#so being haunted by their screams is weighing on him AND HE WANTS OUT

[nightshades-hq]

people use this as an argument that tyler meant what he was doing. that he meant to cause harm. no where did he say he knew what was happening while in hyde form. only that he remembered after the fact. maybe he liked it. i doubt, i believe him saying this was just to tell wednesday what she wanted to hear. “you want me to be the badguy fine i’m the badguy” tybe beat. a mask. a tough guy act. if she’s afraid of me she’ll leave me alone. or maybe it isn’t even him but the hyde part of his brain, something similar to split personality.

but let’s say for the sake of argument he means it when he says he likes it. i don’t think he means he likes killing people. i think he just likes for once in his life having power over others instead of the reverse. he’s a little revenge drunk, taking out pent up anger from years of neglect and bullying. and that’s not necessarily excusable but it is entirely understandable and explainable outside of “murderous psycho” it’s ‘curable’. hurt people hurt people. hurt people can heal. but again i think it’s less about liking to hurt people and more about a sense of relief.

as tylers #1 defender i do believe he absolutely has issues. i think thats why he and wednesday get along so well. even if it’s enjoying causing a little fear because he enjoys exerting power over others; its fucked up but not something to hold against him perse because wednesday is exactly the same in that regard. he was never the innocent boy next door archetype. he was the twisted, hurt, complex boy not next door.

"I'm in. And no charge. Consider it a freebie."

"Why?"

[Tyler Galpin had no control over who manipulated Hyde. He had no idea or any sort of training in controlling his own powers. As a normie he was neglected by his father and found solace in the lies Thornhill fed him. If his dad had ever tried to communicate with him rather than being scared of what his son would become, he'd be in a different place. What he was made to do was not his fault. He did not choose to kill people. He was just a teenager trying to be a better person, trying to live his life peacefully. He was haunted by the pain of the people Hyde killed, and when he's telling Wednesday about it, you can see the mask almost slip. And that's all I have to say.]

[bi-writes]

ok but soulmate au with ghost but it's the fucking opposite of rainbows and sunshine. (18+)

you share his trauma. his stress. his anxiety. you do not know who he is, and yet you know the pain of a thousand punches because it's the only feeling he has ever given you. you know the grueling ache of abandonment and the terrible neglect of abuse and the disgusting amalgamation of all your worst nightmares before you even turn 20. everything that he gives you feels aggressive, like it burns, and he only ever gives you reprieve for so long until you just feel it all over again.

it makes you tired. it makes you sick. at first, as a girl, all you wanted to do was comfort him. you wanted to know who he was so you could kiss the cigarette burns that you feel and soak up the blood you know he bleeds.

but as you age, you begin to hate him. you hate him because he does this to you, he hurts you, doesn't he know that he's hurting you? doesn't he know that everything he feels, you feel tenfold, doesn't he know that the terror and the horror of everything he witnesses weighs down your chest, makes you feel like you're drowning over and over and over again?

for a few years into your adulthood, everything is quiet. you feel little except the ache in his back he never tends to, the creak of his knee joints that he refuses to stretch out. you wish you knew him so you could scold him for it, but you curse at a ghost. sometimes you think about doing something to get back at him--you think about carving a FUCK YOU into your arm, about throwing yourself in front of a bus just so he can fucking understand that his entire life is one fucked-up cycle of pain and misery and horror, but you can't bring yourself to do it.

you can't hurt him. you just can't.

and then, the real pain begins. it brings you to your knees, this pain. you scream, you wail, because it feels like you're being carved from the inside-out. your face burns. your chest heaves. you feel like your ribs are breaking, you can't breathe, you claw at the invisible wounds that your soulmate must be wearing, and you beg him to stop, you beg him to let me go--just fucking die already--please, please, please--

those weeks haunt you. the torture he endures, it is branded to you. you wear no scars, and you never lost any blood, but the phantom flesh that you know is gone follows you in your sleep and never shuts up. it talks, it snarls, it eats at your insides. even when he heals, you are never the same. you wake up from nightmares that you know you share with him. you look over your shoulder for the predators you know he has encountered, and you cry yourself to sleep over the loss of something that you can't even decipher because you have no idea who he is or what he buried to feel this way inside.

he's sick. he's twisted. he's a walking corpse, he has no redeemable qualities, he is selfish and mean and cruel, and you hate him, and if it wasn't for the pain that you would feel, the first thing you would do when you saw him is drive something right through his heart to finally stop the undying infection he spreads to everything that he touches.

you know it is him when you finally meet him. you would know him anywhere; you’d know him just by the scars alone who he is because you remember what it felt like when he got them. when you eye the sleeve of tattoos along his left arm--the fucked, shitty, sunburnt art that made it impossible for you to finish your university exams. the faded, grey circles that line the other, ones you recognize being from the burning cigarettes that you would smell when you closed your eyes. and when he removes his mask briefly, you recognize the scar that cuts above his lip and strikes through his eye--that one left you reeling on the bathroom floor particularly loudly. you thought he might be blind if it wasn't for seeing the darkness of both of his eyes.

you start to cry. you start to cry because as soon as he realizes who you are, as soon as you see that flicker of knowing flash across his eyes, all of the hatred and the anger and the poison that plagued you for all this time vanishes. everything you fought so hard to feel, all the misery you wanted to bestow upon him for making your life a living hell, it's gone.

because the universe is cruel, the universe has done what it has done, and it has made this singular person just for you, and against everything you believe, you know that you love him, and you hate yourself for it, and you hate the universe, too.

you have endured. but maybe you endured so he didn't have to. maybe you endured so that he could have this, the feeling that he feels right now, that feeling of sudden relief.

he slides a large hand over his chest, flinching slightly. he blinks, understanding suddenly that he's feeling your joy, your elation. when you shuffle your way over to him, breaching the conversation the men around him are having, you ignore their confused stares as you fling yourself into his chest.

ghost forces you against him, trapping you to him. he practically chokes, tangling a gloved hand into your hair, and you sob into the warm skin of his neck as he hoists you into his arms, into his lap. you don't pay attention to the curious voices around you, you just bury yourself into him and cry. his body is the evidence of all that has happened to him, and you aren't angry anymore because you're relieved.

he's real. he's alive. he's here. he's okay.

when you pull back to look up at him, you blink away the tears that are falling fast down your face. he stares down equally as intensely, drinking in the sight of those big, wet eyes. when he smooths a big hand down your face, he grumbles when he realizes what you are, how you know him.

he never realized this was what he and his soulmate shared. you in your life had never felt pain like he had--he had no idea what he was doing to you. he had no idea what you were surviving at the same time.

he closes his eyes and rests his forehead against yours, and your lips tremble as you cup his cheeks and hold him close.

it feels wrong to feel this kind of comfort, but he does anyways. he thinks, maybe, that perhaps the only reason he survived was because of you.

because there was someone else, far away, that loved him enough to keep him breathing. even when he thought it was over.

[countlessimagines]

Downfall [ Five Hargreeves x Reader ]

Summary: No matter the timeline, you and Five never get your chance.

A/N: well I think I can agree with everyone that season four was not good… so my way of coping is making angsty imagines for it… I’m trying to cope with the fact this is the last time we will ever see them ): This is also super short, apologies

Warnings: Season Four Spoilers

MASTERLIST LINK

-

Five had seen multiple timelines with Lila throughout their time spent together. And in almost every single one they saw, you were dead by the hands of him or vice versa. Eventually it became normal to see you mourning Five or him taking revenge for you.

Lila could see how distressing it was for him to see every timeline play out the same for the both of you.

Fate never seemed to be on your side, and even in your timeline, Five never had the courage to tell you his feelings. Despite spending six years by his side, being his roommate, helping him with cases, being there emotionally for him… he never seemed to catch on to the fact that you held feelings for him, too.

On one of their multiple train rides, Lila tried to address what the two of you meant to each other, but Five didn’t want to acknowledge it.

Because he feared the moment he’d open up, fate would play it’s cruel trick again and guarantee he would never see you again.

So he buried it deep within himself so it would not haunt him.

-

For you, it was mere hours you had last seen Five. You had helped Allison and Claire rescue Klaus from being buried alive, and had found your way to Lila and Diego’s home.

Everything seemed to be alright, and although you could sense something was wrong with Five, you didn’t have the energy to ask, simply from the long day you were all having.

However, you didn’t fail to notice the looks Lila and Five were sharing. It made not only you suspicious, but Diego as well. It was started to grow more and more tense as he pried information from them.

It almost felt as if your heart was being ripped out of your chest, being stomped on by the universe, as Five and Lila confessed of their infidelity.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to console Diego or slap Five.

You decided on the latter before storming out of the house. Diego tried to stop Five from chasing after you, but Five was quicker and blinked to your side.

“Let me explain.”

“Get away from me!” You screamed as you exited the house. Nobody followed the two of you, so you only assumed Lila was in the hot seat.

“(Y/n)! Stop acting like a child and listen.” Five grabbed your arm and whipped you around to face him. He was close now, his breath fanning your face.

“How could I listen to the fact you and Lila shared such an intimate relationship while I have been waiting years for you to do the same with me.” You made sure to throw your words in his face, making all of your emotions clear as day. Pretending to not hold feelings for him was beginning to weigh you down, so you needed to let go of those weights now.

“All we did was kiss,” Five said it like it was the most simple action in the world. “One kiss and we realized our mistake immediately. We got wrapped up in our own little bubble and forgot the important things. I just… I couldn’t handle seeing you die anymore…”

“What?” You pushed away from him. Had he seen a timeline with you dead?

“I… we don’t get a happy ending in any timelines. No matter what we do, we fail to be together.” Five sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I lost hope that even if we got back, it would lead to our demise.”

You didn’t know what to say to him as your heart began to beat uncontrollably.

He looked into your tear filled eyes and said, “I want to be with you, but I don’t want to kill you.”

“I don’t want to be with someone who, after forty years in the apocalypse, couldn’t even keep his heart on one person for seven years. It doesn’t matter if you realized your mistake, Five. I’ve been here the whole time waiting for you. I took care of you when you came home bloodied. I stayed up with you while you had panic attacks. I made sure that you had coffee brewed every morning.”

Five felt ashamed he had let everything you had done for him go to waste with his one mistake. “I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

“Maybe I’ll be the bigger person and actually forgive you, because I know deep inside I am that person. And I for sure know you aren’t because you kissed your brother’s wife, Five.” You scoffed and wiped away your tears. “Good luck with that.”

You began to walk towards your car without another word, and Five just watched as you left.

He was smart enough to know that if he chased you, it would lead to a grave.

And not too long after, he would sacrifice himself with his family, his last thoughts only consisted of you and how much he failed your relationship. Some selfish part of him hoped that he’d come back, to be able to see you again.

But the more rational side of him knew that he would never touch you again.

Because for once, you would be able to live in a peaceful timeline without him there to cause your downfall.

[yanderenightmare]

Gojo Satoru

TW: implied noncon, desperate starved reader, God!Gojo

gn reader

based on this by @hawnks

He's worshipped, but worship alone doesn’t make those who pray by his shrine his belongings.

Even pets run away when they don't like the food.

He could take lives, which suppose some of his fellow gods might view as ownership, but right when he ran out of places to wash the blood off his hands, he’d sooner found it to be an empty pastime bearing no merit.

After all, taking lives doesn't mean they belong to you—it just means they’re dead. 

He'd come to realize that the power to take is a far cry from the prospect of actually owning something—something he can truly call his. He could level a forest and everything in it, crush mountains to deserts, drink the entire ocean dry—but it wouldn’t make any of it his.

It leaves him feeling stingy when yet another measly human comes before him—on your knees with your forehead bowed in the dirt, skinny hands shaking while laid flat out before you, cracked lips crying his name.

With his chin propped in his palm, he yawns while listening to you, and with jaded eyes, he nearly dismisses you altogether. But there’d been a question he’d been mulling over lately—one that had found its way to the tip of his tongue.

“What do I get in return?”

You’re only asking for very little—one of the humbler humans who still bother praying to him. You might see it as greedy of him to ask you for something in return—a poor soul with nothing but your sorry name. But what you don’t understand is that you and he are the exact same.

Dirt poor.

In many ways, he has it a lot worse. You could die. He could not. Infinity would pan on forever and drag him with it as if with a ball and chain—and he’d remain destitute and alone for the entirety of it all.

Which is why…

“You can have me, I guess…”

It sounded so sweet—like a vow.

You say it with such defeat, as though you’ve already accepted his rejection—as though you’re about to offer yourself to the forest next—as though you're worth nothing more than returning to soil again. 

You don’t notice the new light in his eyes that threatens to swallow you whole, nor do you hear the growl in his gut like a beast awoken from a deep slumber—starved to death if he only could. His tongue swells with sweetness, it nearly runs over and spills down his chin.

Your offer hangs still in the air, poised and waiting for him to grab it, brighter than a star. It nearly frightens him—how much he wants it—how desperately he yearns for it. His fingertips buzz with thrill as he reaches out. He’s never held something like it before—soft and warm and flickering with something fleeting and precious. It almost feels wrong for him to hold it in his blood-soaked hands. Eyes all but blacked out as he looks down at it.

“Mine, you say?” 

You feel it, too, but it’s not close to the same sense of elevation—how he reaches into your chest and scribbles his name on your soul. Each letter is heavier than the last and leaves you curling in on yourself in agony, screaming before you fall silent.

Panting once you look up, you clutch your chest, only to see his sneer gone, replaced by something worse—something haunting.

The regret is palpable. You pick yourself up and take to running away—but by then, it’s too late. You don’t make it more than two steps before something has you tugged right back—this time into his embrace.

“I accept your generous sacrifice, little human.”

His words weigh awfully heavy while you shudder in his lap. His skin is like marble—shimmery and cold as his hands wrap around you, holding you tightly as he puts his lips to your neck.

"I'll take precious care of you..."

You feared he’d bite, but the kisses that commence feel no less like a collar being fastened snug around your throat. As well as his promise—like being sentenced to spend eternity right there, hand-fed under that awful smile on his face.

♡ GOJO SATORU masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[noorpersona]

Hey I really love the way you write it’s so fun to read and really fits the characters. I wanted to request you making small drabbles or a series on how the haikyu characters would treat you while youre pregnant. If it’s something you don’t want to write no worries. 🩷

OMGG yesss I love that idea 🙈🙈🙈 It goes so well with my other mini-series ehehe, I'm 100% adding it to the roster!! Thank you for your sweet words, they never fail to make my day.

For you! Gorgeous Human!! Enjoy <333 --

Pregnancy: Ushijima

Ushijima has been overprotective since the very beginning.

The second those two lines showed up on the test, it was like a switch flipped in him. He became your personal guard dog, nurse, chauffeur, meal planner, and human forklift all rolled into one stoic package.

It was kind of sweet—at first. The way he’d gently tug your hand away if you tried to carry anything heavier than a spoon. The way he’d Google symptoms with intense focus, like your morning sickness was a tactical challenge he could overcome with enough research. The way he sat through every prenatal appointment like it was the Olympics and he was preparing to win gold in fatherhood.

But by the third trimester?

You’re one more “let me do it” away from committing actual murder.

“I’m gonna change the sheets,” you say, bracing a hand on your lower back as you waddle toward the linen closet.

Before you even touch the doorknob, he’s there. He must have materialized from the floorboards.

“I’ll do it,” he says.

You blink up at him. “Wakatoshi—”

“The mattress is heavy.”

“I’m not flipping it! I’m just changing the sheets.”

Still, he reaches over you and pulls out the linens like it’s already been decided. “Sit down. I’ll take care of it.”

You stare at him, nostrils flaring, lips twitching, but you don’t fight it. Not yet.

Then come the groceries. The laundry. The vacuum you so much as glance at. And every time, he gets to it before you can even try. Every time, he gently insists. Every time, you swallow the urge to scream.

Until now.

You step onto the footstool to reach the top kitchen cabinet—one single bowl, that’s all you want—and he appears in the doorway like a haunted house spirit.

“Don’t,” he says sharply.

That’s it. That’s the moment you snap.

“USHIJIMA,” you explode, flinging your arms wide in a very dramatic but very off-balanced motion. “I am pregnant. Not porcelain. I can do things! I can move and lift and stretch and reach and I would like to do one thing—just ONE THING—by myself without you treating me like I’m going to spontaneously combust!”

He pauses. Blinks. That stoic face giving you absolutely nothing.

“…You were wobbling,” he says.

“I always wobble! I’m basically a giant, sentient bowling pin at this point!”

“I don’t want to take chances,” he says, calm as ever.

“Well I want to do something myself!”

He hesitates. You can practically hear the gears turning in his head. Eventually, he steps back and says simply, “Okay. Do it.”

Oh. Oh he did not just call your bluff.

You puff out your chest, grab the cabinet door for balance, and go for it. Fingers brush the edge of the bowl, victory within reach—

—and then you realize you can’t quite twist back down. You’re halfway off the stool and stuck. Pride flickers. Stomach tightens. Arms flail just a little.

“…Toshi?” you call, voice small. “I, um. I need help.”

He’s there in seconds.

Strong arms wrap around you, lifting you like you weigh nothing. He sets you gently on the floor like a queen being lowered onto her throne.

“You were saying?” he murmurs, hand on the small of your back.

You scowl. “I hate you.”

“You don’t,” he replies smoothly. “You just hate that I’m right.”

You slump against his chest, bowl in hand, your forehead hitting the middle of his sternum. His hand rubs up and down your spine. You sigh dramatically.

“You’re so annoying.”

“And you’re still holding the bowl.”

“…Shut up.”

[sv5hive]

all's well that ends well | lh44

pairing: lewis hamilton x fem!reader

content warning(s): suggestive content? (like one little comment nothing outrageous

word count: 2,107

note: this is a part two to this fic! thank you to the anon who gave me the idea otherwise i would have been stuck for ages!! so happy so many of you enjoyed it and i hope you enjoy this one just as much 😚🫶🏻

(masterlist!)

you let out a shallow sigh as you gently pushed the door closed with a click. last night's fight had plagued your mind and haunted your dreams meaning you had gotten almost no sleep at all. you just wanted to get all your stuff and find a small place to rent while you looked for a more permanent place to stay.

but lewis had other plans.

"hey, baby-"

"don't call me that, lewis. i thought i made it clear last night that it was over. i thought i also made it clear that i didn't want to see you again."

"ok, ok. i'm sorry. i just, i know i fucked up. but i can make it right again. i promise."

"like how you promised we would have a normal life together? i don't want to wait anymore, lewis. i told you this already. now please, let me just get my stuff and leave."

"no, just, just hear me out on this. i can't imagine how you felt while waiting for me to finally catch up to what you realised a long time ago. but i have been in love with you since the day i met you and if i let you walk away again i would never be able to live with myself."

despite what you had said earlier, you didn't hate him. and lewis could see you weighing up the idea in your head.

"saying it is but proving it is another. otherwise your apology means nothing."

"ok. yeah, ok i can do that."

he grinned at the possibility of winning you over.

"but, i need space. so, i will be getting my stuff and leaving."

"wait! you can stay here. i'll go, it's only fair."

"don't be silly, lewis. i still have my hotel room booked don't worry about it."

"no, no, please stay here. this house is yours as much as it is mine. don't worry, i can find somewhere else to stay. i know how you get sleeping in a bed that's not yours."

he knew you too well.

"ok. uhm, thank you, lewis."

"you don't need to thank me. i'll see you soon?."

"ok, yeah. see you soon."

you thought sleeping in your own bed would help you get a good night's rest but you seemed to toss and turn for hours on end. looking to your left, the digital clock on the bedside table screamed some unreasonable time in blinding red. you huffed before realising that maybe it wasn't just the bed. after all, all those years you slept in this bed you weren't sleeping alone. eventually, you did manage to fall asleep at some ungodly hour after scrolling on your phone mindlessly. but not without pondering how lewis was planning to change your mind.

the next morning you were awoken by a knock at the door. rolling your eyes, you readied yourself to turn lewis away but instead you were met with a bouquet of flowers on the doorstep. you peeked your head out to see if the person who dropped it off was still around but it was like they had disappeared into thin air. bringing the bouquet to the kitchen to place in a vase your eyes caught notice of a note gently tucked into the leaves.

thank you for giving me a second chance. you won't regret it.

he was making it hard to stay mad at him. you pulled out your phone and sent him a quick text.

thanks for the flowers.

anything for you. and i meant what i said.

read 9:26 am

humming along to the radio, you plated up your lunch and made your way to sit at the counter to eat. the recent weather had been unusually pleasant with the sun shining all day, and you thought about going for a run outside when a text popped up on your phone.

do you have any plans tonight? it read.

you debated lying to him but you had already finished with your work that day and you found yourself wanting to see him again after a little bit more than a week of being apart. you typed out your reply after a couple of seconds.

depends. what do you have planned?

it's a surprise.

you grinned.

i'll pick you up at 6.

oh and can you wear that black dress again? the backless one?

read 12:46 pm

you felt your face go warm at the reminder of what happened the last time you wore that number. god damn it. no matter what he would always have that effect on you. looks like you had something to look forward to tonight.

you smoothed away imaginary wrinkles while obsessively checking your entire appearance over in the mirror. it felt like you were doing too much but then again, you had to show lewis what he would be losing out on if he couldn't convince you. before you could check the time there was a knock at the door.

you calmed yourself down and opened the door to come face to face with lewis.

lewis swore he felt his world stop spinning.

"you- wow. you look...as beautiful as ever. seriously, why were you ever dating me?" he eventually managed to get out, audibly breathless.

your giggles filled the air as you hoped your makeup meant he couldn't see your entire face going red.

"you look, ok." you were lying straight through your teeth. he could make a trash bag look like a designer outfit and you both knew it. he found it funny enough to let out a chuckle though so maybe it was the right move.

"oh and uh, these are for you." as he remembered the bouquet of baby's breath, white chrysanthemums and blue hyacinth in his hands that he painstakingly put together himself.

"oh they're lovely. thank you. i'll just go put these in a vase and we can go."

he couldn't mess this up now. not again.

"ok, do you plan on telling me where we're going now or is it still a surprise?" you asked locking the front door and heading towards the car.

he opened the passenger door for you as you got in.

"y'know there's a saying that goes something along the lines of 'good things come to those who wait'. you ever heard of that one?" he retorted before getting behind the wheel.

"hmmm, i don't know. doesn't really ring any bells for me."

"that's too bad because i'm still not telling you."

"fine, be that way."

he looked over at you staring out the window refusing to spare him so much as a glance. you always have been a stubborn one he thought. shaking his head with a smirk, he began driving.

you were definitely surprised when you two arrived at the restaurant you raved about months ago - you didn't think he had been fully paying attention while getting ready for bed. now sat down at the secluded booth, you couldn't help but grin at the fact while in awe of the decor. all lewis could do was admire the pure joy and glee present on your face.

"what? why are you looking at me like that?"

"like what?"

"y'know, like that."

"i don't know what you're talking about."

all the other patrons must have been irritated by the way you two couldn't stop chatting and laughing as the bottle of wine dwindled down over several courses of delicious food. but if it meant he could see you so happy after everything he put you through he was ready to pay for them all to leave.

"so i've been thinking, and, i'm ready to take the next step with you. don't worry, i'm not about to get down on one knee right now, but i just thought you should know."

"what changed your mind?"

"i should've listened to you but instead i was an idiot and i let you leave. i'm sorry for that. and everything else. i guess seeing you walk out really brought me to my senses."

"yeah? well i'm glad it did."

"and i am absolutely ready to retire and start a family with you-"

"what?" you almost spat out your wine.

"i've thought about it and i want a family with you more than anything."

"no, lewis, i won't let you do that. you love racing. you said it yourself it's your whole life!"

"not anymore. i want to be there for you and i can't do that if i'm away driving every weekend."

"i can travel while pregnant, lewis. i'd follow you until i am physically unable to and we would be waiting for you until you come back home. i know how much racing means to you and i will always support you. besides, wouldn't you love to have your kid cheer you on in the garage?"

you two were cheekily grinning now at the prospect. he couldn't believe how lucky he was to find you.

"are you sure? it's not going to be easy."

"yes, of course i am. i've been sure for years, lewis. you were the one who wasn't ready."

his smile faltered a little as he wished he could go back in time and tell himself to get his act together. he couldn't change the past but he was damn well going to change your future together.

"ok."

"ok."

to everyone else in the restaurant, it seemed like a normal date, but if lewis kept his word then it meant the start of a completely new chapter in your relationship.

"you ready for this?" you were in awe of the man stood in front of you.

"more than ready."

"stay safe, ok? we want you back in one piece."

"of course. anything for my two favourite girls."

he placed a kiss on your forehead before taking the toddler from your arms.

"you ready to see daddy race? hmm?"

lewis nuzzled his nose against hers and placed gentle kisses all over her face, prompting an endless symphony of infectious giggles.

he had been absolutely petrified when you told him you were pregnant. he wanted nothing more than a family with you but babysitting nieces and nephews was very different to having your own child. even after all the baby books, birthing classes and packing dozens of hospital bags, lewis still almost passed out when your water broke. and if you weren't in excruciating pain due to your rapidly growing contractions, you would have teased him for his panic.

soon enough, his daughter was placed into his arms for the first time and all of a sudden there was nothing to be anxious about. he could still visualise the moment perfectly and yet somehow failed to describe just how he felt looking at the little one's face. she was the perfect mixture of the two of you.

"i'm so proud of you, my love. you know that right?"

season after season, he was left fighting in the midfield when he was finally given a championship contending car to restore his former glory. it was clear to everyone that lewis was more motivated than ever and that he just needed a car good enough to take him back up to the top step. all the late night meetings and simulator runs had finally paid off, as the legendary eighth world championship was won just a few races ago.

now, as you helped him prepare for his final race in formula one, you looked fondly back on the beginning of your relationship. you had everything you always dreamed of and you wouldn't trade it for the world.

"i couldn't disappoint my biggest supporters!"

"even if you didn't win we would still be your biggest supporters! isn't that right, my sweet girl?" you tickled your daughter as she curled back into lewis' neck to evade your hands.

"thank you."

you looked back at him with furrowed brows while fussing over the toddler.

"what for?"

"for everything. for taking me back, for making me the happiest man in the universe. twice, by the way."

you beamed from ear to ear at the reminder of the wedding that awaited you next year. he had proposed to you just before you found out you were pregnant and it felt like your life was falling into place at last. studying his face, you felt content knowing that you were truly meant for each other. nothing else mattered more than what lied ahead of you and you couldn't wait to experience it with the man you had fallen in love with years ago.

"i would do it all over again in a heart beat."

note: omg. it's literally 1 am but i had to finish this before my random streak of motivation ran out. i didn't think so many people would want a part 2 like i was so shocked at how many people enjoyed part 1!! never thought i'd get 10 notes let alone 100+ you are all tooooo kind 🥹

[lovebugism]

Spoooooky request, what if the gang went to a haunted house and everyone made fun of reader for being scared, but Steve holds her hand and walks with her 👻

thanks for requesting angel! i switched it up a bit and did a sort of second part to this fic! you def don't have to read it but it'll give some context :D — you're still getting used to the world post-vecna, but it's easier with steve holding your hand

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

The haunted house off Fifth Street looks strangely familiar. Two stories, faded cornflower paint job, boarded up windows. It looks like a dollhouse from hell. It looks like the goddamn Creel House. It’s like some kind of sick joke.

It didn’t take Hawkins very long to recover from last spring. Mostly because it was just an earthquake to everyone else. No one died, nothing was ruined beyond repair. To the rest of the town, it was just a minor natural disaster — an inconvenience more than anything.

No one knows that a thirteen-year-old girl killed the monster trying to end the world. No one knows that the local freak nearly died saving a bunch of teenagers. No one knows that one song, one heavy metal guitar, and one good memory just narrowly saved your life. 

It’s secrets all of you are gonna have to keep for the rest of your lives. It weighs you down accordingly.

“Am I crazy, or is that…?” Robin trails off, freckled chin tilted towards the velvet blue sky as she gapes at the artificially rotted house. It glows a sickly green color on the outside. The windows light up red every now and then, in time with the screams echoing from the upper story.

“Yeah,” Nancy answers, breathless and equally dumbfounded. “I think it is.”

A beat of silence falls over the group of you. It doesn’t feel so heavy with the surrounding chatter. The crowd continues to bustle around you on the street, falling over themselves with laughter and lingering fright. They have no idea the ghost story they grew up with nearly destroyed the world.

The bitter realization makes your chest ache. Steve seemingly understands this and gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. You wonder if he can feel the way you tremble.

Eddie scoffs a cynical laugh from the other side of you. A pink, sadistic grin tugs at his lips, almost as wild as his curls billowing in the autumn breeze. “It’s basically kismet then, huh?”

Steve shoots the boy a half-hearted glare, then deflates because he realizes he can’t really be mad about it. Those damn demobats might’ve taken a pound of flesh from his stomach, but it’s nowhere near the feast they made out of Munson.

“C’mon on, dude,” he murmurs quietly with a subtle nod down at you.

“What?” Eddie snorts. “If I don’t laugh bout it, I’ll start crying, so… Take your pick, man.”

Steve wants to tell him that there’s no shame in crying. That he’s done it plenty of times since the fall of ’84. He’s cried for you, for himself, for the kids who will never get to be kids again. He figures it’s better than letting it all build up until you damn near explode. 

But now’s probably not the best time for that talk. Or any time, really. He’ll get you to get all serious and sappy with Eddie about that another time, just like you did for him.

“I’m gonna, uh— I’m gonna go get the tickets,” Jonathan murmurs with his usual Byers mumblings. 

He wasn’t around for the whole Vecna ordeal — just the weird shit in California and the secret lair thing in Nevada. He feels like he can be a bit braver about the whole thing for the four of you.

Nancy brushes a kiss to the boy’s cheek before he leaves. She does that a lot now, with Jonathan and all the rest of you. She always feels like she needs to say a proper goodbye and I love you whenever someone leaves. Just in case the world decides to end again.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Steve mutters to you, gaze twinkling with sincerity but stern still. “You know that, right?”

He knows that you know, but he feels the need to say it anyway. Mostly because he knows you were already scared of most things before everything went to shit. You’ve always been delicate, tender, like an open wound. Now, you can’t step outside without shaking. You’re always shuddering with the distant fear that the curse might return and no one will be there to save you.

Steve knows this, too. That’s why he holds so ardently to your trembling hand. It’s a silent reminder that he’s there, that he won’t let anything happen to you again, that he’ll always be around to save you when you need him.

“Oh, my god,” Robin groans, eyes wide and head tilted back. “Leave her alone, Steve! She’s fine!”

You know she’s just trying to be supportive. She thinks Steve’s coddling you because you’re quiet — that he’s sticking up for you because he thinks you can’t stick up for yourself. 

He is. And you can’t. But still, she’s only trying to help.

Steve looks to his left to glare at her. They seem to communicate telepathically for a moment. His eyes soften again when he turns back to you. His deep cinnamon gaze swims with a honeyed concern, a silent “Are you fine?”

You nod. “I’m okay,” you tell him, mustering a soft smile that wavers at the edges.

He doesn’t believe you, not completely, but he doesn’t press it any further.

Jonathan returns with the ticket stubs. They’re black and blood red. You take the one he gives you with hesitant, clammy hands. He seems to notice how terrified you are without you having to say a single goddamn word.

“I’m not a huge fan of these things either,” he confesses with a thin-lipped smile. A light-hearted way of telling you that you’re not alone in the fear you keep hidden (very poorly hidden, you figure).

You smile back at him, but it doesn’t quite meet your eyes. 

Your fingers fidget with the paper stub — maybe a distraction for yourself or maybe to hide how you’re too anxious to stay still. Steve figures it’s a bit of both. ‘Cause he knows you too well and not a thing gets by him. There’s nothing about you that he doesn’t notice.

He turns to face you completely while everyone else gets their ticket. He keeps his wedged between his middle and forefinger as his hands curl around the outsides of your elbows. He’s serious, but still soft — gentle, but still firm. 

“Babe—”

“Stevie,” you interject with a similar tone. “I’m okay.”

“You heard her, Stevie. She’s fine!” Robin retorts, curling her maroon-tinted lips into a smirk. She scoffs out a laugh and gestures up to the fake haunt across the street. “This shit is basically for kids. No one’s dying here, alright?”

You know what she’s doing. She’s sticking up for you and taking the piss out of her best friend at the same time. It’s nothing new — hell, it’s her favorite hobby. She’s got your back now the same way she had it in that house last spring. 

But still, her words sting a little.

Because she’s right. This place is for kids. And you still feel a bit like you’re dying.

Steve knows this, too. He knows everything about you. Even the stuff you wish he didn’t.

His sneakers scuff against the pavement when he turns to Robin. His eyes narrow in a challenging squint as he crosses his arms over his chest. He doesn’t look quite as intimidating as usual in his fluffy, cable-knit sweater. 

“Well, you know what? I’m scared, actually. I don’t wanna do it, okay? You got me, Rob.”

The girl grins something cynical. She shakes her head all slow, like she’s just caught him in some kind of lie. “I knew it. You little baby.”

Steve lets her tease him. It’s not like he isn’t used to it by now. He just rolls his eyes and bears it, lets her laugh about it with the rest of the group as they head towards the haunted house. 

You watch with an attentive gaze while they head inside, flinching softly when you hear a thunderous boom and the sound of their screaming a second later. It leaves you secretly grateful that you hadn’t gone in behind them. 

A wavering sigh tumbles from your lips, a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Steve exhales a gentle laugh from beside you. He smooths a wide palm up your spine and down again. He leans over to press the side of his hip against yours.

You cross your arms over your chest to make yourself as small as possible while you glance over at the boy beside you. You look at him so far beneath your lashes you’re basically peering at him from the corner of your eye.

“Thank you,” is all you say. It’s all you need to say.

Steve shrugs with a plush, crooked grin. “’S okay. I know you’re too sweet to say no, so…”

“I wanted to do it,” you confess, clearing your throat when your voice breaks.

“I know.”

“I guess I’m not… as used to everything as I thought.”

“I know,” Steve repeats. His hand curls around your waist and makes a home in the very center of it. He pulls you closer with the urge to melt into you. His brows raise, eyes sparkling when his smile widens. “But that’s why I’m here, though, right? We’re gonna get better together.”

You nod up at him, smiling more sincerely now. 

Arms still crossed, your hands ball into fists to fight the urge to smooth a hand through his hair — to push back the rogue chestnut strands hanging over his forehead.

You hesitate, so he beats you to the draw. He swipes a golden hand over his head right before he leans down to kiss you. 

He smacks a sweet peck to your smile. A bright light flashes with another thunderous boom a moment later. You flinch and pull back. You swear you hear Eddie screaming, “jesus fucking christ!” from the upper story. You forget to be scared.

You didn’t think it was possible. The whole getting better thing.

Steve makes you feel like could be.

[elizaleclerc]

epiphany 📠 ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

"just one single glimpse of relief / to make some sense of what you've seen"

summary: fem!reader and javier deal with the aftermath of a traumatic mission

song: epiphany by taylor swift

word count: 2.6k

author's note: first javi fic yippie. hella angst / nightmare trope / mentions of death / hurt/comfort / 18+ but no smut just fluff / established relationship / DEA agent reader / translated spanish

The car ride back to your apartment was suffocatingly quiet, the weight of grief hanging heavily in the air. The familiar streets flew by as Javier drove, but you couldn't focus on anything other than the images burned into your mind. As a DEA agent for over a year, you had seen your fair share of horrors, but never before had you witnessed something so gruesome right in front of you. It was easier to read about these things in paperwork, detached and removed from the reality of it all. But now, the memory of it all was haunting and raw, replaying in vivid detail with every passing second.

Your head felt numb, as if a thick fog had settled over your thoughts. Your whole body felt heavy and weighed down, as if invisible chains were holding you back. The sensation in your stomach was nauseating, like being on a rollercoaster that never seemed to end. Even though you wanted to vomit, you knew it would be futile - your body was too weak to even try. Even Javier, known for his stoic demeanor and ability to handle tough missions, was uncharacteristically quiet. The only sound filling the car was the low muttering of the engine. Not even the radio provided any source of distraction or comfort in this tense moment.

Javier expertly parked the car in the driveway of your shared apartment, the smooth engine purring to a stop. The dim yellow glow of the streetlights illuminated his face as he turned to you, concern etched into his features. But you didn't move to get out of the car, your gaze fixed on something far off and unreachable. Javier's gentle touch on your hand jolted you back to reality. "Hey," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, "let's get inside where it's warm." His words were like a lifeline, pulling you out of the depths of your thoughts. He understood the weight that was pressing down on you - he was carrying it too.

You nodded, and languidly pushed the car door open and scooted out of the passenger seat. Your legs felt like noodles, weak and wobbly from the energy you exerted on today’s mission. Javier put his arm around you, his thumb delicately circling the top of your shoulder.

Javier's keys jingled in the lock as he turned the handle of the front door, and the familiar scent of the apartment enveloped you like a warm embrace. After hours of feeling disoriented and disconnected since returning from the mission, this was the first sense of comfort that washed over you. The office had been a blur, with memories of sitting at your desk attempting to file paperwork but unable to even type on the typewriter. But now, as you lazily walked into the apartment, everything slowly started to feel real again. Javier set his keys down on the sleek kitchen island, and you followed him aimlessly, your mind finally starting to settle from its chaotic state.

“I’m gonna assume you aren’t hungry?” He asked, his voice still soft. You shook your head no. He nodded, “What do you need?”

As you lifted your gaze to meet his, you couldn't help but notice the deep brown pools of concern gazing back at you. But beneath that concern, you could see a deeper turmoil brewing - the weight of today's mission and countless others weighing heavily on his shoulders. "I don't know," you croaked, your voice hoarse from screaming and covered in dust. You weren't even sure if Javier could hear you over the ringing in your ears. Tears welled up in your eyes as flashes of today's horrors replayed in your mind like a never-ending nightmare.

“Listen, you have to talk about what happened today,” he said urgently. In his experience, keeping everything bottled up inside only made things worse. He leaned across the counter, his elbows propping him up as he reached out to hold your hand in his. His touch was warm and comforting. “Tell me, cariño, what's going through your mind right now?” His dark eyes searched yours with concern and empathy as he waited for you to open up to him.

More images flashed through your head. Your throat burned trying to hold back more tears. “I should’ve done more to save them…”

He sighed, “Mi amor, you can’t think that way. You and I both know we did our very best today. The ‘what ifs’ will only haunt you if you let them.” Javier’s voice was persistent yet comforting. This wasn’t his first rodeo, so you knew he was probably telling the truth.

“How do we go to work tomorrow like nothing happened?” Your voice cracked out, and Javier squeezed your hands.

“Everyone in that office apart from the damn secretaries have experienced days like this. They know what we’re going through. We take as much time as we need to get back into the swing of things, and we persist. That’s all we can do, querida.”

You stood in silence, the words caught in your throat as Javier moved around the spacious apartment. The soft glow of golden lights flickered against the dark walls, casting shadows across his face. He poured two glasses of whiskey from a crystal decanter, the sound of clinking ice cubes filling the room. He slid one glass towards you and you reached out to take it, feeling the coolness of the glass against your fingertips. You brought it to your lips and took a slow sip, letting the warm liquid spread through your body and soothe your racing thoughts. In the background, Javier shuffled around the living room before the smooth melody of an oldies music vinyl began to fill the air.

As you made your way into the room, the smell of Javier's cologne mixed with the remnants of cigarette smoke enveloped your senses. You could feel his warmth radiating from the couch as he sat there, whiskey glass in hand, waiting for you. As you slouched down beside him, your body immediately relaxed, finding solace in his comforting presence and scent. The tension in your muscles began to melt away, and silent tears escaped your eyes once again. The weight of the day's events was finally settling in, and you were now more aware of your memories and surroundings than ever before. With each passing moment, you were forced to confront the aftermath of the mission and all that it entailed.

You sniffled as Javier scooted you closer to him. You laid your head down next to his chest and he caressed the side of your arm. “I know, I know.” He whispered as your tears wet his shirt underneath you.

He wasn’t just saying that to comfort you, he really did know. His own memories of tough missions flashed through his head. He remembered when he witnessed his first death on the job. He knew the feelings of regret and guilt that now lingered inside of you. He had gotten better at coping with the aftermath and trauma of missions, but that’s one thing that the DEA doesn’t teach you.

Once most of your tears had subsided, your mind was back to feeling blank. However, you recognized the song that was now playing from the record player. It was a soft oldies song that you and Javier once slow danced to. You thought it was cheesy at the time, but Javier convinced you to dance with him. He could persuade you to do just about anything.

Javier shifted and got up from the couch, your body sinking into the cushions slightly with his absence. You looked at him curiously as he held out his hand, “Dance with me, amor.”

You almost huffed out a laugh, but couldn’t muster up the energy. “Really, now?” He simply nodded in response. You sighed, and slowly got up from the couch.

You moved closer to him, relishing the warmth and strength of his embrace. His arms encircled your waist, pulling you in close as his fingers traced gentle patterns on your back. You closed your eyes, sinking into the feeling of being held by someone who loved you. In the background, the soft melodies of the song played, transporting you to a distant memory. It was the first time you had heard this song, dancing with Javier in this very apartment. The room was filled with cardboard boxes waiting to be unpacked, but Javier was too eager to set up his treasured record player. A fond smile graced your lips as you swayed together, lost in each other's presence.

“Te quiero mucho (I love you so much)” Javier muttered as he placed a kiss at the top of your head. His hands slowly moved up your arms, holding you tightly to him. It was as if he was so worried he could’ve lost you today that he didn’t want to ever let go of you.

“I love you too Javi,” You rested your head onto his chest. You were finally feeling a sense of peace, a sense that you could go on tomorrow and be almost okay.

“Cmon, let’s call it a night.” Javier sighed and you looked up at him and into his brown puppy eyes that held so much love for you. His lips placed a soft kiss onto yours. A kiss that wasn’t meant to lead to anything else. A kiss that stated he was here, just for you to love.

As the minutes ticked by, you both showered and changed into fresh, cozy clothes. Finally, you found yourselves snuggled up together in bed, with Javier's strong arms wrapped around you from behind. His soft lips pressed against your neck and shoulder, leaving a trail of gentle kisses that sent shivers down your spine. The soothing tempo of his breathing next to yours was like a lullaby, easing you into a peaceful slumber.

That was when the nightmare started. You were back inside the shabby house from earlier. Windows were broken and wooden boards were rotted. You couldn’t believe that anyone actually lived there. You held your gun down tightly by your thigh, just the way that Carillo had taught you. Javier was leading in front of you, and Steve was following behind you.

You heard a glass shatter from upstairs and immediately turned your head towards Javier and Steve, knowing looks shared between the three of you. Your mind seemed to fast forward this awful dream. There were three small children being held as hostages, and two men who the DEA had been trying to track down for months. You had your gun pointed at one of the men, Javier and Steve pointing theirs at the second man. Steve was trying to reason with them, but this was an impossible scenario. Your mind was racing but also laser focused. How could you get them to surrender to the DEA and also let the children go? From what you could tell these children were just pulled off the street, their innocent souls only being used as collateral for a scheming drug cartel.

Before you knew it, guns were firing and you lunged back behind a piece of furniture. You heard the voices of Steve and Javier yelling and trying to fight the men, but it was too late. You stood up and scanned the room, your eyes shifting from Javier to Steve, who were trying to catch their breath, then to the three small bodies lying on the ground.

Your own blood-curdling scream tore through the silence, jolting you awake. In an instant, Javier's strong arms enveloped your trembling body, soothing and comforting you in his warm embrace. Your chest heaved with ragged breaths and tears streamed down your cheeks as you struggled to regain control of your emotions. "Shh, it's okay, I'm here, you're safe," Javier murmured tenderly, gently stroking your hair and rubbing your back. Gradually, your breathing slowed and your heart rate returned to normal as the nightmare faded away. But the fear lingered, a palpable presence in the air. It took several minutes before you could calm yourself enough to speak.

You sat up and put your head in your hands. Javier rubbed your lower back as he sat up with you. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asked, and you thought for a moment.

With teary eyes you looked over at him. “They were just kids, Javi. They didn’t do anything wrong.” Your throat burned and more tears fell. Javier pulled you into him so that your head laid on his chest.

“I know. We are gonna do everything we can to get the bastards who took those kids from their families.” He massaged the side of your arm.

“Javi…” You whispered slowly and moved away to look him in the eyes. You grabbed his hand, running your fingers lightly across his knuckes. “You always talk about raising a family. I always loved imagining a bunch of little Javis running around,” a smile tugged at your lips but disappeared in an instant, “but after today…” Your voice trailed off but Javier was waiting for you to continue. His sad eyes were locked onto your face as you stared at his hands in yours. “I want a family, I really do. But I just think about those kids today. What if those were our kids. Kids who just wanted to play out on the street, and now…”

“Oh angel,” His voice was raspy and you looked up to see tears in his own eyes. “I love you so much, and I know your pain, because it’s mine too. Not a day goes by that I don’t worry about our future, about our family. When we get to that point, where we’re ready to settle down, I’ll take an office job. I won’t care what I’ll do at that point. We’ll move anywhere we want, as long as I have you, and any little ones we bring along.” He smiled lightly as his hand came to rest on your jaw. His words brought tears to your eyes. You didn’t realize how much Javier thought about the future between the two of you. He had a plan for every scenario; he would quit his job tomorrow if it meant having you by his side.

“I love you Javi,” You whispered and planted a small kiss to his cheek.

“Eres mi vida (You are my life), I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He moved his hand down to the back of your neck, pulling you in for a soft kiss. It was so gentle, like he knew how fragile you still felt. His lips felt like the softest silk and the warmest blanket. “Let’s get you back to sleep now.”

“I’m sorry- for waking you up,” You apologized as you laid back down on your pillow. Javier laid facing you, his arms shifting you closer.

“You didn’t wake me. I remember my first nightmare from a mission. I wanted to be awake to help you through yours.” He explained in a low, tired voice. He sacrificed his own sleep just so he could console you when yours was interrupted.

“Oh,” you muttered. You wrapped an arm around his torso. God, you thought, you would be totally lost without him.

You saw Javier smiling to himself, “You’re stronger than you think querida.”

You just shook your head, “I don’t know that I did to deserve you Javi…”

His hand lightly massaged the side of your hip, “You’ve got the purest heart of anyone I’ve ever met, cariño.” He kissed the top of your head, and before you knew it your eyelids felt heavy and you were pulled into sleep again.

Javier sighed to himself, “Dulces sueños mi amor. (Sweet dreams my love.)”

[strong-with-the-sarcasm]

Part 23: never as lost

"I'm not ashamed to own my pain, never as lost but I found my way, always knew I'd show my scars one day." -Black Sheep by Dorothy

Regent Masterlist A03 Mundane Macabre Part 22

Jason could keep a secret from his family, that was a given, but he would sooner let Titus use him as a chew toy before he kept something so wonderful from his grandfather. 

It was as if Gotham herself felt his happiness, the shadows embraced him with warmth where there should have been fingers dragging down his spine. No, it seemed the Lady of the city he loved was happy for him too. 

(He loved the Lady, for all she sacrificed to bring him back.) 

(Without the pit clouding his mind, he could find it in himself to be grateful for his chance at life.) 

He wanted to scream the news from the rooftops. 

His love, his soulmate, is having their baby. 

A blend of the two of them- Jason’s fortitude, Jazz’s strength of will. Her determination to protect those she loves, the lengths she would go to made him ache with his love for her. 

That wasn’t to say that they were without fault, no they were flawed beings that would make mistakes in the future. But Jason knew in his bones that any kid of his would be offered the chance to make mistakes without a fatal outcome. To be a kid before having to grow up. A luxury so few got to have. 

Jason decided to call Alfred, unwilling to leave Jazz for longer than he had to. She wasn’t ready to leave her haunt quite yet. 

The private line rang once, twice, three times before the familiar accent answered.

“Wayne Manor.” 

“Hey Alf.” 

“Master Jason! It is good to hear your voice.” 

“You too, Alf.” Jason paused for a second, giddiness bubbling up in his chest before he squashed it down, “I have some great news, but the bats can’t know just yet.” 

“I will not share whatever it is you wish to tell me.” 

Oh yes, his grandfather was the greatest man he would ever know. 

(Suck it Bruce.) 

Jason let the giddiness rise up, just a little, “I’m gonna be a dad.” 

There was a gasp on the other end, “Oh Master Jason that’s wonderful news! Congratulations!” 

“Thanks Alf. I wanted you to know before everyone else.” 

“Thank you Master Jason, I’m honored.” 

“I’ll let everyone else know soon, but it’s not safe right now. I’ll keep you updated, but I have to get back to Jazz. Love you,  Alf.” 

“Love you too, my boy. Whatever you need-“ 

“I have your number memorized. Bye Alf.” 

“Goodbye, Master Jason.” 

She hadn’t been able to hold down much food, morning sickness striking with a vengeance now that she’d been forced out of her cluelessness. 

When Jason stepped outside for a minute to call his grandfather, Jazz had tried to choke down some yogurt to no avail, but it only made her retch into the sink. Jason tied her hair back and made her sit on the couch with her favorite blanket as he made her some soup, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as he moved to the kitchen. 

It was…domestic. 

(She wouldn’t say that their lives together hadn’t been domestic, but it was in the way two vigilantes could orbit around one another.)

(They were two halves of a whole.) 

(Both vengeance and protection.) 

Their child would be born of the most liminal being in existence, the Regent bearing the Crown, but would its fragile heart be able to bear the burden of liminality? 

It would break hers if she lost the life she now carried. 

Perhaps she was meant to be pregnant now, to defy the odds she’d been given, if only to bridge the gap between her existence as Danny’s protector and as her own person. A person who would be a mother to a child born to a couple who had blood dripping off their hands- maternal grandparents murdered to protect their uncle Danny. Paternal grandfather a Kevlar-clad vigilante who was born into tragedy. 

(Perhaps, she and Bruce had something in common.)

(Other than Jason, of course.)

Jason had the sin of the Pit weigh on his soul, held down down down by rocks in his gut to the bottom of the harbor. A bright soul meant for more than what he had been given. In another life, Jason might’ve been a different man. Not better or worse- different in all aspects, all his rough edges that she loved. 

(If she can love his broken parts, why couldn’t he love hers too?)

(He did.) 

No amount of redemption could ever wash away the blood. It was a fact they would have to contend with for the rest of their lives. 

(In another life, Jason Todd would never meet Batman in that alley.) 

(He would never die at the hands of the clown.) 

(He would find his faith in the Catholic Church.)

(Father Jason.) 

(He would never meet Jasmine Nightingale.) 

(Not better or worse.) 

(Just different.)

“…about seven, eight weeks along.” 

If Jazz did the mental math, she would come to the conclusion that her child had been conceived on the same day the Anti-Ecto Acts had been demolished. 

However, this wouldn’t come until far later in the day as both Jazz and Jason watched, enraptured, by the strange black and white image on the monitor. 

Their child. 

The undeniable mix of two souls, two vigilantes, two death-claimed- was visible right there. 

If Jason hadn’t been squeezing her hand in an iron grip, Jazz would’ve convinced herself she had fallen prey to a Dijon. Her buried dream of a family, of children, rested underneath her heart safe and sound. 

“Alright mom and dad, got some pictures printing out. We’ll see you back here in a month for another checkup, alright?” The nurse gently prodded the couple, a knowing smile on her face as she walked them back to the waiting room. 

A month. Four weeks. Jazz would be eleven or twelve months along. 

This was really happening.

With how toned Jazz’s frame was, given her rigorous training and vigilante schedules, any differences to her body was rather noticeable. 

She had to be in shape for the armor to fit properly, because it was crucial for her vital organs to be protected. 

With her pregnancy about to surpass the second month a small slightly curved bump had been her reward. Just above her waistline and obvious to a trainee eye, Jazz had taken to wearing her least restrictive clothing around the apartment. When in the presence of others (bar Jason), her layers were doubled using the approaching winter season as a reasonable excuse. 

As for Jason, he had been supportive of Jazz’s choice to wait until the second trimester to reveal the pregnancy to their loved ones. 

(Jazz had heard Jason on the phone with his pseudo-grandfather.)

(She had no qualms with him telling the patriarch he respected so much.) 

It had taken Danny walking into the living room a few days after her appointment for him to know. 

His head cocked to the side as he came to a standstill, a confused look on his face as he appeared to be listening intensely to whatever had caught his attention so suddenly. 

“Danny?” Jazz sleepily called, book open on her chest where she’d fallen asleep reading it. She stretched out her limbs from where she’d been laying across the couch, taking a moment to rub at her sleep-encrusted eyes before focusing on her little brother. 

The teenager in question offered no sign of having heard his sister, his gaze stuck to the far wall as his head remained cocked to one side. 

“What’s wrong?” Jazz asked, moving to stand, but Danny stopped her with a fervent ‘shh’ motion. 

Shrugging, Jazz leaned back into the couch and sighed. Late night patrols were not the best idea with a passenger leeching energy. Should she still be patrols  by? Probably not, but she wasn’t going out unarmed or un-armored- short of driving a tank, Jazz was as protected as she could be and the Ridge needed to see her out and about alongside Phantom before they got any funny ideas. 

Danny’s neck made a sickening sound as his head snapped towards her direction.  “What the fuck is that.”

[A/N: Happy Holidays! This ended up a lot longer than I intended so I cut it off right with Danny there. Its not quite angst, but the undercurrent is there, but way subtle. (If you haven't picked up on the "mix of the two" hints...) Anyways, the next part will be a while, considering I'm working on a new one-shot I promised for 700 followers and I rewrote the ending of Regent again. If I don't post for Christmas, consider this your present. Stay safe out there and keep warm!] Thanks for reading!

[bucksdaffy]

tommy really doesn't like halloween. any reason? well, plenty, actually.

first, the spooky theme just isn’t for him. horror movies? no, thanks. his day-to-day life is already stressful enough—he doesn’t need to add fake scares to the mix. when tommy sits down to watch something, he wants to relax, to get lost in a good story, not be on edge. why would anyone choose to make themselves anxious for fun?

second, people act really fucking reckless on halloween. the streets are full of kids pulling pranks, and half the time, it feels like common sense goes out the window. that means tommy and his team get stuck responding to ridiculous emergency calls all night. it’s just unnecessary chaos.

third, the whole dress-up thing. finding a costume is a hassle, and once you’re in it, you’re stuck sweating all night. and for what? to pretend to be something you’re not? tommy’s spent enough of his life pretending—he doesn’t see the appeal in doing it for fun.

fourth, halloween has always been tied to painful memories for him. it’s a bit embarrassing, but when he was little, his mom told him a terrifying story, trying to appease his insistence that he was brave enough to handle something scary. it backfired spectacularly, leaving him with nightmares that still haunt him as an adult.

but the worst part? halloween was his father’s favorite holiday, and when his dad celebrated, the entire household paid the price. tommy can still hear his mother’s screams and feel the bruises forming under his father’s fists. to him, halloween wasn’t just spooky—it was a time of danger and fear.

so, yeah, tommy hates halloween. if he could, he’d lock himself inside and wait for the madness to pass. unfortunately, his shifts often fall on halloween, forcing him into the chaos, so he can't always avoid it. but this year, he got lucky. his plan? stay home, avoid everyone, and spend the night alone.

that’s why, when buck invites him over for a halloween movie night, tommy hesitates. buck loves halloween just like everyone else, doesn’t he? tommy’s not sure he can handle that. but still, he agrees. after all, it’s evan—maybe it won’t be so bad.

but when tommy arrives, he’s immediately overwhelmed. buck’s apartment is decked out in halloween decorations, and the stack of horror movies buck’s excitedly prepared feels like way too much. tommy’s stomach churns. he tries to push through it because he really, really likes evan, but the longer he sits there, the more agitated he becomes. the decorations, the movies, the memories—they all weigh heavily on him. he can’t focus on buck; his mind is racing. he fidgets, feeling more trapped by the second.

buck notices and asks what’s wrong, but tommy is too overwhelmed to explain. instead, he resorts to passive-aggressive comments, hoping to deflect. but when buck presses for more, tommy finally snaps. he blurts out in frustration that he really doesn’t like halloween and doesn’t even know why he showed up; he should have told buck that before accepting the invite. without elaborating, he stands up, apologizes, and leaves. tommy knows he’s being selfish, but at that moment, he just can’t handle it.

buck is left confused and hurt, not just because tommy left so suddenly, but because he didn’t say anything sooner. tommy clearly had a bad time, but instead of talking about it, he shut down. buck doesn’t know whether to give tommy space or reach out, but he knows one thing for sure: he wants this relationship to work.

after talking it over with maddie and josh, buck realizes that he needs to let tommy know he’s not going anywhere. tommy doesn’t have to open up if he’s not ready, but he can’t keep shutting buck out.

so buck shows up at tommy’s door. he apologizes, but more importantly, he asks tommy not to give up on their relationship just yet. he tells tommy he’s here for the long haul, that he wants to be there for him, even if tommy’s not ready to talk about what’s bothering him.

and tommy’s eyes well up, and he pulls buck into a tight hug, not wanting to let go. after a few moments, he opens up a little, mentioning how his childhood and halloween are deeply intertwined with bad memories. buck’s heart breaks for him, but he holds tommy closer, pressing gentle kisses to his head.

buck promises that from now on, they’ll celebrate halloween their way—no horror, no stress. just the two of them, baking tommy’s favorite cake, watching romcoms or silly animated movies, creating new memories that have nothing to do with fear.

and tommy doesn’t realize it just yet, but maybe halloween won’t be so bad anymore. in fact, with buck by his side, it might even be something he can actually look forward to.

[airandyeah]

Gimme Gimme Gimme (God!Sukuna X Reader) Pt.7

My Masterlist Series Masterlist Makes me overjoyed that the taglist keeps growing, I love you all and appreciate the support!

As you watched the scene unfold, the rawness of it took your breath away. The once serene setting by the stream, where Sukuna had seemed almost human, now felt like a cruel illusion, shattered by the grim vision that followed. You couldn't look away as you watched your own body lying lifeless on the ground, surrounded by the haunting glow of flames.

Sukuna, in his monstrous form, was a sight to behold—his eyes wild with rage, his immense body casting an imposing shadow over the burning ruins. His fists were clenched, flames dancing along his hands as though they were an extension of his fury. He roared, a guttural sound that seemed to shake the very air, and it struck something deep within you. A sense of helplessness, as if you were no longer in control of your fate.

But the question echoed in your mind: Did Sukuna kill you?

You wanted to scream, to call out to him, to demand answers. But the words caught in your throat, and no sound came. You were trapped in this nightmarish vision, unable to move, to speak, to change anything.

His face—those fierce, unyielding eyes—met yours, though you weren't sure how, considering the world seemed to separate you from him. There was a strange emptiness in his gaze, a sense that something had shifted in him, something far darker and more unsettling than the godly destruction you had seen before.

But as his form loomed over your fallen body, his hands raised, a violent surge of power crackling around him, something in his expression faltered. It was a brief moment, just a flicker, but it felt like the weight of the world had shifted with it. His stance softened, his fiery energy pausing as his gaze locked on your motionless body.

No, you thought desperately, still unable to speak. Don't.

The flames in his hands sputtered, and for a fleeting instant, you saw something different in him—a kind of grief, or perhaps even regret. It was gone as quickly as it came, replaced once more by the unyielding hunger for destruction that had once been his essence.

But just before the flames could descend, the dream shifted again.

This time, you were back in the present, standing before him as you had been in the waking world. Sukuna was still there, but he wasn’t the same towering figure. His form had returned to its more human state—his eyes still carrying that same unsettling weight.

He was staring at you, as if waiting for something. As if he needed something from you, though you couldn’t tell what.

“Do you fear me?” His voice was quiet, but the question hung in the air like a challenge.

You hesitated. The dream, the burning vision of your own death, had left a mark on you. But the answer—whatever it was—felt like a fragile thread, one that could snap at any moment.

“No,” you finally said, your voice steady despite the tremor inside. “But I fear what you're becoming.”

His expression didn't change, but something flickered in the depths of his eyes. For a moment, he looked almost... uncertain. The god of destruction, the being who had once commanded the end of worlds, seemed less like an unstoppable force in that moment and more like a creature caught in his own storm.

“You’re afraid of me,” he murmured, the words slipping from his lips like a bitter truth. “You should be.”

You shook your head, pushing past the dread that weighed you down. "I’m not afraid of you. I’m afraid of what happens if you keep going down this path."

Sukuna’s gaze hardened, but you could feel a subtle shift in the air between you both. Something was changing. Something was shifting in him, just like it had in the dream.

“I won’t lose you again,” he whispered under his breath, so softly that you almost didn’t hear it. But you did. And it made your heart race with a mix of dread and something else you couldn’t name.

As you stared back at him, something shifted inside you too. The dream was a warning, a glimpse of a fate you couldn't yet escape. Sukuna was a force of nature, a god who had been scarred by loss and bound by an unrelenting need to destroy. And yet, as he stood before you now, the power in his presence was undeniable.

But in his eyes, you saw something else—a desperation, a longing, a desire to hold onto something that was slipping away.

And despite everything, despite the weight of his past, despite the endless cycle of destruction that seemed to surround him, you realized something that terrified you: You were drawn to him.

Maybe not in the way he wanted. Maybe not in the way he thought. But drawn to him all the same. Because, in a world filled with chaos and destruction, he was still the one thing that felt impossible to ignore.

But the question remained: Could you save him? Or would you be swallowed by the storm he was becoming?

You knew only one thing for certain. The cycle had not yet ended. The choices you both made would shape everything.

And it all hinged on what would come next. ~~~ Sukuna’s hand reached out, his fingers brushing against the cool earth beneath you, but his eyes—those haunting eyes—never left your motionless form. His lips parted, and for a moment, it almost looked as though he might speak, might offer some explanation or apology. But then, his gaze darkened, and all words seemed to evaporate like smoke in the night air. His hand curled into a fist, and the flames that had danced around his fingertips flared up in violent, chaotic bursts.

His voice was a low, guttural growl as it filled the air, reverberating through the very fabric of the dream. "You think I wanted this? Do you think I wanted to see you… like that?"

The scene around you flickered, the world of chaos and fire shifting violently. You could feel the ache in your chest, the terror of being trapped in his fury—a fury he had never shown you in the waking world. This version of Sukuna was not the man you knew, the one who stood by your side, distant yet possessive. This Sukuna was raw, untamed, a god whose rage burned with an intensity that felt like it could consume everything.

"Why would you think I’d do this?" he spat, but there was no answer. Only the echo of his anger filled the air, and the flames swirled around you both like a vortex, threatening to pull you deeper into the nightmare.

Then, like a shift in the tides, the flames receded. The roar of destruction quieted, and in its place was the sickening silence that followed devastation. Sukuna stood over you, but now he looked… broken, a dark shadow in the stillness.

"You think I could ever… forgive myself for this?" His voice was softer now, almost as though the words hurt him. His fingers hovered above your lifeless body, trembling slightly, unsure. “For letting you die?”

It wasn’t just the devastation of seeing you dead that rattled him—it was the crushing weight of the fact that he, the immortal god, had been the reason your life was brought to an end.

The dream seemed to stretch on, each second a slow burn in your mind, as though time itself was fractured. And through the lingering haze of grief and destruction, Sukuna spoke once more, his voice barely audible now, but sharp with intent. “I would burn it all down. I would tear the world apart to bring you back. I would break everything, undo it all, if it meant I could save you. But in the end…”

His voice trailed off, like a broken promise, the words lost in the dark void between you.

The next moment, the dream shattered. You woke up with a sharp gasp, your body drenched in cold sweat, the lingering remnants of the nightmare fading like smoke. The room around you felt eerily quiet, as if the world had held its breath, waiting for something to happen. The moonlight that had once bathed the space now seemed cold, distant, and you could feel the pulse of something heavy in the air.

Sukuna was gone.

At least, you thought he was. You rubbed your eyes, trying to shake off the lingering sensations of the dream. But then, just as you turned to pull the blankets closer, there was a faint rustle in the corner of the room—a shadow that seemed too solid to be a trick of the light.

Sukuna’s voice came, low and dangerous, from the darkness. "Did you dream of me, little one?"

You froze. Every instinct in your body screamed for you to say nothing, to act as if you hadn’t been pulled into that horrific vision, that dark descent into despair. But his presence, even from across the room, was undeniable. There was a weight to it, an almost suffocating pressure that settled around you. He was here. And the dream… it had felt too real.

You couldn’t tell him the truth—not yet. Not when you weren’t even sure of it yourself.

Instead, you pushed your fear aside, keeping your voice steady as you spoke into the silence. “No. It was nothing.”

There was a long, tense pause, and in that time, you could feel his gaze on you, sharp and calculating, like a predator sizing up its prey. When he finally spoke again, his tone was as cold as it was commanding. "Lying to me won’t get you anywhere, little one. You know that, don’t you?"

You swallowed, your heart racing. You had never seen him so intense, so drawn into something that wasn’t destruction or indifference. There was a darker undercurrent to him now, one that made you wonder if this was the real Sukuna—if this was the man you had somehow come to know—or if he was something else entirely.

“Tell me what you dreamt of,” he demanded softly, the words carrying the weight of his power, the promise of a consequence you didn’t fully understand.

For a heartbeat, you considered lying again. But the image of him, his arms covered in blood, his eyes dark with regret, flashed in your mind once more. You had seen the agony in his eyes in that dream—the agony of someone who had already lost what they held most dear. Did you really want to provoke that darkness again?

“I dreamt… of you,” you whispered. The words tasted like betrayal, but they slipped out before you could stop them. "And I saw…"

His presence loomed closer, and you could feel his breath against your skin. He leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper, the words sharp and possessive. “You saw what, little one? Tell me.”

Your breath hitched in your throat as you met his gaze, the intensity of his stare burning through you. You had never seen him like this—this close, this vulnerable, and yet still so terrifyingly powerful. The darkness in his eyes was no longer a distant thing. It was right here, staring back at you, waiting for you to crack.

You had to tell him. You had to, or he’d tear the truth from you in ways you couldn’t predict. But as you prepared to speak, you wondered, with a chilling certainty, if telling him the truth would be your undoing.

"I saw you with my... Corpse.," you finally confessed, your voice barely a whisper, breaking beneath the weight of your fear.

The room seemed to hold its breath, and for a moment, nothing happened.

Then, Sukuna spoke, his voice cold but trembling with a restrained fury. "So you have it figured out then.".

The air thickened with tension, and you could feel every fiber of your being on edge as his words settled like a weight upon your chest. There was a brief pause, a beat of silence that stretched uncomfortably long before he spoke again, his voice low and dangerous, laced with something almost… fragile.

"So, you understand, then?" Sukuna’s eyes darkened, his gaze burning through you with an intensity that seemed to strip away any pretense of safety you had left. "The power, the curse that binds us—how it always leads to ruin. How it was always meant to end this way."

You swallowed hard, your mind racing to make sense of it all. The dream, the truth you had glimpsed within that chaotic nightmare—it all felt like a trap, a sickeningly intricate design meant to unravel you.

You wanted to scream, to demand answers, to understand what this all meant for you, for him, for the twisted fate you seemed to share. But his presence was suffocating, pressing down on you like a vice, and you found yourself speechless in the face of it all.

"You think I don’t know?" His voice was soft, but there was a tremor in it now—a vulnerability that you hadn’t expected to hear from him. "That I don’t feel it? The weight of it all? The destruction, the loss... it’s all part of me now. It’s always been."

His words hit like shards of glass, each one cutting deep. You wanted to argue, to tell him that he didn’t have to be bound by his past, by the curse of his existence. But in your heart, you knew the truth. Sukuna had been made by destruction. It was his nature, his legacy. And there was no escaping it—not for him, not for anyone who crossed his path.

But you couldn't let it end like this.

You took a shaky breath, trying to summon the courage to speak through the fog of your fear. "What do you want from me, Sukuna?" The words came out almost like a plea, but you couldn’t stop them. "What do you want me to do with this knowledge? With this curse that we both share?"

He was silent for a long moment, his eyes searching yours, like he was trying to piece together the fractured puzzle of his own existence. And then, his voice, softer now, though still filled with that unyielding power, broke the silence.

"I want..." he hesitated, his throat tight with something that seemed almost like regret, "I want you to understand. To understand that no matter what I do, no matter how much I destroy or build, I cannot escape what I am. I can’t escape this." His hand lifted, fingers curling into a fist, and for a fleeting second, you thought you could see the faintest shimmer of tears in his eyes—a crack in the godlike facade.

But it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

"You think you can save me?" He scoffed, his voice bitter, a laugh that was hollow and empty. "How could you save something like me? I am the storm. I am the end."

The words stung, but you didn’t flinch. You couldn’t. There had to be more than just this endless cycle of destruction. You had to believe that.

"You’re wrong," you said, your voice steadier now, despite the pounding of your heart in your chest. "I don’t think I can save you. But I think you can save yourself."

His eyes locked onto yours with a burning intensity, and for a moment, it felt like the world itself was holding its breath.

"You’ve lived for centuries," you continued, slowly stepping closer to him, "You’ve destroyed kingdoms, brought down gods, and yet, here you are, still searching for something. But it’s not the destruction that will save you, Sukuna. It’s not the power. It’s… you. It’s the part of you that still cares."

His eyes flashed with something—anger, perhaps, or frustration. But there was also a flicker of something else, something far deeper, far more human than the monstrous being he presented to the world.

"You think that’s what’s left of me?" His voice was tight, a low growl laced with bitterness. "The part that cares? It’s been burned away by years of blood and fire. There’s nothing left but this—this endless hunger."

The storm inside of him raged, but you refused to back down. You couldn’t.

"You’re wrong," you repeated, your voice firm, a spark of hope kindling inside you. "Because I see it in your eyes. I see it in the way you hesitate. I see it in the way you look at me."

He stilled, his body tensing as if preparing for some kind of attack. But his eyes, those wild, furious eyes, held something new—something that scared him as much as it scared you.

He took a step back, the air thick with his uncertainty. "You don’t know what you’re asking for," he said, his voice quieter now, almost dangerously calm. "You think I can change? You think I can just undo everything?"

"I don’t know," you said, your voice softer now, filled with an emotion that surprised even you—something close to tenderness. "But I’m willing to find out."

There was a long pause, and you thought he might leave, might retreat into the shadows like he always did. But instead, he remained there, his gaze never leaving you. A silence stretched between you, filled with the weight of everything unsaid, everything uncertain.

Finally, he spoke, his voice a low, rasping whisper that cut through the tension like a blade.

"You’re a fool," he murmured, but the words held no venom. There was something in them that almost sounded like acceptance.

And then, as if a storm had passed, the weight in the room seemed to lift, just a little. The intensity of his presence, though still overwhelming, seemed less suffocating, less destructive.

The cycle had not yet ended. The choices you both made would still shape everything, but for the first time, you felt like you might be standing on the edge of something new. Something that could change everything.

And maybe, just maybe, you and Sukuna could rewrite the end of this story.

Taglist: @rinkomei , @sleepycrybbylaiah , @queenmimis , @maellem , @after-laughter-come-tears Taglist is always open for anyone!

[allforreading-fandomthings]

Hi, 🌹🌹🌹 for sentences from your random drafts, please.

This is from chapter 5 of The Bad News & The Good, written today, really just a first version, largely unedited. It's part of a phone call between Ice and Bradley and Ice has just told Bradley that he has cancer. 

“Bradley?” 

“Sorry, I-” 

“It's okay.” 

Another sniff. “Thanks for telling me.” 

“Of course. You deserve to know.” He's weighing his next words for a moment. “You're still as good as a son to me. I had to tell you.” 

And that is true. He and Sarah had even signed papers making them his legal guardians in case anything had happened to Mav. It had never come to use but that Mav had asked them to do it had meant a lot to him. The trust he had always put into him still astounds him today. 

“I'm sorry, Ice… I… I should've… I shouldn't have…” he's sobbing 

Ice swallows, closes his eyes - and sees the fourteen-year-old boy who's lost his mom not even half a year ago and is forced to live with his godfather’s best friend's family. A man he's only seen a couple of times in his life and a woman who's a stranger to him, plus a first grader and a baby. Not exactly the company you'd want for a teenager but so much better than any feasible alternative. 

He sees the boy who lost his father because of him, because of this one damned hop. That alone had been enough to immediately say yes without even consulting Sarah when Mav had asked him for the first time if Bradley could stay with them until Mav came back from his deployment. 

He sees the boy who wakes up screaming and shivering and crying at night from being haunted by pictures of the past, from seeing his mom become sick and die over and over again. In ways even more contorted than reality and one nightmare worse than the other. 

And he sees himself, his younger self, again and again sitting on the edge of Bradley’s bed, a cup of tea in one hand and his other resting on Bradley’s back, resting on his sticky because sweat-through pajama top, trying to soothe him. Telling him that he's safe. Telling him that it wasn't his fault that his mom died, that he never possibly could've read the signs. Because nobody could have seen it coming. And he apologizes that he has to stay here now, that Mav can't be here, that he has to deal with living with this family now. 

He sees Bradley apologizing for just being there, for intruding into his family. 

He sees himself sitting against the headboard of Bradley's bed with the boy curled into his side, finally finding back to sleep. 

He sees himself fighting with Sarah because of that. Because he helped the boy find sleep while his own kids were already fast asleep. He never understood her problem with that. 

He sees Bradley babysitting Chris and Amber, sees them becoming friends despite the gigantic age gap. 

He sees Bradley visiting him in his study one Friday afternoon after school, reluctantly asking if a couple of friends could come over, just in general, because they kept asking why they never met up at his place. 

He sees Bradley winning his first little league game and he sees him crying his eyes out because his first crush told him that he’s disgusting because he's into girls and boys. 

He sees himself cheering over that win and he sees himself comforting Bradley and telling him that there's absolutely nothing wrong with him and that he'll find somebody much, much better. 

He sees Bradley telling him that he's thinking about joining the Navy and he sees Mav telling him that Bradley has left. 

[brightlotusmoon]

Some lines in *Star Trek: Deep Space Nine* don’t just echo through a scene—they stay with you, haunt you, change the way you look at everything that came before. One such moment arrives quietly, yet with the force of an emotional supernova, when Aamin Marritza says, “You have no idea what it’s like to be a coward.” In a series brimming with layered politics, conflicting identities, and personal reckonings, this one line from a character who only appeared in a single episode, *Duet*, cuts deeper than most spoken by main cast members across entire seasons. Because it doesn’t just reveal who Marritza is—it reflects who we all are when we are too afraid to speak, too paralyzed to act, too haunted by guilt to believe we deserve redemption.

Marritza, a former file clerk at the infamous Gallitep labor camp, poses as Gul Darhe’el, a brutal Cardassian war criminal, not for glory or deception, but to put himself on trial. Not just personally, but symbolically—for all of Cardassia. He alters his appearance, orchestrates his capture, and ensures Major Kira will discover the truth, all so he can stand as a proxy for the crimes of his people.

He believes Cardassia must be forced to confront its atrocities on Bajor, and in a bitter twist, he believes he must be punished for not doing enough when those horrors were unfolding around him. His real crime, he claims, is cowardice—not raising his voice when others were screaming, not stepping forward when others were falling.

That moment—the admission that his guilt isn’t based on action, but inaction—is shattering. He wasn't a torturer. He wasn't a monster. He was a bureaucrat, one of the countless who kept the machinery of oppression running smoothly while telling themselves they weren’t responsible because their hands were clean.

But Marritza knows better. And in this acknowledgment, DS9 peels back the comfort of moral simplicity that other sci-fi might offer. No easy heroes. No perfect villains. Just people caught in the tide of history, each choice weighed down with consequence.

Kira’s transformation in that moment is just as profound. A former resistance fighter who had every reason to hate Cardassians—who likely *needed* to hate them to survive—suddenly sees one who shatters her worldview.

Her belief that all Cardassians are evil is dismantled, not by a grand gesture, but by an honest act of sorrow and moral bravery. Marritza doesn’t want forgiveness. He wants to matter. He wants to break through the indifference of his world. And ironically, it’s that desperation for justice—not revenge—that humanizes him in a way no tearful apology ever could.

Then comes the final cruelty: he is killed in the end. Not by the law. Not by justice. But by blind hatred. By a Bajoran who, like the younger Kira, cannot yet separate justice from vengeance.

Marritza dies not as the symbol he tried to become, but as another victim of the war he tried to rise above. And that, perhaps, is what makes his line so unforgettable. "You have no idea what it's like to be a coward." Because in it lies a confession, a condemnation, and a challenge.

What do we do when we are safe, when we are not the ones being hunted or hated? Do we speak out? Or do we file our reports and walk past the dying?

Marritza’s story is not just a tragedy—it’s a mirror. And for a character who appeared only once, his impact reverberates through DS9’s moral architecture. He becomes a quiet cornerstone in the show’s greatest strength: its refusal to let anyone remain purely good or irredeemably evil.

Kira's heart begins to shift here. The journey toward empathy—for her, for us—starts with a single, unflinching line that redefines what it means to be brave.

[illustriously-annie]

What if Callum accidentally (or while being controlled by Aaravos) killed Ezran?

Magic, dark or not, is risky. What if Callum learnt that the hard way?

Imagine the guilt, the horror, the shame that would haunt him for years. How could he do that? How could he take the life of someone he was ready to die for not so long ago? He would be forced to don a crown no one wants him to wear stained with his brother's blood, the same stain lingering on his hands

The disdain, the rage Zym would feel against him, especially if it was just a freak accident. Did you hate him that much, Callum? Enough to slaughter him? You could've done something to save him! Zym had felt the pain Ezran did when the blood trickled down his body and he won't forget it either

Imagine Bait grabbing a jellytart, only to put it down when he remembered there was no one to share with. He won't eat with Callum. He can't

The silence that would weigh on the kingdom, the slight sound of carving through hard rock, sculpting in Ezran's honor, and the distant hum of birds as they migrated to a different land. Animals of every kind would linger near his casket that waited to eventually be... Birds settle on Ezran's windowpanes until Callum enters the room. Shops are closed and the only thing you can catch in markets is murmuring. Everyone is considering moving out. They don't want to live under a murderous king, they're sure he's a tyrant.

Callum sitting on Ezran's bed, unable to stop looking at his hands. He tries to remember how Ezran felt when he hugged him, how he laughed, how he spoke, how he'd lean into every hug, how he'd go on and on about animals if given the chance. He reads his father's, Damian's poems he once read to Ezran. He keeps reading Ezran's favorite one until he can recite it by heart. He'd spend his days madly searching for a way to cleanse himself of this dark, evil magic if Aaravos controlled him into killing Ezran. He'd stop using magic if it was an accident. He craves holding Rayla's hand but fears inflicting the same fate on her. He's tempted to order a death sentence on himself. It's been a long time since he spoke more than a few lines.

Rayla and Stella silently roam the kingdom dressed as a human. She doesn't need to, but she prefers it; it brings back good memories. She braids and stitches shrouds and flower crowns for Ezran's casket and his future statue beside his mother's. She wishes she could help Callum. She can't forget the way he screamed and cried when he realized what he had done. Stella tries to convince whoever understands her that Callum didn't mean it, few believe her. Rayla stopped looking around after she got in a fistfight with someone who called Callum hellspawn. Opeli bailed her out. Whenever Rayla does leave she goes with Opeli. There's nothing worth fighting for between them. She likes hearing Ezran's childhood stories.

Imagine if Ezran died before Rayla came. She climbs into the king's bedroom, unsure why Callum is there, and finds out Ezran is long gone. She hates herself for leaving, for missing the wonderful person Ezran was growing up to be. She can't believe it when people tell her he was closer to her height before he passed. She wants to hug him, to tell him she's proud of him, but she can only stare at the portraits that litter the castle walls.

Soren and Corvus sit by Ezran's casket sometimes. It wasn't too long ago that Soren could hold him up with one arm. He knows Callum didn't mean it, but that doesn't mean he won't stop thinking about how cold, how limp Ezran's body felt. No child deserves that. He doesn't wish the fate of losing someone so painfully on his worst enemy. He wonders, maybe reaching out to Claudia is a good idea, maybe she could save him. There was one last haiku Soren didn't get to tell him. He doesn't force Callum to talk to him, instead just sitting beside him until he's ready. Corvus doesn't come to the throne room as often as he should. Callum can't bring himself to specially request him to come

Opeli stares at the half-finished letters Ezran wrote and stamped, she drags her fingers over the ink, careful not to smear it, and bows before his paintings and statues. Everyone picked it up from her. She doesn't like looking at Ezran's finished work, the ink seems to be fading.

If Aaravos was the one that caused King Ezran's demise he wouldn't be able to stop thinking about Leola. He wonders if he made a mistake, not he can reverse it now.

[deafeningfanlight23]

"Building Just A Place Where Suns Deserve A Home."

This oneshot is based off THIS episode, "Moon FINDS DARK SUN", and about this sentence referenced in the title that Dark Sun said!

ENJOY MY FELLOW TSAMS FANS! :D [And I'm sorry it's poorly written kinda IT'S ALMOST 4 AM FOR ME OKAY 😭🙏]

And this is btw the Sun from the other dimension who beat HIS Moon to death so don't get confused ^^'

-------------------------

TRIGGER WARNINGS - ROBOT GORE (?), DEATH

„Die, Die, DIE!“

This was the only thing Sundrop had been hearing from his mouth for a long time that felt like skipping a minute backwards whenever his aching fist would ram against the metal. First, it was a shout driven by the history of violence and abuse that had pushed him towards his breaking point, had carved their markings onto his mind and body that now began to gush out with blood, but now, it turned almost into a begging of closure. A closure that wouldn’t arrive, no matter how many times he would hit, scream, kick, slam. Each time he felt how his wound, ripped-open knuckles met the harsh surface of metal whose icy cold shot throughout his body, it only fed into this insatiable desire for revenge, to see him beaten down and rotting forever as this corpse that would never be a part of his life anymore. He wanted him erased, not just his body – But the memories that were attached to his voice, appearance, gestures, even mere name. Just flickering his gaze towards his soulless, black sockets and oil-caked face made him shake in both anger and fear. It felt like he relived each moment where he was screamed at, scolded, name-called, beaten, reduced to nothing more than a sobbing individual who would do anything to please to avoid any potential anger.

His knuckles ached. His chest felt like being constricted as strained, shaky breaths escaped his clattering mouth. He could feel how the oil between his joints dripped through and spilled upon his fingertips, staining his face whenever he would take momentum and shoot his fist towards the thing he attacked. But now, it took more effort to even bring his fist to move, and the thuds caused by the impact weren’t as strong as before.

He grew tired.

Exhaustion swept over him and weighed him down.

Just like the slowly creeping feeling that he might do something so terribly wrong that he could never take back no matter how much he tried.

And now, he doesn’t know anymore.

He braced his hands against the ground as he straightened his back. He took a closer look.

His blurry vision only revealed a shadowy frame that laid underneath him. Lifelessly. Like a corpse whose chest cage was ripped open, turned into a mere pile of wires and an empty metal shell.

It was his brother.

His brother Moondrop.

And now, his brother doesn’t even live anymore.

He is dead.

He is fully gone.

But why does he still haunt him, why is he still stuck in his mind?

His fingers curled inward his palm. They pressed against the ground.

DOES NOTHING WORK?

IS EVERYTHING HE DOES USELESS?

His head sagged down. Those thoughts tormented him. It felt like someone screamed directly into his ear, the voices just there to make his life a LIVING hell growing so loud that they broke through the bounds of his internal world and entered the outside one.

WHY DIDN'T THEY TURN QUIETER ALTHOUGH HIS BROTHER WAS DEAD?

Maybe he needs to do more? Maybe more efforts?

Maybe beat him even more until his face is unrecognizable?

Sundrop choked on his sobs. His fingertips roamed the floor until they stumbled upon a barrel.

He snatched it as if his life depended on it.

Just do it.

Hit him.

Hit him until he is only a bloody pulp.

DO IT, COWARD.

And Sundrop tried. He lifted his arm, the barrel tightly held in his hand, just wanting to go through the motion to finally escape, to finally have this relief and peace he has been looking for his entire life.

But he stopped.

Because something so... warm suddenly entered the room. As if the sun's warm rays poured over him and engulfed him.

Sundrop dragged his gaze up.

He was blinded by a light from which a person split apart. A hand was stretched out in front of him. Hesitantly, he looked from the person to the hand - The oily tears glimmering in his eyes telling the tale of suffering and hopelessness that defined his whole existence.

But maybe, this... person can rescue him. Save him.

Maybe, he is his savior.

Sundrop laid his hand in his. He looked up again.

The outlines of the person got clearer.

"You've suffered enough, Sun. It's time to go to your new home."

They had... rays.

[author-of-oddities]

hello.. i have no idea how to be as formal and fancy as you are here but id like to humbly request Stanford with electrocution for the Bad Things Happen bingo !! ! !!! if u need any ideas for it in specifics, maybe the aftermaths of Weirdmaggedon?? or possibly having nightmares about it on the ship with stan?? again, just if u need ideas !!! :-)

Ahhh yes!! Absolutely! I present to you...

Aftershock

Trigger/content warnings: descriptions of canon-typical violence and its aftermath A/N: Written for @badthingshappenbingo Prompt: Electrocution Word count: 1,263 Summary: Even after months have passed, Ford is still haunted by the events of Weirdmageddon.

Also on Ao3!

The electricity hit him with brutal force, an invisible lightning that seemed to erupt from nowhere, locking every muscle into an iron grip. His limbs twisted involuntarily, teeth clenched so tightly it felt as though his jaw might shatter. Beneath his skin, an intense, burning current pulsed, sparking along his nerves like fire spreading through dry brush. He couldn't breathe; his chest felt trapped, crushed by an unbearable weight, as though every fiber of his being was locked in a silent scream. It was all-consuming, a brutal takeover that left no corner of him untouched by the raw and relentless force of the shock.

“C’mon, Fordsy,” Bill’s biting voice rang throughout his mind as his body went limp. “One little equation will save you from this, y’know?” Every inch of his body hurt in ways beyond imagination- thankfully, the searing sensation that clawed its way inside out seemed to relent in the same fashion. Still, the burns on his wrists remained, only worsened by every subtle shift, every scrape of skin against the unforgiving shackles. For a fleeting moment, he considered the offer. What was one simple equation compared to the immense physical trauma that he had already and would continue to endure? Ford shook the thought from his mind as quickly as it came, reminding himself of the stakes that weighed solely on that one equation. The world, the universe, the galaxy, and the entire dimension could be ripped apart if somehow, Bill worked the right numbers into their exact places.

He raised his head, grimacing at the pain that shot through his shoulders with the movement, and pried his eyes open, meeting Bill’s with an expression that portrayed unwavering bravery. “Never,” he croaked, voice betraying the impression his look had given. Whether or not he’d admit it, Ford was on the edge of breaking. It was just a matter of what would be the first to give: his body or mind?

Then he decided. “Not until the day I die.”

Body it was.

Bill’s laughter echoed through Ford’s mind, a twisted, taunting sound that rippled like broken glass across his frayed nerves.

“Oh, Fordsy, you’re adorable,” he sneered, floating closer until his voice felt like a whisper wrapped around Ford’s own thoughts. “You really think you can keep this up? That little resolve of yours is as flimsy as a wet tissue. You’re not built for this.”

He drifted around the Fearamid, turning to face his audience, then back at his victim, eye glinting with a disturbing glee. “But, hey, keep playing hero if you want. I can do this all day. Every minute you hold out, you’re just giving me more time to savor your pain. This is fun for me. Can you say the same?”

Ford only sneered in response. Any more than that and he’d certainly be sick. Even at that, Ford had clenched his jaw until he tasted blood, even his method of distraction wearing his body to its limit.

Suddenly, there was a shift in his attitude. Logically, Bill was aware of just how close he’s pushed his captive to the brink of death, even having contorted his power to make sure he didn’t overdo himself. Now, though, Bill knew. “I’ll give you one more chance to end this,” Bill purred, “just say the word. It’s not that hard. Just one equation, Sixer.”

He knew, as much as Bill did, that the fight wasn’t just physical. Bill was tearing at his mind, prying apart each mental shield he’d built to protect himself. Regardless, this was his last chance. It would end one way or another: if he lived, his universe died.

“Suit yourself,” Bill finally sighed, feigning disappointment. “But don’t say I didn’t offer.”

A guttural scream tore from Ford’s throat as another wave of searing electricity ripped through him, a savage torrent of agony that felt like it was unraveling him from the inside out. His vision blurred, his pulse thundered in his ears, and for a terrifying moment, he was certain this was the end—that this time, Bill’s relentless torture would be the thing to leave him as a lifeless shell.

Suddenly, it all stopped.

No more pain, no more grating laughter.

Ford’s chest heaved as he struggled to draw breath. Each gasp came in shallow bursts, quick and desperate, matching the thunderous echo of his heartbeat in his ears. For a moment, those were the only two things that existed- his breathing and heartbeat, both working in harmony to remind him that he did it. He survived.

But there was always more, this time being no different. Sheets had tangled around his legs, the mattress dipped under where he lay, and some foreign pressure pushed on his shoulder. As he calmed, Ford noticed a sound. At first, it was just a muffled noise, almost drowned out by the frantic drum of his pulse. But as he took a shuddering breath, his senses sharpened, and he realized what it was—a voice, rough and familiar, calling his name over and over.

“Ford! Stanford, wake up!”

He jolted upright, eyes flying open as the world came crashing into place around him. Stan dropped his hands from his brother's arm, relieved he didn’t need to spend any more time trying to shake him awake. The loss of contact seemed to startle the older twin further, his breathing quickening again.

“Hey, you’re okay,” Stan tried to reassure, returning his hand to where it’d unknowingly been grounding the other.

Ford nodded, frantically, and it became obvious that he was trying to convince himself that Stan’s words were true. “It…” he held his hands in front of himself, examining the skin around his wrists. Scars mirrored the cuffs that once held him captive, but they were healing, fading slowly—a reminder that it was all in the past.

“It still feels so real,” he murmured, fingers tracing the marks. A strange, tingling sensation pulsed beneath his skin, different from the older scars on his chest and back, which had long since numbed. But this—this was real.

“Hey, Poindexter,” Stan tried softly, successfully drawing his brother’s attention away from his thoughts. As Ford faced him, he continued, “It’s okay. It was just a dream. Look around–” Stanley gestured to the small room around them, just large enough to fit a desk and chair at the foot of the bed. 

Ford took in his surroundings, eyes quickly sweeping the books on the shelf above the desk, the papers from his journals that littered the few surfaces they could, and the quilted blanket that was draped over him. His heartbeat gradually steadied, the familiar objects grounding him more than he’d expected. The gentle sway of the boat beneath him, the faint scent of old wood and sea salt—all of it reminded him of where he truly was, and more importantly, who he was with. Each item was a piece of the life they’d built, of the second chance they’d somehow managed to carve out. This was real, not some fleeting illusion conjured by his mind or a nightmare waiting to collapse. For the first time in a long time, he felt safe. He was on a boat– their boat. The boat of their dreams, even.

He let out a sigh of relief, then let himself fall against Stanley, his head resting on the other’s shoulder. “Yeah, you’re right,” he muttered.

Despite it all– forty years apart, fights in between, and the near-end of the world– they did it. They were here, together at last, sharing a peace they’d fought their whole lives to find.