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starlightguh · 2 months ago

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The Sharpest Tongue

Word count: 2,822

Summary: What if the stone Sylus won hadn't been the right one to send him and MC home to Linkon? As MC struggles to learn the local language, she finds herself the subject of the other warriors in the clan. Too bad it seems like Sylus has the sharper tongue amongst them all.

Tags: Cunnilingus, Grasslands AU, Jealous!Sylus

A/N: This is a bit shorter than I had planned, but I wanted to write something for the grasslands AU and saw someone mention we needed more jealousy grassland stories, so here you go! 100% transparency, I could not find anything on Talanian language, so I used Mongolian words, I'm not familiar with the language so if there are mistakes, I apologize!! I hope you enjoy nonetheless. Find this fic on Ao3 as well!

The Khan had given Sylus the bright red stone for his victory in the battle against the best warriors in the clan. My worries weren’t for nothing as there wasn’t any trace of meta flux emanating from it. No matter how hard either of us tried, we couldn’t resonate with it.

So we were stuck in the grasslands.

For someone who should have been happy due to our victory, both me and Sylus held somber faces around the celebratory fires and festivities. I could feel his red eyes staring at my downcast face as he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

“We’ll just keep searching kitten…As long as we’re together we can keep looking for a way to return home.”

I inhaled deeply and nodded silently as I turned to look at him, his expression was really soft and full of apology. I wanted to go home badly. But…Sylus had a point, wallowing won’t do anything. We’ll just make a plan to find a way back to Linkon.

I steeled myself by fixing my slouched posture and closing my eyes to take deep breaths. After a few moments I opened my eyes and smiled at Sylus, “Well I guess now is the time to embrace the nomad lifestyle…Until we find our way back home that is.”

Sylus stands, my eyes lingering on his distracting buff physique as he holds out his hand.

“Let’s not weep and try to make the most of our time together, hm? Shavanika.”

His baritone voice stirs an excitement in my belly as I take his hand and he begins to twirl me to the rhythm of the festive music the villagers are playing by the campfire. I feel the beads in my hair slap my cheeks as I spin around the orange hues of the warm flames near me. For a brief while as me and Sylus danced around the flames, my anxieties had drifted away. I was grateful to have him by my side and ease my worries.

My bare feet feel unsteady as I haphazardly try to follow the rhythm of an unfamiliar tune, but the warm and strong arms of the silver-haired warrior in front of me hold me steady. I smile and laugh at Sylus’ serious expression as we dance and lose ourselves to a night full of joy.

—————————

After the festival, we packed up and moved to travel alongside the rest of the villagers. Me and Sylus agreed we would adapt to our surroundings of the people around us as we tried to find any clues about a way home.

I was not the fastest learner, but I did get a few things down, the women taught me duties I was expected to help with, from herding livestock, sewing, cooking, and laundry, I was slowly earning my place amongst the others. However, I was struggling with learning the language. I could pick up a few words here and there, but I couldn’t really understand or communicate as properly as I would like.

Then there was Sylus, he was a polyglot so picking up the language wasn’t difficult for him. He must have been fluent only after a solid two weeks of study. I was envious, but also grateful since I relied on his help a lot to learn and understand.

The warriors happily accepted Sylus, he easily fit in and would help them with hunts for resources as well as military strategies and ideas. The Khan favored him a lot and Tara told me whispers of them wanting to promote Sylus to a general title.

While we hadn’t been traveling with our clan for more than a month, we easily slipped into our roles quickly. And now it seems we quickly have found ourselves involved in more politics than we would like.

It was like any other day, I was riding my cream-colored stallion through the grassy fields trying to get the flock of sheep on the right path. I called out the different sounds and commands I was taught while keeping a stead-fast pace on horseback.

My hunter's instincts kicked in as I noticed one sheep was away from the herd, and upon further investigation, it was being hunted by a hungry coyote.

“Shit,” I hissed to myself and acted quickly as I grabbed a rope from my satchel. As the coyote pounced, I lassoed it and used my strength to pull him away from the sheep.

I was heaving and sweaty as I just lifted the clueless sheep back to the herd. As I was getting back on my horse, I heard some whistles call out to me. I glanced around and noticed a group of four warriors walking up and cooing at me.

I didn’t really recognize them, I only knew they were of the same clan since their chest guards had the same color ropes that Sylus wore. The men spoke to me in Talanian, but I could only pick out words like ‘strong’ and ‘brave.’

“I uh…am not familiar with the language yet, chlaarai .”

They seemed to just smile as one made a comment to the group in Talanian, they laughed and just waved goodbye toward me as they rode off.

I didn’t think much of this encounter until the next day.

We had set up camps deep in the Northern Grasslands, orange was taking over the skies as the dawn broke. I was hanging clothes I had just washed in the river on a clothesline outside one of the elder's yurts.

Behind me I heard the sharp tongue of Talanian, I glanced and noted those same big warriors from the other day were talking. I had paid them no mind as I did my duties.

Suddenly I heard the sharp thuds of angry footsteps behind me and a strong pair of arms wrapped themselves around my waist. I glanced up and saw a very pissed-off Sylus glaring off in the direction of the four other men.

He yelled at them in Talanian and growled when the other men responded in what I could only assume was a taunt. Sylus let go of my waist and marched up to one of the men and grabbed him by his leathers. People started to gather to watch the rowdy commotion.

I turned and saw Tarna and sighed in relief since she could explain what was going on, “Hey, Tarna….What exactly is happening?” I asked her urgently as it sounded like the men were raising their voices.

“Well…It seems the Khan’s second son Gansu said something about your er….” She paused and looked shy when translating what was said, “birthing hips, and how he wanted you as a wife to bear his children.”

I stood frozen as it all clicked into place. I looked over at Sylus who was still arguing with them, a scowl marred on his face.

“Sylus came in and said they shouldn’t speak about you that way that you were his beloved. Gansu told him that it didn’t matter to him unless you two were wedded or you were pregnant.”

“Seriously?!? If he’s the son of a Khan he can marry whoever he wants. Why would he want me?”

Tarna shook her head at me, “That’s why Sylus is arguing, he says that you are with him and will never have anyone else’s children.”

The arrogant Gansu held a smirk as he practically hissed at Sylus, a dark expression glazed over Sylus’ face. I’ve only ever caught glimpses of Sylus angry, but never this murderous.

“What did he say?” I asked Tarna, my voice full of worry. I could feel the icy chill of Sylus’ anger even from a distance.

“Gansu just said ‘well whoever takes it keeps it’ as a threat… I think you should go over and stop Sylus, if he gets in a fight with the Khan’s son they could severely punish him,” Tarna warned me.

I nodded and without a second thought, I ran up behind Sylus and gently placed my hand on his lower back. His tense body seemed to ease up a bit at my touch as I tried my hardest to speak in Talanian.

“ Amarkhan bai….S-Shavanika …” Fight not, beloved . These were the only words I could best make out with my limited knowledge.

Silently he grabbed my hand and glared down Gansu as he turned to walk away with me. I felt his grip on my hand tighten as Gansu and his men still taunted behind us. We began walking off towards our yurt and it wasn’t until we were a safe distance away I had to whimper to Sylus.

“Your grip is too tight it hurts,” I cried.

He seemed to snap out of his trance and he softened his grip and rubbed his large thumb soothingly across my hand, “Sorry sweetie… I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

“I don’t exactly know what was said, but Tarna translated some of what you guys were saying. I didn’t realize the Khan’s son and his friends saw me herding sheep yesterday.”

“The Talanian language is very harsh, most of the words are very direct. The disgusting words from the Khan’s second son really got under my skin is all… Why didn’t you tell me you ran into him yesterday?”

“I didn’t think it was important… Also, I hardly saw you yesterday,” I sigh, “You came back to our tent pretty late… Are you sure you weren’t up practicing Talanian with the other village girls?” I hiss a bit. While the Khan’s son may be chasing my skirts, I can’t ignore the fact that all the girls of the village have been trying their hardest to catch Sylus’ eye.

Sylus stopped in his tracks and growled he turned to me and looked down with a sharp gaze, “How many times do I need to express to you I’m not interested in the other village girls?”

I match his glare and put my hands on my hips, “And how many times do I have to tell you I can handle myself, the Khan’s son doesn’t scare me. I’ll just refuse him.”

Sylus tsked his lips and leaned down to lift me up on his shoulder.

“Hey! Put me down!”

“No. It seems like I need to practice Talanian with the only village girl who matters to me,” he says sharply. He gives my butt a playful smack as I’m hoisted over his shoulder, my face in the direction of his backside.

I smack his butt back and he just chuckles, “You’re not getting out of this one Shavanika, so simmer down kitten.”

When he strutted into our tiny little yurt and set me down, his red eyes shined with a mixture of excitement and mischief. His hand remained on my waist as he spoke in a low and seductive tone.

My back arched at the feeling of his hands trailing down my waist and gathering my skirts up in his large rough palms. He set his other palm in the dip on my hip as he stared at me with almost an appraising look in his eye. “Let’s start with the lesson…What did that man call these?”

His left dominant hand was under my skirt caressing my thigh, I let out a shaky breath as I closed my eyes and tried to remember the foreign words spoken earlier.

“T-Toro? Kha-?” I sputtered out as his palm found its way to one of my bare-asscheeks. He squeezed it and tsked his lips as he brought his face closer to mine and he spoke lowly.

“Torkah Khongo,” the purr in his voice did nothing but further my arousal. I was being engulfed by the dominant energy Sylus was putting out. It didn’t take very much for me to become putty in his strong hands.

His other hand reached under my skirt as well and without further notice, the lengthy skirt that usually met my ankles were now scrunched up at my waist. Underwear wasn’t a common thing within the tribe, so I had been forced to forgo that luxury and be commando under my lengthy traditional clothing. I think for a situation such as a lustful Sylus, it was beneficial to be as naked as possible.

“Do you know what the translation is?” He quirked a brow.

“B-Birthing Hips?”

“Mhmm,” there was a slight growl to his response, “he said that you had the birthing hips to bear him many sons.” Sylus gripped my hips in a tightening grip. “Too bad for him these hips are miniikh.”

Sylus dropped to his knees in a squat as his mouth bit a part of my inner thigh, his hands rubbing the bare skin before him. “Do you know the translation?”

His mouth placed hot and wet kisses in my inner thigh, teasing me by being so close to where I actually wanted his mouth. I gasped out an answer as he was torturing me with kisses, “M-Mine?”

“Good girl, seems like you do know more than I thought,” he whispers breathlessly, “Let me reward you.”

He then licked my dripping slit, I let out a whimper in surprise.

“Tell me, who do these hips belong to?” He asked as he pulled away from licking my heat.

“Y-You.”

He smacked my thigh at my answer, “Ah-Ah-Ah, in Talanian sweetie.”

“ Ta,” I moaned out as he suckled on my sensitive pearl.

With a pop of his lips, he pulled away and smirked, “Hmm that’s a good answer, but I have a better one. Repeat after me: Nökhör .”

The pronunciation of the word feels strange as I try my best to repeat it, “noct-core?”

Sylus just shakes his head and repeats it slower for me, when I finally pronounce it right he rewards me by entering one of his fingers into my dripping center.

“Keep saying it sweetie, practice makes perfect,” he chuckles and his mouth finds my center again as he slowly devours me.

With his finger slowly pumping me and his greedy tongue flickering on my sensitive folds, my voice is nothing but a loud and needy whine of this new word he’s taught me and I haven’t a clue what it means. All I know is Sylus likes it as he happily groans into my dripping cunt.

“Louder. I want the whole tribe to hear you scream it, so everyone knows we belong to each other and no one else,” his lower face is dripping in my essence and his red eyes have a bit of a manic and desperate look as I look down on him.

“Sylus….” I lose my mind as he now has three fingers in me and the mouth of a sinner as he loudly slurps at my folds with his sharp tongue.

Ecstasy and euphoria wash over me as I come on his face with that new and unfamiliar word on my tongue. My knees shake and nearly give out, but Sylus stands and lifts me up so my legs are wrapped around his middle.

I lean my head forward as I pant into his ear, “What’s the translation of that word.”

He laughs as he rubs my back while I come down from my high, “Why, it’s my future title…It means ‘husband.’”

“Sylus! How bold of you to assume!”

He frowned at this and glared at me, “I'm not assuming anything, but unless you want to be the wife of the Khan’s son, then you must be mine…I can’t protect you from the leaders otherwise.”

I blush, “I-It’s just so embarrassing….I never thought about marriage.”

He smirks a bit, “Well I'm glad I can change your mind, at least while we’re here. Linkon has a very different culture from the grasslands, and we can talk about a proper marriage when we return home. Deal?”

“Fine but you’re not knocking me up while I'm here,” I huff at him as he lays me down on our pelts and strips off the rest of his clothes.

“I make no promises, but I’ll do my best. You’re just too tempting, Shavanika.”

“Only for you my Nökhör.”

That night Sylus made me scream so loud that the Khan’s son did nothing but glare daggers as Sylus confidently walked through the village the next day I, on the other hand, was forced to stay in bed due to my wobbly knees. When I finally returned to my duties after a day's rest, the other girls just giggled as they saw me.

Tarna translated a message for me that the elders are happy for whatever blessings me and Sylus marriage may bring, but to keep it to ourselves at night. I was horrified and embarrassed, while Sylus walked around as the proud warrior both in the grasslands and in the bedroom.

The strongest warrior and the sharpest tongue will always come out on top I suppose.

~fin~

Translation guide:

Shavanika - Beloved

Chlaarai - Sorry

Amarkhan bai - Fight not

Torkah Khongo - Birthing Hips

Miniikh - Mine

Ta - You

Nökhör - Husband

#love and deepspace #lads smut #love and deepspace sylus #lads fanfic #lads x reader #sylus x reader #sylus #sylus fanfic #sylus x mc #sylus smut #grasslands Sylus #jealous sylus

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just-some-random-blogger · 2 years ago

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Hey can I ask for a smutish fluffish matt smith fic where where they are filming their sex scene but she accidentally says Matt instead of Daemon and the directors like “not again 😒 start from the top”

I'm Into It

Matt Smith x Actress!Reader (lowkey Daemon x Reader lol)

Summary: You were finally getting to live out your fantasies of having Matt around you in that pretty blonde wig, but at what cost?

Word Count: >600

Warnings: fem!reader, established relationship, they be filming a sex scene for hotd, crackfic, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: Lol this was so much fun to write it's so meta i love it. I hope you like it nonnie <3 and since technically this is daemon related imma tag yallz @pinksirensong @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony also im tagging @pearlstiare since this lovely dear seemed to enjoy my matt smith fic lol hehe i made another matt fic lol "Dark Kiss"

I was pressed against the wall, a blade to my neck, an arm pressed by my ribcage, pushing me flush against the wall.

I heaved, "do it," I spoke as the blade was pressed closer to my chin, "slit my throat," I chortled, "and then you'll realize just how foolish that decision was after you've spilt my blood."

"Demented hag," Daemon quips, pressing his arm deeper into me.

I lean into him, the blade on my neck presses deeper. I brush my nose against his, "hush, prince," I lick his lips, "we both know you don't think that."

Daemon throws his blade to the side and flips me over, pressing my chest and face roughly against the wall, one arm pushed behind my back. He breathes jaggedly against my neck, "tell me where you hid it."

"Make me," I huff, "you know how," I chuckle, "you know what I want from you."

I wince when he shoves me. I break into another chuckle, "I'll take it however you want to give it, pretty boy."

"Last chance," he warns, "while I'm being nice."

I hum, "I don't want you to be nice. I want you to ruin me."

I smile when he does not reply. I strain my neck trying to look back at him, "dragon lost his fire?"

All at once, I am released and turn back to deviously eye the prince. I bite my lip when he begins to undo his breeches, "you will regret it if you do not obey me."

My heart jumps to my throat at his words. I fall against the wall as he steps forward. I reach out to him as he bunches my skirt up.

I lean against his forehead and sigh when he places his hands on my hips. I raise my leg up to his side and pull him with me as I shift back. I steal a kiss from him and nip at his lower lip when he evades me. When he takes his hand underneath my thigh, I instinctively call out his name.

That was my mistake.

Instead of calling Daemon, I say Matt.

Matt pulls his head back upon hearing his name. He breaks into an airy chuckle, "baby," he coos, leaning into me, hiding his face in the crook of my neck, pecking the area quickly.

My eyes go wide and I slap my hand on my mouth, looking out to the director and the rest of the crew when I realize my mistake.

Matt pulls away from me, laughing, releasing his hold on my leg to look past the camera. He turns back to me, as I profusely begin to apologize under my breath. He is in a fit of giggles when he seals me into a tight embrace, kissing my shoulder affectionately.

"I am so sorry," I mutter in a guilty tone as I am lifted off my feet by the laughing Matt.

"I'm not," he says, looking out to the camera. He points, "you caught that, right?" He giggles, "I'm going to need a copy of all of these outtakes."

I feel blood rise up my neck, "Matthew, please."

"What?" he turns to me, "my male ego is thriving, lovie. What is this, the tenth time?"

"No!" I call, "... I think only five."

There is a chorus of laughs; someone corrects me by saying it's the seventh.

Matt kisses me cheek, "I'm proud of you, babe."

"Matt, please," the director calls, "stop being distracting."

The entire set breaks into a fit of laughs. I burn with embarrassment, wanting nothing but to be swallowed by the ground, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," I turn to Matt and grab his face, "Daemon. Daemon. Daemon."

Matt grins, "Matt. Matt. Matt."

"Stop!" I warn, pulling away from him as I repeat my mantra, "Daemon, Daemon, Daemon."

"Rouge Prince. Dashingly handsome," Matt rubs his nose. He looks at the director, "from the top then?" He chuckles under his breath, "that's what she said."

"Stop!" I whine.

"Oh, alright," he smirks, turning to me, "do me a favor and mess up again. For me?"

"Stop!" I call out the same time as the director.

lol you wanna read another matt smith fic?

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cocoacat323 · 1 year ago

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Scum Villian Fic Recs

So, I've been reading fanfiction for a long ass time, longer than I've been on Tumblr and have always loved fic recs, and now I realize I can make my own(yay!), so here it is. None of these are explicit or anything, but they are super good.

A Transmigrator and a Time Traveler Walk Into The Bamboo House Summary:

Over a year after Shen Qingqiu's death, Luo Binghe consults his servant's servant, concurrently his disgraced martial uncle, for a way to bring the love of his life back. Shang Qinghua sends him in the direction of a certain time-traveling artifact, which supposedly brings one to the day they first met their soulmate. Odd, though, that the artifact ends up missing the destination by just a few years…

A story in which post-Abyss Luo Binghe relives his disciple days, while juggling his secrets, traumas, and some unexpected revelations about the man he loves on top of that.

Unveiling The Imposter Summary:

While tracking a suspicious fortune-teller, Shen Qingqiu falls unconscious. The fortune-teller extracts a glowing orb from his body, telling Luo Binghe and Liu Qingge that this Shen Qingqiu is an imposter, and they can see for themselves if they don't believe it.

Alternatively, the Demon Lord and Peak Lords watch Scum-Villain's Self-Saving System.

Characters Watch the Series fanfic. Post-Canon.

High Mountain, How I Long Summary: Shen Qingqiu, after enduring his trial, is placed into Luo Binghe’s custody at Huan Hua Palace.

meta madness Summary: Looking at SVSSS through the eyes of the universe left behind when Airplane and Cucumber died. (Note: Not a fic, but a series, but every fic in it is so good so definitely check it out.)

it's only shameless if you had any shame to loose in the first place Summary: They have not told anyone about their marriage, and at Shen Qingqiu's request, they will only do so once the wedding preparations are done. No one will have time to nag!

But in the meantime, Luo Binghe, demonic lord or not, is only an alpha. He must do something to show off his claim or he'll go insane, he really will. He'll qi deviate terribly, see if he won't.

Fortunately, as thin-faced as he is, his Shizun does not care much for proper dynamic etiquette...

love's worth running to Summary: “Shizun,” he purred, darkly calm despite the anger oozing out of his mock-respectful smile. Luo Binghe's grip on Xiu Ya's blade tightened, and he realised with belated horror that his blood was running down the sword and dripping by Shen Qingqiu's feet. His sword had to be held at an upwards angle now, to reach the place where he pierced him back then.

Shen Qingqiu felt sick. There was something wrong in this dream.

“I ask you again. Do you regret it, Shizun?”

Shen Qingqiu can't answer whether he regrets betraying him. Luo Binghe wants his Shizun to understand how he suffered, and drags Shen Qingqiu into his dreamscape of the Endless Abyss that night.

The only problem: Shen Qingqiu isn't waking up.

We Are Not Wise Summary:

When Shen Qingqiu drew Shen Yuan’s soul sword, it felt like being burned from the inside out. The fire wasn’t cruel, but it was still fire—hot and destructive, searing the softest pieces of him.

When Binghe’s fingers touch the hilt, he is ready for pain.

Transmigrated into a version of Proud Immortal Demon Way where cultivators manifest their own souls into spiritual weapons, Shen Yuan finds himself sort of kind of…accidentally blackmailing Shen Qingqiu into taking him on as a disciple before Luo Binghe joins the sect.

That should give Shen Yuan plenty of opportunities to make sure nothing goes wrong for his favorite protagonist, right? RIGHT!?

A story of twists, turns, hope, despair, and soul swords. Written for the Bingqiu Reverse Minibang 2023, illustrated and conceptualized by the incredible Suzu!

The Cultivating Force Summary: In which a Master and a Padawan run into a Shizun and a... Sith?

and judgement is just like a cup that we share Summary: The blob finished rotating into place in a way that wasn’t quite compatible with geometry as Shen Qingqiu understood it, and cleared a throat it didn’t seem to have.

“Greetings,” it said, somehow clearly addressing him in particular more than the room as a whole despite its total lack of features other than blueness and translucency. “I’m here on behalf of the Hyper-Celestial Peace and Order Enforcement Bureau. Crime scene secure, proceeding to interviews. Beginning with Subject One: You are Shen Qingqiu, formerly Shen Yuan, also known as Peerless Cucumber?”

"Proud Immortal Demon... Protection Squad?" Summary:

[ REWRITTEN 2023 ]

in which shen qingqiu, the nation's scum villain, doesn't perish from a qi deviation and instead, after dying tragically in his pathetic, sickly, 20 year-old body because he ate some definitely rotten yogurt he mistook for cream cheese like the absolute knob that he is, shen yuan wakes up to find himself in the body of a child, in the middle of a forest, and with absolutely no clue what world this shitty system had dropped him into. he decides to just go with the flow, one step at a time.

what could possibly go wrong?

(the answer is: everything)

(Shen Yuan Might Die Often but His) Old Habits Die Hard Summary: When Luo Binghe asks about his spiritual veins in the Holy Mausoleum, Shen Yuan's chest feels so funny that a lifetime of being chronically ill and reassuring his loved ones that, actually, he's fine kicks in. It is fine, really, because every problem in Airplane-bro's world can be solved by something that's penciled regularly into Shen Yuan's schedule at least eight times a week now.

Except the cure for Without a Cure doesn't work, and Shen Yuan's unlucky enough that Airplane-bro's plot device for winning over a tsundere via 'walking a mile in each others' bodies' hits him before he can figure out an alternative to telling Binghe that actually his five years of rebuilding Shen Qingqiu's spiritual veins diligently failed to cure him.

Luo Binghe is, of course, less than impressed to discover through personal experience what Shen Yuan, with his pain scale so skewed by years of chronic pain, never did during all his time poisoned: that, actually, having spiritual energy forming blockages and blood stagnating in your body hurts like hell.

Anyway, that's all that I've got for now. I hope that if you do take my recs you enjoy them, and remember to read all of the tags. Have fun reading!

#fic recs #fanfiction #svsss #bingqiu #luo binghe #shen qingqiu #shen yuan #danmei #shang qinghua #mobei jun #moshang #the scum villain's self saving system #the scum villian’s self saving system fic recs #svsss fic #shen jiu

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sundrop-writes · 11 months ago

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Your First Kiss With Jason Todd

Jason Todd x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary:

Jason always thought he hated you. He did hate you.

Until he didn't.

Until his love for you ruined him in ways he couldn't even imagine.

Jason Todd x Gender Neutral Reader. Frenemies to Lovers. Pure Angst (Hurt, No Comfort). Set during Season 3.

Word Count: 8,200

DC Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: This fic is almost entirely angst - hurt, no comfort. This fic does not have a happy ending!!! So be warned of that before you enter here. Jason and the reader are described as ‘hating’ each other, but they are more like frenemies/annoyances - they have a playful banter (at the time, even they don’t know that they like arguing because it’s sexual tension and passion for each other); the reader is completely gender neutral - the only pronouns used for the reader are you/yours; this is mostly written from Jason’s POV (which is where most of the angst comes from); Jason describes himself as a ‘zombie’ or ‘half-alive’ - but he is fully alive and has all of his mental faculties, he is just freaked out about the fact that he was resurrected; the reader does not have any meta powers, but is described as being very good at combat (this does not denote the reader’s body type); mentions of sex and some sexual themes - but there is no outright smut and no detailed descriptions of sex; mentions of negative stereotypes surrounding frat boys/frat houses - including STDs and group sex (mentioned in a negative light); mentions of Jason masturbating (and thinking about the reader while doing it); mentions of Jason’s canon trauma (being kidnapped and tortured by Deathstroke, dropped off the building); mentions of Jason being killed by the Joker (and being ressurected by Crane); mentions of the reader mourning Jason’s death; mentions of drugs and drug addiction (based around the canon storyline of the anti-fear gas); mentions of Jason’s trauma surround his mother’s drug addiction; mentions of Jason killing Hank (as in the canon); the reader is kidnapped (by Crane or someone who works for Crane) and held hostage, and later rescued by Jason; somewhat graphic descriptions of violence (Jason beating up Crane, other background instances), gory descriptions of a death toward the end (mentions of acid burns and choking on non-breathable air); major character death - the reader character does die. Like I said - no happy ending. Sorry not sorry.

A/N: This is set during Season 3 - and this does feature spoilers for Season 3 if you haven't seen Titans before. So if you wanna watch the show spoiler free, definitely avoid this fic. I was imagining this to be set around episode 6 or episode 7, before Crane's plan to use the ice cream factory is taken down by the Titans, but obviously Jason breaking away from Crane's control so early goes against the canon - so there's that. Also, if you wanna pair some music with this for something truly heartbreaking, I would highly recommend the classic Running Up That Hill by Kate Bush, or the highly underrated Colorado Sunrise by 3OH!3 (the lyrics are way more depressing than people realize, and I love it as a whump song. oomf). I also feel like the song Cloud 9 by Beach Bunny would go so well with this fic, but in like - the most devastating way. I haven't written something this cruel since I wrote Ghosting and I had so much fun doing it. You can't leave me alone with whump for too long, I turn into a monster. I need to go back to smut again quickly lmao.

...

Jason Todd was in love with you.

It was something that he hated himself for. Actually, it was one of the most infuriating, devastating facts in the world. But it was true. You were someone who was so entirely amazing. You were beautiful - literally the hottest person Jason had ever met who wasn’t photoshopped or catered to be some unrealistic daydream. You were clever and smart and strong. You could kick anybody’s ass on any day of the week and still have enough energy left to tell them how much of an idiot they were and list all of the reasons why.

And you would definitely never love Jason back. There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that he could ever have someone like you.

So he kept all of that stupid, idiotic love to himself. It was a secret that he had sworn to die with - and technically, he already had.

Jason tried not to linger on the very fucked up, seemingly impossible fact that he had come back from the dead. And now he was existing as some weird, fucked up zombie thing - resurrected from having his skull caved in by the Joker to do Jonathan Crane’s bidding. This definitely wasn’t what Jason would have wanted out of a renewed life - but hey: when an Arkham prisoner gives you rotten lemons.

When Jason wasn’t beating down drug dealers, stealing money, or strapping bombs to people - when he was trying his hardest not to focus on the fact that he had died and he was now living some strange half-life, reliant on Crane’s drugs, he was thinking about you. He thought about you a lot.

He hadn’t come into contact with you since his strange foray back into the land of the living. That was probably for the best. He knew that you had freshly come back to Gotham, upon Dick’s request. Nightwing had called for backup from all the ex-Titans to help end Red Hood’s reign of terror. Jason wanted to stay as far away from you as possible.

Genuinely, he didn’t want you getting caught in the crossfire of whatever Crane was planning. He wished you had stayed out of Gotham, but he knew that you were too loyal, too good not to come to the aid of the Titans when they needed you. He couldn’t reveal himself to you just for a taste of nostalgia - one last argument before you sold him down the river for good. But fuck - he thought about you a lot.

When the two of you had first met, you were the last person he ever thought that he would surrender that stupid, soft label of love to. Even months into first knowing you - he would have said that he hated you. He would have told anybody that he found you to be the most annoying person on earth.

Your relationship used to be the worst kind of dance.

Every single time that Jason opened his mouth, you said something to contradict him. To a point, he believed that you didn’t even fully stand behind the things you said - you just enjoyed arguing against him. That you did it for sport. You used every single last bit of your time and energy to get under his skin. From mocking him to calling him a fuckboy to prodding at his grammar, poking holes in his points by smugly correcting him. He always found you to be the most infuriating person in any room. But it seemed that the more frustrated he got with you, the more cool headed you remained.

He tried to mock you back, and you shrugged it off. Every time he became visibly annoyed in your presence - you giggled. He wanted to strangle you.

And it was one fated day that he realized the line between heat fueled by frustration and heat fueled by lust truly weren’t that different.

…

“Jason! I thought I smelled you coming down the hall!”

Jason groaned when he heard you make this comment.

He thought that for once, he could have some peace to train alone - but it appeared that he would have no such luck. You were already in the training room, holding a long bo-staff as you ran some drills. Apparently, you were eager to exercise your mouth too - already whipping off clever insults the minute that Jason entered the room.

When all he could muster was a glare in your direction, you let out a giggle. His blood boiled.

“Between that god awful Axe body wash and that alcohol based aftershave that you like to drown yourself in, you smell like a walking frat house.” You continued, blabbering on even though Jason had made no efforts to engage you. At least not yet. “Just throw in some Busch Light and weed, and I might be able to catch gonorrhea just from the stench.”

That was the nerve that hooked Jason into the conversation. First of all - he smelled fucking delightful. He always made hygiene one of his personal priorities. He was absolutely not one of those guys with crusty, sweaty balls. And second of all - he was not one of those STD spreading manwhores. He was clean in all senses. He always used a condom.

“Sounds like you’ve got experience with that.” Jason quipped back.

He looked to you for some kind of reaction, some inkling that he had gotten under your skin even a fraction of the way that you did his. His movements were rough with annoyance as he began wrapping his knuckles with tape so he could have a few rounds with the heavy bag - mostly out of a need to pound out his frustration on something. He was getting too angered with your presence in the room and not wanting to snap and take it out on you. (He already had enough on his record with Bruce, and despite popular opinion - he was trying to improve.)

When you weren’t quick to respond, Jason continued.

“You used to letting frat boys all over you? You seem like the type of person who would enjoy a good, sloppy frat house train. Twenty guys, one after the other, none of them knowing your name, just because you’re so needy for a good fuck.”

Jason grinned, feeling like he had won this conversation with the essence of shock alone.

But no. As always, you remained cool. You grinned right back at him, stepping toward him, crowding into his personal space as you said your next words in a low, smooth voice.

“Sounds like you spend an awful lot of time picturing me running a train.” You smirked. “Is that why you’re always so late getting up in the morning? You wake up and the first thing you do is get a hand on your dick, imagining me getting fucked by a lineup of guys? Probably just wishing that one of them was you.”

Jason’s face fell flat.

You were so strikingly confident in your words that it made his stomach twist. Facing him down, speaking such filthy words without flinching - embarrassment and heat collided inside of him. Even more so with what you did next.

You put a hand out in front of your crotch, mimicking the motions of jacking off while you mocked him in a broken voice.

“Oh, oh fuck Y/N! Come on! Take my sloppy, frat house cock!”

You then mocked a whiny series of moans that must have been Jason’s fake orgasm - and while Jason’s insides bubbled with a confusing heat, you quickly dissolved off into laughter.

“Shut up.” Jason snapped, forcing his eyes down to focus on the process of taping himself up - praying that you wouldn’t see the heat that had spread across his cheeks. “You’re the fucking worst.”

“Only when I’m with you.” You replied, blowing him a kiss - to which he stuck his middle finger up at you.

He was eternally thankful when you went back to your own training in silence, only taking occasional glances up in his direction.

…

After that point, Jason had to admit to himself that he was attracted to you, at the very least. He could no longer deny that you were insanely attractive; you were a very, very hot person. And somehow, even past your annoying habits, he was being drawn into the orbit of your gorgeous looks and your wonderfully cocky, filthy mouth.

But he still hated you. He definitely still hated you.

He hated it even more when you became right - and you did become the object of some of his more heated fantasies. He became downright annoyed at the times he had his hand around his cock and imagined himself hate fucking you - imagined forcing every cocky retort out of your mouth, imagining you breathless and needy beneath him, begging for more with every hard push of his hips.

He hated how everything changed after Doctor Light.

Jason wasn’t thinking about your stupid beautiful cocky mouth after that. His mind was full of glass and he was being shredded from the inside out. He came home broken. After everything that happened with Deathstroke and Doctor Light - he was some fragile bird; some chewed up, used, pitiful thing. He didn’t have the energy to fight you anymore, not even for sport.

So after he was rescued, still floating in numbness, he didn’t know what to do when you burst into his room unannounced. You practically shoved the door off its hinges, and stormed across the room toward him - tears hot in your eyes. You pounded curled fists against his chest, screaming at the top of your lungs. Half of your words were static in his ears, but the tone of your voice pierced through his heart like an arrow. You called him stupid, asking where in his empty head he had gotten the idea to go off by himself.

Jason didn’t have it in him to fight you. So he broke down.

He felt like the world’s biggest idiot for crying in front of you. But his throat was tight and he choked on the tears - he was too tired. He just couldn’t hold them back. He screamed back, and asked you to lay off. To get off his fucking back.

You looked shocked. Like you had swallowed a piece of glass.

You surprised him when you uncurled your fists and wrapped the most tender, gentle hands around his back, and for the first time since he had known you - you embraced him in a hug. He was weak and he needed it more than he was willing to admit, so he let you. He sobbed against your neck, his own cries too loud that he missed the timid sound of your apology.

That wasn’t the only time you surprised him that week.

He knew it was because he was some broken little bird, but you started taking care of him. You brought him plates of food without being asked, and when he attempted to shove them away - you refused. You told him to eat before you had to ‘shove it down his fucking throat’.

You didn’t mock him. You didn’t correct him. And you surprised him even more when you turned the sharpness of your tongue on the others when they tried attacking Jason. They accused him of planting booze in Hank’s room or drawing crosses on Rachel’s mirror to fuck with her, among other things. And you popped veins in your neck going on a winding rant about how stupid and baseless their accusations were.

Jason wasn’t sure if you knew it, but you jumping to his defense wrapped him in a blanket of protection that he had never before felt. It was so entirely strange, but welcomed coming from you. Especially because he knew that it was genuine. He knew that you didn’t have any ulterior motives for doing this - for some reason, you just wanted to help him.

When you extended an invitation toward him to come with you as the group dispersed, torn apart by Dick’s nasty, festering secret - Jason felt welcomed by you. He knew that the dynamic between the two of you was changing at a breakneck speed, and he had to embrace it. He found himself eager to follow the weird, newly developing kinship that he had with you rather than wanting to stay in the empty coldness of the Tower with a brooding Dick.

From there, it was really difficult for Jason to pin down the exact moment that his feelings transitioned toward you from casual lust to something more. He couldn’t tell exactly when it turned into that panic-inducing, ‘oh my god, I’m fucked’ feeling of being in love. After leaving San Francisco, during the entirety of the time that the two of you were in Gotham together, your relationship remained completely platonic.

It was a few short weeks spent kicking ass as the best vigilante duo the city had ever seen, but there wasn’t a single moment Jason could point to where the two of you lit up with that romantic spark. It wasn’t some romcom bullshit come to life. It was just the two of you being friendly for once. The two of you helping each other survive.

Back then - Jason wanted you, badly. Even if he didn’t know just how badly, he wasn’t going to fuck up the whole dynamic just to get laid. He felt safe with you. He kicked ass with you. He was good with you. And during that short time - he was happy. So he wasn’t going to do anything to risk that happiness. Happiness was too rare for him. So why the hell would he try putting the moves on you, scare you away, and fuck it all up?

…

A little slice of that happiness came in the form of Hal’s Diner. It was a place in downtown Gotham, open twenty four hours, and you and Jason had gotten into the habit of stopping there after your patrols.

The two of you would kick some ass - break the legs of some drug dealers, make sure that women got home safe if they were walking late at night, keep the streets a little safer. And then you would change out of your patrol outfits and head to the diner, just as the sun was rising over the scummy streets of Gotham. You would get breakfast and Jason would get dinner. He would steal one of your eggs and you would take half his burger, and you would always comment about him putting way too much ketchup on his plate.

It was harmony.

“You know, every time I see you make a grown man cry, it brings me such intense joy.” Jason grinned as he said this, reminiscing about a beautiful moment from earlier in the night.

He spoke about it in the same manner that someone might reminisce about seeing a relative or a cute puppy. But this was natural for the two of you - since you had taken up vigilantism as a duo, violence was a sweet art for the two of you.

“Well, if he would have left that girl alone the first time I asked, I wouldn’t have broken his arm.” You shrugged, speaking very casually about it yourself.

You then picked a piece of bacon up off your plate and took a bite, grinning at Jason fondly. You did appreciate it when he complimented your skills.

Jason chuckled.

“You know, it is nice to see you using your powers for good instead of evil.” He commented.

“My powers?” You parroted back, your mouth half busy with chewing, your words slightly muffled.

You didn’t have any metahuman powers, so this comment did leave you slightly confused.

“Yeah.” He nodded, entirely confident in the statement he had to follow. “Your endless amount of energy to harass people and be endlessly annoying. The powers you used to spend all your time using on me.”

“You used to deserve it.” You were quick with your tongue as usual, not missing a beat with this statement.

Jason’s only rebuttal was to pick up a french fry - one not doused in ketchup - and throw it at your head. You flinched slightly when it bounced off your forehead - but when it landed in your lap, you easily picked it up and put it in your mouth, not thinking twice about doing so as you tossed Jason a wicked grin.

That. That must have been the moment.

That was the moment he realized that he was truly in love with you. You grinning at him from across the table, your smile lighting up your whole face, playing around with him like he actually made you happy. Like he could spend the rest of his life making you happy.

That’s why it hurt so much more when your phone buzzed on the table a few minutes later. When you told him that it was the Titans - Gar in trouble. That’s why it hurt so fucking much when you left.

Jason knew, in hindsight, that he should have gone with you. But he flailed like a rabbit caught in a snare, and rather than just agreeing with you, he felt the trap tightening around him, and he opted to chew off his own foot rather than simply letting you help him free.

He stupidly argued that it was some test from Dick. That the Titans could deal with their own problems. Jason knew that deep down, he was still tender from everything that had happened - Dick dropping him, even by accident. The accusations, the secrets. The rejection. He felt like he was laying down a line - he was letting you make a choice.

Him or the Titans.

But it shouldn’t have been a choice. It was Gar. Jason should have stood by his friend. He should have gone with you.

Deep down, Jason feared that if he did go with you - the Titans wouldn’t want him back. He feared another cutting rejection. They would simply bench him again, they wouldn’t even need him to help save Gar. They wouldn’t want him to help. He was useless, after all. He was careless and stupid. That was why he needed you to choose him. To stay.

That was what his mind was screaming out as you looked at him, disappointment flooding your eyes as you questioned him about Gar, about going back to the Titans.

Stay. He silently begged. Pick me.

And watching you snatch up your jacket in a huff and get up from the table, your food barely touched - his eyes boring into your back as you retreated - it was like having his heart carved out of his chest. And because he was so fucked up, he just sat there. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it. He didn’t chase you.

He let you go.

Having you suddenly disappear from his life was like missing a limb. Jason was constantly aching around your non-presence, constantly missing you. He felt torn up from the inside out, wondering if his frayed nerve endings would ever heal themselves. When he went to Donna’s funeral, he stared at you from across the tarmac - telling himself that if you even so much as glanced in his direction, he would cross that sickly one hundred foot black sea and talk to you. He would make the leap and apologize.

But you were fettered and stubborn and you kept your head straight. You knew it was the ultimate punishment not to acknowledge him. So the moment that the plane took off, Jason shoved on his helmet and sped off on his bike.

He easily became numb after that.

He went back to Bruce - to lay low and lick his wounds, or because it was the only place he knew, he wasn’t sure. He tried to be a Robin that wasn’t with you. It didn’t work. He felt more broken than ever. It was cheesy, pathetic bullshit - but he talked about you in therapy. Leslie encouraged him to reach out to you, but every time Jason’s fingers hovered over your contact in his phone, his hands shook, and all he remembered was the look of pure scorn you had given him before you snatched up your things and left the diner that day.

He thought of you as he suited up to go after the Joker. He considered how easy it would be for the two of you to take down the stupid clown together - how flawlessly the two of you worked as a team.

Jason thought of you as he drew his last breath, soaked in blood and struggling past the world-ending pain. He wondered, in a haze, if you were warm in your bed in The Tower while he was pressed into the cold ground, taunted by the laughter that rung in his ears.

…

Jason didn’t know how hard you cried for him when you heard the news of his death.

You wouldn’t have dared to say that the hole in the middle of your chest was caused by love - caused by the heartbreak of a lover being stolen. But you certainly felt robbed when you heard that the Joker had killed him. You seethed and you heavily considered marching toward Gotham to seek revenge.

You knew that Dick was angry with Bruce for finally giving in to what the Joker wanted and killing him. For finally ending their sick, twisted game. But when you found out - you were glad that the clown was dead. You wrapped one of Jason’s stolen shirts around your pillow, and you slept a bit easier at night.

…

Jason knew that he should have left town.

Crane claimed that Red Hood was going to be the next Batman - that he was going to be something the Bat never could. That he was going to actually keep the streets safe. But so far, all Jason had done was steal, kill, terrorize, torture. Crane spoke of omelets and breaking eggs - pigs and bacon, and ‘marketing’ himself to the public. But truly, it never made any real sense to Jason.

Jason knew that now, he was the type of man lurking in the night whose arm you would have broken if he was lingering too closely to the vulnerable. And you would have been right for doing so.

Jason was tired. He felt lost - directionless. He was getting tired of Crane’s bullshit. He missed you. But he knew that he couldn’t just go running back to you. You likely wouldn’t have accepted him back into your life if he did.

When Crane called him in that night, wanting to discuss ‘the game plan’ - Jason was worn. His patience for all of it was already wearing thin, and what happened next - it truly caused him to snap.

Jason showed up in full gear, wearing the costume of an alias he no longer believed in; foolishly dressed up as someone he had truly begun to resent. He was holding his helmet in hand, his heavy boots clunking on the floor as he dodged around Crane’s egghead lackeys - a random group of people who were working to convert the anti-fear gas into a larger batch. He knew that they were aiming to get more and more people in the city hooked; if Jason hadn’t abandoned his morals in this new life, he might have cared more about the consequences.

Instead, he made a B-line for Crane, who was typing away at something on the computer.

“Jason, my boy!” Crane grinned at him, giving a false, performative grin over his shoulder. “Lovely evening, isn’t it?”

“What do you want?” Jason asked, his tone flat.

He was far too tired of Crane to engage in more word play or stupid riddles.

“Never one for pleasantries, are you?” Crane chuckled.

Jason didn’t offer him a reply - seemingly confirming his theory with this simple act.

Truthfully, he wasn’t. He wasn’t feeling very pleasant today. He hadn’t felt very pleasant any day since he had been so rudely pulled from the morgue and zombified to do someone else’s bidding against his will. Being an undead puppet didn’t really make a person all that pleasant.

Crane reached into the pocket of his oddly quaint grandpa sweater and pulled something out - a small glass vial, containing some clear liquid. It looked harmless - like water. But Jason knew Crane, and he knew that whatever it was must have been entirely dangerous if Crane was carrying around such a small dose of it.

“Do you know what this is?” He asked, giving the vial a small shake, jostling the liquid inside to emphasize his point.

Jason hesitated before he shook his head in the negative. He hated to appear clueless and stupid around such an intelligent man, but he didn’t want to guess and be wrong. He knew that being misinformed around Crane was dangerous. But being cocky and pretending to know more than Crane was even more dangerous.

“This is a very highly concentrated form of liquid Methadone.” Crane explained. “It’s a highly addictive substance. And I think it’s going to give the mass market version of your formula that little extra kick that it needs, ya know? Keep the people coming back for more!”

He let out a bright chuckle, as though he was talking about a cleaning product that was marketed on an infomercial or some kind of great recipe for soup. That was one of the things that scared Jason the most about Crane - his ability to talk about life changing, deadly things with such jarring enthusiasm. He truly thought of bringing people their worst nightmares and their most painful deaths as ‘beautiful work’.

“What about it?” Jason prodded quietly.

He knew that Crane hadn’t called him here just to brag about a new idea to add something to the formula. He needed Jason for something.

Jason just hoped that he wasn’t looking to use him as a guinea pig again. He would likely rather die again than go down the path of heavy drugs. One thing he had vowed - he wouldn’t end up like his mother.

“Well, you see, my boy, that’s where you come in.” Crane grinned at him. “Due to its highly addictive qualities, Methadone is also a highly regulated substance. But because I am the wonderfully well-connected man that I am, I happen to know that there is a very large stash of it just sitting there, ripe for the taking, in this quaint little building uptown.”

Jason’s gut stirred with suspicion.

“Where uptown?” He asked.

“Well, it’s just-” Crane stuttered, and then sighed, deciding to get it out and over with. “The Wayne Memorial Cancer Research Facility.”

Jason glared at him.

“But see, it’s fine! Because I happen to know someone who knows their way around the Wayne Tech security systems very well. So Red Hood breaks in there, gets me my-”

“No.” Jason said flatly, before he turned and started to walk away. “Find somebody else. We’re done.”

Crane had threatened to replace him before. Crane had no-so-subtly threatened to kill him alongside being replaced. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe Jason would be better off dead. Maybe Crane would find out that Jason was irreplaceable after all. Maybe Jason was a dirty, seedy criminal shaped by life for only one thing: ruining the lives of others. If Jason couldn’t do that, he wasn’t sure what he would do.

But he wasn’t going to fucking do this.

Killing was one thing. Stealing from drug dealers and mobsters was another. What he had done to Hank had crossed too many lines - but it didn’t even begin to approach the lines that this crossed.

Stealing from a facility that Thomas and Martha had set up when Bruce was just a child, shitting all over their legacy, using skills that Bruce had taught him in order to do it? That was too far. Jason couldn’t say that he had morals anymore, but he still had that voice of common decency in the back of his head yelling at him to stop it. Maybe it was your voice, correcting him at every turn the way you used to.

He should listen to that voice.

He should leave town.

“Hold on, hold on there, Jaybird!” Crane called after him.

The pure annoyance that the nickname caused was the only thing that stopped Jason. He considered turning around and shooting Crane just to shut him up.

“See, I think you forget how this works.” The man went off again - talking in that humming tone he always used that made Jason’s ears numb, made his brain switch off. “Every loyal dog gets a treat. A little motivation to get that Pavlovian mind barking in the right direction.”

Jason turned back around then.

“Nothing you say ever makes any fucking sense.” He barked out, ready to leave Crane with these as his last remarks before he left Gotham forever.

But then Crane tapped at a few things on his keyboard and pulled something up on the monitor - a dark, grainy video feed that had Jason squinting his eyes and walking closer to get a better look.

When Jason was able to truly take in the scene - his stomach dropped.

It was you.

You were sitting alone in some anonymous, concrete warehouse - probably in the industrial district of Gotham, if Jason had to guess. Crane didn’t like to keep his insurance policies too far away, he liked to play it close to the vest. You were tied to a chair, duct tape tight over your mouth, very much there against your will. You were looking straight ahead, with the camera angled down from the top corner of the room. Even through the grainy, black and white footage, Jason could see the wetness of tears streaking down your face.

You were terrified.

Jason’s helmet clattered to the floor, slipping from his grip as the shock overtook his system.

For the first time in weeks, fighting through the numbness of the drugs and the hazy shock of his new half-life - he was terrified too. Then he was angry. Rage bubbled up inside of him like a sharp, acidic bile.

“What the fuck have you done?” Jason growled out, the anger setting his jaw so tight that the words could barely escape between his teeth.

“I told you - every loyal dog gets a treat.” Crane said, a barely contained glee filtering through his voice as he peered over Jason’s shoulder at your weeping face on the screen.

He clapped a large hand on Jason’s shoulder, and Jason felt himself nearly choke on his own tongue - so swollen with anger that it barely fit in his mouth.

“So, go fetch, doggie.” Crane continued. “Go get me what I need. Otherwise, that sweet little treat of yours is gonna play dead.”

Crane leaned over and whispered those last words into Jason’s ear - and that was what truly caused him to snap.

In a flash, Jason grabbed the hand that was on his shoulder, whipped Crane around - there was a loud crack as Jason broke Crane’s arm. The egghead types who were working on the formula all paused; some of them gasped or hid behind things, but none of them were brave enough to intervene. Jason shoved Crane’s face into the monitor, cracking it out like a spider’s web but never fully obscuring the image of that dark, cold warehouse - the place where you were alone and terrified.

He twisted Crane’s broken arm, making a sound like glass grinding in on itself, and the man let out a howl.

“I think you forget how this works.” Jason barked at him, his voice so dark with rage that it almost sounded like he was wearing Red Hood’s voice modulator even though his helmet was on the floor at Crane’s feet. “When dogs get pissed off - they bite.”

He twisted the injury again, and Crane let out another bitter howl.

Jason demanded to know where you were, and Crane squeaked out an address. It was in the industrial district, so it checked out in Jason’s mind. It didn’t seem like a trap or a false answer to waste his time.

Jason shoved the pathetic, useless man to the ground, kicked him in the gut for good measure, and then leaned down to grab his helmet before shoving it on. He would need it in case Crane had anybody stationed there, guarding you.

Crane shouted something at him as he walked away, but Jason was barely paying attention - now very singular minded on his mission toward you.

“You have to learn to play by the rules, Red!” Crane choked out. “You won’t like how this ends! I made you! I fucking made you!”

…

Jason was surprised to find the building empty. No guards, seemingly no bombs, no gas canisters. At first, he thought it really was a trick, a misdirect to waste his time. But when he had just about given up hope of finding you, searching one of the back most rooms that used to serve as overflow storage for Ace Chemicals - he found you. Concrete and anonymous, some of the beams having eroded away in places from improper chemical storage.

When you saw him stalking toward you - his gun drawn, heavy boots thudding against the floor, modulator puffing out heavy, mechanical breaths - you let out a terrified whimper past the duct tape and more tears flowed freely down your face.

Jason felt a twinge of guilt. Of course. You had no clue it was him.

Perhaps he could get away with the mercy of never revealing himself to you. He could keep his mask on, release you, drop you back off with the Titans and then leave town. But eventually, Dick would tell you who he was.

At the very least, he could give you the comfort of seeing a familiar face after the hell you had been through. You were wearing a sweatshirt and simple cotton pants, and running shoes - it looked like you had been plucked off the street during a jogging session. He could only imagine how much Crane’s lackeys had scared you.

Once he was confident that the area was secure, he holstered his gun and then reached up, removing the face mask from his helmet and tossing it aside.

“Hey, hey, it’s me.” He told you - attempting to be gentle and soothing in his voice.

He approached you slowly, not wanting you to be scared as he reached to his belt for a knife - only with the intention to cut the ropes around your torso, wrists, and ankles.

He watched your expression as you flashed through a range of emotions - deep confusion, a bit of relief, sadness, and then strangely - burning anger. You glared at him with the most intense rage he had ever seen from you - more intense even than the day you had stormed into his room and called him stupid and suicidal for going after Doctor Light without backup.

Jason was slightly afraid of the lecture that would come next, but nonetheless, he knelt beside you and began cutting you free.

The minute that one of your hands was free, you reached up and ripped the duct tape off your mouth. You took only a fraction of a second to wince in pain from the tender skin of your lips being disturbed before you began verbally tearing into him.

“Jason Todd!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, so loudly that Jason was sure some of the edges of the corroded concrete pebbled off and fell down just from this. “Jason fucking Todd! I should have known you had something to do with this!”

“Wh-?”

Before Jason could question your odd choice of words or even recognize it as an accusation, you raised your other freshly free hand and slapped him squarely across the cheek - it was a hard, skull-shaking clatter. It had Jason dizzy, falling back onto his ass and dropping the knife before he could finish cutting the ropes around your legs.

“Fucking ow!” Jason griped, reaching up to grab his now very red cheek.

“You are such an asshole! Of all the completely idiotic, stupid things you have ever done-”

“I didn’t fucking kidnap you! Okay? I didn’t do shit!” Jason quickly argued back, finally now realizing that you thought he had put you here in the first place. “I’m here to rescue you!” He said each of these words slowly, looking you in the eyes, hoping that his point would get across more firmly this way.

There was a tense moment as you stared back at him with your jaw locked. It was likely that if your feet hadn’t still been tied, you would have run away - or kicked him. Jason was thankful that you couldn’t do either at the moment.

“Why?” You asked, finally breaking the tension.

“What?” Jason gaped.

This was the last thing he had been expecting.

He was saving you - why were you questioning him?

“Why are you ‘rescuing’ me?” You asked, taunting his phrasing of it with a mocking tone and large air quotes. He now regretted freeing your hands. “So you can bargain me off to Dick for ransom money? So you can put a bomb in my chest?”

You said the last part with intense disdain, tears dancing in your eyes.

So you did know what a monster he was.

He was surprised that you hadn’t hit him harder.

Jason heaved a sigh. He reached over and picked up the knife, very slowly, very tentatively resuming cutting the ropes on your legs to free you.

“I’m just freeing you so that you can be free. That’s it.” He said quietly, defeat lacing through every inch of his voice. “You don’t deserve this.”

He cut the last rope and folded the knife, sticking it back in his belt. He stood up then and caught a glimpse of your face - you were wearing the most complex expression he had ever seen. Perhaps confusion, perhaps anger. Maybe somewhere deep in your eyes - hurt.

He turned and moved to leave, hoping you would simply follow him out of the confusing maze of the building and he wouldn’t have to drag you out kicking and screaming.

“That’s not an answer.” You told him, your tone sharp and certain - the same tone you always used to correct him.

Jason whipped back around then, heaving a sigh as he looked at you - standing in the middle of the room now, arms folded over your chest, glaring at him on the spot. Cocky and so sure about yourself. Too damn certain and immobile in your points. Infuriating.

“Why the fuck do you have to make everything so damn complicated?” Jason shot back, annoyance and dread tight in every inch of him. “Why do you have to interrogate me about every damn thing that I do?”

“Because you make stupid ass decisions when I don’t.” You easily fired back. “Now tell me: why are you doing this?”

“Because I wanted to.” Jason huffed.

“Why?” You prodded again.

He let out another hot huff, and you didn’t let it go.

“Come on Jason!” You shouted, increasing in volume as you became more frustrated with his lack of an answer. “You didn’t just develop a conscience all of a sudden! Why did you feel the need to suddenly drop everything and come to my rescue? What makes me different than Hank? What makes me different than-?”

It was the annoyance grinding on him. It was a combination of your nagging voice, the lack of drugs in his system for the first time in weeks. The rawness of the world ragging on his last good nerve. The sound of your voice putting him in line - exactly where he was supposed to be. The way you reminded him of the truth now more than ever.

“Because I’m in love with you!” Jason shouted.

It was almost… angry. It was a declaration that hit you like a whip - more like an insult than something warm and kind. It wasn’t made of sweetness, like some moment from a film with a gentle piano riff wrapped around it. It was real - made of the haunting kind of passion that kept Jason awake at night.

Your eyes widened. Jason’s breathing stilled as he waited for you to react - to say something.

“Oh.” Your voice cracked around this syllable, and your eyes danced with more tears.

Jason felt his own heart crack apart inside of his chest, more terror flooding him.

He had died with the secret because he had never wanted to live up to the embarrassing vulnerability of confessing it. In the deepest part of his mind, he had lived this horror a thousand times. Him finally creeping out onto the edge of oblivion - speaking those words. Confessing. And then you stabbing him in the heart, rejecting him.

The reality of it ripped through him so much harder than it ever had in his nightmares.

Any last tiny piece of his soul that had survived being murdered by the Joker had just been shattered by you.

“Yeah. Fucking oh.” Jason echoed back, his own tears clutching at his throat.

Seeing him with that naked vulnerability dancing behind his eyes - it reminded you of the same person who came back from being kidnapped by Doctor Light. It reminded you of the real Jason you had gotten to know.

In that moment, it all came crashing toward you. You gasped harshly as you could barely breathe around it.

That hole in your chest had been shaped like a lover - it had been shaped like him. Filled with the pain of letting him get hurt, leaving him alone in Gotham to be murdered by the Joker. Filled with the doubt and confusion of never knowing what could have been between the two of you if you had chased those flirtations a little bit farther.

And now, he was standing right here in front of you, somehow perfectly alive and well - and there was only one possible thing you could do.

“Jason.” You gasped out his name, unable to fathom more words.

Before he could move, you reached out and grabbed both sides of his face, one of them still singed with a burning ache where you had slapped him so hard - and you pulled him into a kiss, hard.

It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t dainty or smooth like some Hollywood love confession - it was hungry. Bordering on feral as you both fought to consume more of the other person, bleeding out little moans and fighting for breath past each other’s lips. Jason’s hands rushed to embrace you, wrapping around your back and grabbing a needy, possessive handful of your ass while you kept your grip tight on his face, keeping his face forcefully close to your own as you devoured his mouth.

You felt some of his tears escape - such a rush of emotions making him raw and unable to hold them back, and you moaned pitifully into his mouth as he wetness slipped underneath your palms. Whatever it was - his pain, his pleasure; you would take it. He was all yours now.

…

Far off, on the other side of Gotham, Crane chuckled quietly to himself as he watched the scene unfold. He had pulled up the camera feed on a separate tablet, seeing as Jason had used his head to crack the monitor. With his broken arm bound in a temporary sling, he used his one good hand to pull something out of a drawer - a remote with a single button.

“For these violent delights have violent ends,” He recited to himself, still grinning widely as he looked at the two lovers in the grainy, black and white footage. “And in their triumph, die like fire and powder. Which as they kiss, consume. Even the sweetest honey is loathsome in his own deliciousness, if the taste confounds the appetite.” Crane poised his finger on the button. “Therefore, love moderately.”

He pressed down, and dissolved into more epic laughter as he watched what came next.

…

You were only human, and you could only kiss Jason for a few minutes before your brain demanded oxygen. As much as you hated to pull away from the sweet, bruising sting of his lips, you forced yourself back and immediately took in a sharp breath that turned into a rolling pant - Jason let out a needy whine in protest.

With his arms holding you so securely and the dizzying heat now flowing through you - you almost didn’t catch it. But it was there, in the background, something steadily present that wasn’t there before.

Beeping. A small, electronic beeping.

“Do you hear that?” You asked Jason, squinting your eyes with confusion and looking around, trying to find the source of the noise.

He did hear it.

“Fuck.” Jason mumbled.

Panic flooded him. The whole thing had been a trap.

He pulled away from you hesitantly and grabbed his mask up off the ground, snapping it back on.

“We have to go. Now.” He told you, his voice now sharp and robotic through the voice filter as he grabbed your wrist and began dragging you away - you became limp to his direction for once and simply followed, fear tight in your gut once again.

Jason didn’t want to consider the possibilities, but he knew it could be anything from a large bomb, meant to tear you to shreds, to a large dose of fear gas waiting to be deployed. And he didn’t have an antidote at the moment. He needed to get you out of the building and transport you to safety.

When the two of you came to a door - one of the many that Jason had passed through on his way in - it snapped shut in Jason’s face. It was on some kind of mechanical locking system, that much was apparent. Jason rushed forward, trying to pry it open - but it was welded steel, and it wouldn’t budge.

Jason heard more slamming - more metal forcing itself shut on the same locking system.

“Jason?” You croaked, that unsure terror back in your voice again. Something so rare for you. You were looking to him for answers. You were looking to him to rescue you.

Overhead, the last bits of light were shut out - glimpses of the street lights outside - as thick metal shudders collapsed down over the windows. The room was sealing itself shut, becoming air tight.

“Stand back.” Jason told you, not waiting to see if you followed the instruction before he pulled out one of his guns and began shooting at the door’s heavy metal hinges. He knew it was futile and he feared that one of the bullets might ricochet off and hit you, but he didn’t have many options left.

Then he heard it. The gentle hissing of gas being released into the air.

Jason was naive to have hoped that it was Crane’s classic Fear Gas - that would have been a merciful walk in the park compared to what he had planned for you. Betraying Jonathan Crane meant that Jason had to be truly punished.

Jason turned to you, wrapping his arms around you, as if trying to shield you from the air itself - but it was too late. You began coughing and struggling to breathe, and Jason looked on with confusion as his chest twisted with guilt.

With his helmet on, he felt nothing. For the first few moments, he didn’t even understand what was going on as you gasped for air, struggling to form a word as you choked on each breath. Jason had no clue what the substance was or how he could fix it, looking on in horror as thick fog clouded around your ankles - your eyes bulging out of your head as you struggled for oxygen.

“Y/N?” Jason gasped, holding you by both shoulders as you became weaker and leaned on him. “Y/N?”

You couldn’t answer him.

You continued to wheeze, your breath hitching against your throat harshly. As the fog reached up to touch your face, it left angry, blistering marks in your skin. Unlike Jason, you had no armor to protect yourself - and somehow, Crane had turned the air itself acidic. Your eyes became wrecked with bloody red streaks and your face swelled as you continued to choke.

Jason’s insides screamed, but he felt too still.

As more of the fog touched you, some of the marks on your neck and your cheek blistered more and opened up, bleeding out pinkish bubbling puss as Jason continued to hold you - he didn’t know what else to do.

All he could do was hold you.

A harsh foam seeped out of your mouth as you choked on your last half-breath, and Jason felt a stinging pain consuming him - he wasn’t sure if it was the acidic fog finally breaching through his clothing, or the biting pain of having you limp in his arms - dead, as he huddled there on the floor.

“Come on.” Jason wept, steaming up the inside of his helmet as he recycled back his own breath now. He reached up to your cheek, accidentally skimming off a layer of your marred skin with his gloved thumb as he tried to wipe away some of the teary blood that had leaked from your eyes. “Come on, Y/N. Wake up.”

Jason simply wept. And he held you.

As he looked at the camera feed, Crane smiled.

“This is what happens when you don’t play by the rules, Red.”

...

A/N: SOOOO obviously this ending leaves us with a lot of questions - did Jason survive? I think this can be interpreted one of two ways: one, Jason did live. He managed to escape somehow, and he had scars all over his body from the acidic fog, and he enacted a very vicious, bloody, torturous revenge on Crane before going into hiding forever (or before using Red Hood to give actual justice to innocent people who needed it, his scars always a reminder of who he lost). Or - he sat there in shock and eventually choked to death as well. Or he pulled the whole 'my life is not worth living anymore' thing and just took off his helmet on purpose. So you can imagine that either of those things happened next.

Also, if you didn't catch it (or, if you're not a Saw person) - this situation was heavily inspired by the final plot twist trap in Saw X. I love the acidic fog, and I feel like Crane could be a trap guy. The Titans version of Crane could be good friends with John, imo.

Also, if you enjoyed this fic, check out my DC Titans Masterlist for more of my other fics!! And please consider reblogging and commenting on this fic to tell me what you liked about it.

#sundrop writes #jason todd #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader #jason todd x gender neutral reader #jason todd x gn!reader #titans fanfiction #dc titans #titans x reader #dc titans fanfiction

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jessilynallendilla · 6 days ago

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DPXDC DANNY AND DAMIAN ARE SIBLINGS FIC REC

TITLE/LINK RATING COMPLETED-WORD-COUNT SERIES

DP FIC REC HOME POST

let me know if the links aren't working and feel free to suggest any

DEMON SIBLINGS

Off With [The Demon's] Head T SERIES

As it turns out, Damian is not Talia's firstborn. Not her first child, not her first son. This would not be so horrible if Talia's actual firstborn hadn't been stolen from her as a babe. But he's alive. And he's not alone. As it turns out, Talia is a grandmother. She takes this news surprisingly well. If only Damian did the same.

The Devil's After Both Of Us T 6,143 SERIES

Growing up, Danny's parents had drilled it into him and Jazz the dangers of summoning rituals. Unlike something like a natural portal or the one they built in the basement, a summoning ritual brought ghosts to you without any clear way to send them back home. After Danny's accident, he hadn't thought he needed to worry about summoning rituals anymore. After all, he kind of had his hands full with the whole "Ghosts are real and attacking him and also he's half-ghost now" thing. However, once Danny took up the crown of Ghost King, he found himself having to deal with summoning rituals from the other side. It wouldn't be so bad if he wasn't constantly confronted with ghosts of a past he had shoved deep down in his heart.

Leap Before You Think T

Away from his friends and sister for the first time since the Accident, Danny struggles with loneliness and memories of another sibling. A few states away, Sam finds someone oddly familiar at a gala her parents force her to attend.

Hey Brother G 3,371 SERIES

Danny was fourteen and Damian was now seven. And every day he wondered how his little brother went from a cute, giggling baby to a brat out of hell. or: 5 Times Damian Refuses to Call Danny by his Name and 1 Time He Does. or: We're bringing back the classing fanfic trope! Danny dies and gets reincarnated as Damian Wayne's older brother.

Everything Is Something To Somebody T

After being outed to his parents and hunted down by an officially-lost-it Vlad, Danny finds himself down one home, two parents (who had gone full blown Hunter on him), a stable life and education, and a lot of blood. The only thing he had going for him was that the weird British guy he'd landed in front of seemed nice. Maybe he wouldn't turn him over to the Hunters. Meanwhile, Alfred just found a meta clone of Young Master Damian bleeding out in the Foyer, and is definitely Not Freaking Out.

Seeds Of The Father T

Maddie Fenton had been out of the game for years. She had escaped her father and left the League of Assassins behind. But what is she going to do now that her sister has dropped a traumatized child into her lap?

Birthright T SERIES

Now that Damian knew Danyal was alive he would do anything to keep him by his side. Anything.

A Phantom's Perch G

Danny is on the run after his parents find out about phantom. He and Jazz end up in Gotham city where they run into a familiar face.

King Daniel Aidan Phantom Of The Infinite Realms T SERIES

Basically my take on a Damian&Danny Twin AU, idk I'm bad at summaries.

Tell Me To Stay NR SERIES

a summoning leads to familial reveals

We Don't Have To Dance T 21,739

Danny's lost basically everything. After escaping his parents he flew as hard and fast as he could. Why did his core pull him to Gotham? And why did Robin look at him like that?

Undead (Technically) Demon Twin G

Ra al Ghul had a daughter named Talia. Talia had a brief(ish) relationship with Bruce Wayne that resulted in twins Damien and Danyal Al Ghul. They grew up in Nanda Parvati, only really getting to hang out with each other if they were training or fighting. Danyal found out only one of the twins was going to be allowed to survive as Ra's heir, the other would die. Danyal did not tell Damien about this and handled it the only way he knew how. He convinced Ra to send him on a mission, made the mission go horribly wrong, wired a building to explode, killing everyone else who had come on that mission with him, and left enough evidence for everyone to believe he perished in the blast. From there Danyal changed his name to Daniel and got himself adopted by the Fentons. Things went about as well as things can go with ghost-obsessed parents and he ended up a half a through a freak portal accident. Things went okay for a few years until the Fentons (the adults) found out, freaked, trying to kill him/Phantom. Daniel fled and ended up in Gotham, found out his twin was a Wayne and didn't tell said twin he was alive. Shenanigans and a bit of robbery ensue.

Blood Sons T 3,677 SERIES

Damian is confident he is the only blood child of Bruce Wayne because Talia killed any potential child of Bruce's alongside their mother. Bruce finds out years later at a gala.

Hey, Who Is Damian? T

Ellie comes to Danny after she started having dreams of Danny’s memories, all of it seems pretty self explanatory until she had blurry visions of an identical boy named Damian Al Ghul.

Family Wounds T 13,130

After Damian goes missing, it's all hands on deck to find him except the search turns up his duplicate in a nowhere town in the Midwest. But who is this person and was Talia hiding more than one child from Bruce?

Origins (Pt. 1) Damian G SERIES

Damien had a twin, but the twin was killed. so sad. I'm going to try to update regularly but days blur together. Damien learns how to be a person. He wants to make his family proud and to fulfill his and his brother's dream.

Family Means No One Gets Left Behind T

danny is damian's older brother and the reincarnation of fenton-phantom who remembers his old life and has some of his old powerset, but loves his family So Damn Much and wants them safe and sane again

1(800) Adoption Papers NOT Needed! Its A Two For One Special! ( 1POV Version ) T 105,884 SERIES

Dami thought Danny had died. Mother even told him so. So why is it years later that Danny calls for help While proceeding not to explain what he actually needs help with, is causing him so many problems

Memories Lost In Time M

Danny just wants to play video games with his friends. He didn't ask for the ghost attacks to ramp up and utterly destroy his sleep schedule. But, it's fine. So long as everyone is safe, it'll be fine. But, why does he feel like he's missing something? Damian thought he'd grown used to abrupt changes in his life. But, when he sees a ghost of someone he knows has long since past, he's thrown off guard. It couldn't be him, could it?

Surprise, It's Twins T

Bruce just wanted to know more about the new Ghost King and perhaps gain an ally, so why does this teenager look like his son? Why is Damian adamant his twin brother died when he's standing right in front of him? Danny wasn't expecting to see his birth father standing in his kitchen, but now that the ghost was out of the bag what was his next move?

Two May Keep A Secret If One Of Them Is Dead M

He refused to be rushed. “Anyway, I decided to look more into the Wayne family, and there’s one kid that looks exactly like you, Danny.” Tucker flipped his phone around for his friends to see. “His name is Damian Wayne. He’s our age.” Tucker watched his friends for their reactions. Sam reached out for the phone so she could get a closer look. Danny…Danny stiffened, almost imperceptibly, before he fell into a fake relaxed stance. Danny's been keeping secrets. It's driving everyone mad.

Hauntless King NR

When Danny first met JLD he was barely 17 and Amity had been gone a little over 7 months, now he was a month and a half away from turning 18. Most of the people of Amity had survived, but they had scattered due to the ecto contamination caused by his parents' portal exploding. They hadn't taken the news about him being Phantom well, and the fight that had happened led to damage to the portal that had caused a melt down.

Some Kind Of Miraculous Bind T

Damian Wayne is the heir to the Bat, the Blood Son. Except, he wasn't always the only blood son. There was another, younger heir once, before Damian had left the league and his brother hadn't had the chance to join him. There was one alive heir to the Bat, and a second one, secret to all but him, that was gone. Danny Fenton is already tired of being the Ghost King. Not even six months into his reign, and he's having to deal with ectoplasmic leaking past Amity's borders and new, unknown threats against his people. And the fact that Gotham, the one city that he had mentally marked as off limits, seems to be where most of the problems are isn't helping.

An Awkward Family Reunion G 1,280

Damian hates magic. Especially when a crazy magician decides to summon the ghost of his dead relatives to murder him. Including the brother he never mentioned to anyone.

Different In Appearance And Personality G 3,265 SERIES

Damian wasn't the only one that Bruce decided to take and adopt from the League of Assassins, as it turned out Damian had a younger brother. Although it might not be his kid this time, he would never leave the poor boy with the evil league. What he didn't expect was how different the two siblings were, even though they were raised in the same place.

Older Brother [Title Is Still To Be Determined] NR

Damian and Danyal never have the same lessons. Damian and Danyal never have the same teachers. Daniam and Danyal never have the same missions. Damian and Danyal never have been treated the same. And for all Damian have ever experienced. He always thought that he was treated the worst.

I’ve Been Erased Yet My Shadow Remains M 10,835 SERIES

Danny and Damian al Ghul are twins, separated for years. Now, a 16-year-old Danny, injured and afraid after his parents found out what he was, with nowhere else to go; only wants his twin brother. So he travels to Nanda Parbat to find Damian, who he thinks is still a part of the League of Assassins. A 16-year-old Damian travels to Nanda Parbat to steal the weapon Ra’s al Ghul has been making and finds someone he never thought he’d see again.

Gone But Not Forgotten T

Danny Fenton's life sucks, somewhat. He has an amazing sister and friends but his parents are getting suspicious and G.I.W. are closing in. He is running out of excuses and there is only one person who could help. His sister would move mountains to save him, would his brother do the same?

Acid Eyes NR SERIES

Danny remembers when he was a child, hugging the only person that ever gave him any comfort, his twin Damian. But Danny gave that up for his brothers safety, he was Damian’s shadow, meant to be a viper in the dark. So when he left and let his death stay like that from the advice of his mother, he ran away to Amity Park. Now, he has to run away from Amity before the Fenton’s can destroy him after they find out his identity as Phantom. Having nowhere to stay, and still away from his brother with a plot brewing from within Gotham, how will Danny learn to live and still protect his brother, especially with the bats around.

Persephone’s Pearls T 42,904

When Danny came to live with them, he had no real memories of his past. That didn't mean he didn't know anything, though, and what he did know he had shared with his very-willing-to-learn sister. Everything from a strange fighting style to a language. Years later, Jasmine overhears a boy bitterly talking about socialites under his breath and immediately reprimands him, only to realize it's not her brother. It's Damian Wayne. Speaking the League of Assassin's dialect. Who now has to worry about assassins at the art gallery. Jokes on him, they're there to be thieves. And long lost twin brothers with amnesia. Cause nothing's easy.

Facing His Demons (Or The Demon’s Grandson) T

Danny is forced by circumstances out of his control to reconnect with Damian, the long lost twin he’s been purposefully not contacting due to Trauma.

Forgotten Demon Twin T SERIES

Damian forgets he has a twin brother who had been exiled when they were seven. It's time to go pick him up and take him off the assignment. Danny just wants to be left alone in his little city so he can protect it. He doesn't need to be around the twin brother who never talked to him except to belittle him when they were younger... and he definitely doesn't need to be followed by the furry brigade.

Death Just Can't Seem To Stick T

Damian killed Danny (birth name Damon) when he was six and Danny was 10. But death doesn't seem to want to stick.

The Fenton Twins G 15,151

The Demon Twins are unique in the League of Assassins, being the only children. With no precedent to guide their tutors, it's recommended that they have a mission together before their first solo ones. Jasmine Fenton finds two amnesiac boys in a park, not one. This changes the timeline irreparably. Now the pair are just fourteen, and a suspicious car accident has taken their adoptive parents from them. But Damian Fenton has a secret; his memory had returned to him several months prior, when Danyal had his accident in the ghost portal. With his knowledge, the twins and their adopted - but very important, very close, deeply protected - sister decide to make the trek to Gotham in the hope that Batman is willing to take them in. That's not the only thing to hope for, of course. Going to Gotham means they may be spotted. And neither twin wants to think about what might befall them if their mother - or grandfather - discovers they're alive. Or, well, mostly alive.

Loss Like A Severed Limb G

Eight year old Danyal Al Ghul, Son of the Bat and Twin Heir of the Demon's Head, was supposed to be executed. Instead he was secretly sent away and survived. And if Danyal could get out, then surely their Father could get Damian out and keep him safe. Afterall, why should only Danyal get to have soft things like gentle hugs? Or: Danny gets out of the League and sends Batman to get his brother too.

Ah, Sunflower T 63,812 SERIES

Danyal Al Ghul faked his death to give his younger brother a better life and to give himself the life that he always wanted. Damian Al Ghul was happy to learn his older brother was dead. No longer did he have to live under his shadow. As the years go by, though, this changes for both of them. Danny Fenton never got the life he always wanted. Damian Wayne has realized he will never see his brother again. That is, until the bats summon the Ghost King and soon two sunflowers finally start to grow the way they were meant to.

Prodigal Of Lazarus TM SERIES

The al Ghul heir died, which is how Damian al Ghul inherits the title of heir. By technicality, he gets to keep that title even if the eldest son is revived two years later. Some things happens, and eventually Danny is tasked to escort his younger brother, the heir, to their father. They didn't... exactly tell him he's also to be delivered to Bruce Wayne. To be fair, they could really work with their method of communication! (OR OR The adventures of Danny as he traverses to and from Gotham as the technically-not-heir of al Ghul.)

Blood Doesn't Always Mean Family M SERIES

Damian was surprised and delighted to find out that his twin brother, Danyal, was not dead. Though Danny can’t say the feelings were mutual

Split Heirs (DPxDC) T SERIES

Damian gets poisoned while on a mission by something called Blood Blossoms. The only person who can help them cure it seems to hate Batman with a seething passion. Only Batman has no idea who Phantom is or why he seems to hate him so much.

Animals T SERIES

When the Batfamily, Ra’s al Ghul, and Talia all ended up trapped in the Ghost Zone, they are forced to work together to find their way out—by seeking aid from the Ghost King. What happens when Damian recognized the Ghost King was his long-dead twin, Danyal, the brother he had killed long ago?

Phantom Assassin T

Danny used to be Talia Al Ghul's son, until he failed in his mission and Ra's Al Ghul made every assassin in the League turn their blades on Danyal. Now he's in Amity, adopted by a red-headed girl a few years older than him, and attempting to keep a low profile. Hard enough without becoming half-dead in a portal accident that leads to the source of the Lazarus pits themselves.

Baptism By Fire G 12,326 SERIES

Jack, Maddie and Jazz Fenton are dead. Murdered by the hands of the League of Assassins in retaliation for Danny's desertion. Danny will not let them go unpunished for this. He swears it.

Don’t Ask Me How I’m Doing (I Don’t Want To Lie To You) NR SERIES

On the run after escaping his parents hands, Danny went to the place his sister and ex ‘Fraid mates sent him. But why does that man look at him woth misty eyes? And why does he look so similar to the youngest sibling in the bunch?

Legacies T

Damian's been haunted by his Grandfather long enough. It's time to bring in an expert.

Farcical Familial Findings For Abnormal Adolescents T

Danny Fenton and Damian Wayne are identical twins. They also don't know each other exist. So when they walk (separately) into the same gala as Vlad Masters (also separately), things can only go wrong.

A Crown Without Jewels T 10,738

Some 8 years after Danny ran away from the League after his own sort-of experience with the Pits, he and his brother happen to reunite in some less than stellar circumstances. Meaning right after Danny fought and heavily injured roughly 27 assassins. Not-- not the best.

To Set You Sailing From My Harbor T SERIES

Daniel James Fenton, now Danny J. Nightingale was tired. He was tired of having to constantly be on alert for people trying to betray him and hunt him down. So when it turns out that he has another family he both didn't know about and doesn't remember, he can't quite bring himself to trust them.

Our Deepest Secret (Or Is It Just Mine) G 2,634

"Any ghost coming to the human world for trouble met the Phantom Twins, and Damian made sure to live up to the nickname Demon. Because Damian had a secret. Damian had a guilt he tried to bury deep, a secret that woke him up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat." He knew this had to be a dream but the fears and secret deep within seemed too real

(Two) Pairs Of Helping Hands T 1,989 SERIES

Jazz is sick, Danny and Damian come to the rescue! More accurately: Jazz is sick and Danny is in over his head and calls his twin brother to help him out. The things siblings do for each other.

My Only Sunshine T 1,319

Damien is patrolling Gotham one night when a voice he never thought he would hear again comes over the coms.

My Starlight T

Damian and Danyal al Ghul have always been connected. That connection should've broken when Damian returned to Nanda Parbat and Danyal didn't, because death is the end, isn't it? Damian doesn't care how inhuman his brother may be. He's going to find his little brother, take him home, and destroy anyone who dares get in his way - and he knows a few birds and bats that won't hesitate to help him.

Bat Ghost T

Bruce is attacked by the ghost of Batman from the future. To get to the bottom of it, he pays a visit to some prominent ghost hunters, and happens to encounter a teenaged half-ghost vigilante (?), who just *happens* to resemble Damian. A lot. On an unrelated note, Tim Drake has done nothing wrong.

Close Enough To Be Whole Again NR

“If you ever find yourself in danger, go to Bruce Wayne. He will help you.”

His mother had loved him, in her own way. If she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have helped him escape. If she hadn’t, she would have dragged him back to the League of Assassins, to Grandfather. If she hadn’t, he’d be dead. She loved him, but she loved the League more. Jack and Maddie Fenton loved him too, they did, but they loved their work more. They loved their work more. After his parents react poorly to his reveal, Danny escapes to the only person he thinks can help him - Bruce Wayne. He doesn't know what to expect when he gets there, but it has to be better than where he is, surely? He certainly doesn't expect to be reunited with his long lost twin brother Damian. It's funny how things work out that way. Danny is 16 years old, not Phantom Planet compliant

The Ghostly Bat T

The Bat Family were looking for Damain's hidden twin when an explosion at the local burger joint caused them to find him earlier than expected. Danny is confused and angry. As soon as he lost everything, this random man says he's his biological father and is now living with him and his family. Now, nothing makes sense and something deep inside of his is brewing.

Trial And Error T SERIES

Talia tried to have a singular child to be her father's heir. She ended up with two. Damian tried to protect his brother as he was born to do. He failed. Danial tried to be the assassin he was trained to be. He couldn't. Danny tried to be an ordinary child with an ordinary life. Instead he died.

What Happened? NR

Danny has escaped the GIW and now lives in Gotham injured. The Bat Family finds him and realizes that Damian knows him, but Danny does not remember his full past. Will they be able to help him and find out what happened to the small boy in front of them?

What Do I Think Of Life? (Baby, Not Much, I Wanna Die) T

Injured and alone in Gotham, Danny gets into a fight he can barely handle. Taken in by a vaguely familiar Robin, against his will at first, he learns about the Bats and the Birds, slowly but surely.

#dpxdc #danny phantom #batman #damian wayne #long post #fic rec

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rubyreduji · 2 years ago

Text

reading and doing — ljh

summary: jihoon catches you reading fanfic about him

tags: smut (minors dni!), gn!reader, idol!jihoon, pre-established relationship, lowkey crack warnings: badly written dirty talk, small dick jihoon <3, explicit unprotected sex, dom(ish) jihoon, choking, restraint for a sec, spit used as lube, fingering, rough sex, fingers in mouth, creampie wc: 2.3k an: a meta ass fanfic. i tried to keep it gn so pls don’t mention the use of certain words okay bye

Woozi thrusts his thick, large juicy cock into your soaking wet pussy and you squeal in delight.

A giggle escapes from your throat as you read the sentence. You will never not be amused by how people like to describe Jihoon’s dick in their writing.

“What’s so funny over there?” Jihoon asks as he turns his desk chair to look at you where you sit on his studio couch.

“Oh nothing,” you tell him, a small grin still plastered on your face.

Jihoon knows better than that and stands up and walks over to you. Before you can react Jihoon plucks your phone out of your hand and looks at what you were reading. A look of confusion mixed with disgust appears on his face.

“What is this?”

You snatch your phone back from him. “Fanfiction. About you specifically.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means Carats write stories about you, usually about you and them being a couple. The stuff I read is mostly sex stories, but some of the slice of life stuff is cute too,” you explain with a shrug.

“Sex stories?!” Jihoon now looks more worried than anything else.

“Yeah, they’re kinda funny. Everyone thinks you have a big dick.” You know your boyfriend isn’t insecure about his size, whether it’s his height or…other parts of him, but you still like to playfully tease him every once in a while.

“I don’t know why the Carats would want to write something like that.”

“It lets them be delusional about being with you, let them have it Jihoonie.”

“It sounds like something Mingyu would like. You know how he is about fan interactions.”

“Oh there’s a lot for Mingyu!” You tell Jihoon. “I don’t read them though of course, I only read yours.”

“That I also don’t get. Why even read them when you have the real thing.”

“Because it’s fun! I like to see how people characterize you. The one I’m reading is just for shits and giggles, but some of them are actually good. Here.” You scroll on your phone until you find your folder of saved fics and pull up one of your favorites.

Jihoon takes your phone from you and reads a couple of lines before scrunching up his face and shaking his head. “I still don’t get it. You can’t actually find stuff like this hot.”

“I don’t know, it kind of is. I know you better than anyone else so I can just put you in those situations. It’s fun. I read them when you’re away on tour.”

This gets another dramatic look out of Jihoon. “You do not.”

“I miss you okay! And you’re always busy so I just go to the next best thing. If it makes you feel better sometimes I’ll also put on Ruby when I’m masturbating and just listen to that to get off.”

“Okay and now this conversation has taken a whole new turn.”

You giggle. “C’mon Hoonie, just read this with me. It’ll be fun! Maybe you’ll even find you like them.”

“I’m not sure how I’ll find enjoyment in reading what someone else has written about me.”

“You need to take a break anyways, please!” You give him your best puppy dog eyes and Jihoon glares at you but sits down on the couch.

“I don’t even know why I’m doing this,” he grumbles.

“Because you love me. And you’re secretly curious.”

Jihoon moves so your body is between his legs, your back leaning against his front. His head rests on your shoulder as you hold the phone up to read the fic.

“This is technically a few chapters into a series but I really enjoy the smut so if the plot doesn’t make sense, don’t mind it.”

“Y/N this ridiculous-”

“Shhh, just read.”

Jihoon listens to you and you can tell he is actually reading the fic from the small grunts he lets out in reaction to the story. There’s a bit of plot at the start before it gets into the smut and Jihoon stops you at a moment when you can scroll to it.

“Do people really like this? They want to see me in these situations?”

“Oh come on Jihoon you know what the fans think of you. You can’t be totally oblivious. You read your comments and I know you have a burner Twitter.”

Jihoon doesn’t have a rebuttal for that and you smile knowing you’re right.

“Y/N I really do have work I need to-”

“Wait no, this is the good part.” You lean all of your body weight on Jihoon so he can’t get up, even though you know realistically he’s strong enough to displace you if he really wanted to. Jihoon just huffs and allows you to keep him hostage.

You try not to giggle as you read the smut, especially because you can tell Jihoon is invested. The smut in the fanfic that you picked isn’t anywhere near how Jihoon actually acts in bed and you wish you could see his face to see if he’s either intrigued or disgusted.

“Do people actually think I’m this mean?” Jihoon finally says and you laugh.

“Some people. You can be kinda mean sometimes. I think on camera you come off as standoffish,” you say. “But a lot of people think you’re sweet too. Also people are just kinky like that and enjoy this stuff.”

“Do you? You know I’m nothing like this.”

“I think you’re perfect the way you are. Don’t think me reading this stuff is me actually wanting you to be like this, I just think it’s fun to picture you in different scenarios. I mean, if people wrote smut about me would you want to read it?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never thought about it, because that’s weird to think about,” Jihoon grunts.

“Getting defensive there Hoonie?”

“Just shut up and go back to reading,” Jihoon grumbles.

“Oh you want to go back to reading? So you like it?”

“I just want you to shut up.”

You do shut up, but only because you want Jihoon to continue reading.

The fic is getting to your favorite part when things start to get really intense. You have to give props to the writer for really going in. You know that you would never be able to find such…colorful language to use to describe the things you and Jihoon get up to.

You can feel Jihoon shift behind you. A small smirk spreads on your face when you feel the smallest bit of bulge press into your lower back. Jihoon likes this.

“You okay back there Jihoonie?” You wiggle your hips a bit and Jihoon lets out a huff that you’re pretty sure is hiding a moan. “Enjoying this?”

“No.” His voice sounds tense and he answered a little too quickly to not be suspicious.

“It’s okay if you do Ji. It’s a bit of an ego boost isn’t it? Knowing all these people find you’re hot. I know this fic is particularly well liked, it has nearly three thousand interactions on it, and then all of the people who have read it without interacting. Do you like that? Three thousand people want to fuck you Hoonie.”

“I-I don’t-”

“Even if you don’t find that hot, isn’t the actual story kind of sexy? Just imagine it’s you and me in this scenario. Don’t you wanna be tangled up together as you fuck my brains out?”

“Y/N,” Jihoon whines. “Stop.”

“Stop? Stop what? Teasing you? No, I think you like it, just like how you liked the fanfic. Doesn’t it sound fun? Don’t you wanna do mean things to me while telling me how pretty I am?”

“Th-”

“Admit it baby, you like thinking about putting your big, fat cock into me.” You know you’re taking a gamble with your choice of words but it seems to work because Jihoon finally breaks.

You feel Jihoon’s hand come up around your neck and slam your body back into his. “Maybe I do.” His mouth is right next to your ear and you have to admit you do let out a shudder. “You want me to do mean things to you?”

“I think you want to do mean things to me.”

“Maybe I do, what then?”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

That’s all Jihoon needs to flip you both over, position himself over you. You definitely were not expecting to awaken a new kink in Jihoon when you told him to read the fic with you, but you’re definitely not complaining.

Jihoon keeps his loose grip around the base of your neck as he leans down to lock his lips with yours. The kiss is harsh and hurried and it doesn’t take long for Jihoon to stick his tongue in your mouth. He licks at your mouth and you arch your body into his.

His body rests between your legs and you can feel him grind down against you, his dick already fully hard. Jihoon’s mouth pops off of yours with a loud smacking sound. His hand moves off of your neck and trails down your body before it makes it to the hem of your shirt. He pushes his hand up under it, his fingertips making contact with the warm skin of your stomach.

He rubs his palm over your waist before moving higher to grope at your chest. His finger flicks over your nipple and you moan. Jihoon chuckles at this.

“Clothes off,” he growls as he pulls away from you. You quickly comply, stripping down to nothing as Jihoon does this same.

His cock is already slick with pre-cum at the tip and you have the urge to get on your knees and suck him off. Jihoon doesn’t allow this though, as he pushes you back onto the couch. You’re definitely worked up yourself by now and Jihoon can tell.

“Needy little thing, aren’t you?”

“You’re one to talk,” you bit back.

“Ah, but I’m the one in control here.” Jihoon grabs your wrists and pins them above your head. “Aren’t I?”

“Hoon-ah, please,” you beg.

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me.”

Jihoon grins. “Glady.”

Jihoon lets go of your hands and brings his fingers up to his lips. You watch as he spits on the digits before moving them down to play with your entrance. You buck your hips into his hand and Jihoon uses his other hand to push them back down.

After what feels like an eternity of teasing Jihoon finally pushes one finger into you and you let out a mewl. Jihoon pumps it in and out of you until you start to loosen up and then he shoves another one into you. He continues to do this over again until you’re finally adequately opened up.

“Ready for me?”

You nod and Jihoon lines his cock up to you and pushes in. It’s a comfortable, familiar feeling as Jihoon starts to rock his hips into you. Jihoon is buried balls deep into you when he grabs your leg and hikes up over his shoulder.

Whereas Jihoon is usually soft and slow with you, he’s now fast and hard as he slams his cock into you deeper and deeper. Jihoon has always been an adequate lover, but now you get what people mean by it’s not the size but how it’s used.

Jihoon locks one of his hands around your thigh, digging his fingertips into the fat there. You’re sure you’re going to bruise later, but you don’t care right now. His other hand reaches down and cups your jaw. His thumb swipe over your lower lip before pressing down.

“You right, you do look pretty like this,” Jihoon smirks down at you. This thumb presses harder into your bottom lip until Jihoon finally pushes it all the way into your mouth, pushing down on your tongue. “Next time I’m going to tie you up and make you choke on my cock.”

You whine around Jihoon’s thumb at the image. It’s a good thing Jihoon is blocking you from saying anything because you’re sure if you tried it would just be utter nonsense.

With the way Jihoon is cramming up your g-spot you know you’re not going to last much longer. Luckily it seems like Jihoon is close as well from the concentration displayed on his face.

“Fuck, gonna cum inside, yeah?” You just nod the best you can.

You’re expecting Jihoon to cum first, but your climax creeps up on you and suddenly your legs are shaking as your back arches up off the couch. Your eyes roll back into your head as you let out a wanton moan.

Seeing you fucked out thorougly makes Jihoon spill over the edge finally, his warm cum spilling into you. He stays in you for a moment to catch his breath. He leans down to press kisses to your bare shoulder, nipping at the skin as he does.

Once you two finally have recovered, Jihoon slowly pulls out of his. You can feel his cum slide out of you as he does and it makes you whimper a bit.

“You were so good for me,” Jihoon coos.

“So you liked it?” You grin at him.

He defeatedly nods. “Yeah, yeah I did.”

“Yay! See Hoonie, look at all the doors this has opened. Maybe we should read more fanfiction together.”

“No, nope. We discovered this one thing, no more.” With that Jihoon gets up to go get you some water and a rag to clean up with.

Despite his final protests, you still feel victorious as you grab your phone and scroll down to the comments of the fic you two were reading.

You’re not going to understand this, but thank you SO MUCH for writing this fic, you’re the best <3

taglist: @pandorashbox @leejihoonownsmyheart @soonhoonietrash @chaimi-yuta @embrace-themagic @kayleeshinee @joonsytip @heyxxitsxxtay @synthetickitsune @chwecardcaptor @candidupped @dreamhannies @d0nghyck @niyizh @baldi-2 @enhacolor @noniestars @heavenly-mobo @sunnyteume @debsworld23 @m1nghaos @just-here-to-read-01 @blxckswxnxge @17kwans @jeanjacketjesus @x-veex @namjoonbaby @ovai @belladaises @todorokiskitten @jihoonliker @valentxi @1694 @niktwazny303 @brxzilianbaby @moshiyuron @im-gemmy @honeylovemoon @wonchansbrooklynn @opwolfe @luvthatleader-nim @cbgisland @lorde-oftherings @hoeforcheol @hotricewoozi @prpldahy @nox-writes @wujihoons @0717luv @yeosayang @marzmeltdown @calvinkleinhoon

join my taglist: here!

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wandixx · 9 months ago

Text

Ghost of fries and hero of cookies part 6

All work words count: 14 643

Words in this part: 2 686

Summary of whole work: Duke wasn't expecting to wake up from his quick rooftop nap to some meta kid with fries. He also wasn't expecting kid to stay

Danny asked Dani to stay safe while she was in Gotham. Where would she be safer than under the wing of local hero? And he looked like he needed bad day combo anyway

This part summary: Batman wants an explanation. His kids however, wouldn't be themselves if they did add some chaos

Beta read by @audhumla-sailor though English is second language for both of us, so proceed with this in mind. I also know all of the charaters through fics alone, so probably ooc. Stay catious if it's something you don't like

First part, Previous part

“Signal.”

Duke bit back a sigh as his last hope to leave Cave undiscovered disappeared. He shot Steph message of:

Having The Talk. Come as moral support

and turned around to face Bruce.

“Yes?”

B grunted in disapproving and ‘Signal report’ way but Duke decided to buy some time and answer only questions that were actually asked. He slowly sat at the briefing table and looked at the man expectantly.

Lift chimed and moments later Tim and Cass went to Batcomputer and training mats respectively. Duke was, like, 80% sure they were there to eavesdrop. He knew them well enough. He knew them well enough.

“The girl”

“Izzy?” Was Duke annoying on purpose? Yes. He really didn’t want to have this talk. Like, at all. Psychological warfare it was “I mean, I know she is civilian and you don’t approve but at least she isn’t doing anything illegal, right? Like, you know, robbing museums or killing people?”

Bruce looked repulsed and Tim snorted.

“Low blow Narrows, low blow” Jason announced through speakers. He was slightly winded as if he just finished a fight “Good job kid”

“So you’re listening too, great” Duke muttered under his breath before louder he added “Is everyone who wants in on a show, here already?”

“Give me a sec- here Dick you’re going live now”

“Thanks Babs, you’re the best”

“I know. Donuts, you know which one”

“Of course. Glad we’re finally going to talk about Duke’s kid”

“Shut up, she is not my kid!”

“Steph ETA 2 minutes” Cass interrupted.

At least Damian didn’t show up- as if summoned by this thought Damian stomped down the stares, Alfred the Cat curled in his arms. Maybe others had a point, calling him Demon kid and stuff.

“What is an emergency?” he demanded and Duke decided to take what little relief he could from the fact that Bruce seemed equally defeated by sheer number of people around for this talk.

“It seems like… oh, literally everyone lost an adoption bet” Babs explained. Huh, so Steph didn’t change her stance.

Damian looked genuinely terrified as he muttered “No” eyes darting between everyone present in silent calculation.

“Oh, shut up” Duke whined knowing all too well his stalling had to come to the end. Maybe it was wishful thinking but he almost heard roar of engine of Steph’s motorcycle. Her presence would be double edged sword but she would help him advocate for Dani and that was more important.

“Thomas, what have you done?!” if it was anyone other than Damian, Duke would call sound he made a whine. As it was, he preferred his entrails to stay inside and since the boy showed up, called by thought, the older boy preferred not to take risks.

“Nothing, Babs is overreacting”

“Don’t deny it. She went about it kinda Tim Lite style but it worked”

“I don’t even know her surname, where she stays or really, anything about her life outside of our patrols, how do you expect me to go about adoption?!”

“B knew even less about me when he decided, yes this tire thief is my new son!” Jason chimed in and Duke knew he was grinning despite voice modulator.

“What from my origin story was lost to make Lite version?”

“Identities weren't breached as far as we're aware. Just ‘came one day and refuses to leave’ part and some light stalking. She was smart about it, invisible, keeping out of sight and to the hot spots. Wouldn't find her if I didn't know she was there”

“She could still just not tell, I mean I knew for years before telling anyone…”

“There is no way. Believe me, she has no brain-mouth filter, I swear”

“But-”

“She introduced herself by her first name,” Duke deadpanned ”She told me civilian names of heroes from her hometown, in context that didn't require me to do any actual research to clue me. I did anyway. I don't think she even realized she did it. If she knew our identities we would know already”

There was a moment of silence as everyone digested the thought of just how gigantic breach Dani accidentally caused.

“Well, it's as good of a proof as we can get for now,” Babs bristled.

“Who let her in on such secrets then?!” Damian sounded genuinely appalled and Duke wasn't too surprised.

Like on a cue, Steph stormed inside on her Spoiler in civies. Bruce looked about ready to get aneurysm. Duke was a bit glad that everyone was doing such good job in distraction department.

“IT’S OKAY, WHY? BECAUSE I AM HERE!” Steph yelled, jumping from before her vehicle fully stopped. She threw something small in general direction of Batcomputer “Timmy plug it in, I made a PowerPoint!”

Duke felt blood leave his face. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know what Steph put together but he probably didn't. Tim opened it anyways.

WHY HOOPOE IS ADORABLE&CHAOTIC BEAN AND SHOULD BE PART OF THE TEAM

The title slide said, one of the clearest photos of Dani from before she started wearing mask in the background. It was close-up of girl smiling, bits of brownie on her cheeks.

“Was this photo taken with a goddamn calculator?” Tim asked with disgust so clear Duke could taste it. Metaphorically of course.

“Nah, just body-cam. Her powers mess with technology a bit”

Tim still looked displeased at the craftsmanship.

“Don't worry, it's not a bad photo. Baby Bird is just being perfectionist,” Dick placated.

Duke didn't realize that Damian froze until he unfroze and made his way to the screen, stopping less than one foot away from it. His movements were rigid, his face scrunched with distress. Alfred the Cat escaped its master probably due to hoe tense he was. Everyone in Cave quietened as soon as boy took first step and expecting mood had to run through microphones because nobody from the on-line crowd quipped in.

“This is the green of Lazarus” he whispered finally, sounding actually scared. Jason swore. Bruce and Cass visibly stiffened. Tim choked and he wasn't even drinking. Dick did his whinny breezy name saying thing when he wanted explanation and felt lightly betrayed.

It was Duke's turn to freeze because… it wasn't. Of course he wasn't all that well versed in the Pit, less alone its color but he did bust quite a few trafficking rings with Jason and he saw his eyes afterwards all raging, toxic, neon green glory and it wasn't the same as Dani’s. As much as he liked English and how good he was at it, it failed him at simple task of describing the obvious difference between each other. He'd have more luck describing tastes with set of color samples from IKEA or something. And really, even if he tried he would lose the fight of competence with Damian. Who wouldn't. But-

“There is no way she has any connection with LOA”

“Why is that?” Damian seemed to misinterpret it as challenge like he always did when emotions were running high. Duke took a deep breath. Well, it was a moment to use all of his diplomatic skills and speak in the language of the demons.

“I've seen her fight. She would be utter disgrace”

“It does not prove-”

“It does” Duke interrupted with the tone and mimic of person who saw too much because he did ”None of you have any say until you watch a tiny and I mean tiny ten year old tackle five Joker goons like it's a joke, by sheer virtue of super strength and intangibility-means-I-can-ignore-bullets-Signal-don’t-be-such-worrywart. She should get shot, like, three times at least. And she kept laughing!” he was low key wheezing at the end because even after all this time (a week) it was fucking horrifying. Bruce made a huff that meant he was laughing and put a hand on his shoulder as a sign of support. Dick's lighthearted laugh sang from the speakers.

“Don't worry Duke, it never gets better” B said with mirth.

He refused to elaborate whether he meant ‘kids keep jumping into danger like there is no tomorrow‘ or ‘it's equally terrifying every time’ and Duke decided to reflect on that sentiment later. It put some things into perspective. A lot of things if he was being honest.

Also, he was not ready for stuff like that to become even semi-normal occurrence. He was ready to give her all of his Alfred cookies if it could change anything. He knew it wouldn't.

“Do you have any other evidence that your new acquaintance does not just fake being less experienced to make you lower your guard?” Damian asked warily.

“I had to teach her out of putting her thumb in her fist,” he deadpanned. Several people hissed in empathetic pain. Steph coughed to bring attention to where she stood in front of Batcomputer, other slide of her Power Point open. Duke recognised video from his body-cam.

“Exhibit A” she announced. She played a video with Dani’s first mugging attempt he witnessed. Let it be said, it was a disaster.

“Exhibit B '' One of Dani’s most epic fails at side-kick that ended with her falling face first to the ground.

“Exhibit C” Dani fumbled with zip-ties, looking at him utterly at loss.

“Exhibit D” the talk about her prior training.

“What’s was that sound?” Dick obviously on the verge of cooing when girl on video growled. Steph stopped video.

“Very angry kitten” Tim stated with soft smile.

“Honestly, furious girl” Cass corrected “She was really mad at you”

“Yeah, I know but promise of Alfred’s cookies was enough to placate her”

“You gave her Alfred’s cookies?!”

“She started by giving me a lot of food on a really shitty patrol, had to repay somehow”

“Was it from your share or-” Dick asked like it was most important thing in the world.

“Miss Hoopoe was added to my plans after she picked her new name” Alfred explained and shit, Duke really should get used to how man just appeared sometimes. Jumpscare the original.

“Alfred, you knew?” Bruce sounded so utterly betrayed.

“I have yet to meet her but I was informed about her presence about two weeks ago”

“He caught me printing mask for her”

“About that” Steph clapped and skipped her slide show “Look at thi clueless child with such horrible disguises and codename ideas” There was whole list of every name Dani wanted to try out and photo of her bare face. Duke kinda repressed his memories of it. It was worse than he remembered.

“Did she really tried kenting that?”

“Got it after her cousin. He used his first name as part of his alias for almost half a year” Duke admitted in carefree tone, knowing it would cause a mess.

“Cousin?!” several people yelled in surprise.

“Caped cousin?!”

“Yup. Small time hero from Illinois. As far as I’m aware she’s alone in Gotham but they’re in regular contact and she has strong believe that he can and will help her if she used her panic button”

“Who in their right mind let’s kid alone in Gotham?!” Jason sounded about ready to strangle Phantom.

“He seems to be fifteen himself. And has anti-meta parents if I’m picking things up correctly. She didn’t mention them much. I highly doubt she has present parents at all, so…”

“What the hell Narrows.”

“I don’t know, it’s just a wild guess”

“Does it call for the rescue?” Steph asked eagerly.

“We’re not going to Illinois to rescue Phantom if he doesn’t ask for it. He has means to it” Bruce interrupted with bone deep sigh.

“How do you know I meant Phantom?” Duke perked up because he never mentioned this name.

“He is from Illinois, looks almost the same as far as I can tell from the photos and they share a lot of powers”

“I didn’t know you knew about random kid hero from other state?”

“He dropped by on few Justice League’s mission. There is still dispute whether we should approach him in his city or not. He was very clear on his opinion that we should stay away. I think we really shouldn’t”

“How you haven’t gone or sent anyone there yet?” Tim teased.

Bruce just stared at him then gestured at mountain of cases they were currently working on. Yes, they were printed. Apparently for man it made it easier to work on them like that.

“Can we focus back on untrained child you let join you on patrol, Duke?”

“You act like I could stop her from doing her own thing if I didn’t let her. Plus, even though she doesn’t have combat training, she can handle herself well enough. And has this damn intangibility that makes her really hard to punch”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t tell anyone other than Alfred and Steph and I wanted to wait a bit before leaving her to the wolfs”

“The bet”

“Shut up Steph”

“When did you plan on letting us know?” Bruce ignored what blonde insinuated. Duke was utterly grateful for that, he knew he would get lecture for that later but he was more than happy to leave it be for now.

“Somewhen next week. I hoped to introduce her gradually but apparently everyone knew already?”

“Kids tell me things. Hoopoe made a good impression on them” Jason explained.

“Hero sightings on Twitter” Dick admitted without a shadow of shame.

“What he said” Tim agreed “This person from crochet dolls made one for your kid too, so in public eyes she’s our already”

“For the last time, she isn’t my kid!” Duke groaned but as always went ignored.

“Nobody expected old man’s tendencies to rub on you so fast, Narrows”

“Shut up and this is half a reason I didn’t let you meet her. All of you”

“With all due respect Duke” Babs started teasingly “You gave us ammo yourself. You improved her diet, you brought her to The Food Track Of Mental Breakdowns, you teach her stuff, you check in on her almost as often as her cousin and their friends do…”

“How did you hack her pho- No, wrong question, why?!”

“We’re all paranoid bastards, I needed to check out the newest bird. She legally doesn’t exist btw so I suspect some shady stuff with her birth but otherwise nothing sus about her. Comms and trackers for her are waiting in drawer C19. You will give it to her tomorrow”

“Aye, aye captain Oracle ma’am” he joked.

“Wait, you showed her The Food Track?”

“She deserved it” he gritted out.

Before this could turn into a fight or something, Alfred demanded:

“Since we are all on the same page now, I would like to extend an invitation for family dinner to miss Hoopoe”

“We’ll eat it down here in full costumes”

“As you wish master Bruce. Master Duke make sure to let her know”

“Of course Alfred”

And he planned to do that but Dani didn’t show up. He hadn’t thought much of it because she was unpredictable like that. She tended to disappear from the face of the Earth for a day or two and return with tales of her “autograph hunting trips”

But then she didn’t show up on the next patrol too. It was unprecedented. And she hadn’t responded to the check in. Three times in the row. He was getting kinda sick from the stress.

He knew Dani well enough, she wouldn’t ghost him like that and in Gotham disappearing meant three things: getting kidnapped, trafficked or six feet under. To their knowledge, Dani didn’t have anyone who would pay ransom for her other than Signal and no demands were made so the first option was out.

Bats launched full fledged search.

Duke himself found and busted two trafficking rings in three weeks which was around how much he did in two months on a daily basis.

Thanks to Oracle, they found Dani’s utterly crashed phone in the dead end in the Narrows. It didn’t look any better.

Duke really hoped they wouldn’t be too late.

With each day it seemed more likely.

********

Bruce: *wants to have private conversation with his son about unknown child he's been working with*

All of the Batfam: Hello there

Duke: I managed to keep Dani secret my family of detectives!

Everyone other than Bruce: I knew for past two weeks, but goood job kid

Random o Twitter: I'm sooo disappointed with Signal for letting Hoopoe fight crime. She is just a little child, she shouldn't have to witness Gotham's worst

Other Random: Have you heard about Robin????? Have you seen teories that Signal is teenager???? With proofs????? Are you mad at child for not taking proper care of the other child????? That's messed up my dude/gal

Yell at Batman

Signal: You act like she isn't personification of feral cat I try to coax home so I can prevent her from getting in trouble. I dare you to try and stop her

Phantom: I do too, 100$ if you manage. It would save me from so much stress

Random: Now, who the f*ck are you?!

(Guess who never touched Twitter with 20 meters stick in her life)

Next part

Tag list: @pickleking8 @mynameisnotlaura

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #dani hangs out with duke #signal got new sidekick and he cares about her deeply #it would fit more in part 2 probably but i forgot about it #Signal to Dani: Hydration check!#Dani: What? Why? Other wh words???#Signal: I care about you so I want to make sure you're taking care of yourself #Signal: Drink something #Dani: Okay cool here's a proof i'm drinking *photo of juice*#Dani to Danny: Hydration check! Drink something so I know you're okay #Danny: 👍 *sends photo of unholy mix of coffee red bull and ectoplasm with trice as much caffeine as it's legal in USA*#Dani: Glad you're being nice to your body #wandixx writes #ghost of fries and hero of cookies #have a nice day dear stranger who got to this part

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senualothbrok · 2 months ago

Text

Research

“All your preferences. All your secret places. What pleases you. How to drive you mad with toe-curling, soul-shattering ecstasy.” Your entire body tingles from the hard twitch against your thigh. “I've barely scratched the surface.”

Summary: Gale and Mia do some very vigorous research.

Set after Chapter 7 of The Difference, in which Gale discovers the existence of Gale smut. (The Difference is a reverse isekai fic in which Gale portals into modern day England and learns that in this universe, he is a fictional character in a video game, with a significant fandom.)

AO3 link

Word count: 1.5k

Disclaimers: NSFW. 18+. Smut. Mutual masturbation. Gale-coded dirty talk.

A/N: The piece of smut Gale and Mia refer to is Words. Totally meta and self-indulgent, I know, but I couldn't resist doing the smut within smut / smutsception thing 🤣

Bon appetit, Galemancers 🫶

*****

As you step into the bedroom, you are momentarily winded by the sight of him. He is a vision against the headboard, naked and tousled, brow wrinkled in intense focus. The bedsheets crumple haphazardly around his lap, offering a tantalising glimpse of his happy trail. He looks up from the phone in his hand, his eyes blazing as they fall on you.

Your flesh still steams from your shower. Water beads and trails down your neck as you wring at your dripping hair. His gaze snags on the towel wrapped around you, flashing with hunger, unabated despite your earlier exertions. There is a flush on his cheeks, mirroring the heat that flares inside you whenever he is near.

You catch your breath. “What are you reading?”

His lips curl in a sideways smile. When he starts reading from the screen, his voice is low and silken. From the arch of his brow, you are certain he knows the effect it has on you.

“You lean up on your elbows, and it is then that you see Gale, jerking with the movements of his own pleasure as he laps and sucks at the centre of your fire.”

You laugh a little. You are not entirely surprised. Gale has been nothing but enthusiastic since you revealed the plethora of online smut centred on him. He has been especially enthusiastic about your demonstrations, insisting that you repeat several of them. You have not refused.

“That’s a good one.”

He bobs his head. “One of your favourite pieces.”

“You've been taking notes.”

“Of course.” His eyes dance. “Copious notes. Reams of them.”

When he climbs off the bed and strides towards you, you linger on the hard planes of his muscles, his broad shoulders framing his narrow waist. You savour the thick trails of down peppering his bronzed skin, the sharp cut of his hip bones guiding your gaze steadily southward. His desire is a proud curve, alert and ready. His arms snake around your hips as his tongue flicks at the damp nook of your neck. You tremble at his touch.

“Aren't you tired?”

He nibbles at your earlobe. “Most certainly not. I've had a rest.”

“Clearly not if you were reading that.”

He tuts, his open mouth trailing down your cheekbone, lingering at the corner of your lips.

“Research, my love.”

You turn, half-lidded, sucking his bottom lip into your mouth. When you release it, he inhales roughly.

“You've done some pretty vigorous research already.”

He unwraps your towel like a gift. When he tosses it across the room, the flick of his wrist is an invitation. You weave your arms around his neck, aching for his heat on you, around you, inside you. His fingers drift down your spine, drawing tender, teasing circles around the dimples of your back.

“The work of a scholar is never done. The quest for knowledge never ends.”

You gasp as he suddenly clasps the cheeks of your ass. His grip is firm. Determined.

You press against him, burying your face in his mussed hair. It is intoxicating, the headiness of his sweat, the sour sweetness of your passion. When you trace the shell of his ear with your tongue, he quivers.

“You have some pretty robust evidence.”

Your teeth graze his earlobe. His breath judders, his beard a maddening rasp against your skin.

“One should never be complacent where knowledge is concerned.”

One of his thumbs nestles into the cleft of your ass. You buckle into him, your thighs clenching against the wet flame that burns through your every nerve.

“I pride myself on being meticulous.” A stray finger circles the peak of your nipple, the soft underside of your breast. “My attention to detail is unparalleled.”

The look in his eyes is ravenous. You whimper at the pulse of his cock against your core, the stark demand of him. He lurches backwards, pulling you onto the bed with an urgency that winds you. Your mouths meet in a desperate frenzy, an eager exploration of tongues, a flurry of moans. When you draw back, you are both panting, aflame.

You stop for a moment to take him in. Splayed out beneath you, locks tangled, chest heaving, a single bead glimmers and falls from the tip of his cock onto his chiselled abdomen. A work of art.

“Taking in the details?”

It takes all of your self control not to eat him raw. You bend down, swiping your tongue over the pearl in his slit. He spasms, groaning. You look up at him open mouthed, turning his nectar around on your tongue, savouring his taste. His eyes are dark, blown wide with pure, unbridled need.

You reach for his hand. Slowly, painstakingly, you take each of his fingers in your mouth. Your tongue glides up and down each length, lapping and sucking, coating each finger thoroughly and meticulously in your spit. You smile as you whine, as he flinches and hardens. Strings of saliva thread between his moist fingers and your gleaming chin when you come apart.

“I’m not sure we've explored this avenue yet.”

You press his slickened hand onto his cock. His eyes widen before he grimaces at the tightening of your fingers around his. His cock surges against the pressure, bursting for relief. Realisation dawns on Gale’s face as you remove your hand, pushing away gently to settle back on the bed. To watch.

That huff. That sideways smile that drives you wild.

“That was the moment, I suppose.”

You raise an eyebrow. He nods towards your phone, discarded beneath the sheets.

“The climax of that piece you love. Quite literally.”

You chuckle softly. “Only you could turn literary analysis into foreplay.”

He widens his thighs, shifting his position. You bite your lip at the lean bulge of his thighs, the curves of his strong calves. When his grasp glides to the base of his shaft, the practised elegance of it tears through you.

“The brain is the seat of arousal, as you well know.”

He begins to pump, each stroke slow and deliberate. His tongue flickers over his lips as he watches your face, following every detail, missing nothing. You are entranced by the reddening throb of his length, the thick veins trailing down his girth. Glazed in your spit, his cock pulses under his lithe and slender fingers. You cannot resist.

“What if I told you…”

You sit back, spreading your legs. You tease your fingers between the path of your breasts, pausing at the damp down just above your mound. When you part your swollen folds to expose your wetness, the moan that sputters from him is like a spell.

“...That I get off from thinking about you like this?”

His hand stops for an instant. You let out a little whimper, disapproving, pleading. His gaze is voracious as you angle your pelvis, pressing downwards into the sheets. You begin to grind, rubbing your throbbing clit against the mattress, unravelling at the growing ache. When he thrusts into his hand, you muffle a cry.

“Does that turn you on? Knowing how wet I am?”

You cannot hear his reply. He resumes his rhythm, slapping up and down his stiffness with increasing fury. The sheets rustle and the bedframe heaves as you lurch to his frenetic beat. A trickle of sweat rolls down his chin, pooling at his nipple. His free hand clutches at yours, insistent, imploring. He looks at you, features clenched with the pain of desire. You have rendered Gale speechless. You have never felt so aroused.

“Show me.”

You dip your head towards his cock. Drips of delight trail down his blanched knuckles, down the taut veins on his wrist. You spasm, your fire building with each pump and grind.

“Show me how much you want me.”

The whine that erupts from him echoes your own. He struggles to hold your gaze as his eyes roll back, abs rippling and back bowing as he pounds up and down his shaft with growing abandon. You writhe as you watch him draw nearer and nearer to the brink.

“Mia,” he moans. “Gods… Mia…”

You clutch at your thighs, your breasts, your nipples, your touch becoming his fingers digging into your skin.

“Show me, Gale,” you breathe. “Come for me.”

He grunts and gasps, teeth gritted with urgency. You roll into the burning friction of the sheets as his hips snap frantically into his clenched fingers. You are raw with the frenzy in his engorged frame, wild and bursting with need. When he cries out, streams of release spill from the pulsing perfection of him, spraying onto his chest, trickling into the deep grooves of his abdomen. The hairs beneath his navel shine. He twitches and keens, and you can barely breathe as you surge forward to take his spent tip in your mouth, still rigid against your tongue. He shudders violently, letting out a sound you are certain is reserved for you alone.

You have no time to respond. He springs up with sudden force, pinning you back against the bed. Panting, blazing, he grabs your fingers and plunges them onto your slick, aching clit. You throw your head back with a groan.

“Now,” he rasps as he draws back, settling against the headboard, “it’s your turn to show me.”

*****

And just in case you need a visual... 🫠

Liked this fic? Check out my other work

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spaceorphan18 · 7 months ago

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X-Men Fic (Rogue/Gambit) : Toys

A/N: Yes, this was inspired by that clip that's been going around of Gambit's VA for XM97 playing with action figures. I cannot believe this is what I'm writing for my first real fic for this fandom. Dear lord, forgive me for the shenanigans... also, unbeta'd. I just wanted to get it out into the world and be done with it.

I'll post this tomorrow on Ao3

Rated: T for suggestiveness

Summary: Rogue catches Remy playing with toy action figures of the X-Men. Shenanigans. Set in the 616 comic verse, but some fun meta-y references to XM97

****

Toys

Upon arriving home, Rogue comes in through the open kitchen window because why bother with stairs when you can fly? It’s been a long day, a long week, a long life… All she wants to do is curl up on the couch with the cats and a trashy book and hopefully Remy’s home so she can get a back massage. Hell, forget the book, she’ll gamble for the massage first. Save the trashy for later.

She grins, thinking about her husband’s warm hands on her skin.

Remy is, indeed, home; standing at the kitchen island, his back turned towards the window, so engrossed in what he’s doing that he doesn’t hear her come in. And what he’s doing takes her by surprise.

The kitchen counter is covered in half open boxes, plastic containers, cardboard, and little zip ties. There are a good, half-dozen or so action figures all lined up in a semicircle; each one of them a well detailed, classically designed replica of, well… the X-Men. Oh, dear god, what did she walk into?

“I’ll take ya down in one slice, bub,” Remy says, holding the Wolverine figurine in one hand, his voice low as he attempts Logan’s gruff voice. Remy LeBeau is good at a lot of things, Rogue would be first to give you a list, but doing impressions is not one of them. She bites her lip, fascinated to see how this plays out. Remy grabs the Magento figurine as his voice shifts to imitate Erik. “You incels!” Remy screams; loud, exaggerated, and carefully enunciated. “How dare you try to take down me; the questionably dressed, ego too big for my helmet, Master of Magnetism?”

Rogue puts a hand up to her lips, holding back an amused snort. Oh, Remy…

Remy loses the impression as he lunges the Wolverine figurine at the Magneto one. The Magneto one floats away. “You fools! Don’ you remember I control the metal?” Shaking the Wolverine figurine violently, Remy lets out a feral scream and the figure is flung to the side, landing with a clatter in the sink.

Magneto is discarded for a moment as Remy picks up the Scott and Jean figurines. Scott has his hand to his visor while Jean has both her hands on the sides of her head. “Jean! I seem to have made a tactical error,” Remy cries in Scott’s no-nonsense voice. His voice then slides higher as he mimics Jean. “Scott, my telepathy. It out o’ whack! Oh, Scott!... Jean!… SCOTT!.... JEAN!!”

Rogue is dying inside. She holds herself tightly, trying as hard as she can not to burst out laughing.

Scott and Jean are shuffled into one hand as Remy picks up the Magneto figurine again. “Enough of this!” Remy says, back in the Magneto voice. He then lets out another dramatic scream as he tosses the Scott and Jean figurines onto the pile of boxes, scaring Oliver, who had been inspecting one of the twist ties.

He picks up the Storm figurine next, raising her arms to the ceiling. “An’ now you deal with Stormy, who will smite you with her lightning blasts.” He jolts the Storm hands into Magneto, making little sound effect lightning blasts as he does so. “Fool, I am impervious to lightning… How dat possible? Lightning an’ magnetism are not the same thing!... I can control static electricity!... Dat…still don’ make any sense!... Begone, weather witch!”

Rogue has tears in her eyes. She’s biting her lip so hard, it’s beginning to hurt. Thankfully, Remy is so lost in his make believe world that he can’t hear her snickering.

The Storm figurine is placed gently face down on the counter as Remy picks up the Gambit figurine. Rogue’s eyes grow wide, intensely waiting to see how this will play out…

“Ohh, you goin’ down now, mon ami,” Remy’s voice grows low and serious. He starts making explosion sound effects, as if the Gambit figurine is throwing little playing cards at the Magneto one. Remy then throws his head back in a villainous laugh as he goes back to the Magneto voice. “You seriously think a few mild explosions could ever touch me?”

Remy stops, and grins that cocky, beautiful grin of his. “Non, but it enough to keep you distracted.” He starts turning the Magneto figurine around, as if it’s confused. “See, I always gotta ace up my sleeve.”

In a quick second, he drops the Gambit figurine, and grabs the Rogue one. Her arm is out, one leg up, poised to fly. Remy slams the fist of the Rogue figurine into the Magneto one’s head. “Howdy, sugah.”

Rogue tilts her head, amused. Remy’s imitation of her own voice is so comically off, and yet incredibly endearing.

“How ‘bout you leave my family alone!” The Rogue figurine crashes into the Magneto one again. This time, Remy charges the Magneto figurine, causing it to glow purple. He tosses the charged Magneto figurine up, letting it explode in mid-air with a bang. The charred remains drop to the counter with a clang before it bounces into the trash next to the counter.

Remy then picks up the Gambit figurine and brings it in close to the Rogue one. “Anyone ever tell you how beautiful you are when you’re punching people, chere?...Why don’t you shut up and kiss me, Remy…” Remy starts clicking the faces of the two figurines together, making little kiss-y noises and ‘mwa’ sounds as the action figures ‘make out’.

Rogue grins wildly, expecting nothing less. She crosses her arms across her chest, casually walking forward to let her presence be known. “Whatcha doing, sugah?”

Remy gives a startled jump, the figurines dropping out of his hand with a clatter. He’s not the least bit sorry he’s been caught, however, a devilish grin quickly sliding onto his lips. “Jus’ havin’ a bit of fun testing some of these toys that show sent us.” Rogue picks the destroyed Magneto figurine out of the trash. “Some of dem defective,” he says slyly.

“Defective huh?” She drops the figurine unceremoniously back into the trash and comes in close, wrapping her arms around his neck. She knows the show is a sore spot, no matter how much free merch they’ve gotten from it lately. “You still salty about all that?”

He lets out a grumble, but still wraps himself around her, just the way she likes. “Don’ act like you wouldn’t be, too, if they killed you off like dat. Middle of the first season, too. What’d I do to deserve dat?”

“They just knew you were the best one.” She runs her fingers through his hair. “Who else gonna go out in a fiery blaze of heroism like that?”

He smirks, though she can still see a hint of sadness in his eyes. “It was pretty epic, non?”

“The best…” She draws him in for a kiss, sweet and gentle and comforting. “Forget that show, Remy. That ain’t our life. This is.” She kisses him again, a little bit harder, grounding herself in his embrace. He had tortured himself wanting to keep watching that show, but she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. She didn’t want to imagine herself going down a path she would never recover from. “Besides…” she says, trying to keep it light. “I’m sure season two will have me pulling your pretty ass back from the dead one way or the other. And if it doesn’t, you best bet I’ll get those writers fired and write it myself.”

“I ever tell you how sexy you are when pulling me back from the dead?”

“Shut up and kiss me, Remy.” He does and they do. Forget the massage tonight, they’re going straight to the trashy. She’s hungry to feel him everywhere tonight.

They break apart once again, breathing heavily as Rogue leans her forehead against his. “Hey, Remy?”

“Oui?”

“Why don’t we leave this mess for later and go play with some of the toys we’ve already got.”

He laughs into another kiss. “You always have de best ideas, chere…”

****

Later…

In the stillness of the night, long after Remy’s fallen asleep, Rogue gets up for a glass of water.

The kitchen is how they left it hours ago, a mess of trash and action figures scattered around the room. The cats had gotten into some of it. Poor Scott had fallen to the ground. She picks him up, placing him next to Jean, giving him a little pat as she does so.

She wants to ignore the others. Wants to ignore the strange sensation it is to have your likeness in toy form. Still, she’s drawn to the little action figure her. She picks it up, inspecting it. It’s her old green and yellow uniform, one she hasn’t worn in years. She doesn’t even know where it is, probably having been trashed in some long ago fight. Unsurprisingly, the boobs are a little too big, the waist a little too small, and the hair a bit ridiculous. But it’s oddly still her. A little version her.

She looks down to the Gambit figurine and smiles. The trench coat, the staff, the ridiculously abbed pink breast plate. The cocky little grin. They got his likeness perfectly. And yet it doesn’t even hold a candle to the real thing.

“Love ya, Remy,” she says softly, as she takes the Rogue figurine and gives the Gambit figurine a kiss with it. She laughs at her own silliness, but still takes a moment to place the figurines together, resting against each other, as they should be.

She grabs her water and turns off the light and heads back to the bedroom, where she’ll soon curl up against her husband and fall asleep.

#xmen #x men 97 #(sorta)#rogue #gambit #romy #anna marie lebeau #remy lebeau #roguegambit #romy fic #xmen fic #idk what else to tag it #s.o. writes things #good lord it's late #maybe that's a good thing #i'll just put this out in the world and maybe one of you will find it humorous #please let me keep playing with the toys - i'm still learning

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marveltrumpshate · 2 months ago

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Want to participate in Marvel Trumps Hate, but don't know what to offer? Think outside the box!

Stumped on what to offer because you don't write fic or draw? Marvel Trumps Hate welcomes a huge variety of fanworks and fan labor (see our sign-up post), so there are different ways you can contribute. You'll be amazed by the breadth of skills, talents, knowledge, and types of creative expression found in fandom!

Here's a smorgasbord of offers that we've either had before or seen people discuss as possibilities for MTH 2024 or future years to help inspire you. What you can offer is not restricted to the list below; these are just examples to get you brainstorming about what you can auction off because trust us, even if you think you might not have something to offer, you probably do!

ART (VISUAL/ILLUSTRATIVE)

Drawings/illustrations

Single-page and multi-page comics

Pixel art

Paintings (oil, acrylic, gouache, watercolor)

Mixed-media artwork on canvas

Ink-on-bristol art

Embroidery on canvas

Pour paint/spin art

Rotoscopes

Digital coloring books

AUDIOVISUAL WORKS

Fan music or filk inspired by characters, ships, or fics

Podfics

Videos (fic trailers, themed edits, vids set to songs)

Animations (making original art/animation or turning existing art into animation)

BETA SERVICES

Editing

Cheer reading

Soundboarding/planning/development work

Fact-checking

Culture-picking

Sensitivity reading

Knowledge about specific topics or experiences (e.g., identities, lifestyles, professions, interests, fields of study)

Research

CRAFTS & MERCH

Candles

Lip balms

Soaps

Stained glass/suncatcher

Scented beanbag-style sachets

Candy/chocolate/baked goods/jellies/sweets

Fic/character/ship/theme boxes (like book boxes)

Pins, magnets, patches, charms, standees, key chains, ring holders, calendars, stickers, bookmarks, temporary tattoos

Sculptures and clay figures

Ceramic mugs and other ceramic items

Apparel/wearable accessories (shirts, jackets, scarves, gloves/mittens, hats, face masks, regular masks, cowls, pajamas/onesies)

Backpacks, tote bags, itabags with custom window shapes, leather dice bags, wallets, pouches/pencil cases

Plushie animal or Tsum Tsum versions of Marvel characters

Dolls (crochet, needle felt, matte board, hand-sewn)

Embroidery hoops/wall art and cross stitch pieces

Jewelry (diamond painting, macrame, metal, crochet, wire, beads)

Woodwork/wood burning (cheese board, box/chest, USB stick, coasters, photo frame, alphabet blocks)

Glasswork

Custom Funko Pops

Paper cut light boxes

Pillow cases, quilted pillows, baby blankets, dishcloth/washcloths, potholders

Handmade leather journals

Linoleum stamps

Dog/cat/pet toys

Artbooks, paper doll books, and coloring books

Hand-dyed yarn skeins

Custom tea blends

DIGITAL (GRAPHIC DESIGN)

Gifsets

Graphics/edits

Mood boards

Photo manips

Fic covers/posters/banners

Icons and headers

Webweaving

Tumblr or website layouts

Digital calendars

Wallpapers

Custom Discord emojis

FAN LABOR & TRANSLATION

Typesetting

Bookbinding

Recipes based on characters, ships, or themes

Names, tags, and summaries for fics

Audio/sound editing and/or soundscaping for podfics

Book cover design and printing

Art/comic/fic translation

Website/game/AO3 skin coding

Fic rec lists

Fic playlists/fanmixes

Knitting/crochet patterns

Art coaching

Help with launching and organizing fan events

WRITING

Fic

Poetry

Meta posts

Social media AUs

Physical letters written by characters to the reader or between two characters

Remixes of your fic or an existing fic with the author's permission

Whether you can do something on this list or something else altogether (we're sure there are a lot of other things that you can do that we haven't thought about or seen before), we hope you'll consider signing up before the deadline: September 28, 11:59 PM ET.

#marvel trumps hate #mth 2024 #announcement

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stealingyourbones · 10 months ago

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Submitted Prompts #158

Sorry if this isn’t the right place, I have only recently discovered this tumblr and am slowly working my way backwards through your dpxdc tag. I think it might be an injoke here so uh, behold poor Yorick, totally not the human skull of Tchaikowsky fullfilling his actor dreams postmortem.

One of the posts in the tag was a dpxdc trope writing challenge. So I’m not sure if you’re interested in seeing blurb turned fic summary but here:

Nightwing learns of a travelling circus, Circus Gothica, that claims to have ‘The Real Flying Graysons performing from the beyond the grave’. Alternatively furious and hopeful he discretely goes to investigate, and finds himself overshadowed by one of Ringmaster Freakshows ghostly workers, stuck performing as an acrobat for the circus. As Nightwing struggles with his posession and reunion with seemingly the supposed ghosts of his parents, he finds an unlikely ally in Killer Croc/Waylon Jones, who had been kidnapped on his travels back to Gotham after having tried and failed to settle down in Swamp Things swamp.

Unfortunately the pairs cooperation ends shortly after freeing themselves and the completely unneccessary fight allows Freakshow and his assosciates to escape. Nightwing is determined to solve the case himself (and get justice for his dead parents and himself) causing tension between him and Batman who noted his disappearance.

Batman independently investigates,leading him to the Guys in White. Identifying them as an anti-meta group, he brings it to the attention of the Justice League in hopes of organising a legal solution - Superman takes it personally when one of the primary funders is revealed to be Lex Luthor.

Meanwhile Nightwing has tracked Freakshow to a bolthole/lair, where he comes across Val, a woman in a red jumpsuit, who had been following the trail of a different individual - a villain she calls Vlad Plasmius . The pair work together, Val freeing the ghosts in Freakshows control including the Greysons and Nightwing getting a cathartic takedown of both Freakshow and (with borrowed tech) Vlad.

Their partnership and the greater plot behind the villains actions goes over Nightwings head as he recognises 'not his circus, not his monkeys’ and opts to leave it to his new friend.

Meanwhile Clark Kent has discovered an odd exchange of info/money/tech between the GIW, Lex Luthor and a strange inventor who loudly proclaims that he is Technus. The end goal seems to be to create suits that will be secretly under Lex Luthors control capable of rivalling heroes, so as to supplant heroes as beloved protectors of the world, as a step in ridding the world of independent metas like superman and getting him his own private world army.

Also meanwhile Batman has continued to investigate GIW/Freakshow leading him to Amity Park, where he witnesses young adult Sam Manson inadvertently vitalise plants during a local eco protest. When persistent digging leads to learning about the overgrowth incident, Batman reaches out to Harley for her thoughts on how mentorhip might positively/negatively effect her struggling but mostly reformed partner Poison Ivy. Batman uses his Brucie Wayne persona to assist in organising an eco activism initiative (and plant meta power mentorship) with the Mansons, with Sam taking a guiding role.

Supermans battle against Lexs + Technus mediated ghost/meta power suits goes poorly and he calls in for rescue. Recognising the issues from his research in Amity, Batman 'borrows’ tech from the Fentonworks before going to the rescue.

With the day saved Batman returns to update his records on ghosts and store his new tech, finally leading to Nightwing explaining a bit of his experiences to add to the records.

The story ends on the cliffhanger of Danny getting screwed over by Batman’s improved antighost protections when he went to try track down and collect the stolen weapons.

I had fun with this : )

#dpxdc #bones submissions

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just-some-random-blogger · 2 years ago

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Editorial

Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: "Can I read your diary?" "No." "Please." "I said no." "Pretty please?" "Ellie." "P l e a s e?" "No."

Word Count: 3k+

Warnings: Fem!reader, writer!reader, slice of life, mom and dad problems, some meta references, me being corny, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: This can be read like a p2, or within the same universe at least, of this fic but also as a stand alone whatever you want babe Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx

"Ohemgee look!" Ellie calls, running through rubble and debris, making her way off to the rack of magazines with both ripped and dilapidating issues, and ones still very much intact and still in plastic wrapping.

She grins and begins to rummage the rack, "what was the magazine you used to write for again?"

I follow after her, tilting my head at the selection, "I've written for them all actually."

Ellie turns to me, cocking her head out, "whaaaaaaat? Seriously?!"

I shrug, "I was a freelancer."

"That's so fucking cool man!"

I roll my eyes, "yeah, cool, up until you had to pay rent," I turn over my shoulder as Joel walks over to us, then goes down the other aisle, continuing to survey the shelves.

I point, "there's some bleach over there."

Joel looks at it then back to me, "do you want it?"

I shrug.

Joel rolls his eyes and grabs it.

Ellie rips through the pages of one magazine and turns to me, "do you know who Tom Holland is?"

I walk over to her, looking through the available magazines, "actor. He was Spiderman at one point."

"What does that even mean?" Ellie shakes her head.

"It means he played Spiderman in films for a period of time."

"Oh," Ellie turns back to the page, "you in this issue?"

"Honey, I have no idea what date it is today," I reply as I examine other magazine covers. I recognize one of them and take it. Ellie immediately loses interest in the magazine she had, dropping it to the floor, coming close to me, pressing her cheek onto my shoulder as I flip through the pages of the magazine.

The telltale smell of the ink and paper makes me smile. I bring the object close to me and smell it. I chuckle, moving it to Ellie, "smell?"

She gives it a sniff then looks at me.

"Smells nice, right?" I smile.

Ellie gives me a weird look, "... I guess?"

Joel, from afar, comments, "signs of a druggie. Watch closely, Ellie."

I snort. Ellie looks over her shoulder and chuckles, turning back to me. She leans in as I flip the pages, breathing in deeply. I bring the magazine close to her again. She pulls back, sighs, and looks back at me, "I don't get it."

I laugh under my breath, "maybe I am a druggie," I give her a look. She mimics my wacky expression. I then survey the crumbling supermarket and sigh, "or maybe... it's really just not the same."

Ellie watches me as I go through the magazine.

She perks when I make a sound. I scan the pages and begin to laugh as I point to the corner, "and behold."

"HOLY SHIT!" Ellie gapes. She takes the magazine from me and begins to eagerly read the work upon seeing my name on the side. Ellie's jaws are parted as she goes through the text.

I laugh, brushing her hair back amorously.

"JOEL, SHE'S FAMOUS!" she shouts as I begin to walk off to the said man.

Joel grunts, "congratulations."

I chuckle as reach Joel and his push cart full of whatever he deemed important enough to take. He mumbles to me once I'm close enough, "sold your soul to the devil for shit."

I grab the box of thumbtacks on the shelf and place it in the cart, "I was told it was actually just a minor demon."

"WHO'S PEDRO PASCAL?" Ellie calls.

"Actor," I turn over my shoulder and call back. I then turn back to Joel, "was he the one in that Marvel film?"

"I don't give a fuck," Joel shakes his head as we continue going down the aisle.

"OHEMGEE YOU SAID IN YOUR ARTICLE YOU HAD A CRUSH ON HIM?" Ellie laughs.

"I honestly don't remember babe!" I reply to her.

"IS THIS HIM?!" she shouts and begins to run over.

Ellie pants as makes her way to us with a bunch of magazines in her arms. She rips one of them open once she is next to me, throwing the rest in the cart. Joel eyes Ellie after doing this.

She then points to a stylishly suited man with mustache and a debonair smile. The image of him instantly jogs my memory. I gasp and pull the magazine closer to me, "no wait, I remember. I did have such a big crush on him. He was so sweet and he made me laugh the whole interview."

"OHEMGEE!" Ellie giggles, "that's so cheesy of you!"

Joel grunts as he pushes his cart over a rocky part.

I grin at the sight of magazine Pedro Pascal. Ellie then begins to look between the magazine and Joel. She tilts her head then suddenly points, "oh my gosh, Joel looks like him."

"What?"

"That's why you like him," Ellie grins, "he looks like your actor crush!"

I give her a look, "Joel looks nothing like him, Ellie."

"What do you mean?! The mustache, the eyes, everything! That's Joel."

"Maybe if you showed me a pic of Joel in his heyday, I'd pretend to believe you. But that would honestly be such an insult to Pedrito."

"Pedrito," Joel scoffs under his breath, "Ellie take those magazines out of the cart. We are not taking them."

I steal a look at Joel as hold back a laugh. I shake my head, "rip the page of my article out. I'm feeling sentimental."

Later that day, on our stopover, I was curled up, sitting at the roof our car, looking between my notebook and the ripped page of my magazine laughing to myself. It was an amazing feat to find this in the middle of everything.

"Can I read your diary?"

I look down to my side, smile dampening slightly, "no."

"Please."

"I said no."

"Pretty please?"

"Ellie."

"P l e a s e?"

"No," I raise my brows at her. I motion to Joel who was going through some of the abandoned cars, "go help Joel."

"He told me to wait in the car because I'm a nuisance."

I scoff out a chuckle, "you're not a nuisance, baby."

"I know," she reaches out to me, "but if you feel bad, let me read your diary."

I roll my eyes, "why do you want to read my diary so bad?"

"Why do you write to much?"

"If I didn't, one of us would be dead," I said.

She gasps, "I get killing Joel, but me? You could never, you love me!"

I don't get to reply as Joel comes back and orders me to get off the roof.

Later that night, Ellie wakes up to the sound of arguing. We were camped in the middle of the woods and promised no one else would be camping. She shoots up from her sleeping bag and sees two people arguing from afar. She panics, turning to see the two sleeping bags by her side were empty, then she realizes that they were the ones fighting.

She pretends to go to sleep.

The sound of bickering intensifies.

Ellie gathers from the hushed growls there had been an accident.

In the morning, Ellie would find out whatever happened last night got the adults to non-speaking terms. She does not have the guts to ask, even through the silence of the long drive.

"Go left," I coldly dictate.

Joel turns left.

Ellie nibbles on her lower lip as she leans forward between the two front seats. She looks over to me. She looks over to Joel.

"So..." she says.

No one responds to her.

She notices how I lift my leg up when we pass a hump. Ellie points to my foot, "what happened to your ankle?"

"Accident," I turn to her with a soft smile.

Ellie looks worried, "is it broken?"

"Sprained," I retort.

"Twisted," Joel cuts.

I turn to Joel, "I've had worse sprains from running before."

"Oh, I'm sure you did!" He turns to me, "then you went back to your apartment-"

I turn away from him.

"-and put fucking ice and hot compress on it."

I sigh as I look out the window.

"I mean I'm sure you can do that now-- oh wait," Joel turns back front, "you cant!"

Ellie leans back into her seat, thinking of something to say to change the subject. She leans onto the window, eyes widening, "ohemgee, look, it's a family of-"

"I wouldn't have gotten in an accident had you not snuck off at-"

"I didn't sneak off!"

"Oh yeah," I turn back to him, "you made it a point not to wake me."

"You're a heavy sleep-"

"I'm really not, Joel!" I bark, "you wanted to do some heroic shit by doing a run all by your-"

"YEAH AND I REGRET DOING IT ALRIGHT!"

"WELL YOU SHOULD BECAUSE YOU'RE SO FULL OF SHIT WHEN YOU SAY THAT YOU-"

"I'M FULL OF SHIT!?!"

"YES YOU, YOU DIPSHIT! IS THERE ANY OTHER HILLBILLY FUCKER HERE THAT GRINDS MY GEARS SO FUCKING MUCH I WANT TO FUCKING -"

"YEAH WELL YOU'RE A FUCKING PRETENCIOUS RAT WHO HAS NO IDEA HOW TO SURVIVE BECAUSE ALL YOU USED TO EVER DO WAS GET ON YOUR LITTLE COMPUTER-"

"THAT MAKES YOU FEEL SO FUCKING HAPPY RIGHT? THE FACT YOU WORKED IN MANUAL LABOR AND-"

"NO IT DOESN'T MAKE ME FUCKING HAPPY-"

"SHUT UP!" Ellie rips through the verbal abuse, "SHUT UP! SHUT UP! Shut up!"

Joel and I look turn away from each other, heaving in anger.

The tensions worsened once he had to go on foot.

"Ellie," I say, turning to the girl, "you have a choice. Do you want to go with me, or do you want to go with Joel?"

"We're sl-" Ellie panics, "we're splitting up?!"

Joel says something under his breath that I wholeheartedly ignore.

I release a breath and motion vaguely, "we're getting two different things," I point to the left, "one is in the tunnels, which stinks worse than shit," I point to Joel on the right, "and one is up in building, but you have to climb, like, a hundred levels."

"49," Joel grunts.

I shrug, not bothering to look at him, "your pick, El."

Ellie looks between me and Joel. She begins to overthink what was happening. Before I could tell her it wasn't a big deal, she blurts out, "can you walk by yourself?"

I purse my lips, feeling somehow defeated by the fact her question meant she was choosing Joel. I nod once, "I told you, I've had worse."

Joel scoffs.

"My ankle is fine," I speak sternly.

Ellie nods, "okay. I want to wait in the car."

Joel and I turn to each other when she says this. I quickly turn back to her and furrow my brows, "you sure?"

She nods, "I'm kind of tired actually... we woke up... pretty early."

I nod slowly and ask, not looking at who I was talking to though, "you good with that?"

Ellie turns to Joel. She looks back where his sights were, watching me stretch my neck. Joel nods once, "don't go outside the car."

Ellie turns to Joel and nods back, "I wont."

Ellie burns time by going through some of the pages from magazines she had ripped out for herself. Once she was bored of that, she began to count the windows on all the buildings she could see. Once she was bored of that, she began looking for something else to read.

And then it struck her. The diary. It was here, fresh for the pickings.

Ellie wastes no more time. She opens a random page.

Day ~98 with Joel & Ellie

I didn't write for two days because we nearly died, Suzie.

Who's Suzie?

I'm glad we didn't. I'm glad you're still here. If you were a real person, you would have wanted to die after what we went through, considering the state of you, pages falling off and all. Ellie would have roasted you for your appearance.

Ok... Suzie's the diary?

I would have loved to have been her teacher in literature. She's got an amazing mind. She uses fuck as a punctuation though.

Fuck yeah!

Joel would have been her substitute math teacher who actually taught PE. He'd be really good at math though actually, he'll teach you how to compute rates and interest. He's good at that. He's practical. He's safe. I love him Suzie. I love them both.

Cute, she thinks. Ellie skims the page and tries to part the others that were stuck together. She gives up on that and decides to read something else.

Joel gave me a hicky-

Nope.

Joel nearly broke my back af-

NOPE.

I FUCKING HATE JOEL SO MUCH

Better.

I DONT UNDERSTAND WHY HE ACTS LIKE THIS

Ellie squints at the furious handwriting, unable to read parts of the passage.

I DON KNOW WHAT PLANET HE THINKS KEEPING THE FACT HES INJURED FROM ME IS A GOOD THING LIKE I WOULDNT NOTICE LIKE SUDDENLY I WOULDNT CARE

Ellie tilts her head at the next words she reads.

I HATE THAT HES SO SCARED OF EVERYTHING HE MAKES ME WANT TO EXPLODE

She ponders on what the text she read meant cause- well... Joel's not afraid of anything. She reads something else.

I look at your face and I feel like the noise doesn't have a sound. I feel your calloused hand touch me like I'm the most precious thing, even when they hurt me so bad. Don't push me away. I love you so much. We can do things together. We should do things together. I can stay up late sometimes. I can stay up late with you. Why don't you trust me? You're strong and capable. I love you. I am not. I am nothing to you. I am nothing. I am weak and timid. But with you I am everything. Why won't you believe me? Why won't you trust me? I love you. Joel. Ellie. I cant take care of you. I can take care of her. I love you. please believe me.

Later that night. We've set up camp by the woods.

"You want this?" I ask Ellie as I give her the other half of my food. She reaches out for it, but pulls her hand back when Joel barks, "don't take that."

I shoot him a look, "I'm not hungry any-"

"Like hell you are!" Joel snaps, "you didn't eat anything in the afternoon."

"I wasn't hungry then either."

"So what?" he chews exaggeratedly, "you're going through something? Or you're doing this to get back at me?'

I scoff and shake my head. I walk off.

"WHERE ARE YOU GOING?" Joel screams as he watches me walk off.

"I'm going to take a PISS by the fucking LAKE!"

Ellie watches Joel as he watches me.

Ellie looks at the fire in the middle of them. Joel mutters under his breath. She licks her lips, "you know... it's... okay."

Joel turns to Ellie, giving her an incredibly annoyed look, "what?!"

"... you don't have to always be the strong one," Ellie mumbles as she looks off to the distance, "she's really strong too."

"You mean bullheaded," Joel grunts as he finishes the last of his food.

Ellie turns back to Joel, finding that he was looking at the same direction she had been. She brushes crumbs off her, "you worry about her. She worries about you-"

Joel turns to Ellie.

"I'm worried about my eardrums..." she trails off, looking to the dark sky, "but strangely enough, I'd rather go deaf with all your screaming than never be able to see you fight again."

Ellie pauses. She scrunches her face up and looks down at Joel. She raises a finger, "I was trying to be sentimental but I feel like that just makes no sense."

His nostrils flare, "you should leave the sentimentalities to-"

AHHHHHHH!

Joel shoots up from his spot and looks out to the source of the scream. Ellie shoots up as well, tense as she looks between Joel and the dark unknown, "should we-"

"Wait here," Joel says, grabbing a gun as he quickly makes his way deep into the woods.

Ellie watches as she uneasily fidgets on her spot.

Joel listens intently to the sounds around him. He slows then continues after hearing what he did, gun up and ready.

"Joel?" I call out as I walk. I repeat his name as I continue through the forest. I grunt when I step on a rock with my bad ankle. I lean against tree as I wince in pain. I try to stretch my injured ankle. It's a bad idea. I hiss.

I hear my name get called out. Before I can even look, there is a hand on my arm.

I turn and see Joel looking at me with a concerned expression. I whimper as he takes my cheek in his palm and shift to face him. He quickly asks, "are you okay? What happened? Is someone here? Did you fall? I-"

I silence him by placing my hand on his cheek, "Joel."

Joel's brows tense.

I sigh and shake my head, "I was... I was spooked by a racoon that brushed against me while I was peeing."

He lets out a breath. His shoulders relax and he lowers his gun. He then puts his weapon away and wipes his face. I chew my lower lip and grip on his bicep.

Joel turns to me as I give him a look. I gulp, "I also... stepped on a rock, and... my ankle hurts... like... really ba-"

I am cut off when Joel bends down and picks me up in his arms. I squeak and grip tightly on him. He grunts when he begins to walk off. I begin to feel agitated as he strains, "Joel-"

"Shut up," he blurts, "I can fling you into the sun if I want."

I lick my lips as I adjust my arms around his shoulders, "but what about your back?"

"What about my back?" he mumbles, "you haven't been eating and it shows. I would run a lap with you in my arms."

"..."

"You have to stop skipping meals."

"... I'm not hun-"

"I didn't ask if you were."

"..."

"Joel."

"What?"

"I don't like it when we fight."

Joel scoffs out a chuckle.

"I'm sorry."

He sighs as he continues walking back to our camp. I caress his cheek. He looks down at me, blinking slowly, "I'm sorry too."

Joel looks back up and I begin to fiddle with his collar. A smile plays on my lips, "you know when you say 'too', it's like you're just agree-"

"I'm sorry," he blurts.

I hold back my chuckle, "well now it really feels like you're just agreeing with me."

"Do you want me to drop you?" he rolls his eyes as he gives me a quick look.

"I don't mind," I smile, brushing his hair back, "I like it like this. When I'm injured," I stroke his jaw, "you always do what I ask you to."

Joel clenches his jaw as he eyes me darkly.

I chuckle softly, rubbing the line between his brows, "hey."

"What?" he quips, no longer looking at me.

"I love you."

He purses his lips. His chest releases a deep breath of air. Joel spots Ellie from afar, and she very evidently spots us as she calls out. She runs over to us, "holy fuck, what the fuck happened?!"

I turn to Ellie and smile, "I'm being dramatic," I call back.

I reach out to her and caress her cheek, explaining my incident with the racoon.

At this point, we all had our sleeping bags set up and were getting ready to go tot be.

I give Joel a kiss on the cheek before he pulls away after helping me in my spot.

Ellie catches this then places a hand on her chest, "oh thank fuck you guys made up."

I turn to Ellie as she brings her sleeping bag close to mine. She says, "it was because of me right?"

I watch as Ellie looks out to Joel, who does nothing but set up his own bag close to mine.

Ellie begins to ramble, "I took a page from your book and got really sentimental with Joel."

I snicker, "did you, now?"

"Yeah," she raises a hand, "I talked about... going deaf and not being able to... hear you fight or something-- honestly, it was really cringy."

I give her a look, "are you indirectly calling me cringy."

"Absolutely," Ellie speaks without missing a beat as she nods her head.

I scoff, "you're so mean."

"No," she shakes her head and beings pointing, "he's the mean one, I'm the funny one, you're the sentimental one."

I laugh and shake my head at her words, "okay, sweetheart. Whatever you say."

The three of us are now cozied up in our bags.

"Good night mom and dad," Ellie says.

"Night, my love," I mutter, brushing her cheek, "I love you."

"Love you, mommy," she says softly then a little louder, "Love you, Joel!"

I grin and turn to Joel, "I love you, Joel."

Joel rolls on his side, facing away from us.

I curl up in my blanket and release a breath.

"I love you... I love you."

#joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller fic #the last of us #the last of us fanfic #the last of us fic #the last of us fluff #joel miller smut #the last of us x reader

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yourantag · 9 months ago

Text

The Red Means I Love You (Edgar×Reader)

AN: This was supposed to be finished and posted on Valentine's Day. However, as you can see from the word count, that was a fool's errand. I wanted to delve more into yanderes since I find them fascinating in writing, and now, here we are. Staining White Day red, I present to you the most generic title for an Edgar fic you will ever see. (Btw, I apologize to Edgar fans- I might've massacred your boy but I swear I tried my best.) Word count: 4.9k words TW: Blood, violence, murder, yandere themes, and blackmailing. Summary: Accepting the invitation of a dubious letter sounds just about as bad as it actually was. Oletus manor is not a name spoken without notoriety, after all. Was that where it all began? Was this your first mistake? No, it was further down the line, wasn't it? Yes, perhaps it was when you became the muse of an artist with no inspiration.

Reality has disappointed you time and time again. The expectations of a life of peace was crushed easily under the hands of society. So, you fled. You fled inside your head, transporting yourself into worlds of fiction. Romance, mystery, fantasy, and the likes kept you alive. It was the only thing you could really call safe.

Among many genres, you favored one above the others.

Horror.

There’s a certain comfort that comes from these fictional tales. You know they aren’t real, that the killer can’t find you, that these psychopaths don’t exist. Are there people similar to them? Sure, but they aren’t in your life. Thus, they merely stay as silly little people within a book.

But, it’s not quite enough. The thrill of words upon a page cannot compete with the real deal. While you weren’t stupid enough to seek out murderers or the like, you were still dumb enough for Baron DeRoss, apparently.

The envelope is white as a dove, a blood red stamp sealing it shut. It whispers promises and praise, false hope and rewards. It’s an enticing offer, truly. Would you let it guide you astray?

Well, you were never one to turn away from the call of the abyss.

“I really don’t get it. I know it’s game changing, but it’s not helpful for anyone else but me! Why do they want me to team up with them?” You huffed, resting your face on your palms. Edgar merely rolled his eyes, flicking his wrist. Focused on the canvas in front of him, he let the brush streak red through white.

“You said it yourself, your abilities are game changing. We don’t even know the full extent of your abilities– who knows? Maybe you could completely uproot the current meta. Besides,” He smirked, peering at you from the corner of his eye. “The hunters are terrified of you.”

You paused, letting your arms fall flat against the table.

“Scared? Of me? I’m just another survivor– what do they have to be afraid of?”

Edgar hummed, tapping the handle end of his paint brush against his lips. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t quite fancy being stabbed.”

Okay, yeah, that was fair.

Most survivors didn’t possess the ability to fight the hunter, not really, yet here you were. When Jack had first chased you, he had the reckoning of his life. You wince at the phantom feeling of stabbing steel into flesh and bone. That was, admittedly, not what you had expected to be your special skill.

You pouted, cheek against the cool wood of Edgar’s table as you glanced around. His room was an odd combination of an art exhibition hall and an actual bedroom. It was big and extravagant, but you wouldn’t expect any less from him.

Well, kind of.

Edgar confused you. Intriguing, even among the sea of other unique characters within the manor. You suppose that’s why he’s your favorite comrade and closest friend, if you could call him that. He’s never kicked you out of his room or flat out yelled at you, so safe to say he didn’t hate you, at least.

He’s neutral on all matters within the manor, composed regardless of what he faced. All he cared about was his art, nothing more and nothing less. Perhaps that was how he was unaffected by everything.

You suppose that’s natural for an artist. You can’t claim to understand it perfectly, but in a way, you truly understood.

“It’s like… you’re a moth drawn to a flame, right? Art is something you’re willing to give your life to, dedicate your whole body and soul to. Even if you have to sacrifice your time, energy, or health, for the perfect outcome, you’d do it.” You had said it off handedly, not thinking much of it then. In some respects, wasn’t his passion for art just like your obsession with thrill?

But then he had grabbed your hands, looking into your eyes with such fervor. His gaze burned, a certain desperation flickering within it. What was he seeking so fiercely? What was making Edgar, apathetic, snide Edgar, act like he had found an oasis in the desert?

“You get it?” He whispered, almost pleading.

“Maybe,” You responded.

That had been enough for him.

Since then, you and Edgar had become an odd pair. Not quite friends, but too close to be acquaintances. You gravitated towards him, as he did to you. More often than not, you’d ask him if he’d like to team up for matches. More often than not, he’d say yes.

You suppose that’s another reason why other survivors regard you with care.

Edgar isn’t the most difficult person to work with, but definitely not the easiest. He’s all too much and too little: haughty and snide, distant and cold. He’s a reliable teammate, not a likable one.

Still, the playful sparkle in his eyes as he led the hunter straight to you made you beg to differ. You’d curse him out as you ran, glaring at him after the match was over, before begrudgingly thanking him for supporting you with a painting or two.

However odd it was, you wouldn’t trade your friendship for the world.

There’s a letter in your mailbox.

That isn’t especially weird, considering that’s what a mailbox is for. Letters, mail, packages, whatever. Still, you can’t help but pause as you stare at it. A white envelope with a lovely red seal, the stamp itself in the shape of a camellia. The embossed flower is outlined in gold, shimmering softly in the low light of your room.

Gently, you pry open the seal, careful not to damage it or the envelope. Once you’ve successfully extracted the letter without destroying everything, you stare at it with uncertainty.

It seemed like this was a love letter from the presentation alone, yet you couldn’t help but feel a bit unsettled. You couldn’t understand why, however. It was beautiful, but simple. It wasn’t overwhelming, nor alarming. So why, from the depths of your heart, was your subconscious screaming at you to run? As though you were about to open Pandora’s box?

You unfold the letter and read.

Edgar gives you the nastiest side eye you’ve ever seen. Perhaps you deserve it after the stunt you pulled. Then again, what else were you supposed to do? He was going to be sent back to the manor if you hadn’t let yourself go down.

In the end, thanks to your sacrifice, the potential tie had turned into a win. Sure, you were the one sent back to the manor instead, but a win was a win! Though, Edgar seemed to disagree.

“You’re an idiot.”

You would be offended if it weren’t for the fact that he was wrapping your wounds. The tender touches were barely there, like the flutter of a butterfly's wings. He was being careful, making sure you didn’t feel even an ounce of unnecessary pain. The concentration he was putting into taking care of you was something you had only seen when Edgar was painting.

The subtle quirk of his lips, eyes barely narrowed, and relaxed shoulders expressed more to you than any words ever could. The guilt that pooled into his chest, made evident by the quiet sighs he’d let out, seemed to manifest itself as kindness and gentle care.

It made you really want to tease him.

“Ow!” You hiss, flinching slightly away from the man. Edgar freezes, staring at you with concern.

“Shit– sorry, I didn’t mean to.” The sincere remorse in his voice immediately makes you regret your decision.

“Wait, wait, wait, no, I– gah, sorry. I was just messing with you.”

The painter’s formerly soft expression faded into a scowl, a glare sent your way even as he finished wrapping you up. Edgar immediately stands up, leaving you scrambling to do the same as he leaves the infirmary.

“Ahhhh, wait, I’m sorry! Wait, Edgar, I’m sorry, I swear I won’t do that again! C’mon, don’t leave me like this! I–” You trip on something, stumbling as you lose balance. You fully expect to kiss the ground, what with one of your arms in a cast, when lithe arms catch you.

You glance up at Edgar with a sheepish smile, gazing upon the apathetic look upon his face. Apathetic, to anyone else but you. You can see the little curl of his lips, the faint swirl of amusement in his eyes.

He helps you reorient yourself, hands on your shoulders. Once you’re safely standing, Edgar turns and continues down the hallway. His steps are slower than usual. It’s probably the closest you’ll get to an invitation.

You grin, chasing after him once more.

“So does this mean you forgive me?”

“No.”

“How do you manage to stay sane, painting the same thing over and over again?” You ask, half dangling off a couch. Edgar’s room is still as grand as ever, but you can see the changes. It seems more lived in, more homey. There’s a table that isn’t covered in paint, brushes, or other art supplies. There’s shelves with books instead of art supplies. Then, those cabinets have, wait for it, something other than art supplies.

It seems like a small shift to others, though that’s probably because they don’t visit Edgar half as often as you do. The first time you saw the couch, you thought you were hallucinating.

The Edgar Valden, using something other than a stool? Incredible, revolutionary, absolutely groundbreaking.

He did not appreciate your dramatics, or so he claimed, but you knew he was covering his mouth to hide his smile.

“I’m not painting the same thing, and I am, in fact, going insane.” Edgar responds, frown deepening as he mixes a few colors together. You hum, peeking at the canvas as much as you can from your position. From the sketch, you could tell it was a portrait. A rare occurrence, considering Edgar preferred landscapes.

“Why the sudden interest in portraits?” You ask, sitting more comfortably on the couch. Glancing at the shelves, you skim through the books. Edgar wouldn’t mind if you read one of them, right?

The man pauses, his expression almost bashful. It’s so bizarre you can’t help but raise a brow. Edgar has never been afraid to draw attention to himself. He’s no pushover, willing to fight for what he wants while still remaining relatively neutral. To see him like that, a dust of what can only be blush upon his cheeks, twists something in your heart.

Before you can untangle what exactly you were feeling, the painter coughs.

“Well, I tried talking with Victor about expressing oneself. He suggested letters, or other mediums I’m comfortable with. So…” Edgar stares at his canvas, his smile more so a grimace. “I’m trying out his suggestion, I suppose.”

You tilt your head, humming to yourself as you nod. Sliding off the couch, you grab one of the books on Edgar’s shelf. “Well, then I wish you the best of luck.”

His eyes linger on you, closing softly as his expression relaxes. When he opens them again, he starts creating new hues with more focus.

“I’ve been getting letters recently.” You mention, flipping another page in your book. Edgar paused, turning to look at you.

“And?”

You closed your eyes, contemplating. This really wasn’t something you had to tell him. But, well, nothing too interesting has been happening lately. The matches have finally grown duller, the thrill fading as you stayed longer. You were running out of things to ramble about, so why not?

“They’re love letters. Nicely decorated, with neat handwriting. If I had to guess, someone born into privilege.” You think Edgar flinches at that.

“It’s really sweet, honestly. A shame they’re anonymous.” You skim over the words on the page, brows knitting themselves tight. The main character was oblivious to the danger so close to them. How frustrating.

“A shame, really.” Edgar echoes back, delicately brushing shadows along the red camellias. His painting seemed nearly finished, if you only stared at the beautiful flowers. The rest of the canvas was rather barren, a figure still not yet painted whole.

“C’mon, theorize with me! Who could it be? I put my bets on Jack.” You sighed dramatically, head thrown back with your hand on your forehead.

You received no response, however.

“Hear me out! He called me darling, dear, and tried to kill me. Obviously, he fell for my sick kiting skills and great looks. I rest my case.” Still, nothing.

You were getting really worried with how unresponsive Edgar was being. Usually, when you started overexaggerating like that, he’d make a snarky remark. Something like “please, you get terror shocked at 5 ciphers” or “you make amphibians look appealing.”

The silence was really getting to you.

“I mean, he’s got confidence in spades so it probably isn’t him. Still, I kinda hope it is, he’s rather attrac–” SNAP!

Your head snaps up from your book, turning to Edgar so quickly you nearly give yourself whiplash. There, in his hands, are the remains of a broken paint brush. Blood oozes from his tightly clenched hands, slowly trickling down his palm and under the cuff of his shirt. That was reason for concern as is, but the most startling thing of all was his eyes.

Blue, like the sky. Blue, like the sea. Blue, like the wings of a morpho butterfly.

Blue, like the swirling vortex of the night sky.

You rush over, grabbing the first aid kit you know he keeps for you, before standing next to him. You’ve never seen him like this, eyes so dark and blank. It’s honestly scaring you a little, but that means nothing when he’s hurt.

So, you kneel, pulling out tweezers, disinfectants, and bandages. Gently prying his hand open, you discard the larger pieces of the brush. With the tweezers, you pick out splinters of wood embedded in his skin. You whisper apologies as you do, knowing this definitely hurts, but he doesn’t so much as flinch.

By the time you finally disinfect his hand and wrap it, Edgar seems a lot more like himself than before. He gazes at you with quiet consideration, blinking slowly. Languid, calm, almost cat-like.

“Are you okay?” You ask, holding his hand. In all the time you’ve known him, you’ve never seen him react like that. The kinder side of you hopes it’ll never happen again, if only so he won’t needlessly hurt himself like that. The morbid side of you wants to see him like that again, what you can distinguish as cold, searing rage threatening to consume him whole.

Edgar leans his head forward and onto your shoulder. The scent of citrus, chamomile, and something chemical tickles your nose, brushing against you as the painter sighs. He seems… tired.

“Let me rest my head, just for a bit.”

You don’t have the heart to say no.

The next few letters you get are… odd. Passionate as always, but far more obsessive. The first few had been sweeter, more tender. This was escalating in a weird direction, and as much as you loved yourself a good horror story, romance and horror never mix well. They were starting to threaten you, saying they’d hurt the people around you, and that was where you drew the line.

So, you start ignoring them. It sounds foolish, especially for a connoisseur of all things freaky, but life is more mundane than fiction. If this person doesn’t have the guts to confess to you, does it make sense that they’d have the guts to actually go through with their threats? Logically, no.

Besides, even if they did, the people of the manor are strong. They can hold their own. Even if they can't, that person will get outcasted for hurting a survivor, regardless of if they’re a hunter. “No violence outside of matches,” that was the first rule both factions set.

So, it was safe to assume you had nothing to worry about. You have more important things to deal with, anyway, especially with a new survivor arriving. His name was Orpheus, a novelist. You were thrilled, especially since he was the author of some of your favorite series.

You were busy with preparations, practically skipping with joy. The other survivors poked fun at you, both for your enthusiasm and the lack of a certain painter at your side.

Edgar was concentrating on his art, as per usual, and you didn’t want to bother him. He seemed a little lonely, though, so you tried to convince a few people to talk to him. They all just looked at you as if you grew another head.

“Are we… looking at the same person?” Mike asks, smile strained. You frown, turning away from the banners you were fixing.

“Yes! Edgar Valden, our resident painter, our sassy rich boy, our lovely old friend. I say he is lonely, and I think you should talk to him. I mean, you’re easy-going, fun, and silly. Who wouldn’t like you?” Even if half of it was an act. Still, Mike was one of the people Edgar tolerated better than most. Perhaps it’s because he’s another form of an artist?

“Why can’t you just, I don’t know, talk to him yourself? You guys get along just fine.” Mike looks away, fiddling with his hands. You narrow your eyes at the sight.

Mike Morton, local funny man, someone with dedication and deceit running through his veins, nervous? It’s not faked, the sweat rolling down his neck and the faster breathing all indicating he was genuinely nervous. Maybe even scared.

“Edgar, I really do love him, but he needs more friends. I think the only people who talk to him on a regular basis are Luca and I. Adding a few more people to that list would be nice, so…” You bring your hands in front of you, clasped tight as if you’re about to pray. “Could you please talk to him?”

Mike deflates, sighing as he nods. You smile brightly in response, promising to make it up to him.

“Hey bestie! You excited for the new survivor?” Demi croons, grinning as she tosses an arm around your shoulder. You laugh in response, leaning into her.

“That’s about the dumbest thing you could ask me. Of course I am! He’s written so many good books. God, I don’t know how I’m supposed to act around him. He’s made some stories that have basically shaped who I am now!” You sigh, smiling so widely your face hurts.

“Well, don’t forget your boyfriend in all the excitement! I can see he’s basically seething with envy.”

You pause, turning to look at Demi.

“Who?”

Now, it’s Demi’s turn to look confused.

“Uh, you know, Edgar? Are– are you guys not together?” She asks, genuinely shocked. You feel your face heat up, your hands itching to cover your blush.

“Wh– no! We are not! Why would anyone ever think that?”

Demi gives you a deadpan expression in response.

“You two are basically glued to each other’s side, go into every match together, hang out almost every day– Hell, you’re the only one Edgar has allowed in his room without it being necessary!”

Well, that’s news to you.

You furrow your brows, blinking in shock. Sure, you two hung out a lot, but it wasn’t like you guys were friends exclusively with each other. You had Demi, Mike, Melly, and even Violetta while Edgar had Luca, Victor, Andrew, and Galatea. It wasn’t like you… hung out… every… day…

“Oh fuck, we really do look like a couple.” You mutter, having half a mind to smack Demi as she laughs. She’s completely unapologetic about it, struggling to breathe as slowly calms down and giggles.

“So, you two aren’t dating?” She asks, wiggling her eyebrows. You huff, fighting back a smile.

“Nope, not at all.”

“Then in that case, I’m allowed to flirt with you as much as I want!” Demi cheers. She spins you around, causing a laugh to bubble up from your throat. The two of your twirl around in a silly dance, the faint sound of Frederick playing the piano the only background music.

At the end, she dips you down, smile upon her lips. She leans close to your ear as your smile is wiped away.

“Be wary of him.”

With Edgar, it’s like you’re taking three steps forward, then five steps back. Just when you think you’ve got him all figured out, he throws a curveball at you.

That desperation he had in his eyes the day you became his friend, flickering like a brilliant flame, you understand it now. However much he claimed he didn’t need people to understand him, how he didn’t need to understand others, it didn’t mean much. He still craved it, to be understood. To not have to be questioned, to not be approached with dishonesty, with intentions that lied beyond just him being him.

You suppose that’s exactly why you got along. You wanted to understand him, and he wanted to be understood. A match made in Heaven, you suppose.

It’s why it miffed you a bit that you really can’t understand Edgar at the moment.

He hates drawing portraits, yet he draws a figure, the same exact one, in every one of his new pieces. They look familiar, a lot like you, but you’re pretty confident Edgar would rather die than paint you. You’d tease him to Hell and back, all while he complains and swears up and down he’s never being nice to you again.

The landscapes, adorned in reds of all shades, always have that figure in each one without fail. Is he in love with someone? That would explain why he’s so weird lately.

Edgar’s odd behavior was already messing with you, but on top of that, the letters were getting worse. Instead of being slid into your mailbox, they were flat out in your room now.

Normal people would think someone just slipped it under the door. Reasonable assumption. However, unless that person has not only a very thin arm, but a long one, you don’t know how they’d manage to get it all the way to your desk.

You stare at the white envelope, stamped shut with a red seal in the shape of a camellia. The outline of the flower is in gold, though the beauty of the letter and the seal means nothing. Not when it got into your room. Not when it clearly has a splotch of dark red glaring at you.

Your hands are shaky as you open the envelope, a familiar curl of thrill fighting with your new found protective instincts. The letter is white as a dove, the red tainting it made all the more stark.

With adrenaline coursing through your veins, you read.

‘I didn’t imagine love would be like this. Wonderfully warm, like the rays of the sun in winter, and unbearably painful, like a knife in my heart. Do you just like hurting me? No, I know that isn’t true. After all, you always look at me with concern when I’m injured. Still, it’s hard to believe you’re this dense.

These past few weeks have been driving me mad. Your attention has been solely on the arrival of the new survivor. You’ve been ignoring me so much I can barely stand it. Can’t you spare even a moment for me? Is that novelist really that important? Seeing you look at him with stars in your eyes… it makes me want to rip his head off his shoulders. He doesn’t deserve your attention, nor your admiration, not like I do. I’ve known you longer, loved you for longer. He doesn’t deserve anything from you, yet he gets everything I could ever want and more.

Did you know? When you’re excited, your smile turns bigger, more genuine, till dimples show. Your eyes crinkle just a little, your hands moving to curl in front of your chest. You stand taller, you shine brighter.

It’s such a beautiful sight, I hate that I have to share it. Sometimes, I wish I could just put you in a cage and never let you go. Then, you wouldn’t look at anyone else but me. You wouldn’t think about anyone else but me. But, that’s not how you should live. You deserve to be free and happy. So, I’ve decided to get rid of anyone that doesn’t deserve to be around you.

I think I’ll start with that novelist.’

Your blood runs cold.

Fuck.

FUCK.

Just who is this? Who are they and just why are they so obsessed with you? Get rid of those who don’t deserve you? Who gave them the right to decide that!?

You take a deep breath, desperately trying to calm your nerves. Your heart is racing, and for the first time, the thrill in your heart turns into true fear.

You’ve never minded being the one hunted. In fact, you practically adore it, the addicting rush of adrenaline pumping through you. It’s why you came to the manor. But your friends? They’re not the same, and you wouldn’t want them to be. You want them safe and happy, not hunted down by some freak who thinks they “aren’t worthy of you” for whatever sick reason.

“Fuck, fuck… Orpheus, I need to find– no, it’s probably too late for him, there’s blood on the letter. Okay, okay, stay calm, stay fucking calm. Who would be the next victim? Mike? Melly? No, it’s probably Ed–” You pause.

Almost comically, everything clicks in place.

Camellias.

Red.

Ignoring them.

Edgar.

You bolt out of your room.

Normally, you’d knock. You know Edgar hates it when people barge into his room. However, considering the circumstances, you think that’s the least of your concerns.

You can’t help but pray in your mind. To whom? You don’t know. You don’t think anyone can truly help in this situation. It couldn’t be anyone else but Edgar, but still, you prayed. You hoped against all hope that your conclusion was wrong.

Edgar would scold you for barging in, sigh, before smiling and asking if you were really that desperate to see him. Everything would be fine. It would all be just a cruel joke.

But just as life is more mundane than fantasy, reality is far cruller than fiction.

The large windows to Edgar’s room let in the light of the falling sun, casting the room in many shades of gold and orange. In the middle of the room, in all his glory, is Edgar. His back is to you, paint brush in hand. You’re hit first by relief, then with the heavy scent of iron.

You shake, hands covering your mouth as you finally process what's around Edgar. Orpheus, drained of blood, head sat on a chair, body left haphazardly on the ground. Jack, ghastly white and face twisted, his horror eternally memorialized in death. Demi, eyes closed and serene, seemingly asleep if not for the purple veins that roam along her arms.

You fall to your knees, the shock hitting you so strong you can’t stand up any longer. He was your secret admirer. The one who kept sending letters. The one who went into your room just to place them on your desk. The one who threatened to kill your friends. The one who did kill your friends.

Edgar, finally, turns around. His cheek has splotches of blood on it, his hands no better. It’s startling just how much of it is on him, but worse yet, you know not all of it is on him. There’s a lot of blood in a human body, much more in two, so where was it?

When he smiles, it’s just as sweet as it was yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that. Was this really your friend, or a demon in disguise?

His smile, ever so sweet, only serves to unsettles you, looking more like a nightmare.

“Ah, you’re here! Come, I need to show you my newest masterpiece.” Edgar steps closer to you, dragging you by the hand to a canvas you hadn’t noticed before. He was standing in front of it, so it was only natural.

You numbly follow, heart in your throat. You’re grateful, distantly, that the “masterpiece” is not the corpses of your friends. You think you’re going to throw up, eyes trying to look at anything but them.

So, you gladly look at his so-called masterpiece.

You really wish you didn’t.

There, on the canvas, is a portrait. This time, it’s so painfully obvious it’s you that you can’t even deny it. Surrounded by red camellias, hands curled in front of their chest, with a smile so genuine, dimples showed. Eyes crinkled, back straight, and God, did it have to be so accurate?

The red of the camellias are familiar, as is the red of your blush, the colors of your clothes, your hair.

It’s all been painted using your friend’s blood.

Edgar comes behind you, his arms circling your waist. A content sigh leaves him, his chin resting on your shoulder. His hold is gentle, but firm, possessive in a way you never thought him capable of. His lips brush against your neck, a kiss much like a collar pressed into your skin. You can feel them curl into a smile.

“What do you think, my muse? The red means I love you.”

#idv #identity v #identity 5 #idv edgar #idv painter #edgar valden x reader #idv fanfic #identity v fanfic

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goosewriting · 1 year ago

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Okay, I'm a sucker for these ones, but how about...

Y/N from our world falling into the ROTTMNT world?

Would Y/N explain that they come from a world where the boys are from a TV show, or just keep that one secret for their whole life?

If the boys find out, how would they react?

How would Splinter react?

I can imagine Y/N walking up to their turtle of choice and just breaking down crying, hugging him(especially after seeing the movie) and telling him he didn't deserve that pain.

Falling for you (rottmnt Leo x reader)

summary: reader falls into the rottmnt world and comes across the turtle brothers.

relationship: Rise Leo x GN reader

warnings: kinda meta i guess, this one’s kinda sad u_u sorry

word count: 2k

A/N: this fic has been marinating in my wips for almost a year. better later than never amirite? o(-< sorry for the delay! also i couldn’t for the life of me figure out the other turtles, but i liked it enough to post as is. I might come back to this one at some point! this trope is S+ tier btw, thank you so much for the request!

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

— — —

There was nothing you were looking forward to more than getting home, taking a nice shower, and collapsing in your bed. This week had been way too hectic for your taste. Recounting all the events in your mind with a slight scoff, you walked down the dim street. Only a couple more blocks and you’d finally be home. If you had the energy, you might even treat yourself to rewatching the Rise of the TMNT movie. You’d definitely laugh and cry just the same as when you first watched it. It was just too good.

You were so lost in thought, that the sudden strong gust of wind took you by surprise. Holding onto your jacket and backpack for dear life, you stumbled over your own feet, knocked over by the sheer force of the draft. With nothing near you to lean onto or take a hold of, you stepped onto the manhole in front of you, which to your horror completely gave in to your weight. With a shriek you fell down the hole, but instead of being engulfed in darkness and having a nasty landing as you expected, you were floating in a tunnel of colours and flashes. As they started to twist around you quicker by the second, you started to feel nauseous, not being able to tell apart up from down and left from right, so you closed your eyes shut and braced for the impact.

After a couple more spins in this strange space, you landed a bit roughly on your side and rolled over. Trembling, you took a couple of breaths to steady yourself. You could feel a slight sting on your hip and elbow where you had landed, but nothing else seemed to hurt. Tentatively opening your eyes, you were sort of expecting to be covered in sewage or at least some dirt, but instead, you found yourself on the ground in what seemed to be a narrow alley. It was dark, so you couldn’t see well, but something was definitely off. The lights coming from the main street were way too bright and neon-y. You also noticed the lack of that typical city smell. Standing to your feet, you dusted yourself off, only to realise that your arms weren’t your arms. Your hands, legs, even your backpack next to you on the ground; it all looked cartoony!

Grabbing your things and running towards the street you spun around to take it all in and concluded that you were, in fact, in a cartoon world of sorts. How hard did I hit my head?! you asked yourself. Because clearly, this could not be real.

Different characters passed you by on the street, ignoring you. You walked a little farther, trying to recognise the style or some of the shops, but to no avail.

Just as you were turning a corner, you saw a sign that you immediately recognised: Albearto’s. Falling into a jog to check out the shop, you failed to notice the giant vehicle approaching you. And apparently so did the driver, as it came to a screeching halt before you, slightly bumping into you in the process. You were yet again knocked down and on the floor.

“If I could stop being assaulted for one second, that would be great” you grumbled to yourself.

“Hey, are you okay?” a voice asked from the direction of the vehicle.

You jumped back to your feet, ready to give them an earful for being so careless, but as your eyes came up to the scene before you, all words left your brain.

In front of you was none other than the turtle tank, four colour-coded turtle bros walking towards you with worried faces.

And once again, you hit the ground.

You passed out.

— — —

When you came back to, you found yourself lying on a couch. Shielding your eyes from the lights with your hand, you slowly stood up. Taking a look around you immediately recognised that you were in the lair, in the projector room to be precise.

“Well, someone is finally awake,” you heard a voice behind you. A voice you’d recognise anywhere, amongst hundreds of people.

You slowly turned around to look at Leo, who was leaning on the back of the couch, looking down at you.

“Are you okay? You came out of nowhere, we didn’t see you!” he asked and gave you a once over to check for any discomfort. “This is why we don’t let Raph drive” he added with a lopsided grin, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder.

You blinked once, twice. And tore your gaze from him to your hands in your lap, fisting the blanket.

Should you tell him? That he and his family live in a cartoon world? That he’s your blorbo and you love him with the intensity of a thousand burning suns? What timeline are you in anyways? Did… that already happen?

Daring to look up at him again, you noticed he was wearing the black arm wraps. He looked at you with a quizzical, almost irritated expression, since you weren’t answering. You gave one last look over your shoulder behind you, and there were in fact a couple of abandoned subway wagons in view. So they were at the new lair.

For now you decided to play along.

Turning around back to Leo, who was still waiting for your answer, you gave him a smug look.

“Do you always bring back the people you almost run over to your home?” you asked.

“Only the pretty ones,” he responded. You looked at him in shock. He mirrored your expression, realising how that sounded.

“That was way creepier than I intended, wait,” he groaned and hid his face behind the back of the couch. You heard him sigh, and then he walked around it to sit on the arm rest beside you.

“Let’s start over,” he smiled and held out his hand for you to shake. “I’m Leo, but you call me Neon Leon”.

Smiling at his self given nickname, you introduced yourself as you grabbed his hand with both of yours, and just kind of held it. You held his gaze as your eyes softened.

“Do- do we know each other?” he asked with an expression that was something between confused and amused. “Usually people don’t react this calm to, well, this,” he explained, using his other hand to gesture at himself.

“I can’t see why,” you replied, biting your tongue just in time before adding a ‘since I like what I see’.

“Isn’t that why you fainted though? Out of shock?” he questioned and his eyes fell down to his hand, which was still in yours. Feeling the heat rise up to your face, you immediately let go.

“No, I, uhm…” You cleared your throat, trying to come up with an excuse. “It was more a shock of almost being run over rather than seeing who it was,” you lied, but commended yourself mentally since it was believable and much better than the truth.

“Understandable,” he nodded. “You’re fine though, right? Donnie ran some tests and we didn’t see any major injuries or anything. Ah, by the way, Donnie is my brother. There’s four of us, actually. Or five, if you count Splinter. Six, if you count April…” he started rambling, counting on his fingers. You noticed he didn’t mention Casey.

The rest of the day was spent with Leo giving you a tour of the lair, introducing you to everyone, and showing you his Jupiter Jim comic collection.

When he asked where you were from and other similar questions, you tried to keep it as vague as possible. You hoped that he wouldn’t think you were hiding something because you were a spy for the Foot or something like that. You just couldn’t tell him the truth because if you did, he’d want to know how the show ended, and you don’t want to be responsible for messing up this timeline, whichever it is.

So you tried to enjoy the evening as much as possible, playing games with the turtles, eating pizza and reading comics.

As the night rolled in, you felt the exhaustion of everything that had happened sinking in. Looks like the lack of energy from your world had followed you even here. With a hearty yawn you stretched your limbs.

“Looks like someone’s tired,” Mikey giggled.

“Yeah, I think I’ll head home-” you started saying in your sleep-deprived state, only to abruptly stop yourself, eyes now wide open. “Actually, I just remembered I don’t have a place to stay. I got… kicked out” you said, and technically, it wasn’t even a complete lie this time.

“Aw no, poor thing!” Mikey whined and came to hold you in a comforting manner. “You can crash here for now. Right guys?” he looked at his brothers, giving them the best puppy eyes he could manage. Sighing, the others gave in. They weren’t all that keen on letting a stranger stay, but you seemed nice enough.

Once again you were tucked into the couch, this time with more pillows and blankets. They had even offered you some spare clothes to change into.

Coming out of the bathroom you made your way to your makeshift bed, looking down at your attire. Seeing your own cartoon self in the mirror was weird enough, but now here you were in Leo’s baggy shirt and basketball shorts and it dawned on you that you didn’t know if you’d still be here tomorrow. You had no idea how you had landed here in the first place, or if you were just imagining it. Even then, you wanted to take out as much as possible from whatever time you’d get to spend here.

So you climbed into bed, and waited until you could hear faint snores coming from the bedrooms. Going over the words one last time in your head, you tip-toed your way as quietly as possible to Leo’s room. Gosh, you looked like such a creep right now. But you couldn’t hold it in any longer.

Carefully standing next to his bed, you noticed how sprawled out he was, his sleeping mask kinda askew on his face, mouth open. At the sight, your hand came up to cover your mouth, stopping the emerging giggles. He just looked too cute.

Taking a deep breath, you crouched down and held onto his bed frame. You spoke in nothing more than a whisper.

“I don’t know if I’ll be here in the morning, but I just wanted you to know that this was the best day of my life. Never would I have thought I’d meet you for real. You’ve always kept me going when life got difficult, I…” You paused, bitterly smiling at the fact that you were about to profess your love and admiration to a fictional character. “It’s unfair, really. You have no idea who I am, but there’s so much I want to tell you, yet I can’t, I- I shouldn’t. Just know this: You are loved. You are worthy. You are a good leader. You are a good brother. And if I am still here tomorrow, and the next day, and the next… I wish for nothing more than to be by your side.”

Suddenly your mind was flooded with the events of the Krangpocalypse, and you felt the tears building up. You stood up and turned to leave, but stopped in your tracks. For a moment you battled with yourself, but ended up taking a step back again to lean over Leo and place a gentle kiss on his forehead. As you leaned back up he stirred, and you turned to make a quick leave.

What you didn’t know however was that he’d been awake and had heard everything, but was too shocked to react. After some minutes pondering if he should go talk to you or not, he decided it couldn’t wait until the next day; he wouldn’t be able to sleep anyways after what you said, especially the way you said it.

Climbing out of bed Leo silently made his way to the projector room only to find an empty couch.

You were gone without a trace.

~~~

🐥 taglist: @theoriginalmintyyyshake, @dybynyght, @lieutenantlashfaz, @galaxtic-writings, @Lovestruckfictionadict, @salty-s-r, @sleebykei, @hearteyedracoon, @koalaray, @maribatshipper, @whygz, @xnorthstar3x

[if you want to be added to my taglist, fill out this form! if you're in the list but changed your handle, please shoot me a message to let me know!]

#goose feathers #rottmnt #save rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise of the tmnt x reader #tmnt x reader #rottmnt x reader #tmnt 2018 #rottmnt leo x reader #leonardo x reader #rise leo x reader

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dude-wheres-my-ankheg · 2 months ago

Text

Abdirak - A Contradiction In Faith (Link to AO3)

Word count: 3.2k

Characters: Abdirak, Loviatar

Summary: An essay exploring how Abdirak's behaviour and beliefs tie into the overarching Loviatan faith.

Tags: Essays, Meta, Nonfiction, Analysis, Character Analysis, Character Study

Find my fic master list here.

Because I've heard a lot of people prefer to read meta on Tumblr, full essay is under the cut:

Start Notes

This essay is not meant to diminish or debunk anyone's thoughts, opinions, or headcanons about Abdirak's character. It is simply an exploration of my own findings and a discussion about the lore surrounding him. I fully love and support everyone's own interpretations of the character. However, my own reading of Abdirak is extremely personal to me and the reason why he has resonated with me so strongly. As such, I wanted to explore more about his character and the discussions about him both in and out of the game, and give some context to where my own personal reading of him came from.

Worth noting that I am not an authority on anything, just some guy with an obsession and some books.

Introduction

Abdirak was for many the highlight of the Goblin Camp, despite being a brief flash-in-the-pan of an NPC with a single scene and a potential gameplay buff. So how does such a character captivate the hearts and imaginations of so many? The obvious answer is that he is sexy, dangerous, and fun, and provides the opportunity for some cheeky companion banter. However there is more to him than meets the eye, especially for those who know a little about Loviatar and her worshippers.

Right from the start, Abdirak is a man of contradictions. Charming yet blood soaked. Enticing and yet promising pain. Offering healing through harm. But as we dig deeper, we can see just how deep the contradictions truly go.

A (Very) Brief Look At Traditional Loviatan Beliefs

Traditional Loviatan tenets are fairly clear cut when examining the lore. For all of my research, I have been unable to find any reference to healing through pain as Abdirak claims to.

Loviatar desires pain and suffering through any and all means, including psychological torture and manipulation, seduction and heartbreak. Their goals are to spread discontent and misery. Loviatans are characterised as being cruel and manipulative, often using winning peoples' trust and breaking it as a way to hurt them.

The only reference to healing I have found exists in the following passage from a speech given to those new to the faith:

"Let mercy of sudden abstinence from causing pain and of providing unlooked-for healing come over you seldom, but at a whim so as to make folk hope and increase the Mystery of Loviatar's Mercy. Unswerving cruelty will turn all folk against you." [1]

Here, we see healing used as a manipulation and a break from pain, not a result of the pain. It is simply a trick to convince people to fall more deeply into the devout's clutches. If we trust the lore books, all Loviatans should be gleefully spreading misery. Which would make sense - Loviatar is an evil god with evil followers who thrives on misery and suffering. She likes to be feared and charges her followers with spreading that fear [1].

Abdirak

Enter Abdirak. A charming, handsome, lightly blood splattered man who claims he simply wishes to help the player character. He explains his faith and how he believes that his work is beneficial to those around him and not only his goddess. With what we know about Loviatans, surely this is an act? Loviatans make it their life's work to twist and trick people into harm. A quick encounter within a Goblin Camp may not seem like much of a chance to win a heart and shatter it, but certainly enough to lie about the health benefits of being smacked with a mace.

There are, however, little things about him that are off.

For one thing, he was invited to the Goblin Camp to torture Liam, a task which he is not performing. In fact, he seemed disgusted with the thought of it - pain should be, as Abdirak himself says, an "intimate and loving thing." That doesn't sound particularly in-keeping with the traditional Loviatan beliefs, and neither does passing up the opportunity to torture a man.

Another contradiction is how Abdirak is insistent that those receiving the penance be well enough to do so. While Loviatans may not want broken bones or severe injuries themselves—as such hinders their duties and their worship—what would it matter if a stranger was injured during the course of a penance? Yet Abdirak is insistent. Only those well enough may receive his "gifts" and those who lose too much health during the penance will immediately see it stopped.

Then of course, there is simply the way he is. The way he speaks. The care and consideration in his words. Of course, this could all be a part of his act - a smooth and clever manipulation. A very convincing one at that. However, there are reasons to believe otherwise.

The Contradiction

The idea that Abdirak is simply a smooth manipulator is somewhat thwarted by several factors. For one, an argument can be made about his behaviour as above. For another, the developer's notes within the game files and the comments and context added by Rachel Quirke (Abdirak's writer) and Declan Perring (Abdirak's voice actor) paint a very different picture of his motives to that of a cruel and selfish manipulation.

Let us address the character's actions within the game first, as these are easiest to dismiss. Abdirak does his best to convince the player character to undergo the penance, but makes no move to force them. In fact, beyond his simple pitch—this is good for you, it will help you—he does not push. He doesn't try to find new ways to tempt the player and does not try to twist his arguments to entice. He lets the offer stand on its own merit rather than overly pushing the issue and trying to convince the player character. Of course, this could be attributed to him not wanting to cause trouble for himself. It gets more interesting when we look deeper into the game meta.

One of the most noticeable things about the acting direction given within the dialogue game files is the repeated use of the word "sincere." It is applied to Abdirak himself, to his beliefs, to his words. It is used over and over to describe this man and his desire to help the player.

"This is a sincere and genuine offer, He believes in what he is doing and that it will, ultimately, help the player." [2]

"It is a sincere and genuine offer, he believes it will help." [2]

"He's looking the player in the eyes and is concerned - he can see the player has been hurt (emotionally) and is worried. This is sincere." [2]

"Player has told him to bugger off, basically. Abdirak assumes the player is embarassed [sic], he is sincere - he has seen pain in the player's eyes and wishes to comfort him." [2]

"He believes that the beating he is about to offer will genuinely help. Sincere." [2]

"Explaining about his goddes [sic] Loviatar. Sincere. Believes pain is a beautiful thing." [2]

"The priest should look very sincere in this scene. He genuinely thinks he's helping you." [2]

This sentiment is further echoed by his writer, Rachel Quirke, who has also commented directly on his sincerity in online discussions with fans. [3]

In addition to these notes and comments, the following quote is from Declan Perring, the voice actor who brings Abdirak to life, and is a section of the acting direction notes he was given prior to recording Abdirak's voice lines. It goes: "He sincerely believes in what he is doing and that each offering of pain to the Goddess lessens his own pain and that of others." [4] This is a fascinating quote which gives us huge insight into Abdirak's thoughts and far more questions than answers. It is in direct contradiction with the tenets of Loviatan faith, as discussed above, where pain and suffering are shared for the sake of pain and suffering alone. When Abdirak tells us that he wishes to alleviate the player character's pain, he means it. It seems to remove the potential for Abdirak's prior mentioned sincerity to simply be very good acting.

Unlike what the lore relating to Loviatans would have us believe, Abdirak is not lying or twisting his words. He is not concealing ulterior motives. In his mind, he is a healer of sorts. His believes that his desire to worship the Lady of Pain aligns with his desire to help people - and believes that he is succeeding.

There are other small things as well that Abdirak says in his short time with the player character which seem out of place for a Pain of Loviatar. For one, he implies that he does not like to kill. Traditionally, Loviatans do not seem to have many qualms about such, and have frequently been involved in warfare. [1] In addition to this, as mentioned above, Loviatar wants to be feared by the world. Abdirak however preaches about her loving embrace and wants the player character to trust him and seemingly by extension her. Even after the penance, Abdirak makes no move to make the player character concerned, even if they were not deemed worthy of the blessing.

Implications

Abdirak's seemingly unique outlook on Loviatar worship certainly raises some questions, and gives us several potential routes to explore when we consider his relationship to his religion and how it ties into mainstream Loviatar worship.

Is Abdirak some delusional outlier, espousing a false version of his own god's creed? This seems unlikely. Abdirak claims to be in communication with Loviatar, supported by the fact that he is capable of personally handing out her blessings. She seems to approve of his strange methods - is this simply because he is so effective? Loviatar's focus tends to be upon the suffering itself. Abdirak's methods and unique outlook could be tolerable to her simply due to his enthusiasm and success in providing pain and suffering to her, even if he's doing some therapy on the side.

Another potential explanation is that he is part of a smaller sect of Loviatan worshippers, whose values differ slightly to those of the main church. This explanation is without any lore foundation, but it is certainly interesting to think about. Both real life and the Forgotten Realms have examples of religions with disagreeing or even rival branches, so it is not a stretch to believe that a sect of Loviatans could exist who believe their abilities to inflict pain also bestow healing of sort. Though again, this is not supported by any other suggestions within the game or external lore that I have found, but definitely opens some fun headcanon potential.

Another possible reason for Abdirak to be the way that he is is that the church has simply moved on and evolved, much like the modernising of real life religions. Again, this hypothesis is without basis and pure speculation.

There is also the possibility that Abdirak is a model Loviatan, simply following dogma to the letter of the law. Does Abdirak believe his crueller tendencies should be reserved for those who would do harm against him rather than run-of-the-mill penitents? The Loviatan teachings do note striking against "those who offend." [1] This still does not account for the fact that healing through pain is not mentioned in any part of Loviatan dogma I have found. While it does state that they can share their gifts to "those who enjoy them" [1], there is no mention of the health and well-being benefits of the process for the receiver. This appears to be a belief that Abdirak himself has adopted - could this be due to his own experiences? The developer notes imply that the Loviatan practices helped Abdirak deal with his own trauma: "Player has asked how he knew something terrible had happened them. Abdirak sadly replies. He is think [sic] of his own traumatic past, which ultimately led him to turn to Loviatar as a way coping with the trauma." [2] Loviatan dogma states that pain brings pleasure and power, but makes no mention of healing or mental well-being. It is presented as a traditionally evil form of worship, one that centres around hedonistic desires and the pursuit of power [1]. As such, this particularly theory feels very difficult to marry with the existing lore.

A final explanation could be based upon Loviatar's own interpretation of Abdirak's actions. Reference texts tell us that "Her understanding of humanity, for example, relied on the fundamental assumption that they were innately selfish. Truly heroic or self-sacrificing behaviour could untangle her carefully woven plots." [1] Could this suggest that she tolerates Abdirak's methods because she simply does not understand them? Abdirak is a loyal and enthusiastic follower and, as discussed above, perhaps that is enough. Could Loviatar be unable to comprehend that Abdirak's methods are anything other than selfish, that his talk of healing is not simply lies? It's certainly a fun thought that such a large misinterpretation could occur between a god and their follower, especially one that appears to hold a well regarded position within the church.

Notes on Abdirak's Character

"Pain is pain, dear one. It is above 'good' and 'evil'." [2]

These are words spoken by Abdirak, and they are accompanied by the following notes in the game files: "Player has told him that his goddess is evil and that he wants to [sic, presumably should be 'no'] part in this practice. His [Abdirak's] argument about pain is sincere, he sees it as neither good nor evil, simply as proof that we are alive - and that is worth worshipping and experiencing." [2]

Alignment is an important concept within the realms of D&D. While the game rules have moved away from such previously rigid structures, its influence remains thickly throughout the world of Toril.

As previously discussed, Loviatar is an evil god. Traditionally, Loviatan priests could only be one of the three evil alignments, with Pains further limited to Lawful Evil. [1] Evil alignments, particularly Lawful and Neutral, are characterised by a selfishness that comes at the cost of others [5], which does not seem to align (ha) with what we know of Abdirak so far.

That is not to say that the case for either of these alignments could not be made—they certainly could, especially with how little of Abdirak we see. However, the sincerity and care shown by Abdirak lack the selfishness that one would expect to undertone an evil character, as evidenced by the developer notes that go with his dialogue.

Could Abdirak be more easily ascribed to a Lawful Neutral alignment? While it would certainly be a stretch for a follower of Loviatar to be Lawful Good in character, Abdirak displays a certain amount of selflessness and desire to aid others. A Neutral alignment would support his beliefs about pain and allow him the freedom to practice his faith (in his own special way) while still maintaining that streak of altruism he seems to bear.

Could Abdirak represent an evolution of Loviatar worshippers? Rigid class restrictions have changed over the years - after all, there was a time when druids were limited to True Neutral only [6]. Or is Abdirak simply a law unto himself, a complete outlier in the ranks of the church?

Another interesting point of Abdirak's character is his belief that pain is intimate and loving. As stated in the sourcebook:"Loviatar teaches that the world is filled with pain and torment, and the best that one can do is to suffer the blows that cannot be avoided and deal as much pain back to those who offend." [1] This seems to contradict Abdirak's belief that pain is a gift and should be applied with love and care, an act of healing the mind with pain to the body. This opens two possibilities. That Abdirak is simply lying to the player when he says that pain is only loving. The developer notes say that Abdirak is sincere in his desire to help the player character and in his belief that his methods are beneficial, but that doesn't necessarily mean that he reserves that care for everyone. While this might bring into question why he refuses to torture Liam or push the goblins beyond their limits, it could be attributed to a personal code of who he deems worthy of uncaring hurt. That quote could be interpreted as saying that the usual care and consideration should not be applied to those who attempt to harm the priest themselves. This could point to an explanation for Abdirak's behaviours and beliefs, and hint at a far more dangerous side to Abdirak that we do not get the chance to see in game.

Even with the developer notes and the lorebook sources, Abdirak's character requires close inspection and dissection, and still there is no clear truth to his overall life philosophy, leaving the door open of a myriad of fan interpretations and characterisations, and giving Abdirak fans a wealth of opportunity to explore.

Conclusions

Abdirak's contradictions and the way he subverts expectations based upon his faith make him an incredibly intriguing character, in a way he would not have been if he had been written as a classic Loviatan. The subtle and clever writing paired with an outstanding acting performance elevate this five minute character from a single scene of laughs and titillation to an enigma with the potential to stay in the player's thoughts far longer than he has any right to.

As anyone who has known me before this long and convoluted (and absolutely not exhaustive) ramble will be aware, Abdirak has captivated me since I first encountered him. Now this isn't to say that I don't love a sexy villain, because that would be a lie, but without these layers within Abdirak—the subversion of expectations that come with him as a Loviatan—he would not be as compelling, and certainly would not have grabbed my imagination in the way that he has done. The twist that Abdirak, this creepy and unsettling devout of pain itself, is one of only two characters in the whole of Act 1 to help the player character without want of anything in return, who does so only out of their desire to aid another, not only turns perceptions of him on their head but also of the other NPCs within the act.

With this apparent mismatch of Abdirak's motives with known Loviatan scripture, what could have been a one-note gimmick character becomes something far deeper and interesting to those who know the lore behind the deity. A subtle nod to those aware of the world they are playing in and something that has made the character absolutely captivating to me.

And on that note, I leave you with my favourite dev note of them all:

Abdirak: Yes - I must try this technique. Or perhaps this one… Hand on chin, considering the book before him. Pain Priest is reading his open book. He is reading a book on pain and torture techniques, musing out loud which to try, like someone reading a book on cupcake recipes and wondering whether to try buttercream or sugar icing next. [2]

References

(1) Julia Martin, Eric L. Boyd (March 1996). Faiths & Avatars. (TSR, Inc.), pp. 100–105. ISBN 978-0786903849.

(2) Baldur's Gate 3. Directed by Sven Vincke, Larian Studios, 2023. Multiplatform game. (Links to extracted dialogue and development notes can be accessed here: https://www.tumblr.com/roksik-dnd/732776567631183872?source=share)

(3) Quirke, R [@quirkiltons]. (2023, Dec 7). Oh, absolutely! Yes, Abdirak is into pain, but he's incredibly sincere about it. He'll stop if you're hurt badly and only resume once you've healed up. The scripter and I wanted to reward people who tried it, not punish them (that's Abdirak's job 😜) [Tweet]. Twitter. https://twitter.com/quirkiltons/status/1732734892981600479

(4) Streamily. (2024, Jun 27). Streamily.com Presents: Declan Perring THE Abdirak [Video]. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/live/TsIxFkLQp9Y.

(5) Jeremy Crawford (August 2014). Player’s Handbook. (Wizards of the Coast), pp. 122. ISBN 978-0-7869-6560-1.

(6) Ed Stark (August 2000). Player's Handbook 3rd edition. (Wizards of the Coast). ISBN 9780786915507.

End notes

As I could write endlessly about Abdirak, I wanted to keep this as concise and on topic as possible, focusing purely on how Abdirak relates to the overarching Loviatan church. This might be a one off or the first of a few essays exploring Abdirak's character and the Loviatan faith in general. It depends on when inspiration to actually write the damn things strikes, and whether or not people are even interested in these sorts of posts haha.

Anyway, if you read all the way to the end of my enthusiastic rambles, thank you <3 If you have any of your own thoughts, feelings, opinions, disagreements, etc, I would LOVE to hear them because I love talking about this weirdo.

#Baldur's Gate 3 #bg3 #Abdirak #bg3 abdirak #loviatar #Essays #Meta #Analysis #Character Analysis #Character Study #ankheg writing

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