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deepspacenova · 3 months ago

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A DRAGON'S SACRIFICE

2000 words | missing scene. dragon sylus. light-hearted. sort of fluff.

Beyond Cloudfall [Deleted Scene]: In which we experience the trials and tribulations of a frustrated dragon and a snobby mountain cat and how, exactly, that cat came to find the Sorceress of Ivory City.

Note: Dragon!Sylus lives to keep his chokehold on me another day! Haven’t been able to get this out of my head since (like MC) I realized Sylus went on a whole ass adventure to make her feel better with a cat. Full of self-indulgence and an out-of-his-depth Sylus. Hope you enjoy xx

The Dragon stood at the mouth of his cavernous home, gazing out at the rain-soaked city below with a stoic frown. The glowing embers of its citizens’ hearths twinkled in the distance, mocking him with their warmth. The scenery was almost peaceful—a true testament to how unbothered Tarus City was by the Legion’s mindless warpath. He didn’t know whether it was admirable or just another example of mortal stupidity.

Behind him, a disturbing silence clung to the rocky walls of the cave. The scent of the sorceress — which seemed to have nestled itself inconveniently into every crevice of his supernatural senses — marked her location atop a stone platform.

Though she toggled between the top of the cave she’d almost hurled herself over the other day — the sharp feeling in his gut from the incident, most likely irritation, had only just dissipated — and the platform, her silhouette remained the same. Knees drawn to her chest, blankly staring into space. He shifted uncomfortably, obsidian horns lightly scraping against the cave’s jagged overhang.

She wasn’t crying, he knew. She never cried, though he almost wished she would. That would’ve made it easier for him to write her behavior off as nothing more than some human hysterics.

Instead, she exuded a quiet, crushing sorrow that weighed more heavily on his conscience than he cared to admit. She’d been like this for days.

Despite the world’s insistence of his monstrosity, of his evil nature, the dragon didn’t innately enjoy her despair. In fact, she was weighing down the elation he should’ve been feeling over his long-awaited freedom. Shackle-less, far from the abyss, pillaging nearby towns. This should be a happy occasion for him, by the gods, and she was ruining it.

He’d already tried tributes. In his experience, mortals liked trinkets. The greed in their eyes when they gazed upon gold and jewels almost always overtook any other emotion. He grimaced as he recalled yet another way she defied those expectations the past few days, picturing those empty eyes glazing over further at the sight of his offerings.

The dragon sighed. He loathed how her sadness clawed at him, a grating reminder of the humanity he’d long since tried to bury. But she treated him... differently. This fragile, stubborn human.

Not as a man. Not even as a monster or a dragon. When she spit her version of fire at him, she looked at him as though he were something else entirely. Harmless, unremarkable, and, well, a nuisance.

It infuriated him, and yet he’d never been regarded with such… normalcy.

He rubbed the back of his neck, claws clicking softly against his scales. He needed to do something. Her melancholy was suffocating.

He unfurled his wings, the membrane stretching taut against the sharp gusts of wind that coiled around the mountain peak. With a powerful leap, he launched himself from the ledge, the force kicking up loose pebbles that scattered down the mountainside. The air whipped past him as he angled his descent toward the copse of trees clinging to the slope below.

The treetops swayed gently beneath his shadow as he descended and folded his wings tightly against his back. He strolled the area as his irritation bled into a sense of purpose.

“What does a human even want?” he muttered to himself.

As if in answer, a faint yowl drifted up from the distance. The dragon froze, senses on alert. Peering down the incline of the small forest, he spotted a small, shadowy figure weaving through the underbrush. A scruffy little thing, it had lowered onto its haunches, tail flicking as it hunted for something amidst the tall bushes.

A mountain cat.

He snorted at the absurdity of the creature’s arrogance. The cat was lean and scrappy, its fur sticking out in untamed tufts. It was prowling around with single-minded determination, oblivious to the real predator watching it from above.

“A creature as insufferably small and contrary as she is,” he scoffed. Then again…

The corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but close. Perhaps this... thing would do.

The thought of those despondent eyes brightening even slightly steeled his resolve.

Without another word, the dragon unfurled his wings and took flight, gliding effortlessly through the trees, just high enough to keep his approach silent. The soft crunch of underbrush and a flicker of the cat’s ears were the only signs of his arrival.

He stood motionless as the creature turned its curious yellow eyes toward him, fighting offense when it flicked its attention back to its prey, completely unbothered.

“Right,” the dragon said, crossing his arms. “You’ll come with me willingly, or I’ll drag you by your tail. Either way, your new destiny is to be a gift.”

Abandoning its prey, the cat sat up at the sound of his voice. Finally, some self-preservation in the face of his intimidating presence.

”So? What’ll it be, little beast?”

The cat blinked at him and then licked its paw, clearly unimpressed. The dragon narrowed his eyes.

“Don’t mistake this for a negotiation, now.” He crouched low, his tail coiling behind him. “I am Stayrus the Fiend. My name alone strikes fear into the hearts of—”

The cat darted away before he could finish, slipping into the underbrush with a small chirp. Growling in indignation, the dragon lurched forward, His wings folded against his back as he pursued, claws tearing through leaves and brambles in his path as the chase began.

It became quite apparent, however, that his dragon-like physique was more well-suited for widespread destruction rather than stealth. His horns snagged on low-hanging branches, his claws caught on roots, and his tail kept dragging in the soft earth, leaving deep gouges in his wake.

The infernal creature, meanwhile, moved like smoke, slipping effortlessly through gaps and crevices too small for him to navigate. Without his reptilian vision, the dragon was sure he’d have lost it by now.

“Cursed vermin,” he hissed, pausing to disentangle his tail from a thorny bush. “Do you even know who I am? I could scorch this entire hillside with a single breath.”

Though the mountain cat didn’t answer, it did take refuge atop a precariously balanced boulder near the cliffside, its gold eyes glowing mockingly in the moonlight. The dragon glared at it, debating the merits of simply incinerating the creature and presenting her with a pile of ash instead. But no, that wouldn’t do.

She wouldn’t smile at ash.

The ground beneath him was nowhere near strong enough to hold him for long so he shifted his weight and stepped forward carefully, determined to capture his prey. Just as he was close enough to extend his grasp, the cat sensed him and leapt to the next perch, then the next, its movements fluid and maddeningly graceful until it reached the edge of the cliff, paces away from plummeting toward its sad little death.

The dragon growled low in his throat.

“You test my patience, creature,” he snarled, lunging for it. His claws grazed its tail, but the cat slipped free, landing neatly on a patch of grass in the opposite direction.

It meowed at him — a taunt, he was certain of it — before darting off again.

The moon continued to rise over Tarus City as the hours passed and midnight arrived. The once-pristine hillside now bore visible scars of an angry dragon’s pursuit of a wily mountain cat: gouged soil, uprooted foliage, cracked branches, and a few unfortunate scorch marks where the dragon’s temper had flared. The cat, however, remained unscathed, not one patch of fur out of place.

He was reclined against a tree trunk to catch his breath, glaring at the smug feline — who was currently lying on its side, tail swishing calmly every few seconds — as he tried his hardest to hold together what remained of his composure.

And his dignity.

“Alright, enough games,” he rumbled, getting to his feet.

The dragon closed the distance between them in a few swift strides, his footfalls as unrestrained as his frayed patience. To his astonishment, the cat did not flee. Instead, it sat up, blinked lazily at him, and began grooming itself, utterly unperturbed by the massive dragon towering above it.

“You’re mine,” he declared authoritatively as he reached for it, his moonlit shadow engulfing the small animal.

When his claws were inches from its fur, he hesitated, frowning as the cat glanced up and met the dragon’s gaze with an expression that could only be described as disdainful.

“You’re not afraid of me,” he said flatly. “Have you been… playing?”

The feline exposed its teeth with a yawn.

The dragon huffed, a stream of smoke trailing from his exhale. “Fine,” he snapped. “But if you bite me, I swear—”

In one swift motion, he scooped the cat up, lifted it into the air, and nestled it into his arms. It only tensed for a moment before it settled, its tiny body warm against his chest. The dragon blinked, uncertain what to make of the sudden compliance and the contented rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate its body.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, cradling it awkwardly as he spread his wings. “Do not get used to this.”

The flight back to the cave was uneventful, though Sylus was acutely aware of the cat’s claws kneading his scales. It was a strange sensation, almost pleasant — though he’d be taking that confession to his grave.

When he landed, he paused at the cave entrance, staring into the dimly lit yet lavish interior where she still sat, her silhouette framed by the distant city. He frowned, his grip on the cat tightening slightly.

He couldn’t let her know it was from him. That would ruin everything.

Carefully, he placed the cat on the ground and gave it a gentle nudge toward the cave.

The cat hesitated, glancing back at him as if to say, you coming?

“Go, you vexing creature,” the dragon said, his voice low. “She’ll like you better than I do, that I can promise.”

The cat seemed to consider this, then accept it, padding cautiously into the cave. Every few seconds it would stop to sniff a treasure or rub the side of its face on a damned goblet, like it was purposefully pulling at the last strand of patience left in the dragon’s body.

Careful to stay hidden, he watched from the shadows as it approached her at last, its tail flicking curiously.

She didn’t notice until it brushed against her leg with a trilling chirp, causing her to blink down at her unexpected visitor.

“Where did you come from?” she murmured, her voice soft but warm. Hesitantly, she reached out, her fingers brushing its fur. The cat made that contented rumbling noise again, leaning into her touch.

And then — finally — a faint smile graced her lips. It was a small thing, fragile, and gone almost as fast as it appeared. But it was enough to melt a block of tension from his body he hadn’t even realized he was holding.

As she started to sigh and coo over the smug bastard — who was acting as if it had scaled the mountainside to reach her on its own four paws — the dragon backed away, retreating to his usual perch deeper in the cave.

He couldn’t say he’d be willing to go through the hours he had spent chasing that infuriating creature again. The frustration and humiliation. The near-incineration of half this mountain.

But seeing that ray of joy banish the stormy dimness from her gaze for a fleeting moment? Well, suddenly the grave indignities he’d suffered that night didn’t smart so badly.

Let her think it was fate, or luck, or some divine gift. Let her smile. That was all that mattered.

He settled in to watch her from afar.

“You’re welcome, my nemesis.”

#I just want to see this man humbled by his love for MC #and a small sassy kitty #is that so much to ask #sylus #dragon Sylus #sylus x mc #sylus x reader #lads mc #l&ds sylus #lads sylus #Drabble #sylus fanfic #qin che #sylus love and deepspace #l&ds #love and deepspace #love and deepspace fic #my writing #nova writing

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deadghosy · 7 months ago

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slytherin boys reacting to reader doing that hand thing where they are like "hold on" and its like very very sassy

𝐒𝐋𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐘!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒

Tom Riddle

Slaps your hand out of his face and leaves.

You felt bad but continued talking to the person. But after you ended your conversation, Tom appeared with his neutral look

“Hey Tom I’m so—” immediately he puts his hand up to you and narrows his eyes.

“How does it feel.” He says with a low voice. He secretly looked like an angry puppy. You didn’t want to lower his ego so you just nodded.

Mattheo Riddle

Mattheo…is a special kind of Slytherin to either be high fives the hand or interlocks it with his own.

He probably interlocks it to flustered you and it works as you feel the cold sliver ring against your own finger

You shivered making him laugh at you.

And now he always teases you with his cold rings against your neck if you’re ever sassy to him again

Draco Malfoy

Scoffs in shock at what you did to him

He literally gives you the silent treatment to be petty. But he can’t help but want to give you an earful about what you did in public to him.

He literally points it you like a sassy aunt himself and starts to rant on how disrespectful you are to him.

Now you can’t help but wish you never put your hand up to him ever again

Blaise Zabini

High fives the hand you held up

He doesn’t care because he knows he’s more important than the person you’re talking to.

So when you laugh and start to talk to him.

He knew won your attention easily.

Theodore Nott

Interlocks his hand just like mattheo.

You both found it funny, but then when you tried to take your hand out.

He held it tighter with a smirk.

Yeah..your hand is stuck to his forever now.

Lorenzo Berkshire

He’s sassy back and roll his eyes and goes to face his other friend.

He understands that you are talking to another person, but he hates when you use the “talk to the hand.”

So now when you want to talk to him.

He does it backs

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dearausten · 2 years ago

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nah cause the fact that jane austen wrote a character like emma woodhouse is still insane to me. she threw all the standards out the window and was like hey, here’s this incredibly complex and nuanced character, she’s selfish, privileged, manipulative and arrogant, but she’s also really fucking kind, she would do anything for those she loves (including sacrificing a lot of her liberties), she is able to admit that she’s made a mistake and grow from it, because those things are not mutually exclusive. and i think the reason why everyone is trying to girlbossify their heroines to make them like lizzie bennet (which is an insult to her character but that’s another story) is because they’re scared to write characters like emma. which is understandable, because she’s unlikeable-ish, and they don’t want to take that risk.

honestly the way jane wrote emma is IMPECCABLE and not everyone can pull it off, but i wish female characters with actual flaws were more popular.

#jane austen #emma #emma woodhouse #i’ll defend her to death #lizzie is actually really flawed too but people just write her off as a “badass sassy female character” which kinda erases her development

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willowser · 1 year ago

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aww aww katsuki coming home to find you and your kiddos in the kitchen, a disarray of gingerbread and icing and candies spread out across the dining room table.

you'd managed to dye your daughters frosting pink, and she's jumping up and down on her tippy-toes when she sees him, grinning so hard the tendons in her neck are straining. she'd wanted to build and decorate her own gingerbread house this year, but so far she's spent the last twenty minutes being very particular about only the first wall.

"daddy!" she leans her head all the way back when he puts his hand on her face, giggling beneath his palm with her little squished nose. "look at mine, look at mine!"

your wobbly son jumps up in his own chair, using the table as leverage to balance himself as he lets out a squeal of gibberish that vaugely sounds like an echo of what his sister is saying. at the excited pitch in his voice, her head whips around, free from katsuki's grip as her brows furrow.

"he's not even decorating anything," she protests—and she's not wrong; whatever your little boy is doing hardly classifies as 'decorating', and is more like 'eating all the frosting he can before getting caught'. there is a mess of sugar dried all around his mouth.

still, your son squeals in his chair, jumping up and down with even more energy when you place a hand on his butt, in case he slips. the promise of you only encourages him, and katsuki reaches across the table to snatch him up when he tries to get his little knee up on the surface.

your daughter's frown grows; sharing attention remains a soft spot for her. instead of saying anything, she only makes an annoyed little sound and presses her cheek into her dad's hip.

"stuff's gonna give you cavities," katsuki murmurs, though he picks up a few red and green candies and shares them with your already sugary boy—who hums happily. "need a toothbrush for christmas."

"no," your daughter pulls back and tugs on his belt loops, sneering up at him playfully when he pinches her nose. "you have cavities!"

katsuki makes a point to bare his teeth at her, and then presses his forehead to his son and does the same until they're both giggling. "ain't me, bighead,"

"you're a bighead!"

"yeah, 'n i am big, so what's your excuse?" a wicked little grin splits his face when she starts swinging on him, and he deposits your son into your lap before scooping her up off her feet, her girlish scream vibrant and happy in the space around you.

katsuki waits until she calms down a bit, holding her to his chest like a baby, before coming around the table to get a good look at her little pink masterpiece. he presses his mouth into her hair, like he does with you, and her little ruby eyes sparkle when he murmurs, "looks good, kid,"—just to her and only to her.

#🥺🥺🥺🥺#she just wants her dad !!! all to herself !! 🥺#no stinky little brothers !!!! 😤#god i had to really consciously stop myself from 'yall need a toothbrush for christmas'#LMAOOO #no YALL #your daughter grows up with such a SMART ASS MOUTH #just like HER FATHER #always got something to say back !!! sassy pants !!!!#cw children #✿ willow writes #✿ thoughts: bakugou #✿ theme: dad bakugou

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losver07 · 17 days ago

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this is them meeting sirius btw

#remus isn't present at the moment but his thoughts would be something like OHWR NOWR #marauders era #the marauders #marauders fic #sirius black #james potter #peter pettigrew #remus lupin #wolfstar #wolfstar fic #platonic prongsfoot save me #also when i say peter is sassy I MEAN IT #baby doesnt speak but says many things #dead gay wizards from the 70s #moony wormtail padfoot and prongs #tvs fic!#bee writes #bee fangirls #dead gay wizards

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cluelessatthispoint · 2 months ago

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A Dragon's Hoard pt.1

(Mythical AU of the 141)

(This fic is inspired by bluegiragi and docdudo.)

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You've never been one for the warmth that most people eminate. The kindness that sparkles in someone's eyes when they see someone they know and love. The way a person's tone changes to show their interest in a conversation, or how families get close and share hugs amongst one another. It's sweet, you think. Sweet but pointless. Smiles can be faked, tones can be raised and lowered on a whim. Scrunchingbupbyour nose in disdain as you spy another group of travelers walking along the beaten path. The sounds of their laughter and idle chatter already fading as the sounds of gravel underfoot growing fainter.

A pang of envy settles between your ribcage. The feeling of it twisting and festering almost burns. Never once had you ever experienced that. Never a tender smile or a kind word was ever directed at you. Thinking back as far as you can, there was always one constant: being alone. Ever since the great fire raged six summers ago, you've been displaced. Wandering and begging for scraps of food or even taking refuge within the churches when the bitter cold sweeps across the land. It is a harsh life for a child your age. Eleven years old and orphaned. Truly, if the orphanages weren't so full and if the staff cared, you figured you'd be stuck there. But seeing as they were full to bursting and low on income, you were throw. To the curb and barely spared a glance by any passersby.

Which brings you to the present. Living in the woods as best you can, your lean-to near the city's walls, but far enough to be undisturbed by mercenaries and gangs. The farther out away from the city the more people fear to tread. The tales of the great dragon who prowls the far edge of the woods have been told by young and old alike. Each story growing more fierce and bloody with each retelling. But so long as you're living without being pestered by people it's fine by you. Scowling as the bright sun shines brightly overhead, you practically have to squint to make out the shapes of birds flying overhead or in the trees. Sling shot in hand and a pain in your empty stomach spurs you on to find a meal. There are plenty of edible roots this time of year, with a few already back safely tucked into the confines of a nook in your lean-to. The only piece left to a decent meal would be some protein. With the birds twittering and chirping overhead. The sounds of mother birds feeding their squalling chicks is grating to your ears. Already irritated beyond compare from hunger pangs and envy. You screech out an angered shout as you set off your loaded slingshot amongst the trees. A sick hope of the rock somehow hitting a bird makes you smile bitterly. But the only thing you can hear is a gruff chortle followed by a accented baritone voice.

"Well now, what have we got here so far in my end of the woods?"

Your eyes widen as you can see a figure come stumbling out of the foliage. His tone possessive as he mentions the woods being his. A large hand on his head rubbing the sore spot of where the rock made impact. An apology rises to your warbling vocal chords only to be cut off as you see the large, curling horns protruding from his head. Smoke billowing from his mouth in a steady stream as he lets out an amused chuckle at your speechless state. Stretching his arms overhead in a mocking show of strength. You can see one large green wing furled in close to his back.

"Well?"

His deep voice sends a wave of fear through your bones. He could easily snap your neck with a flap of his wing, or crush you with his bare hands if he wanted to. Gazing wide eyed in fear...you can only think of how the stories that were told were true. Looking up at the hulking figure, you can see why the stories were never the same. This dragon...this man...this creature is somehow both. A hybrid of sorts.

Not bothering to stay around and chat. You bolt as if the devil himself were after you. Your tiny legs running as fast as you can. With the way your autonomic nervous system is kicking in. Your legs feel both like jelly and pins and needles from all the adrenaline. Panting heavily as you run the feeling of copper rises to your tongue as your lungs strain for air. Running was never your strongest attribute. The hybrid could tell that as well as even over the beating of your heart in your ears you can hear him running not to far behind you. His strides much longer than yours, a grin on his face as you can hear a giddy sort of chuckle rumblebfrom his chest.

"What's a hatchling like you doing all the way out here sweet thing?"

A pair of strong arms wrap securely around you as you flail and kick wildly. The scent of smoke and sweat fills your nose as you scratch at the arms holding you in place. The rumbling timbre of his voice sends vibrations through your body as he holds you securely against his chest.

"Been watching you for a while hatchling, all alone in these woods. Should have been eaten a long time ago."

As if those words weren't frightening enough, deep down in the pit of your belly you know them to be blaringly true. The amount of times you've stayed up in the night fending off wild animals were more than enough to prove his point. Tensing in the Hybrids strong arms, he adjusts his hold as if holding a squirming newborn fawn. His hot breath ghosting over the top of your head and neck. As if sensing your blinding fear, the hybrid chuckles, a rumbling purr rising from the chest behind you.

"Hush now...Papa's here, lil treasure. Papa's here."

Stilling immediately out of fear at the hybrid’s words. Whether condescending or not, you can't help but relax slightly. The fight leaving your tired body as soon as the adrenaline runs out. Your heart pitter pattering in your chest almost painfully. Sucking in greedy lung fulls of air, you can't help but relax begrudgingly against the warmth that the massive body behind you eminates. You're stuck here now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We all know who the dragon is :) it's everyone's favorite tired dad Price!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#cod #dragon price #john price #dragon shifter #dragon hybrid #captain price #cod x child reader #john price x child reader #first meetings #fanfic writing #cod fanfic #dad price #call of duty #sassy reader #it gets better #@docdudo #mythical au #child reader

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thedemises · 2 months ago

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——— UNSAID CURIOSITY ★ tighnari.

note; this is a really typical and possibly common idea but I just wanna bury my face into tighnari's ears and tail :3 (I had writer's block in the middle of wriktg this slenenodelwñx also ayyyy first written work of 2025 for me!!!!)

it’s a natural human nature to feel curious every now and then.

whether it’s the quiet wonder of what lies behind a locked door or the magnetic pull of something just out of reach, curiosity has a way of threading itself through our thoughts. sometimes, it’s innocent, fleeting — like the urge to peek inside a box labeled fragile. other times, it takes root, growing persistent and restless, coaxing you closer until the question demands an answer.

you hadn’t realized how firmly it had taken hold of you until now, trailing your gaze like an unseen tether.

the silken texture of his dark fur matching his equally black hair, the way the light filtered through the forest and caught on the delicate tufts of his ears — it was as if nature itself had woven them with meticulous care. the slight twitch here and there only added to the intrigue, stirring questions you hadn’t even thought to ask; you’d been caught in this peculiar fascination for longer than you were willing to admit, your thoughts drifting between idle wonder and cautious self-reproach.

where & when did he get that piercing? are they softer than they appear to be? would he mind if—

“do you perhaps want to pet my ears?”

his sudden remark sliced through the quiet like a well-aimed arrow, the bluntness of it knocking the wind from your composure. your breath hitched — caught off-guard by tighnari's bluntness not surprising really — the air catching in your throat and forcing a small cough to escape before you could stifle it.

for a moment, the world around you stilled, save for the faint rustle of leaves overhead — your mind scrambled, chasing down the remnants of coherence as they scattered like startled birds, fumbling through a dozen half-formed excuses to counter tighnari's question that scattered like leaves in a storm — the weight of his question lingered in the air, pressing against you with an almost disarming directness.

“err... why, of course not ,” you managed, your voice uneven despite your best efforts. there was a thin, wavering edge to it — like the fine thread of self-control you clung to might snap if you so much as exhaled wrong. a nervous laugh bubbled up, unprompted, but you swallowed it before it could betray you. still, the weight of his gaze lingered, steady and unyielding, like he was reading more than your words.

“what makes you say that, tighnari?”

you added, your voice pitched higher than usual, betraying the thin veneer of innocence you tried to project. your eyes darted toward him, searching for some trace of humor or teasing, something to defuse the tension simmering between you.

but his expression gave nothing away. he tilted his head slightly, his ears twitching ever so faintly as if punctuating his words.

“well , you've been staring at me,” tighnari tilts his head a little as if to gesture to his ears without using his hands. “specifically my ears , for a while now.” his tone was matter-of-fact, delivered with the kind of casual confidence that only made your embarrassment deepen. one gloved hand rested on his hip while the other was preoccupied with gesturing lightly, like he almost always does.

“plus,” he added, his sharp gaze locking onto yours, “it’s written all over your face.”

caught, you felt your resolve crumble, your lips curling into a sheepish smile despite yourself. the faintest warmth crept up your neck, blooming across your cheeks as you ducked your head slightly, hoping the canopy of leaves might conceal your expression.

tighnari’s sharp eyes missed nothing, though, and his lips quirked into a faint, knowing smile. “don’t worry,” he chuckles, his voice dipping into something almost playful, though still tinged with his usual precision. “for now, I will allow you to do it.”

the offer hung in the air, unexpected and oddly magnanimous, leaving you teetering between mortification and hesitant intrigue. the stillness of the forest around you seemed to amplify every unspoken thought, every erratic beat of your heart.

it wasn’t the kind of curiosity you could walk away from, not when the opportunity had been placed so deliberately before you akin to being placed on a silver platter.

you flicked your eyes toward him, hoping to catch even the smallest crack in his composed exterior — a twitch of his lips, a telltale flicker in his gaze, something to suggest he was merely joking with you; however his face remained steady, serene, like the surface of a still pond. his confidence was infuriating, though it was betrayed in the subtlest of ways; the slow, deliberate swish of his two-toned tail behind him, like a silent laugh he wasn’t quite willing to share.

then, as if to remove any lingering doubt, tighnari tilted his head slightly in your direction; it wasn’t a grand gesture — just a small, intentional movement — but the implications behind it left your thoughts scrambling. the tilt of his head offered an unspoken invitation, one that left no room for misunderstanding. the fine lines of his posture, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and the deliberate ease in his movement all simply spoke of quiet amusement, though his face refused to give it away.

it was disarming, how natural he made it seem, like this was the most mundane thing in the world — and yet, it was anything but.

slowly, your hand hovered hesitantly in the air just half way from reaching tighnari's head — unsure whether to take him up on his offer or should you not. his ears twitched almost imperceptibly, as if inviting you, and the soft, velvety texture of the fur looked even more tempting up close. you are stare instead, hesitating.

“well? ” the tighnarian’s voice cut through the silence, his eyebrow arched in quiet challenge; his gaze held steady, sharp and expectant, as though daring you to back out now. “are you going to keep hesitating, or are you actually going to pet them?”

his words pushed past the knot of anxiousness tangled in your chest, urging your hand forward before your thoughts could catch up. your fingers hovered for a moment, then finally brushed against the soft fur of his ears. they were even softer than you imagined — plush and velvety, like the downy feathers of a bird’s wing. a small, unbidden smile curved your lips as the texture registered beneath your fingertips, curiosity melting into quiet wonder; almost childishly.

tighnari didn’t pull away. instead, his shoulders seemed to loosen, the sharpness in his expression softening just enough to betray his guarded composure. his ears twitched slightly at your touch, not in irritation but something closer to acknowledgment, and though his face remained neutral, the stillness of his tail hinted at his contentment.

"see? not so bad, is it?" his voice came quieter now, a low murmur that blended with the forest’s hum, a ghost of a smile creeping up his features.

your soft laughter broke through the air, shaky but genuine, and you quickly ducked your head, embarrassed by the sound of it. “not bad at all,” you admitted, the tension that had lingered between you unraveling with each passing moment.

your fingers brush against the black tuffs of his protruding ears, fondness in your eyes, rubbing the outline edge of tighnari's ears. “they're softer than I thought.”

the forest seemed to settle around you, its rhythm weaving seamlessly into the space you shared, as though it, too, understood the strange, fleeting intimacy of the moment.

...

“hey, does this mean I have the privilege to always touch them?”

“ahah, don't think about taking advantage of this, my friend.”

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zhelin-thames · 2 months ago

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Wrong Number texts #1

Danny: So then Skulker decides the best way to catch me is by building a giant robot suit. But he forgot to calibrate it for the Ghost Zone’s gravity, so it immediately toppled over and crushed his entire lair. Absolute genius, right?

Jason: I’m torn between laughing and feeling secondhand embarrassment for him. Do all your villains suck this much?

Danny: Hey, I don’t pick my rogues’ gallery. But yeah, most of them are either weird, incompetent, or trying way too hard. Vlad’s the only real threat, and that’s just because he cheats.

Jason: Billionaires always cheat. It’s in their DNA.

Masterpost

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madaqueue · 1 month ago

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OH that self ship poll had me wondering …

#oh this doesn’t include selfship writings or things btw #for me i’m around 1???? usually????#maybe leaning 2????#like i tend to write more playful/sassy/dom readers bc that’s how i am in real life #but i also have plenty of readers that aren’t!!!!#like one of my fav pieces ive written is ‘carve me up and eat me’ and that reader is VERY different from me #but a lot of my writing inspo comes from situations i think of where it’s usually me in them #since that’s what i’m naturally thinking abt anyways #and then i just . write it and tweak the story from there #but i am so curious if that is the norm :33 #actually rereading this i might be a 2 leaning 3 hahahahaha #q polls

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deadsetobsessions · 10 months ago

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Pt. 3

Again, the timing is icky but pretty much everything about it is icky.

——

Bruce wondered when Talia al Ghul would stop upheaving his life.

He loves Damian, but one surprise child was a lot, considering the cult deprogramming they’d had to do.

A second, older, surprise child? That was a bit overkill.

At least this time, the conception was consensual.

Bruce cradled his head in his hands, still-gloved fingers gripping onto sweat-soaked hair. The glow of the bat computer shone on his lone figure, sat huddled before endless screens of investigations and the unraveling threads of Bruce’s sanity.

How was he to cope with the knowledge that a child- his child, like Dick and Damian and Tim and Jason and- suffered so at the man he thought he had beaten so soundly?

It was his fault, Bruce thought, that Ra’s al Ghul tortured his… Bruce’s… daughter so brutally. It was no doubt, a way to assuage his anger at Bruce’s denial of being his heir.

His mistakes always came back to haunt him, but it never laid its furious eyes and hands on his own person. No, when Bruce made mistakes, his loved ones paid for it.

He tried his best, pushed harder as Batman, in penance. But this… his unknown daughter, trapped in the shadows of the league where it is cold and cruel and brutally painful…

How could he repent for the sin of letting his daughter suffer and chained at the hands of Ra’s al Ghul? How could he show her that the shadows could be kind? That he would rather break his own spine and get lost in the time stream again before he could even fathom hurting her? He found himself stuck in the same loop of thoughts that plagued him when Damian first came into his orbit.

The screens turned black, and Oracle’s call sign flashed onto the dark pixels.

“Oracle. I hadn’t finished looking at the cases.”

“Go to sleep, Bruce.”

“No, there is still work to be-” his voice, dipping into the growl, died a quick death when Barbara cut him off.

“Your daughter is coming tomorrow. So, unless you want to look like a disheveled grease racoon when you meet her, go shower and get some actual sleep.”

Bruce paused, feeling oddly offended. His eye bags weren’t that bad.

Bruce caught sight of his reflection in one of the blacked out monitors.

…Nevermind.

He sighed. “…Thank you, Barbara.”

“Anytime, Bruce. I’m always here to kick your ass into gear.”

Bruce huffed, but obligingly got up to change and shower. Alfred silently appeared at the elevators, polished shoes tapping against the stone floor as he raised an imperious eyebrow at Bruce.

“I see Miss Barbara has managed to persuade you to retire at an hour common to regular man, Master Bruce.”

“Ah, yes, she… did.” Bruce felt the urge to apologize, because if Alfred’s up because of him, it’ll wear down harsher on the older man’s health. If there was one thing he took seriously, it would be the health of his loved ones. “Sorry, Alfred. I’ll head up to bed soon.”

“See to it that you do, Master Bruce. I will warm dinner that you had missed by many hours and bring it to your room.”

Bruce lingered as the butler turned around and began making his way back to the main house.

Alfred paused and turned around once more. “If I may offer you some advice?”

“Please. Always.”

Alfred sniffed delicately, most definitely thinking of the times Bruce decided not to take his very well reasoned and seasoned advice. “You have done well with Young Master Damian.”

“Most of that was Dick,” Bruce interrupted, man enough to admit that he wasn’t a present or a particularly good father figure before his jaunt through time and space. Alfred shot him a chiding look, reprimanding him for interrupting. Bruce rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Perhaps, but you have put in effort towards all of your children in a way that I have yet to see since Master Jason had… gone.”

“I’ll never make that period of time up to Tim.” Bruce whispered. Another thing he was guilty of. Tim still avoided some spaces in the manor, even when Bruce had-

“That is because you sit here, wallowing in your guilt,” Alfred returned. He added a belated “Master Bruce,” and it sounded like ‘you utter buffoon.’

“But…”

“You must take the first step, Master Bruce.”

“What if she hates me? What if I’m not ready- what if I can’t help her?”

“You will try. She deserves that, at the very least. You must try. Even if you are not ready for the day, Master Bruce, it can not always be night.”

“… You’re right.” Bruce straightened his shoulders. Time doesn’t wait. He, of all people, knew that.

“You will find that I am hardly ever wrong.” Alfred primly rested his hands atop each other.

“Thank you, Alfred.”

“Of course. It was also meant literally, Master Bruce, for the sun shall try its best to peek out of Gotham’s smog in approximately three hours and fourteen minutes.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Bruce grouched.

——

Her mother gave her a slow, cautious hug, akin to approaching a wild animal.

She huffed, and pulled her mother into a crushing hug. She allowed herself, for the first time in a long time, to linger and cling onto her mother’s shirt. Another tendency that Ra’s had thought he’d beaten out of her.

“Be careful,” the reincarnation whispered.

“You as well, my beloved daughter.”

‘You do not have to remind me that I am beloved, mother. I know.’

Talia al Ghul tucked a strand of the reincarnation’s curled hair behind her ear. “No, I do not believe that you do. But that is… my own fault. I will tell you and remind you that you are beloved to me as long as I can. I have two decades of it to make up to you, habibti.”

The flight attendant- a League operative- returned from placing her bags onto the private plane.

——

A sleek car made its way up Wayne Manor’s winding driveway. She’d declined the offer to pick her up from the airport. She had wanted a vehicle of her own, and some time before she met every one else. No doubt, knowing what she knew of her brother and Bruce Wayne, not to mention the little photographer, they were most likely tracing her path to Wayne manor obsessively.

She tapped her nails on the wheel as she drove towards her brother. Brothers. And… Bruce Wayne. On one hand, she’s kept them safe. On the other, she’d sacrificed years of getting to know them. It was odd, to feel this intensely awkward and nervous after years of intense hatred or apathy sprinkled by the the occasional love and fondness for Damian and her mother.

“Hmmm.” She hummed, slight smile spreading a bit more as the sound came out without pain. Two weeks, and the novelty of freedom had not worn off. She thinks that it would never wear off. She cherished it.

The gate had opened without needing a code, so they most definitely knew she was here. It’s a good thing she had prepared gifts in advance. Dodging Gothamites as they drove and jaywalked had been a rather unforeseen ordeal that she was not looking forward to repeating.

She rolled to a smooth stop at the front doors, giving the intricately carved oak doors a passing glance. She huffed a laugh as she saw Damian, flanked by Bruce Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth, staring proudly outside at the front door. They’re anticipatory of her arrival. Warmth spread through her heart, and for the first time in a long while, it wasn’t the heat of rage.

She opened the doors with a quiet click and hiss, stepping out onto the heated paved driveway, and closed the door. At the steps, the two older men had frozen but Damian had come walking quickly towards her.

“Damian,” she whispered as he came near her, suffusing as much fondness as she could into his name. Her little brother all but sprinted towards her, screeching to a stop in front of her with excited eyes.

“Welcome to Wayne Manor, ukhti.” He said formally. Her eyes softened and she pulled him into a hug.

(yā waṭawāṭī alṣṣḡīr is the phonetic spelling.) ("وطواطي الصغير" is the actual spelling. I think.)

“I have missed you, ya wat-wat alssgirr,” she whispered. The familiar endearment, “my little bat,” rung warmly like a warm crease ruffling his hair. The silks of her clothes and the ever present warm sand and candle scent wrapped around him like a hug… like the hug she was currently giving him.

(Her clothes were in blues and silvers. It suited her, she who had been forced in green and golds and cuts of black.)

“I still can not believe you all but told me who father was and I still could not figure it out until mother told me.”

She pulled back. ‘Damian, you were five.’

“I have little doubt you were smarter at my age, ukhti, so do not lie to me.” Damian grumbled. Nevertheless, he stepped back.

‘No, you were smarter.’

And to her, he was. It’s not like Damian had the edge she did, and he wasn’t the one trapped for twenty something years. She had foolishly thought that Ra’s wouldn’t dare to harm her too much, seeing as she was his blood, but Damian knew from day 1. She made sure he did. If she was half as smart as Damian, she would have bent her knee and obeyed, no matter how she felt about killing. She would have taken warning Ra’s issued and soaked in the poisonous praise to bide her time to escape. She could not- she did not- do what Damian found effortless, and paid the price for it.

“Unlikely,” Damian said, turning around fully, but she could see the tips of her brother’s ears burning. Ah, perhaps she had been to stingy with compliments if he was shy hearing a mild one, sincere as it might have been. “This is Alfred Pennyworth. He is the butler, and an integral part of the family.”

Damian glanced at her, taking in her suddenly impassive face, and nods. Good. His attitude towards Pennyworth when he first arrived was… mildly shameful. His ukhti was smart enough to know that and therefore he won the argument.

On her part, the reincarnation followed along like she hadn’t mildly stalked this family for decades. It was nice to see excitement rearing on her brother’s face. It was rare in the league and Gotham’s gloom had ironically cheered him up far more than the suns of desserts ever did. She nodded at Alfred Pennyworth, who had admirably recovered from his earlier shock.

“And this is… Bruce Wayne. Our father.”

She tucked a strand of curled hair back, impassive blue eyes meeting her… father’s.

She offered him a short nod.

——

“My word,” Alfred Pennyworth muttered as his charge’s (his son’s) daughter step out of the car. Her steps were silent, graceful, and lighter than a gazelle.

The way she moved, even as she hugged young master Damian, whispered of leashed lethality and treacherous waters. She moved like if grace had a form and Alfred was willing to bet his entire career that not an iota of air got close to her without her knowledge of it, and it reminded the aging man of the young Miss Cassandra. He knew then, that she could have pretended to be unassuming and that he would have had a hard time equating her with danger. That she showed them her potential for death was a sign of trust.

But it was not the way she claimed death as her own name that caught the former spy’s attention.

No.

It was her blue eyes and the way they ever so slightly crinkled fondly as she laid eyes upon her younger brother. It was the way her hair, curled in a nostalgic style, that curtained her face as she spoke to the young Wayne heir, though he could not hear her voice. It was the way that she tucked Damian against her side, protective but encouraging.

It was the way that she, despite Talia al Ghul’s features, resembled his dearest friend, Martha Wayne, in her every movement.

Alfred Pennyworth felt like he was decades younger, standing before Martha as she fondly tucked Bruce against her side and successfully needled Thomas into going to see Bruce’s favorite movie.

It felt like he had his best friend once more, just a little.

From the way Master Bruce stared, it seemed as though he thought the same.

Alfred straightened when young master Damian introduced him. He was the Wayne Family Butler. And she was definitely a Wayne.

Master Bruce stood there like a lout as his daughter greeted him. Alfred shot him a scathing look- he had taught Master Bruce much better manners than to gape, the nerve!- before smoothly directing the attention away. His hands moved as he spoke.

“Welcome to Wayne Manor, Miss-”

She made a sharp motion to cut him off and signed something. Alfred might be a tad rusty in Arabic sign language (like he and the rest of the family hadn’t spent the last two weeks frantically memorizing and brushing up on their sign language) but he knew a name sign when he saw one.

“al Ghul.” Damian recognized. He did not use regular Arabic Sign Language with her often, vastly preferring their own established sign, but that did not mean he slacked. “You may call her al-Ghul.”

‘Or nothing at all,’ Damian’s sister signed. She looked at him like she was waiting. A test, Alfred realized.

Alfred pushed the slight twinge of disheartening disappointment away. He had wanted to call her Miss Wayne, to perhaps indulge in a bit of nostalgia for a while longer. But he shan’t do it at the expense of his charge.

“Miss al Ghul,” he continued, not missing a beat, imitating the name sign with pin point accuracy. She lifted her chin. Alfred sighed in relief. He passed. And now, perhaps he should revive Ra’s al Ghul and have a nice, entirely civil conversation about Miss al Ghul’s expectation that her wishes would go ignored.

Alfred will bring his shotguns and most likely would abandon pretenses as soon as that old goat got into his crosshairs. Old as he might be, he was still a very good shot, and civility was reserved for those with honor.

“Please head inside. I am sure young master Damian would love to guide you on a tour,” Alfred continued like he didn’t think of violent second deaths for Ra’s al Ghul. “Perhaps Master Bruce will join you, if you are amendable, once he has managed to stop imitating the rather life like form of a smooth brained sloth.”

Alfred congratulated himself on the small crinkle of humor that graced Miss al Ghul’s otherwise expressionless face. Well, expressionless to those that did not know where to look. Fortunately, Alfred and the rest of the family were used to stoic caveman micro expressions, courtesy of Bruce, and therefore it would not be much of a problem.

“I will bring your bags up to your room.”

She scrutinized him and then dipped her head.

‘Be careful. There are dangerous things in there.’

“I assure you the utmost privacy in regards to your belongings,” Alfred said.

“Pennyworth will not peruse your belongings, ukhti. He has more honor and respect than that.”

Alfred would like to interrogate Talia al Ghul to see who he must introduce some lead to, that clearly disrespected Miss al Ghul’s privacy like so. But for now, he will bask in the warmth of young master Damian’s implicit trust.

Miss al Ghul nodded. She opened the trunk of the car- the interior of which Alfred could now perceive to be entirely customized and of extremely quality material. She handed the keys and gave him access to her luggage. Then, placing her hand at young master Damian’s shoulder, followed the young master into the halls where she ought to have been raised. Or, at the very least, ought to have taken a step in at least once before today.

Master Bruce lingered at the doorway, torn between following the siblings and helping Alfred with the luggage (read: running away.)

“The daylight is wasting, Master Bruce.”

Master Bruce skittered in behind them like a newborn colt, wobbling and anxious.

Well, it’s time for Alfred to do his job. There was only a single duffle bag.

Hm. He’ll have to tell Master Bruce to take her out for necessities. He hardly doubted that a single bag could last her very long. And Alfred Pennyworth was hellbent on convincing his granddaughter to stay, may the gods have mercy on whichever poor soul that tried to convince her otherwise for he won’t.

——

She followed Damian as he led her deeper within the walls of a home she knew by heart from afar. She was like the little photographer in that way. Bruce Wayne trailed behind them like a particularly awkward ghoul, and she found it amusing to equate this turtle necked man was the illustrious Dark Knight. How dangerous.

“This is the first parlor. It is for guests of the… regular persuasion.”

Ah, for the civilians. She nodded.

“Ah, the silverware was selected by Alfred.” Bruce interjected, gesturing to the display silverware by the door. Their cabinets were intricate without taking away from the paintings upon the delicate ceramic.

She looked at him, wondering why he was following before giving up and nodding. It was his house.

(Bruce, for his part, felt like his daughter had laid judgement upon him… and found him lacking.)

‘It is… adequate.’ She sighed to Damian. Damian tutted.

“It’s fine to say quaint, sister. It could hardly compare to the palace.”

Bruce jolted, plans for converting the manor into a palace already in the making.

No, he couldn’t. Alfred would murder him with his favorite dish.

‘I like it, even if it is smaller.’

“….you do?”

‘You are happy here. It is warm to you. I like it.’ She repeated.

Damian latched onto her sleeve. “I- I shall show you my art. And then introduce you to the rest of the bumbling fools we have for brothers-”

She tilted her head. Bruce paused as well when Damian’s words cut off.

“If… you want them as brothers. It would be… helpful, to integrate.”

She waited.

“But… I am the first. Your blood. And-”

‘I will make room in my heart for them, if you wish it. I already know some of them.’ She allowed a small smile to show. ‘But that does not mean you will ever lose your place, little bat.’

Damian felt extremely thankful that father had not managed to pick up their version of sign language yet.

“Well… as long as you’re aware.” He marched further into the manor. She followed, once more, a look of fond indulgence gleaming in her eyes.

——

She stood in front of a painting her younger brother had done.

‘I made it two weeks ago,’ he’d told her, fingers curled into her palm.

It was green. She hated green. And gold. And ominous. Rage. Harsh, bold strokes and spots where the texture of the canvas were either globbed over or painfully showing through.

Her hands traced the single stroke of blue amidst the turbulence of green.

She tucked Damian against her side and realized that perhaps he understood after all, what it felt like. Perhaps not all of it, but enough.

——

“Here is your room, ukhti.” Damian stood watch as his sister scanned the room. She quickly removed three listening devices as Damian sighed.

‘You’ve gotten better.’ She crossed the room and plucked the listening bug from its place on the door frame.

“Clearly not good enough.” Damian huffed. “But I have beaten your knife game record. What do you think of the room?”

His sister rolled her eyes and handed him a blade she pulled from somewhere on her person.

An implicit challenge.

“No cutting your fingers off, please.” Father interceded.

“Begone, father. We are doing sibling bonding, something I remember you insisting that I participate in.”

Damian shut the door on his stupefied face, matching his sister’s sharp smirk as he splayed his hand on the dresser and raised the blade.

——

Alfred walked in with a covered plate and paused at the sight of the dresser.

Then, he looked on as Damian sat at the desk, rapidly signing to his sister in their own version of the language as said sister pulled out an entire wardrobe and a half to fill in the walk-in closet.

Alfred made a note to study some more magic.

“Miss al-Ghul. I bring you a snack that young master Damian made and to inform you that the others will be arrive en masse, within an hour.” Alfred paused. “Might I interest you in a mat before the two of you decide to… take a gander at furniture redecoration in the future?”

“Of course, Pennyworth. Apologies.”

“I’ll try to make sure they won’t overwhelm you. They can be a lot, at once.” Bruce said from the doorway. Miss al Ghul glanced at him and dipped her head in thanks. Her eyes wandered right back to the dessert.

Alfred made another note.

‘You made this for me?’ She asked, switching to standard.

Damian grumbled. “Do not eat it. I could not get the spice quite right, no matter how many variations…”

‘I am sure it will be good.’ She took the plate from Alfred’s hand and uncovered it.

They all had the fortune of witnessing a true, genuine wide eyed smile from a stoic face.

Alfred inhaled sharply. He had thought Master Bruce and young master Damian had inherited Thomas’ dimples. But she had inherited his entire smile.

‘Bstilla!’ She turned to Damian. ‘My favorite! You made this?’

“I know that. I am not incompetent as to not notice when you snuck three of them from the palace kitchens. You must give me the recipe from the cooks. I could not get it to taste like the spices they used. I even imported spices!”

Miss al-Ghul, like she had forgotten he and Master Bruce were there, stabbed a fork into the pie and put it into her mouth.

“Ukhti! Don’t- do not eat that! Spit it out! The pastry is too thick and-”

She held up her hand. ‘It’s good. I know what it is missing.’

She strode to her magic bag and pulled out a bottle.

She sprinkled flakes on top and offered a forkful of b’stilla to the young master who, shockingly, did not insist on his own utensil.

His expression lightened. “This is it. What is it? You know of the chefs’ methods?”

She sprinkled the mysterious spice on the food. ‘You’ve never eaten anything the chefs have made. I made your food by hand to prevent assassinations and inoculate you against toxins. Also, this is poison.’

Alfred stiffened.

“It’s what?!” Bruce spoke up, rushing into the room, finally to try and look Damian over.

‘It is fine. He has been immune since he was three.’

Miss al Ghul placed a piece of poisoned b’stilla in her mouth and ate. Young master Damian batted his father off, saying that poison inoculation was hardly a surprise. What was a surprise, though, was something else.

“That is- you- you’re the one who made my meals?” Young Master Damian demanded, looking guilty. “But- I- why did you not tell me? I made all of those demands in the middle of the night- what about the time I sent back the knafe fifteen times?”

She nodded.

“Why would you- why did you not tell me?”

‘You knew what grandfather thought of women. And besides, it was the only time I was allowed sweets. He did not want me to ruin my figure as it would lower my marketability.’

Alfred itched for his gun.

“You are not a commodity,” Master Bruce stated, intense as he tended to be. Miss al Ghul blinked at him.

‘… I am aware. But… thank you.’

“Ah. Yes. Of course.” And there went the emotionally intelligent Master Bruce. May he rest in peace until the next time he decides to make an appearance.

“I believe today is a chocolate chip cookie day, do you not, young master Damian?”

“Yes, Pennyworth, I believe it is.”

‘I have never tried it before.’

“You will love it. Pennyworth’s cookies are the best in the world, as is expected.”

Alfred watched as young master Damian tugged his sister out and marveled. The sides of his grandson they rarely get to see was so easily pulled out by his older sister.

——

Y’all I wanted to write her meeting the siblings but Alfred came out of no where and went haha nope feel the angst of a man who lost his best friend and had to raise her vigilante child.

Alfred, seeing Bruce put on the bat cowl for the first time: martha, why have you forsaken me

——

Me: what would baby assassins play as a binding game?

Me, remembering my past as a kid: I Spy, but with trackers and bugs. oh wait… THE KNIFE GOES CHOP CHOP CHOP

——

Also, I think B’stilla was food meant only for royalty and was probably rooted in slavery, so I thought it would be a meaningful nod to her position of privilege and how she are like a king but was treated as a… bed warmer and a slave. Yeah. If anyone knowledgeable on food history wants to school me on b’stilla, feel free to do so. I did like, a cursory research at best.

#Bruce Wayne #Bruce Wayne’s guilt complex #Bruce ‘everything is my fault’ Wayne #no Bruce not everything in fact is about you bby #ras al ghul #Ra’s was a jackass long before you were born #oc in dc #batman #tim drake #damian wayne’s older sister #damian wayne #Bruce took his guil and fucking sprinted with it #he’s also making a lot of (very fair considering the circumstances) assumptions about oc #did I write that entire first part so I could make Alfred quote a poem?#yes yes I did #technically it’s also a part of a Kanye west song or whatever #oc: my brother is so cute look he’s so excited to see me #everyone else: what? hes walking so elegantly and calmly???#sleep deprived me did not do the difference between habibi and habibti #Alfred Pennyworth #Alfred Pennyworth was besties with Martha Wayne #Martha Wayne coming back to haunt the Waynes via her granddaughter #Alfred calling Ra’s and honorless goat #a couple thousand words of Alfred being sassy

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mischievous-thunder · 5 months ago

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Your plan backfired, didn't it? Who's pissed off now, huh Wade?

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anachronismstellar · 4 months ago

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SQH x Original Goods SQQ ;>

ooooooh wait, WAIT I have to think this one

Let's all pretend is not 4 am shhhh

I feel like OG SQQ would be attracted by SQH competence, like a game of cat and mouse or or OH WAIT I KNOW

------

The black and white pieces were carefully organized over the wooden board, the game paused as both peak lords took their time to consider the possible strategies. Shen Qingqiu had been the last one to make a move, capturing one of Shang Qinghua's stones, turning it between his fingers as he took the opportunity to observe the An Ding Peak Lord.

He didn't know how they ended up in this situation. If someone asked Shen Qingqiu when he had started observing Shang Qinghua, he had no exact answer. He knew it hadn’t been during their Head Disciple days, then Shang Qinghua had blended so completely against the wall of yellow robes that Shen Qingqiu could barely remember him during his missions. His best bet would be one of the first meetings as peak lords, Yue Qingyuan still trying to organize twelve egotistical cultivators as each of them tried to grab more missions and more resources for their own peak.

Hah, he would have more luck shoving twelve cats in a bag.

But then, the An Ding Peak Lord stood up, slamming a pile of papers so high it had been a miracle it didn’t fall all over their table.

"May I speak, Zhangmen-Shixiong?" Shang Qinghua had asked after a short but respectful bow, flipping his sleeves in a circular motion to wrap them around his arms in a graceful movement. The he proceeded to metaphorically and literally grab all of them by the scruff of their necks, organizing their speaking order, cutting their speeches short with a no nonsense "Thank you" every time they spoke beyond their scheduled time.

"We can stop here for today," Yue Qingyuan said with his brows slightly up, not able to hide his surprise when they finished things before dinner time. "Thank you, Shang-Shidi, for your help."

"Of course, Zhangmen-Shixiong," Shang Qinghua answered, but Shen Qingqiu could see his mind was already somewhere else, rushing to get to the door before anyone else.

Since then he couldn't help but keep an eye on yellow robes passing by, eager to hold the other for a conversation, to pick on his brain.

He blinked, coming back to his bamboo house by the soft sound of rustling silk and jade against wood as Shang Qinghua made his move, holding back a frown.

"Either play properly or leave," Shen Qingqiu said as he took another white stone from the board, putting it a bit too forcefully on his little pile on the table.

"Ah sorry, sorry, Shen-Shixiong, I'm having issues with a special ink shipment, and then Mu-shidi asked for a flower that I know he knows it only grows during winter and it's summer-"

"Stop blabling," he sighed as he looked up, glaring at his ceiling to pray to Heavens for patience. Last time he had lost his temper with Shang-shidi the man had vanished for weeks, leaving Shen Qingqiu without a decent Go player and a bad taste on his mouth. "I have no patience for your mental games today."

And as if by magic the man in front of him transformed, the suck up smile sliding from his face as Shang Qinghua straightened up his posture, the small man growing twice his size as broad shoulders filled his robes properly. "This one apologizes for testing Shen-Shixiong's patience," Then Shang Qinghua slowly twisted his head to the side, cracking his neck followed by a sigh. "I had to spend the morning dealing with Zhangmen-Shixiong, and you know how it is."

Shen Qingqiu let a bitter chuckle escape, sliding his fan open to hide half of his face, knowing full well how good his eyes looked over the painted paper.

"What? Sucking his dick isn't solving the problem?"

The effect was immediate. Shang Qinghua that had decided to take a sip of his tea almost chocked on it, gasping for air for a good minute, face so red one could think he had never written porn in his life.

Oh yes, Shen Qingqiu knew about his little stories too. Shang Qinghua wasn't the only one with spies all over the mountains.

"I- We- It's not-"

"Oh, spare me," Shen Qingqiu scoffed, lazily fanning himself, as he gave one last glance at the board, mourning their forgotten game. Shame, it was so difficult for them to meet up for a match. Of course Yue Qingyuan had to spoil even this for him. "You might be able to lie to those buffoons Wei Qingwei and Liu Qingge, but I have two perfectly functioning eyes. Also, there are so many late night meetings one must attend before it gets excessive."

It was good to see that red suited Shang Qinghua just as much as yellow. And Shen Qingqiu had to use all his will to not laugh as the other peak lord did his best to recompose himself, all in vain.

"My real question is... And I know I will regret the answer," Shen Qinggiu raised his hand to stop the new barrel of excuses so he could finish speaking. "How ih the all realms did that start. Did he offered you a holiday of some kind? Or maybe he wanted to thank you for dealing with Liu Qingge last stunt, Heavens knows you deserve a raise for that."

Again, Shen Qingqiu wasn't expecting a real answer. In fact, he wasn't expecting an answer at all, the way Shang Qinghua was blushing, the An Ding peak lord was about to faint or run away before Shen Qinggiu could snap his fan closed.

What he did get, however, was a muffled string of words, followed by a groan and a whine. Peharps he had hit the mark with one of his hypothesis? Now, things have gotten even more interesting.

"Speak plainly, Shidi, you know I can't stand mumbling."

"He complimented my hands!" Shang Qinghua squaked, his voice so high it had scared the poor birds on the garden.

There was a beat of silence as Shen Qingqiu waited for the rest of the explanation, barking a laugh when nothing came.

"That's it? Is it that easy to make you open your legs?"

"Oh shut up, Shixiong, you say that as if you wouldn't do it too!"

That, was crossing a line.

Shen Qingqiu never had to explain himself or his hatred for Yue Qingyuan to the other peak lord, it was if Shang Qinghua knew somehow that they shared a past. That was another thing that drove them together, the fact that Shang Qinghua was able to keep his mouth shut, even when he could use it for his own gain.

"Shixiong, I'm so sorry I-"

"Do tell," he interrupted what was for sure about to be an emotional moment for both of them, lips pressed thin in a frown, making sure to send his best murder glare to the man in front of him. "What compliment did our steemed Zhangmen-Shixiong could have used to conquer the slippery An Ding Peak Lord?"

He could see Shang Qinghua's brain working a way to escape the situation, his eyes darting left and right, checking all the exists of the small house. He could also see the moment Shang Qinghua had resigned himself to his fate, shrugging and waving his hands, buying himself time before answering:

"He said I had nimble fingers? And then I panicked and asked if he wanted to see how nimble they were or something, I don't remember and then, well, we, uh-"

"Well?"

"W-Well what?"

"How nimble they are?"

It finally clicked, Shang Qinghua's face going from embarassed to surprised, then interessed as he made a point of putting both hands on the table, slowly tapping his fingers on the top of it, the little tease.

"Would Shen-Shinxiong like to find out for himself?"

Shen Qingqiu felt his mouth drying as a shiver went up his spine. He wanted to scream at himself, to throw Shang Qinghua out of his house and hit him with the Go board on his way out, just out of spite.

On the other hand, he couldn't deny that Shang Qinghua was a handsome man when he put on some effort. Specially when he was commanding a room of peak lords, giving orders left and right, so sure of his information and knowledge that they had no other choice but follow.

How would that be...

"Follow me, Shidi," he got up in a measured movement, holding back his excitement as he guided them towards his room. Time to see if not only what those fingers could do, but also to put that smart mouth for better use than fumbling excuses.

And just as he had done many times before, Shang Qinghua surprised him once again, making Shen Qingqiu scare the birds with an entirely other type of screams.

------

This got,,,, Insanely long holy shit.

Also, it's kinda a continuation of the SQH/YQY ask?? dshiufhdsuifhui

I hope you liked!!! Thank you for the ask it was a blast to write it!!! :DDDD

#scum villian self saving system #svsss #shen jiu #shen qingqiu #shang qinghua #scumplane #yue qingyuan #SQH gotta catch them all #IT'S HIS WRITER RIGHTS #SQQ might have just become my fav to write he's so sassy and bitter I love him #idk how many words this has but I might post it on AO3??#oh god here we go with another fic aaaaaaaaa #also no proof reading we are winging this like Liu Shidi

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