, akin to pain but not quite, and makes your head buzz that you just want to cry as a reaction.

he, the stranger, don't know it, but he makes you all sad, primal emotions overtaking any drunkenness you feel as deep tremors buzzed into the confines of your chest, until all you're doing is staring at him with pouting, downturned lips and sad, puppy eyes; rimming with salty tears.

you don't know why you feel sad all of the sudden, and you can faintly see through blurry, watery vision how his face shifted from entertained to worry, eyebrows raised and eyes wide open at your sudden mood shift.

maybe you or him could've spoken up, you more so, but you're just so emotionally drained and overwhelmed today that you began sobbing silently without breaking eye contact with the man.

despite you wanting to say anything: an introduction, a question opening up as to why he's staring at you, or even a mere phrase telling him to "back off"; the only words that came out from your parched throat, all from trying to reason in your head on what a proper sentence should be, were:

"you're hot," and if you were sober enough, you would've felt sheer embarrassment and shame from eyeing the boy, but you're not— and because you're not sober, or any bit sane, the next few sentences you spewed out were all coherent, yet wonkily pronounced utterances paired with teary eyes and sniffling nose, as you can't seem to control the feelings of melancholy in your heart and the sudden emotional burst from your ramblings.

"thank you, you too, actually— but are you alright-"

"you're so hot, god, please. i don't know..." you gave him no time to speak as you hiccupped, lips wobbling even more than you can imagine. and you're trying your damn best to rid of the urge to punch at your chest as a coping mechanism through the multitude of emotions eating you up and away. but you never realized you were trying for an absolute stranger, palms fisting into itself as he stares at you worriedly all of a sudden.

"like... you're familiarly attractive, i—" the next few sentences were incoherent as your words bubbled around you like detergent soap. your fingers found itself into your face as you try to wipe off both tears and nearly dripping snot as you continued rambling drunkly.

"you just! you're hot, for me, i don't know... i'm just, we all—eughh... i don't know, i'm so sad..." and you truly are, for no reason at all other than seeing the man. poor him, must've felt so ashamed that he's the reason you're crying but at the same time... nothing can really stop you from ceasing your tears.

at least, that's what you've convinced yourself to believe in. that you're truly incurable of the ailment of being constantly depressed with nobody to aid you with your troubles. not even your friends, nor past therapists that you've consulted.

you've nothing to comfort you, and that makes you even more solemn than ever.

the simplest of emotions felt, the deeper and complex you take it out to be. sadness, or moreover depression, the horseman of apocalypse that destroys any hope you've tried to kindle with your life.

it makes you all the more burst into a wave of even more tears.

"... okay, okay, wait here for me, alright?" he suddenly stood up, hurriedly, probably unsure, or disgusted by you. you're unsure about what he's saying, too caught up crying that you simply nod to whatever he said and continued on with your episode.

as you're left alone, you allow your tears to dry only cry once more. when he left you, you weren't aware but you just felt even more lonely. at pushing away the only company you had after your friends left you in the dust, you feel depressed and regretful and all emotions related to grief and you just want to drink some more but you don't know if you can take it anymore!

god, it all returns to pain. pain you thought you could bury deep once you took multiple swigs of alcohol.

pain that makes you want to bang your head against the marble of the bar—

and you're so close to doing so, but only stopped when your blurry vision sets itself on the man returning with a handkerchief and a cold glass of ice water. at his kind gesture, you simply teared up even more, pouting when he walked your way and looked at you with a sheeping grin.

when he sat right back up on the stool seated to your right, he hesitated with his hold on the handkerchief near your face. but the moment he gathered up his pride and pressed it against the unnatural blaze of your cheeks, you merely leaned closer to his palms, eyes closing as you can feel the tears cease itself finally at the blind comfort he's unknowingly providing you.

"there, there... be careful, 'kay stranger?"

he mutters, a light chuckle accompanying him. it's only now you can finally focus on the cool churn of his voice and the , with your eyes close and the haze of your thoughts washing away, leaving you breathless in your respite— not restrictive, nor lonely, but still short of breath.

this reminds you of the times alfred had to hold you in his arms everytime you threw a tantrum at the manor.

it made you realize that the months, a near year even, after leaving the manor, made you crave physical affection. making you feel like a husk of yourself when not given. you feed off of the scraps of physical lovez to the point that even this man who's wiping away the tears from your cheeks makes your heart beat faster, in a comfortable manner.

sensations. he once told you that if you feel too deeply within, then to ground yourself you must feel beyond interior ranges of emotions.

and that's the technique you've been willing away from your head for so long. because it always requires another person in the room to comfort you, to simply touch you softly, gently like you're porcelain the same way the stranger is pressing damp fabric against your tearstained cheeks and hollowed out eyes.

the pain you've felt was because you're merely touch starved. alone, in a space where everyone has someone, and a no one can't have anyone.

but now that you do have a someone, no matter how dangerous he could've been outside of your impression of him, you feel the pain lessen, the heavy burdens become featherlight at his kind gestures of wiping all the salty tears from your face, the runny snot from your nose with no rush whatsoever.

"feel better now, hon?"

"mhm..." a long, drawled out yawn emits from your mouth, yet you're too comfortable with him to even care, suddenly feeling a wave of drowsiness after your emotional episode.

after he finished wiping your face, and felt it considerably cool down from the damp fabric, he placed it on the bar, one hand on your face keeping you stable. yet his other hand promptly went back to your cheeks.

he chose to do this of his own volitions, even leaning closer as your head finds itself slowly dropping to his clavicle (careful to avoid the spikes from his peculiar designed jacket), looking up at him and staring at his gray eyes.

the man looks down at you as you now realize he's cupping your face. at the implication of your entire ordeal with him, you might've felt flustered sober, but you're just so drunk that any spacial awareness for the proximity between your bodies just disappeared and left you with the need to sleep within the confines of the safety this man left you with.

you don't know it, but yet again the man smiles down at your adorable antics, finding the way you're absolutely trusting of a stranger both stupid, yet endearing. because he's no more stranger, and heaven bless him because he's so glad he's the person who approached you rather than anyone else because you looked so cute, and his crush on you may have lead him to stalk you occasionally just to ensure you're safe— that doesn't erase the gesture that he did it purely because gotham is too dangerous for your own good. and he's glad he trusted his human side of intuition, rationalizing with himself that today just seems to be the day you'd bump into danger if he's not there.

you're so stunning up close... how come tim never once found interest in someone as admirable as you is a mystery. but you trusting a stranger in your vulnerable state is much more.

and he's grateful he's that stranger.

because he may be a stranger to you, but a familiar one. and you feel safe, a feeling you haven't felt in so long that you simply just melt against him like clear putty; because you're transparent with what you feel right now.

and right now you feel warmth. not the uncomfortable one that blazes through your (now) cool face when you were drunk, nor the burning one whenever you thought of your family— but a pleasant one. like sitting near a fireplace as you watch the embers crackle, drinking hot cocoa whilst a quilt covers your body from the cold of the winter. you feel this way at his kindness, at his efforts to help you contain your emotions to a reasonable degree.

"what's your name, kind stranger?" you mutter on his chest (how come your head is laying on it, actually?) hearing the soft thumps of his heart. it's warm, he's warm and every bit of comfortable, as he does his best to move slightly back to remove his jacket and drape it over your body before he could reply to you, chuckling whilst doing so because you looked up at him with your eyes conveying every damn emotion that made you feel soft.

"it's conner, conner kent. call me kon, though. or yours if it's you." he purrs. it took you a minute to register his obvious flirting but what comes after is an absolute flush on your body and you recoiling from his hold as you look back at him, mouth agape. the tips of your ears were warm, and every bit of

an overexaggeration to his flirting, sure. it makes you look less appealing in your eyes, extra sure! but it's been so long since someone last attempted to flirt with you; but most were under the guise of when you were still a wayne and... and not as yourself. you! you who sports so many imperfections that—

"haha! is it strange to say that you look so cute whenever you look at me with wide eyes in the short span of time we just met?"

he slides in through your train of thoughts before you could delve even deeper through self-deprecation. and you're glad that he did because... god, he makes you want to shamelessly gloat as a reply. you've never had someone complement your eyes before, actually...

"i'm..." you look back at him after you stared down at your palms, heat overtaking your entire body. yet again it wasn't uncomfortable, and just the right temperature. you stutter your name afterwards, making sure it's your mother's last name that you highlighted implicitly and not bruce's.

he seems to grin even wider when you introduce yourself. that's when his next reply generally warranted you to nearly burst off your seat out of sheer diffidence.

"well," he says your name, tasting every syllable in his pierced tongue. "your name tastes sweet, dove. but i think your face is even sweeter now that you're not crying — not saying that isn't cute too but you're so stunning now that i look closer at you without any barriers. your eyes, especially, they're like some mix doe and siren eyes, or whatever my other friends talk about in social media. point given, you're drop-dead gorgeous in my eyes."

it all comes naturally from him that your brain merely shortcircuited and fried itself comprehending his message, forgetting you were drunk in the first place replacing it with a flush in your heart, the pit of grief and despair replaced with the lighthearted need to banter or reply meekly at his shameless flirting right after he comforted you.

this is the first time you felt something for someone's romantic gestures, instead of that wave of nausea that accompanies you.

he makes you feel... pretty about yourself. in a good way, in a way you don't feel the need to hide your insecurities for once and instead allow his eyes to flitter around your entire face, analyzing your features because... because he simply makes you feel pretty the more he stares at you.

yet all you did was take his hand on your own, a sudden burst of confidence even you couldn't explain, and played with it, as you pouted in reply before thinking— using his hand-now-turned-fidget-toy — of a good enough response.

you simply said, coughing before continuing, "i don't take back what i said moment's ago. you're hot too, even if my vision was obstructed by my tears."

"oh, really?" he smiled gently and allowed your hands autonomy to play with his. it's like telepathy, he knows it's automatic that you crave physical affection and attention and he's willing to provide you that solace.

"now that you're not crying— you think i'm even more handsome?"

you snort at his question, then took a step back with your thoughts to properly study him. neat, yet messy hair, piercing on the eyebrows and on his tongue (hot), sunglasses and spiky jacket draped upon your shoulders— goddamnit, of course he's hot! and you made it efficiently clear that he is, with your hands fiddling pattern against his soft, yet calloused hands, by squeezing it.

"yes, you are even more handsome, kon..." brief and concise, just how you like it. even if he gave you an entire essay describing you in his eyes, for you, you prefer actions; and you did so by simply being affectionate with the stranger, now acquaintance you have a slight crush on.

you'd never expected this turn of events, but it was a pleasant one and one you'd never really want to trade with anything else now that you've met kon.

so when he opened his mouth to spew something else, your ears perked up to listen and your mind, albeit slowly sobering up, prepared itself to reply to whatever flirting, conversation topics, and anything random it is that he wishes to talk about to you.

you smiled at him whilst he talked, he reciprocates as always.

yet this time, you weren't afraid to hide just how joyous you feel, for once, having a person interested in you not only physically but with your interests, too, as your conversations kept shifting to things about you.

it made inclined to learn about yourself, too. and that makes you happy, and fuzzy in the insides the more he asks you questions beyond your favorites. like in movies, he didn't simply just ask your favorites and you replied with an answer and moved on, no! you both discussed the emotional depth it impacted you with, why symbolism matters so much, and why in the near future you'd both inevitably meet up, you'll both watch it together.

that makes you feel excited.

you even forgot the main reason why you're here in the first place; to drink. now, though, it seems like you just wanted to talk to kon all night long.

fortunately for you, that's how the rest of your night went. with a pleasant buzz in the background, the sounds of remixes all drowned out in your ears as you favor the chatters of the man beside you, with the tremor of his voice a comfortable volume and his tone laced with freshly made honey.

when your friends finally ran back to the bar where you all collectively agreed to meet up at once everyone's shenanigans were finished, they giggled drunkenly whilst some sober ones whistled at seeing your hand unknowingly massaging his palms like a stresstoy and the jacket draped upon your shoulders.

the moment you returned it to him, he joked about wearing it every second now since it reminds him of you, and how it's his favorite piece of attire now beyond all his other clothing. you merely blushed and ignored the cooing of your friends behind you.

you didn't feel concerned over not seeing him anymore, as he had given you a slip of paper with his number on it in through a tissue with paracetamol pills wrapped around it (like the thoughtful gentleman he made himself out to be when he excused himself a second time to get those items, since you'd left your phone with one of your friends; you swore you felt a blush creep into your cheeks and heating the tip of your ears), you instead felt a pang of longing and furrowed your brows, looking at him as if asking if you'll see him around anytime soon as he reciprocates with a sure grin that makes you feel a wave of feather like affection.

he left shortly after, striding to you as your group recollects all your stuff and whispering a, "text you later, dove. stay safe for me, alright? don't let any other strangers get to you."

you're glad this night would end on a good note, willing away any prior doubts towards spending the night in a completely foreign street and expecting fir criminals and thugs to break in but no! you can't help but admit that your new... interest, conner, made your night a thousand times better.

and his little nickname for you... haha, you're so flustered thinking about texting him tonight. you'd neglect your assignments for now if it meant messenging him right after you get home, safely, for his sake.

when your group all came outside though, that's when things shifted.

time is a construct. it's complicated and structured like that as well. it can either be too fast, or too slow. when your friends had taken their sweet time to spend the night dancing about the dancefloor, when you'd taken the precious time to flirt and talk to kon; that's when you all collectively realized that their damn cars were stolen.

the air suddenly shifted to this thick atmosphere when you all stepped out, one that can be sliced through with a sword, and you swore—

god, you swore this night couldn't have been any better with the turn of things, but now. right after you got out the club, it all took a turn for the worse.

this is it.

you're going to die today.

you're going to die, in some dirty ditch, your friends nowhere to be found, with nobody to save you.

nasty bruises already began to form on your skin, one with harsher colors of purple, blue, and yellow on your wrists and other patches of skin; way harsher

the man in front of you was gnarly, but you've no time to judge as he kicks you in the guts.

matted brown hair lay atop his head like a bird's attempt at a near, he has an odor that reeks of sewer rats, piss, and feces, and an unruly beard that houses bits of his leftover.

he holds a weapon whose shape you couldn't make out with your hazy vision, body nearly cramping in on itself once he kicked you again.

straight in the abdomen, with brute strenght accompanied by his worn leather boots decorated with glinting spikes that sparkle under the moonlight's glow.

in the abdomen, spikes.

blood first, then curdling pain next.

no noise rips through your ears, only wringing ever present, but your mouth opens, and you can feel its tender chords crack as a scream erupts from your throat, shrill and resounding from the deepest depths of the cockpit your mouth has to offer you; uncaring for the man in front of who who suddenly covers his ears and grits his teeth, who looks at you like you're mad, yet unlike same way his two other lackeys from behind look at your like you're the creation of carnage itself.

pain shot throughout your body, most especially at the core of the holes that pierced through your clothes and right inside your skin. and as your bulging, teary eyes try to look down with an agape, whimpering mouth, his shoes still connected to your body; you could only hold off so much of that familiar taste of acidic bile paired with that lingering scent of cheap booze.

tears were a byproduct of the misery, as it began to escape from your already puffy eyes. when the man released his legs fron pinning you down, your sobs only worsened as your unpinned, shivering arm try its damned best to cover the already leaking blood.

six holes, the diameter of the more than half of your finger, was what you could make out in your line of sight. the blood that leaked from them looked black, you couldn't find where the gradient of black and red connects, your only certainty in this situation was that you'd bleed to death before help could come to you.

the spikes were as long as a toothpick, a crimson puddle lay dripping on the floor.

your legs were shaking against your will, your eyes frantically search around you yet your pinned once more, his larger body framing against your own, providing no room nor qualms for an escape.

but the only escape you wanted was one from the pain of his pressing against your injury, even more blood spilling out of its confines. your tears only hastened its descent from your shaky eyes.

when your mouth opened for the nth time to wail out, he seethed in a breathe and threatened you, with his breath as vile as his entire being, that smells like every mix of synthetic chemicals from cigarette flavors, all expired, with teeth rotting and sporting yellow and black wallpaper.

gross, so gross. you want to die when the stench hits your nose. you shrivel in yourself, you couldn't breath.

"listen here, little bitch, you quiet down or i kill you. and 'ya either give me everythin' you own in your damn possession, or i'll kick you even more until a thousand little holes will fuckin' make you bleed to death, hear me?"

hearing his statement only made the adrenaline pump even more fight of flight into your heart. but you can't do either, you can't, not when you're still hazy from the fucking alcohol and the self defense tools in your tiny pouch were thrown a few feet away from you.

you've nothing to defend yourself.

oh god, oh shit, fuck.

you want to die, you want to so fucking die than go through the same pain of nearly being abducted or held hostage again.

yet your eyes could only close, your teeth kissing your bottom lips, biting hard to drown out another pained scream. whimpers, god, they're so loud yet you can't help the whimpers and the broken faucet from your eyes. even if you beg your own body to stop, it doesn't listen to the pleas of your mind.

the only thing it can focus on is the pain. recreant, volatile pain.

a moan escapes you, shaky and prolonged. the only other emotion that you could experience after is sorrow.

you didn't expect your pleasant night to end off in such a tragic note, but as your attacker held you by your throat with one hand, a knife pointed against your face, the next that happened was your head slammed roughly against the wall; a dull, beating ache lulling the back of your head after the momentary spark of pain— you're reminded that this is reality, and you're close to losing consciousness quick.

you're going to die.

bloody, a sobbing, dissociating mess, with your thoughts spinning around the same way the stranger and his lackeys laugh — bared yellow teeth, with the smell of ichor prevalent in their clothes, predatory eyes leering at you like you're prey — at your drunken moans of pain.

you're going to die.

"well, you gonna answer me or what, bitch? you wanna die!?"

he shouts you with spit that sprays all over your face, flashing you a grin and by extension flashing you his ugly, bared teeth. some missing were in his gums, others were artificial, most rotten like him.

you're going to die.

alone, in a ditch. bloody, laying in a pool of your own crimson the same way you saw your mother drowns in a puddle of hers.

you'll die like her—

what an honor.

the more you think about the situation, the more you're led to believe that the only way to solve this was through death alone, with no restrictions, no buts or ifs. you've no fight left in your body, or any weapon to fight. you're drunk, defenseless and if you actually managed to escape, you'd still bleed to death in some unknown alleyway. if you're lucky, a stray police may find you and give you a proper burial. but you remember you're in the living incarnate of hell in america, you'll never have a proper death.

this was night in gotham. your death alone only adds to the already astounding high percentages of all the other lives lost to the same twisted fate. you were no different. and to die early than to suffer from torture is better.

i mean, who would give a shit if you die tonight, right? your family— wrong! alfred would panic at your disappearance, but he'll forget about you like he did others, you're sure of it. that's why he still chose to fucking serve the wayne's instead of fully taking your side. if he had to choose between saving you or the people he swore his loyalty onto, he wouldn't hesitate. you're sure. even if the thoughts made the doom in your heart heavier. even if you know your story would never be covered nor acknowledged, you still year

but life is unfair, everything is. that's why you're here now, in a dark fucking alleyway with men who'll more than take advantage of your dying body and leave your corpse in the dump after. life is unfair, yet it's even more cruel in gotham. you should've expected this, should've known that a turn of events could be possible. you'll feel regret in the afterlife, only for a life that could've been well-lived, but never for the choice of living through the torture you call being a wayne.

so you came to the conclusion; confident for once after living for thirteen and a half years walking on eggshells around a manor.

this is not as bad as their neglect.

you smile in response to the guy, genuine and filled with grace as your heart that once pounds against your chest now slows down to a calm pace, finally at peace. with no other intention than to rattle him even more, to the point of choosing you to kill with his own hands as brutally as he likes— so you finally take a well deserved rest from life.

you gather saliva at the center of your tongue, ignore the taste of blood that swirls, nor the soreness of your throat and the crimson dripping down your nose.

when he looks down at you, disoriented at what you're doing, you spit at him, all the beating in your heart hastened, yet slowed down as quickly as you heave in a final breath.

... you're finally going to die.

"FUCKING HELL, YOU DAMN CUNT—!"

you close your eyes, bracing yourself for the knife that would hopefully stab you in the face, or the chest, and think of your last thoughts. you thank alfred for caring for you for those thirteen years, you hope you win your mother's graces in the afterlife even if she discovered your deliberate choices for killing yourself in the spur of a moment, and you wish your old family a happy life living without you, even if they already did so for so long.

all you needed was seconds to conclude your prayers.

but they weren't answered as you wanted them to be, not when you open your wide eyes to what was supposed to be a glint of silver piercing through the middle of your face was replaced by a bullet, quick and precise, shooting through his cranium without mercy, body immediately laying limp within those seconds.

the other two behind him were good as dead, too, your savior not wasting any moment to end their lives then and there.

and as you stumbled from the grip released from your body, your torso nearly crumpling in on itself, a flash of familiar, metallic red enters your vision when you'd look up from your savior who's huge form now meticulously acts as your shield from the brutal carnage that lays upon your line of sight and a pillar of protection trying to help you stand from the pain that shot through your lower abdomen.

but you don't want to stand, you want to drop dead right now. you don't want this, you didn't want this to happen.

instead of gratitude, dread fills your lungs with water and your fingers were left to tremor.

he looks down at you, you couldn't make out his expression, but you could feel the anger coursing through his body, the same as the day you first met him when he was still newly rebirthed, like it's telling you of his unadulterated rage at witnessing the scene before him. his body shakes, heavily, and his grip on your hands tighten, a mechanical groan drawling deep from his automated voice banks that changes his voice.

yet all you feel was fear overtaking your entire body prior to the comfort at the prospect of death.

you'd rather die than this.

even you couldn't believe the whimper of his name from your wobbling lips, as your body, out of instinct despite the pain, tried to push itself against the wall, away from him.

he only moves to hold your waste protectively, like a... brother suffocating his younger sibling with blankets when they complain it's cold. overbearing, disgustingly affectionate; you don't want it.

you feel cold.

this day could've been any worse— and it took a turn to the all worse scenarios you could imagine.

"jason...?"

"angel..."

a single familiar name was spoken, yet a new nickname was introduced. angel: the same way jason swore what you looked like when he sped through his motorcycle after hearing a shriek from all across the streets, finding you, bleeding and beaten to a pulp, with your attacker almost stabbing you.

of course, who wouldn't hesitate pulling a gun against someone trying to kill your precious? jason doesn't even need to choose.

and whether he did it in the name of justice and respect to his moral code, or because finding someone with a familiar face, sharing the same hopeless, yet death-accepting expression as he did back when he died— it all doesn't matter in the heat of the moment now.

what matters is that his angel is hurt and the madness in him festers the longer you bleed out in his arms, defiant and fearful all the same.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 11,000+ words. AND I LITERALLY HATE THIS CHAPTER (new least favorite fr) 😭 this decision is so impulsive i gonna regret it soon. chapter 5 will be released after a few days and i promise it has more action than this I SWEAR. first parts are always boring. anyways, there're so many song references in this chapter and for the next chapter. if any of you could guess what they are, i'll be rewarding all of you with something special. otherwise, please leave comments for this chapter! what motivated me to write was reading everybody's comments and inputs, about the love they have for this series as much as i do. interactions, asks, comments, they're all important and dear to me and i heavily appreciate it. so more interaction = more content. after all, i'd rather a post with little likes but with no interaction than a post with no interaction but all likes.

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