#prompt: blessed/curse

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 281

I had a wonderful Ghosts are Dragons idea thanks to @fairy-lights-and-blobs 

Nocturne, the great feathered wyvern of dreams, son of Morpheous, created of the sands of dreams itself, might be a bit, oh what’s the word, stumped. He had been twisting through the smog of the living world, and honestly should have been unseen. Keyword being should. 

Because? 

There’s a tiny? Hatchling? Growling at him when he slips into a warehouse, having been searching for a… misplaced item. And he says it with a question mark because? This is a hatchling, he knows his own senses, but they’re also… seemingly stuck in a human form. 

Dear Dreams, this is worse than how Phantom was- and he had been so injured from too much ecto at formation, even for a baby Primordial, that… Ugh, Nocturne wants to slam his horns against the ground repeatedly. 

Alright tiny red hatchling, let him just scoop you up aaand… alright, off to the Zone to see doctors, because really, he wasn’t expecting to get another child, but he’s also not going to just leave the equivalent of a chronically sick toddler!

Jason, currently Red Hood? No clue what the Fuck is happening, he just got kidnapped by an overgrown owl-lizard thing! And his comms are out and genuinely what the fuck-

[deepwaterwritingprompts]

Deep Water Prompt #3444

The blessing fell on the child, a gift at birth, so unspecific it was up for debate whether the granter knew what it would really mean. “You will be sharp.” 

[jen-with-a-pen]

Alice idk what the FUCK kinda drugs you smuggled into this simple, singular ask, but goddamnit it made me sprint to my docs and start writing for the first time in God knows when. I literally have created an au in a matter of hours of seeing this. Fuck you and thank you🫣😋😈

[this is currently an untitled au and a WIP]

Photographer!Dark!Bucky Barnes x RunwayFashionModel!Reader

The overhead spotlights drop the second the showrunner points to the cameras, who, in turn, point to you. Big white bounce cards blind your peripherals and the sound of murmurs throughout the studio, executives and assistants alike, work their way into your ears. The voices swirl into one drone of static and the lights start getting brighter and brighter. Your grip on the arms of the chair grows tighter. Manicured fingernails threaten to dig into the upholstery, the gaudy necklace resting on your chest beginning to brand into your skin. The makeup caked onto your flesh feels like it’s melting, taking your dermis with it.

You can't tear your eyes away from behind the host's head, staring off into space and trying not to focus on the bile beginning to bubble in your pitted stomach.

You knew you should've eaten something.

As the host waits for her after-ad-break cue, shuffling her question cards and sipping coffee from her custom show-branded cup, you feel restless. Legs bouncing out of sync, begging to get up, to run off set and out onto the bustling streets below and never look back. Maybe a bus or cab will make it end, make it stop. You were never cut out for this, never supposed to be here.

"Bunny."

You gasp, your trance broken as the deep bass sounding out your nickname cuts through the noise. It's like oxygen for you. He is oxygen for you. You can’t escape him willingly- he’ll only find a way to be there. To always be there.

You whip your head around to face the herd of people and producers staring at you. Out of all of them, through the blinding lights, you meet his gaze. All six feet four inches, built-like-a-god, broad shoulders of him. His eyes shine like sea glass behind the camera operator, baby blue and looking only at you. For that moment, you are the only one he sees. His target. His. You are the only one he can touch, who he can feel, halfway across the room.

The pit only grows larger, filling your hunger with nausea. You'd bet all the money in the world he schmoozed some P.A. just to make sure he was there to see you. To surveil you.

You wish you were playing in traffic.

[cultivating-wildflowers]

I am an uncomplicated woman: tell me you need me and I'll be there.

[lovinggreeniehours]

really random post sponsored by me almost sleeping on the couch but man what if esper fell asleep on sylus's couch. idk

[smolcrow465]

Day 5: Eclipse

Much like how animals panic when the sun goes dark, the eclipse hinders beasts who get caught out in it. It's common knowledge to remain on the ground when an eclipse is supposed to take place. Despite this, it's not exactly uncommon for divines to smack into trees when all goes dark.

[ask-the-scrapper]

December Asks

Some winter prompts/asks for the holidays!

-Throw a snowball at muse

-Mistletoe kiss

-Give muse a gift or muse gives someone else a gift

-Give muse a cookie

-Bundle up! Pick an article of clothing to give- scarf, gloves, jacket, etc.

-Build a snowman together

-Share hot chocolate

-Decorate a tree (or whatever is available)

-Dress up! Examples: elf costume, deer onesie, santa costume, etc.

~

-Holiday curse (pick a condition to break the curse or a certain amount of asks the curse stays for)

Examples: turn into a nutcracker or become small, tell the truth, can't get warm, frequent sneezing, hair color change (pick a color)

-Holiday blessing (same as holiday curse but good)

Examples: feeling comfortable, make a simple wish, eat a pleasant meal

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 193

Once again I put forth cryptid batfam. But with a Marvel crossover. Because why not. 

See Gotham isn’t really talked about by the others in the US. The other cities ignore, ignore, ignore as best they can manage, pretending that if they don’t see it, it doesn’t exist. 

That being said, they aren’t completely oblivious to it either. Oh they don’t believe the tales and whispers that come out of the place, because if they were true surely someone would have done something. But they are aware of things like Wayne Industries or Drake Enterprises, right up there with Stark’s. 

Both of which are based within Gotham, though have plenty of things outside the dreadful city as well. Now the Drake couple were constantly seen at galas outside of New Jersey before their tragic demise, but the Waynes? Never once have they been seen outside their city for a single Gala. 

Which makes this invite that one Tony Stark get to one of the Gotham Galas incredibly surprising. Suspiciously so actually, but he has the option for a couple plus ones. His team might be interested- Shield definitely would, seeing as Gotham is a complete blackout on their files. And from his hacking he’s discovered that any information gathering attempts of theirs have failed. 

But really, how bad can it be, it’d only be a couple days after all.

…

Okay what is that fucking thing on top of the building-

[theprofessionalpromptmaker]

Lotus 1-2-3 Day & Spouse’s Day

Person A is a gardener with a gift that allows their wishes to be granted by their flowers - every time one blossomed, there is something they wished for inside. Person B is their neighbor who decides to steal a flower for their crush from Person A’s garden, but before they can give it to their crush, it blossoms and grants the wish of Person B - for love. So now Person B gained the boon of having everyone they meet fall in love with them, and Person A is desperate to get the flower back and do damage control.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

words for when your characters ______

Agree

accede, acceptance, accord, acknowledgment, acquiescence, align, avowal, bear, cohere, compromise, consent, contract, draft, enlist, give in/give up, go along/go along with, grant, negotiate, unanimous, yield

Deny

abjure, abuse, affront, attack, backstab, bad-mouth, belie, blacken, blemish, confront, curse, darn, defamation, defile, demur, denigrate, detract, dig, disclaim, discountenance, disgrace, disown, disparagement, downplay, explode, flout, fulminate, gainsay, gird, invective, jeer, lament, lecture, malign, minimize, mouth, needle, oppose, protest, put down, put-down, rebuff, refute, remonstrate, renunciation, run down, satirize, scold, show up, sit-in, slander, smear, snap, snub, squeal, sully, swearing, taunt, tirade, turn, underestimate, vituperation, write off, yammer

Explain

account for, admit, apprise, cite, clarify, come clean, concede, confirm, corroborate, defense, demonstrate, dilate, elucidate, enlighten, evidence, expand, explicate, gloss, illustrate, itemize, let on, palliate, plea, prove, recite, simplify, speak out/speak up, spell out, translator, warrant

Fabricate

aspersion, belie, disprove, profane

Inform

acknowledge, address, advertise, allow, allusion, apprise, bare, betrayal, blab, breathe, briefing, broadcast, chronicle, clue, come out with, confession, convey, debunk, define, detail, dictate, divulge, expose, feature, furnish, give, gossip, hint, intimate, issue, lecture, newscaster, orate, out of the closet, pass, post, proclaim, promulgate, publication, publish, release, reveal, show up, speak, spill, squeal, talk, tip, uncover, unveil, weatherperson, whisper

Instruct

bar, educate, prescribe

Persuade

advance, argument, bend, budge, carry, coerce, convince, discourage, draw, drum up, elicit, entice, forward, goad, hammer away/hammer into, induce, influence, invite, lobby, motivate, negotiation, pitch, prevail upon/prevail on, prompt, reason, spur, sway, urge, win/win over

Promise

assurance, avow, commitment, ensure, go back/go back on, oath, portend, vouch, warrant, word

Suggest

advice, advocate, ask, come up with, connote, drum into, exhort, fish for, get at, guide, imply, insinuate, moralize, move, nomination, pontificate, preach, propose, recommend, urge

Praise

accent, acclamation, accredit, adulation, apotheosis, applause, benediction, bless, champion, citation, commend, compliment, congratulations, credit, dedicate, deify, elevate, endorse, eulogize, exalt, extol, flatter, flattery, glorify, homage, laud, lionize, obsequy, plaudits, puff, salute, thanks, tribute, worship

Warn

admonish, alert, caution, caveat, defy, enjoin, exhortation, foreboding, foretell, page, remind, warning

NOTE

The above are concepts classified according to subject and usage. It not only helps writers and thinkers to organize their ideas but leads them from those very ideas to the words that can best express them.

It was, in part, created to turn an idea into a specific word. By linking together the main entries that share similar concepts, the index makes possible creative semantic connections between words in our language, stimulating thought and broadening vocabulary. Writing Resources PDFs

Source ⚜ Writing Basics & Refreshers ⚜ On Vocabulary

[spectral-snippets-and-drabbles]

@fandombrainrots, I have a question and a few additions of my own, if you don't mind.

So what would happen if someone pulled one of Danny's tails? I can't recall exactly how it goes but it's said that how pulling one of the Kitsune's tails would give the person some serious bad luck or get burned by the Fox Fire, burning their souls to nothing. He has an ice core in fandom, yeah?

I can see Danny running from the Batman and his flock one night close to Crime Alley after several months in Gotham and under Hood's protection and getting one or all of them pulled by either Bruce or maybe a younger, trigger-happy Damian (He'd probably threaten to cut them all off if Fox didn't stop running.) to interrogate the meta teen/young adult and stop him from running away...only for it to blow up in their faces when someone gets partially/completely frozen in unmeltable ice or getting cursed with bad luck so severe that they can't go out on patrol because of it due to risks.

If Danny is King of the Infinite Realms in this au, the curse could be powerful enough that it could even affect the entire vigilante roster (minus Jason) in Gotham as retribution on Danny's mythical vulpine instincts.

Where as normal Kitsune's Fox Fire can burn the soul into nothing, the Fox Frost will slowly freeze the soul and body until it eventually shatters both and melt the remains out of mortal existence. It's a race to find Fox before time runs out, but the vulpine doesn't want to be found.

Meaning Alfred was exempt from the blast and could probably play an important part in this story. Maybe he can coax the clearly traumatized young fox-man into lifting the curse after explaining everything during a nice hot meal? Maybe get some silver shotgun shells ready for a certain "fruit loop" because the butler won't hesitate to put this 'Plamus' fellow another 6 feet under after what Fox told him what the S.O.B did to the fox boy and his family.

Just because Bruce hesitates doesn't mean he won't.

The butler also wants his idiot son and vigilante family to keep their distance from the boy until he's ready to talk. They've already made things bad by assaulting him and Alfred will make it worse by taking an extended, lengthy vacation with Fox in tow if they don't leave the poor soul be.

~•~ ~•~ ~•~ ~•~ ~•~

The Justice League Dark Members can't do anything because the puller's/family's very soul(s) has been branded by an abnormally powerful bad luck curse and tampering with it can destroy said soul.

John Constantine doesn't even want to get near the Batfam and the idiot who was stupid enough to grab the tails of a very young, freakishly powerful Fox Spirit with death magic on Venom because it could risk anyone who tampers with it getting irreversible bad luck and dying. He can't have his luck or life getting affected, so John just tells them over the phone to simply find the fox and sincerely grovel at his feet with meaningful gifts so the curse can probably be lifted. Attempting anything funny will only made things go from bad to worse...like, turning all of Gotham into the Kitsune's personal playground to play with and break as he saw fit levels of worse.

(So now the odds are stacked very heavily in Danny's favor and the Batfam must appease him or suffer even further.)

...The only problem is that Danny has never let anyone touch his tails before without his consent since they emerged with his ears while he's was running and is still very scared (he just doesn't show it). The only times where they did get yanked on were by children who were scared and didn't want 'Mr.Fox', Jason's/Hood's bodyguard, to leave them alone after he rescued them.

(No literal threat on his literal tails = No curse upon ye.)

So this means Danny literally has no idea of the extent of the danger he has put on the Batfam and thereby all of Gotham by cursing the Caped Crusaders into being benched. To make matters even worse, the bad encounter has triggered Danny's fight or flight response, making the traumatized meta go into hiding with no means to contact anyone.

~•~ ~•~ ~•~ ~•~ ~•~

Everyone in Hood's turf knows the crime lord is absolutely furious as they are at the Bats because Danny was finally starting to warm up to Crime Alley and Hood himself before he was attacked by the Dark Knight and his posse before running away to wherever it was that he fled to. The people who live there hurl insults and anything they can find at the Bats if they try to enter Crime Alley to search for Fox, telling them to fuck off and to not come back.

Jason saw how cautious Danny was at first when he saw the small, bushy tailed...person(?) and how it was practically borderline paranoia.

The only times he saw his bodyguard's defenses go down was to reassure the civilians he saved from rival gangs and traffickers with gentle reassurances. That soft, loving voice he used for the youngest children who clung to him like glue, making ice figurines for them to take home...Only to raise them back up when talking to the adults who weren't victims of crimes committed by non-Crime Valley gangs.

The way Fox would keep his eyes on exits and potential escape routes if the need to run arised, refused to be touched by anyone, not eating or drinking anything given to him out of fear it was tampered with and making his own or getting take out. That sort of trauma and stress makes Jason sympathetic to Danny and spreads the word to give him space. He's been brought a lot.

The kicker was the fact that the Fox had bluntly told Jason about the origin of his pit madness like it was no big deal and swore a steely-eyed vow to heal it made the crime lord feel something blooming in his heart and wishes he could get a fraction of that anger back so he could brandish it at his family for chasing Danny away.

Ok just a random idea that I had to put down before I forgot it- and it feels so silly but it makes my brain go brrrrr

So, Kitsune AU Danny after a classic reveal gone wrong, the kitsune is from a meta gene he discovered while on the run. He winds up in Gotham, hiding his ears and tail as he starts trying to settle in. Cue Red Hood’s gang approaching Jason, telling him he needs to get himself a body guard, because everyone knows he has a thing going with sweet book-nerd Jason Todd. Red hood catches Danny saving a child, and just goes, “ya I’d let him protect me.”

I will flesh this out more later I swear-

( psssss @stealingyourbones can I has opinion)

[queeniewithabeanie]

The Weatherman

Dpxdc Prompt #22

There's a new weatherman in Gotham, only he seems to report on everything except for the weather.

—————————————————

"And for today's forecast we've got an Arkham breakout on our hands. Not to worry though! It's only Harley and Two-Face this time. Harley's currently dating Ivy so there may be some cuddle pollen spread around, but no psycho killer episodes!"

"If you live in Two-Face territory you may, as always, want to carry a rigged coin with you, but his escape seemed rather low-key. It's unlikely he's going to be trying anything soon."

"Bats to look out for tonight are the Dynamic Duo, Red Hood, and Batgirl. Nightwing's currently hanging out in our sister city of Bludhaven, Black Bat is still who knows where, Red Robin is not allowed to be patrolling for too many sleepless nights, and there's not enough crime tonight to pull Signal onto the nightshift."

"Make sure to watch the roads, because it seems Batgirl is still trying to drive the Batmobile whenever Batman is distracted. Other that the weather will be full of smog, dust, and clouds as always. Stay sharp Gotham, signing off—Danny Fenton, your weatherman."

Tim is going to tear out his hair.

Wait no, Tim isn't going to do that because that means smiley-enigmatic-weatherman Danny Fenton will win.

The new addition to the Gotham news team has been both a blessing and a curse for the Bats.

He almost never reports about the weather, not that there is much to report with it staying practically the same, or being affected by villain attacks rather than natural causes.

Fenton has decided that means he should report on villain attacks of the day. Which on it's own wouldn't be a problem, awareness of attacks saves lives.

No, the problem is he somehow has access to information not even the Bats have and reports on attacks before they happen. He also seems to have an acute knowledge of what's going on with the Bats everyday as well and it's driving Tim crazy.

Is he prophetic? Does he have an informant? Is he just somehow a better detective than the World's Greatest?

Fenton always keeps up the most goofy grin as he spouts information that he should not have access to and Tim is going to crack this case if it's the last thing he does. Its almost as if the weatherman is taunting Tim on purpose.

—————————————————

When Danny got a job offer for the news station in Gotham he decided to bring a little bit of home with him. He's also trying to see how quickly he can make one of the Bats go gray—or bald he's not picky.

He bets its gonna be Red Robin, the guy can't stand not knowing everything.

[somnoir]

Ghost KingConsort?

Prompt: Demon Twins AU where the ghost king is summoned and claims his appearance is that of his beloveds. Shenanigans of a vindictive dead twin.

Danyal Al Ghul escaped from the league. The Lazarus Pits were never merciful but for once, they were. The pits were merciful to him as the green swallowed him and spat him out miles away from that place.

Danny can't forget his first death, the sword in his gut as Damian cut through him. The title of heir was reserved for only one of them and the spare was no longer needed. He supposed it was yet another mercy upon him, knowing that the title of spare was not simple. He would have been Damian's spare—spare parts.

Danny remembers his second death. The electricity that killed him over and over again as the ectoplasm spilled from the artificial portal brought him back to life again and again. One second he was dead, the other he was being revived. It was torturous in every way possible.

It's been years since then. His parents were a difficult case, unable to accept that their darling child had died and continued to believe that Danny was being possessed by the menace Phantom. They hunted him, tried to rip him apart to 'free' their son. It took both himself and Jazz leaving with the help of Vlad (reluctantly accepted) for his parents to stop hunting. Their home that had already felt empty was even more empty now.

It's been almost four years since then. Danny had settled into his role as Ghost King, even when the crown of fire floated over his head then descended to be too big, too much—resting around his neck.

It's... Difficult...

CUT TO THE JUSTICE LEAGUE SUMMONING HIM!

Danny Fenton, nineteen and very much overworked from all the paperwork he had to sort through as Ghost King, finds a small tugging to his very being. A summoning he recognized, sighing loudly before he's answer to this visible desperation. Like it was a world ending issue.

And yes, it apparently was when the fabric of reality itself was tearing itself apart for some strange reason. As the ruler of the infinite realms—the king of the very domain that basically glued the multiverse—this was apparently the right call.

Dressed in all of his kingly regalia, Danny felt the crown of fire float up from his neck and burned over his head. His cape, cloak—whatever—was heavy and he blinked, green eyes boring into every soul present. He recognized the fractured soul of the laughing magician—one of his more irksome subjects that avoided taxes like it was the fucking plague. He really should tell Skulker to haunt his grandfather. Maybe even Youngblood would be suitable.

But aside from the laughing magician, his eyes settled upon a familiar soul, a familiar face. Danny blinks again.

Shit... He thought, staring at the masked yet horrified face of his own twin. Robin was nineteen as well by now, older, stronger—redeemed.

In the past, Danny would have cursed Damian to the seven hells and allowed the seven sins to have a bite. But Jazz was blessing. An older sister who made sure to heal him, to let him grow, to let him develop. He's forgiven Damian for his faults. They were children, brainwashed by a mad man. He's not too angry. Resentful and a bit vindictive? That was a given as he technically was the spirit of a murder victim. Of kinslaying.

"Hellblazer." The language spoken by the dead leaves his mouth easily. It can't be understood by the living, and it was barely understood who came back from death. But John Constantine was a different, more difficult case. One hell of a motherfucker that avoided death until the entity itself was ranting to both Clockwork and Danny about his escapes.

And John Constantine recognized his title regardless of the language.

The sad man in a trench coat stiffened, staring at Danny as he stiffly bowed. "High King Phantom." He greets, and attempt at respect. When there was suddenly movement, Constantine was quick to hiss at the others—glaring at Robin who looked ready lunge at them.

Oh, he can't help himself. This was funny. In the words of his own counterpart turned brother—He could make it worse. Jazz was going to nag him, true, but Danny was so. Utterly. BORED. Being Ghost King had a lot of entertainment, like how he got to fight people and basically hang out with people from the past. But it got... Repetitive. Normal Ghosts wouldn't mind with their eternal afterlife, but Danny was still half-alive. He was completely human—just a half dead one.

"Your majesty—" Constantine struggled to explain, "The universe... Do you know why portals have been opening, your majesty? Forgive my impudence but our world has been plagued by portals from different worlds, some even lead to the infinite realm."

"It's not uncommon for natural portals to the realms to open. Many of your dead like to visit." He smirked, "Many like to haunt those who've wronged them."

Constantine gulped, "Your majesty, would you, by any chance, be aware of why these portals are opening?"

Danny sighed. Well, he can't say he wasn't concerned. This was his world too after all, even when now. It was Jazz's world, where she still went to school, it was Sam and Tucker's world. It was his family's world. So yes, he is concerned.

"The portals to the realms are under my jurisdiction. They are natural and open in my places with thick and ambient ectoplasm." Danny drawls, "But these dimensional portals are strange. I'll check in with the Master of Time to see if someone is meddling with reality. It may not even be from your dimension."

He can only shrug at that, remembering how Dan had practically ripped through time with his madness and rage, tearing through the world to ensure his birth.

"I see, thank you for your understanding, your majesty." Constantine nervously says.

"Say, would you like to watch the battle royale for your soul?"

"Excuse me?"

"You're excused, magician." Danny rolls his eyes, "But you'd certainly enjoy watching people tear each other to shreds for your fucked up soul. I don't understand why people want it so much when the paperwork it comes with is a hell in itself."

"Your majesty," Constantine paled.

"I'm joking. I'll deal with this as quickly as possible." Danny paused, grinning as he made a show of offering his hand to the justice league. "I couldn't possible sit by and allow my beloved's world to crumble. He'd be devastated."

Constantine blinked. Everyone blinked. And then Danny turned to Damian and... Batman. Bruce Wayne. His father. At least he seemed to be treating Damian better than Jack did with Danny and Jazz.

"You must have recognized this face, yes?" Danny tilted his head. "You are his family."

"What have you done to my brother?" Robin—Damian immediately growled, like a feral cat as he unsheathed his katanas and aimed for Danny.

"Hm." Danny rolled his eyes, "He's well. Very much taken care of." Because yes, Danny was well fed and taken care of, especially as the Ghost King. "I've taken his form so I assumed you knew of him."

He dismissed Robin long before he could even speak, turning to Constantine once again. "Don't fret too much, John Constantine." The man in question flinched once his name was uttered in the language of the dead he could barely understand. "This will be fixed in a days time. If not, I will send someone to deal with it."

The Ghost King's appearance had been startling when they summoned him. A boy with a striking resemblance to Damian if not for his white hair. A twin? Bruce had sounded devastated at the implications. But Damian? He'd seen the ghost king and felt nauseous, unable to tear his eyes away from the eldritch being that wore his brother's face.

It took a lot of explaining once they were back in the cave. The duel, Danyal's death, the Lazarus taking him and he was never seen again. Everyone was... Well, they were devastated. Yes. Grieving a son and brother they never met. But the Ghost King has been summoned with a face similar to that of their father's, a face that was the exact same one to their brothers. The Ghost King who referred to the dead Danyal as his beloved.

It's the next day when they're back in the watchtower, anxiously waiting for any update. Constantine continues to curse under his breath, shaking his head before a portal rips through reality. Everyone stiffened, preparing for the worst.

A girl appears, a child. She's a spry little thing with glowing green eyes, flaming white hair, and a face that they immediately recognized.

"Sorry that I'm late! Times pretty bendy and we don't really keep up with it." The unknown laughs, "Well, short answer, Phantom has identified the problem and has attempted to apprehend it. Unfortunately, it's been a week on our end and the perp apparently fell into your world."

Time distortion—Constantine had mentioned it. But they stare at the girl who rambled about their supposed target until Batman cleared his throat, seemingly softer on the girl—someone who was visibly a child.

"Young lady, welcome to the Watchtower. Even id the greeting it late." Batman curtly yet gently says. "May I know your name?"

The girl blinked. "Oh! You can call me Specter, princess of the infinite realms! I'm Phantom and Danny's daughter."

It is then that the possibilities processes in their heads.

One. The Ghost King took the form of his beloved, aka the dead twin brother of one Damian Wayne.

Two. Damian's dead twin and Bruce's dead son might be the queen (consort?) of the infinite realms.

Three. Danyal and Phantom had a daughter. Damian and the rest of the Bar kids were uncles and aunts. Bruce was now officially a grandpa.

Damian faints on the spot.

[whosashan]

hello! good day to youuu, can i make a request for the lads men? in which reader is not the mc and here's the prompt: having to beg them to do something with you then seeing them doing it with mc willingly, sorry english is not my first language but pleaaaseeee 😭 i love some angst.

Bitter

Pt. 2

PAIRING: Love and Deepspace men x non-mc!reader

SYNOPSIS: Watching the one you love partake in what you once pleaded to share—a quiet betrayal—feels like an arrow through the heart, swift and merciless. (angst, no comfort)

A/N: Thank you for the request, it came out more as a drabble. Hope you enjoy!

Xavier

What a bitter, gutting thing it was—to stand in the shadows and watch him shine for someone else. To see the light in his eyes, the easy laughter, the quiet devotion as he did for her what he had never done for you.

The one thing you once begged for. The one thing he had denied you.

But not her. Never her.

She was fate’s beloved, the one woven from the same celestial thread as him, bound to him in ways you never could be. You had always told yourself to be rational, to be understanding. Xavier came with a past. He came with baggage.

And inside that baggage, nestled close to his heart, was her.

The woman you would envy until the world turned to dust.

And yet—how could you ever bring yourself to hate her? When she was made of kindness, of soft edges and warm light? When she looked at you with nothing but affection, oblivious to the ruin she left in her wake? She was an angel. A blessing. A curse.

And fate, it seemed, had always been on her side.

So there they were, walking side by side, woven together so seamlessly it was almost poetic. Almost cruel. Her bags in his hands, the weight of them carried so effortlessly—as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

And yet, when you had asked for the same—just a simple day together, just a moment of his time—he had sighed, shaken his head, told you he was too tired. That work was too much. That he simply couldn’t.

But now, watching him with her, you couldn’t help but wonder—did she take his exhaustion away? Did her presence breathe new life into him in a way you never could?

The answer settled deep in your bones, cold and unrelenting.

Your friend beside you said nothing, only looking at you with that quiet, suffocating pity that made your stomach turn. Because there was nothing to say. Nothing to soften the truth you had known all along.

You were not his first thought in the morning. You were not the name on his lips when he passed a garden of wildflowers. You were not the presence lingering in his mind when the world grew quiet.

And you never would be.

You had spent so long fighting against it. Xavier loves me. He chose me. The words had been your lifeline, a fragile, trembling thing you whispered into the silence. But even your friends never seemed convinced.

And now, neither were you.

So you did the only thing you knew how to do.

You turned away.

No confrontation. No desperate pleas for an explanation that would only come laced with half-truths and empty reassurances. What good was honesty when it had never been yours to begin with?

When he came home that night, his lips still curved with the ghost of a smile, he found an emptiness he had never felt before. Your things, your presence—gone, as if you had never been there at all.

And in your place, only a single note remained.

"I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for. Because clearly, it was never me."

And Xavier, poor Xavier, would stand there, reading those words over and over, grasping at the fraying edges of something he had never truly held onto.

But then again—

Xavier had never noticed his wrongdoings.

Not until there was nothing left but the weight of his own ruin.

Zayne

Zayne—or Dr. Zayne, as she called him—had always been a good man. A gentleman in every sense. Caring, affectionate, endlessly considerate.

But never for you.

His tenderness felt practiced, his affections routine. As if he wasn’t loving you, but fulfilling some unspoken obligation. A kindness given not out of devotion, but out of mere habit.

And you had tried to ignore it. Swallowed your doubts, convinced yourself you were overthinking.

Until you saw them together.

Her.

The one fate had tied him to. The one who never had to ask for his attention, because it had always belonged to her.

Her laughter lit up rooms before she even stepped inside. Her eyes gleamed like sunlight catching on water—brilliant, hypnotic, impossible to look away from. And neither could he.

And then, there was the picture.

A simple post, one she likely uploaded without a second thought, oblivious to the quiet devastation it would bring.

There she was, sitting in his office. Smiling. At ease.

Sharing lunch with him.

Something you had never been allowed to do.

You had asked once—just to drop by, to see him, to spend even a sliver of time together in the place he spent most of his days. But he had refused, brushing you off with a gentle but firm, “I don’t want distractions.”

And yet, there she was, sitting across from him, urging him to eat the food she had made, as if she had every right to be there. And maybe she did.

They had known each other forever. That was what you told yourself—Of course, they’re close. Of course, they understand each other in ways I never will. You had tried to accept it. To be understanding.

But then you saw the way he looked at her in the picture.

The softness in his eyes. The quiet, unguarded devotion.

Like she was the only one who could unravel him, the only one who could slip past his carefully built walls.

You had spent so long trying to do the same, but you never even made a crack.

And so, that was the moment you made a promise to yourself.

You would not be someone’s second choice. You would not collect the scraps of his affection while she—effortless, radiant, destined—was given everything you had ever wanted.

And Zayne noticed.

He noticed in the silence. In the missed calls that went unanswered, the messages left on read. In the bouquets left wilting at your doorstep, the petals curling at the edges.

Roses.

Her favorite flowers.

Not yours.

And that was all the confirmation you needed.

Zayne was never the gentleman you thought he was.

Or perhaps, he was. Just never for you.

Or maybe—maybe it was fate itself that was cruel.

Rafayel

Something inside you cracked, splintering like fragile seashells beneath careless hands—shattered beyond repair, beyond mending.

It wasn’t a sudden break. No, it had been slow, creeping in like the tide, eroding the edges of your love bit by bit, pulling pieces of you away before you could even notice you were unraveling.

And now, the final wave had come, and it had taken everything with it.

Because there he was—your Rafayel—kneeling beside her, smiling in a way you had longed to be the cause of.

The sight alone stole the breath from your lungs.

You had spent so long pretending not to notice. Ignoring the way his gaze always sought her out, the way his voice softened just a fraction when he spoke to her. You had swallowed the ache, told yourself it didn’t matter.

"That’s just the way he is," you had whispered, time and time again.

But it had never been the way he was.

It had only ever been the way he was with you.

And now, you knew why.

Rafayel hated cats.

You remembered the way his nose had scrunched when you had once tried to feed a stray by the docks, the way he had flicked his fingers as if to ward the creature away. “Little beasts,” he had muttered, half-amused, half-disgusted. “I don’t understand how you humans tolerate them.”

You had laughed then, nudging him playfully. “You’re just jealous they’re cuter than you.”

And yet—here he was.

Crouched beside her, cradling a trembling kitten in careful, delicate hands, his expression softer than you had ever seen it. His touch—usually teasing, fleeting, always just out of reach—was steady, warm, tender.

For her.

Not for you.

Something cold curled around your ribs, sinking deep, making it harder to breathe.

It was never about the kitten.

It was never about the things he couldn’t do.

It was about the things he never wanted to do for you.

And watching him now, so unguarded, so effortlessly kind, made you wish you had never met him at all.

Rage and sorrow burned through your veins, curling beneath your skin like a sickness. You wanted to rip that stupidly charming smile from his face, wanted to demand why he had never looked at you like that.

But there was no point.

So you turned and walked away.

Ignoring reality, just as you had once tried to ignore fate.

But fate never ignored you.

And something in the air told you—Rafayel wouldn’t either.

Sylus

Sylus had never been an easy man to love.

Sharp edges, cold precision—every move calculated, every word spoken with intent. He was not a man swayed by sentiment, nor was he one to entertain trivial affections.

You had known this from the start.

And yet, knowing had never stopped you from wanting.

So you learned to take what little he gave you—stolen moments in the dead of night, whispered conversations where he let the ice thaw just enough for you to believe there was something beneath it. But always, always, he kept his distance, his affections measured, restrained.

"This is who I am," he had told you once, when you asked why he never let himself soften. "I don’t have the luxury of being gentle."

You had believed him.

Until now.

Until you saw him, standing there in the dim glow of a high-rise restaurant, his head tilted ever so slightly toward her. The woman fate had written into his story, the one whose presence seemed to unravel him in ways you never could.

His fated one.

And in front of them, two untouched glasses of wine.

Wine.

The very thing he had refused to share with you.

"I don’t drink with others," he had said once, his voice clipped, final. "It's a pleasure reserved for my time alone."

But now, here he was. Sharing a glass with her. His fingers resting idly against the stem of his glass, his expression unreadable yet undeniably present. He was here. Fully. With her.

A man who never entertained distractions, utterly enthralled.

The way he looked at her—it was something different. Something you had never been granted. There was no calculation in his gaze, no careful restraint. No cold, distant amusement.

Just quiet acceptance. As if she had been meant to sit beside him all along.

And that was when you knew.

You could tear yourself apart, try to become everything he had ever wanted, and it still wouldn’t matter. Because fate had already made the choice for him.

And it wasn’t you.

Still, you lingered a moment longer, letting the pain settle, letting it carve its lesson deep into your ribs.

And then, without a word, you turned and left.

Because you, too, could learn to be cold.

Caleb

Caleb had always been warm. That was the problem.

He had a way of making you believe you belonged there—tucked into his arms, held close by quiet promises and easy smiles. He made you think you mattered.

But there was always her.

His childhood best friend.

Not bound by fate, not chosen by some cosmic force—just there. Always. In every story he told, in every old memory that made his eyes soften with something you could never quite reach. The one who had been with him before you, the one who had held his hand through storms you’d never even known existed.

And you told yourself it wasn’t a competition.

Until the night you saw them.

The neon lights of the karaoke bar cast the whole street in a soft glow, music and laughter spilling from inside as you walked past—until something, someone, made your steps falter.

Through the open doors, past the booths and glowing screens, you saw him.

Caleb.

Standing there, microphone in hand, singing.

With her.

The sight knocked the breath from your lungs.

"I don’t like singing in front of people," he had told you once, shaking his head with a sheepish smile when you begged him to join you for just one song. "It’s embarrassing. I just—I can’t, okay?"

But now, here he was.

Swaying slightly, smiling as their voices blended together in a song you didn’t recognize. It wasn’t perfect—his voice cracked in places, he missed a beat or two—but that didn’t matter. Because he was trying. Because he was enjoying it.

Because she made him feel safe enough to do what he had never done for you.

Your stomach twisted.

It had never been about singing.

It had been about you.

You should have walked away then. Should have swallowed the lump in your throat and turned back, should have spared yourself the cruel spectacle of watching them.

But you didn’t.

You stayed long enough to see the way he laughed when she nudged him playfully. The way he looked at her, unguarded, free. The way she reached for his hand without hesitation—because she knew it would always be there, waiting for her.

And for the first time, you realized—maybe you had never been holding his hand at all. Maybe you had only been grasping at the space he left behind.

Something cold settled in your chest.

You didn’t wait for him to notice you.

You just turned, and left, without a sound.

And Caleb, too caught up in a song meant for someone else, never even saw you go.

[cimmeriana]

❛ i won’t let them kill you. i won’t let them even touch you. ❜

Her hands were trembling as she wiped sweat, grime, and blood onto the skirt of her battle dress. She was normally rather hard to shake up, and yet here she was with her stomach churning and all its contents threatening to spew out of her onto the filthy Undercity floors.

Ten Bhaalists lay dead, strewn out before them with smiles on their faces. They had come for her, for their High Priestess of the Temple of Bhaal. For their Lady of Dread. These were but a few names in which they cried out when they came upon her, hands groping and reaching as if she were some idol to be placed upon a shelf.

Why hadn't she moved? Why had she frozen up like some helpless doe as they began to drag her towards the shadows to hells knew where?

She had been terrified, only able to sound a scream for her lover and their companions to rush forth and save her. And here she stood now, feeling ashamed that she'd let her fear overcome her, that the sigil of Bhaal had so shaken her to the point she couldn't even will herself to draw her own blades and defend herself.

Melinoe suspired a heavy, shaky sigh, quickly shuffling away as the blood of the Bhaalists began trickling through the stone and towards her feet. She backed away as if the blood would infect her like some plague, and she winced.

Cassian must have been watching her, for how long she wasn't sure, but she expected no less of her diligent lover when he voiced his protective promise. She looked up, her white eyes locking into his gaze as she tried to offer a smile, though it was evident that she was still affected. ❝ I know, my love. ❞

[spatialwave]

Hi!! For the kiss prompts, I’d love to read something Reader x Viktor with the scenario ‘kisses meant to distract’ + the dialogue “i think i deserve a kiss” 🥹 thank you!!

tysm for sending this ask!!!! this was so cute to write and it healed me ahaha

why would you stay?

➸ pairing: viktor x gender neutral!reader ➸ word count: 680 ➸ tags: mdni! fluffy, hurt/comfort, soft kissing, guilt, sweet ending, reader is in a long-term relationship w/ viktor, no use of y/n. ➸ notes: asked from this prompt list!!

Hextech was a blessing and a curse. It’s components to better society had been coming to fruition, but at the expense of Viktor’s sanity. Hexgates weren’t enough, all they had done was progress the city of Piltover. Nothing had been done to help anyone else. The people in Zaun—himself.

The pain in his body had become unbearable most days, his body frail and weakening with every passing moment.

He wondered why you stuck around all these years, staying at his side as his health deteriorated. You weren’t married, children weren’t on the agenda, and all he did was spend countless hours in his lab with Jayce and Sky.

It wasn’t fair to you.

Yet, you stayed.

Stopping by with a home cooked meal that he picked at, or offering your presence for a few hours while you silently read at the table in his lab while he studied the glowing hexcore.

There was a particular week when Viktor lost all hope. Jayce, now head of the council, had spent less time with the research–in favour of protecting Piltover. A drastic turn of events from their previous shared hopes and aspirations, a way to help rather than hurt.

He sat at one of the aqueducts that sent water from Piltover into the fissures, looking out at the skyline and holding his weight onto his cane. His eyes were tired and cold, souless.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you said calmly, causing Viktor to jolt and glance in your direction from the sudden intrusion, “Am I interrupting?”

“No,” he cleared his throat, attempting to sit up straighter with his hands still holding tightly to the handle of his cane, “needed some time to, eh… think.”

Sitting next to him on the ledge, you rested your cheek against his shoulder and a hand curved over his slender thigh.

“...about us?” Your voice was hushed, eyes watching the water stream below you.

Viktor’s eyes widened, shaky as he stared at you. You were nuzzled against him, the look of a sad pout covering your face. He could sense the insecurity radiating from you.

“About the hexcore,” he answered honestly, sighing as he pressed his lips against the top of your head, resting there as a fragile hand held the small of your back, “about hextech… I can’t seem to figure it out. It’s been weeks of nothing. It’s… it’s…”

You lifted your head up, lips twitching as you pressed a finger to Viktor’s lips, shushing him. Your eyes flickered between his.

“It’s eating you alive,” you finished his sentence, but not in the way he had intended.

Your heart was heavy for him. Any insecurities of yourself were long gone, and you understood the pain that Viktor was experiencing. It was defeat, feeling unworthy—terrified of death.

You felt terrible for even thinking it had anything to do with you.

“Kiss me,” you mumbled, the finger placed against his lips replaced by your thumb as you grazed it along his bottom lip. Your intent to distract him from the thoughts that weighed him down.

Viktor bore a quizzical look, brows knotting together as he blinked at you.

“Come on,” you murmured, “I think I deserve one. I haven’t seen you in days.”

The corners of his lips twitched, for once, his mind not clouded by thoughts of the hexcore. Instead, fixated on you and the way you looked at him so lovingly with your big doe eyes. How was he so lucky to have someone like you?

He dipped forward, your thumb dropping as his lips pressed to yours. A soft kiss, one that bridged the gap that had begun to split you apart. They moved together fluidly, one of his hands cupping your jaw, as yours pressed against the front of his shoulders.

“I love you,” Viktor murmured, breaking the kiss as your lips brushed together, “thank you… for staying.” His thanks were genuine, you could see the way the guilt flickered in his golden eyes.

“Kiss me again, and I’ll forgive you,” you smiled, closing your eyes as Viktor obliged, smiling against your lips.