#someone who grievs her father and siblings

[kiyrian]

I just realized: Jinx in S1 talks about how her & Vi situation is so much different than Silco & Vander. Now though we know they are very very similar and it's just that Silco never told her what really happened.

And we do see that he omits parts of the story - he shares new insight with her during the baptism scene after she mentions that they already went over it several times. Maybe he does it because some things aren't for children to learn, maybe because he struggles with sharing his real weak points.

Still, in the case of Jinx and Vi's parents I wonder if it's guilt - the same guilt Jinx feels over the death of her brothers. Or maybe fear - fear that Jinx would leave him if she found out her parents died after (and here I'm guessing based on Vander's flashbacks) Silco threw a Molotov cocktail at the guards. Hard to tell if he was the first to attack or it was a retaliation but the ending is the same: the parents died and Vander blamed Silco. Just like Vi blamed Jinx. Until Vander didn't but Silco never got to learn that. Until Vi didn't but she came with an enforcer and there was no time to talk.

How much easier would it be for Jinx if Silco shared the whole story? If he showed her that the similarities run deeper and that even after all this she (I assume) still saw his as a father figure -> she too deserved love despite her mistakes. Hell, if Vander ever talked to Silco or Silco tried to find him before S1 the whole problem would probably be solved before it even started.

And then what about Jinx sharing the whole story with Vi? How Silco was her father (was he good at it? that's a different topic. Still she grieves him as his daughter, she misses his lessons and guidance). How she didn't mean for the things to happen. How she needs help with her hallucinations (Silco tried to help with those and do they even have any kind of mental health professionals to offer real help? probably not. Still, not treating it as an excuse for her behavior but a real problem she's struggling with would do wonders.) We get some of it in S2 Act 2 but they are always in action and there are so many "almosts". Vi almost touching Jinx's shoulder. Jinx almost reaching out. The talk about future. They get family hugs with Vander. But this doesn't solve the grief, the hurt.

Here's to hoping the girls can break this circle of "All we needed was one honest conversation and then work on our relationship but we could have made it. Instead all we have is grief and useless legacy."

(Yet how often we don't get to have those kind of conversations in real life? How often we lose people because we never really explained? I love and hate how well Arcane portraits it)

[delulujuls]

healing sessions | aegon II targaryen

hi, it's been a hot minute since i posted here, the last weeks were pretty intense for me and since i have a summer break now, i would like to start writing again and do it more regularly.

this is something new here and since new episode of hotd dropped, im in my westeros era, so please prepare for something other than my last shots (i will still write for f1, don't worry)

and lemme set this straight, im team black till the day i die but those green bastards are FINE AS HELL lmao. also @alicenthightcwer is author of those gifts

summary: aegon isn't dealing well with his father loss, but gladly there is someone who's gonna do her best to lift his spirit a bit

warnings: it's fluff without basically any plot, sister x brother romance so targaryens at their finest, mentions of death, depression, alcohol, drugs

pairing: sister!reader x aegon targaryen

The news of King Viserys's death did not surprise the residents of King's Landing. Nonetheless, the loss of the kind ruler dealt a painful blow to the city, which seemed to freeze in time with the king's passing. The capital plunged into mourning, and in addition to the banners, black flags were hoisted. Westeros was left without a king.

Viserys's successor, his second child and first son, Aegon Targaryen, had not been seen since the king's funeral. Aegon had lost not just a king but, most importantly, a father who, unfortunately for him, named him the future ruler on his deathbed.

Aegon would have gladly given the throne to Rhaenyra, his older half-sister. He would have done it without hesitation, even placing the crown on her head himself. Unfortunately, his mother Alicent, who was with her dying husband and heard his wish to elevate their eldest son to the throne, decided to fulfill her beloved husband's last wish at any cost.

To be honest, Aegon couldn't care less about being king. The young prince had not left his bed for several days, thick curtains blocking any light from outside. Occasionally, servants were allowed into his chambers, but only with wine and poppy milk. Aegon did not eat, allowed no one near him, and slept. Sleep was his salvation. Even the prostitutes, who once outnumbered the rats in the castle, were no longer summoned. The fiery prince had dimmed.

Alicent knew she needed to give her son time to grieve. She didn't bother him, only inquiring about his condition from the servants who managed to enter his chambers. It was enough for her to know that he was alive. Aegon's siblings dealt with their grief in their own ways, and his condition hardly impressed anyone. Except for Y/N, who, despite her own pain, worried about her brother. Sitting at breakfast, she silently observed Aegon's chair, which remained empty. After her husband's death, Alicent decreed that all meals, not just dinners, be taken together. The firstborn had not appeared at any of them since.

After a silent breakfast punctuated by brief, formal conversations, Y/N stood up and grabbed a plate, filling it with Aegon's favorite croissants and a portion of strawberries. She was done pretending nothing was wrong. This had to end.

"You shouldn't go to him," Alicent said quietly as the servants began clearing the table. "You know him, he'll come out when he's ready."

"Or he'll drink himself to death first," she replied, not even glancing at her mother. Alicent clasped her hands and pressed them to her lips, watching her family fall apart without knowing how to stop it.

Y/N left the dining room and went to Aegon's chambers. She knocked first, wanting to maintain decorum, but knowing it was futile, she grabbed the handle and pushed the heavy door open. Inside was darkness. Only a nearly spent candle by the bed gave off any light; the room looked like a cave. She blindly set the plate on a table, and with arms outstretched, she made her way to the windows. With a swift motion, she drew the curtains, and even she was blinded by the sudden light that flooded in. Not hearing any curses from her brother, Y/N looked over her shoulder. On the large bed, a figure lay curled up, back to her. From the waist down, he was covered with a sheet that blended with his pale skin. White hair in disarray touched the crumpled pillow. Aegon was either in a deep sleep or dead.

Y/N opened the curtains at every window, flinging some open. The room was stuffy, reeking of stale alcohol, sweat, and the sweet scent of poppy milk. She circled the bed, crouching opposite her brother. He was indeed asleep, but his breathing was shallow. His lips were cracked, stained with dried blood. His eyelashes were matted with tears, and dark circles marred his eyes. There was a bruise under his left eye that was different from the ones under his eyes, as it began to fade and turn from purple to green. Y/N remembered her mother, who had been rubbing her hand while sitting at the table for several days. She could only guess that Alicent was trying to shake her son off in her own way.

Aegon slept, lying on his side and hugging himself, seeking comfort only he could provide. Y/N brushed the tangled strands from his forehead and kissed him. Aegon did not stir.

The princess knew he wouldn't allow servants to tend to him. She left the room quietly, asking the maids to prepare a hot bath quickly and silently. Y/N returned and sat beside him on the bed, gently stroking his head.

Aegon wasn't the bad person many thought him to be. True, he was unique, and in a room full of people, he was impossible to ignore, but no one is born evil. Now, Aegon was simply engulfed in darkness from which he couldn't free himself. The slender, sticky fingers of depression had tightened around his throat, allowing only alcohol to pass.

After some time, a maid stood by the bed, whispering that the bath was ready, nervously glancing at the sleeping prince, afraid of waking him up. Y/N thanked and dismissed her, then leaned in and kissed her brother's forehead again.

"Aegon..." she began softly, close to his ear. "Wake up, I have strawberries for you."

He furrowed his brow, feeling her hair tickle his face. At first, he thought it was a dream or a drunken hallucination, but when he felt the urge to sneeze, he wiped his face with his hand. When he opened his heavy eyelids and saw how bright it was, he pulled the pillow over his head.

"I said no one was to come in," he muttered, his voice muffled by the pillow. "I'll have you killed for this."

"It's nice to see you too, considering I haven't seen you in over a week," she replied, sitting back on his bed and placing the breakfast she brought on the table beside him.

Hearing the familiar voice and wanting to ensure it wasn't a drunken hallucination, Aegon removed the pillow from his face, clutching it to his chest. From squinted eyes, his violet gaze spotted a well-known figure.

"Y/N?" he asked hoarsely, his voice betraying that he'd only spoken to chase away servants in the past days.

"Yes, it's me," she nodded. "And if you still want to kill me, you'll have to get out of bed, which I doubt you can do."

Aegon sighed, more of a grunt of dissatisfaction. He wanted to cover his face with the pillow again, but his sister took it and easily pulled it from his arms.

"Did you come here just to make my life more miserable?" he groaned, looking at her with displeasure.

"I came to stop what you thought was the best solution," Y/N explained. "I brought you breakfast and a hot bath."

"I don't want breakfast or a bath," Aegon replied, turning onto his other side. "And you can leave. Tell mother I'm not dead yet."

"I'm not leaving until you get out of bed," she informed him, staring at his back.

"Then enjoy your stay," he muttered, closing his eyes again.

Y/N sighed. She knew it might be hard, but in a few days, she had almost forgotten her brother's character. And Aegon's character was sometimes the textbook definition of a Targaryen.

"I came here because I want to help you," Y/N began, feeling a lump in her throat. "No one talks to each other, and when they do, it's just some fucking formalities. Aemond flies on Vhagar every day, Helaena spends hours in the garden with her books, Rhaenyra has been on Dragonstone since the funeral, mother is banging with Cole at every turn, and I don't even know if you're alive," she said in one breath, feeling tears prickling her eyes. Only when she said it all out loud did she realize what was happening. It wasn't just about informing Aegon; it was about making herself understand. The truth hurt her even more than she expected.

Hearing his sister's trembling and upset voice, Aegon sighed and turned onto his back, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. Only now could his sister see his full appearance. It was the image of a boy deep in mourning and struggling with unimaginable pain.

For a moment, they exchanged looks in silence until Aegon glanced at the nightstand beside his bed.

"Did you bring strawberries?"

She reached for the plate and placed it on the bed next to her brother. Aegon weakly lifted his hand and took one, eating it whole, including the stem.

"Croissants with filling?" he asked, chewing. Y/N nodded again.

"Nut and chocolate," she answered. Aegon silently took a croissant and slowly began to eat.

Y/N quickly wiped her cheeks as two single tears escaped from the corners of her eyes. The young prince looked at his sister, who also seemed different than he remembered from a few days ago. Her hair was still neatly combed, with a few small braids woven into it. The dark red dress, which he thought he had seen her wear before, now seemed to hang a bit loosely on her shoulders and wrinkle at the stomach. The color of the dress reminded him of the bloody cuticles around her nails, which she must have bitten out of nerves. Her face, still beautiful, was now paler than usual, almost as white as her hair. Her swollen eyes lacked their usual sparkle, and her lips seemed to have completely forgotten what a smile was.

"How are you feeling?" he asked after a moment when he had finished eating. Y/N pushed the plate closer to him, and as he reached for another croissant, she only shrugged.

"I'm sad. And I sleep poorly," she replied, staring out the window.

"You know, poppy milk—", "I won't drink it," she interrupted him.

Aegon raised his hands in a defensive gesture, taking another bite of the croissant.

"And you?" she asked, looking at him. "How are you feeling?"

He also shrugged.

"I don't even know. Now I think I feel nothing," he said, looking back at her. "Most of the time I feel nothing, except when a wave of sadness hits, and then I cry like a child until I fall asleep again."

Y/N nodded silently. She could tell that Aegon had spent many hours crying.

He put the last piece of croissant in his mouth and reached for a strawberry, handing it to his sister. She took it and ate it, nodding with appreciation.

"Not bad, right?" Aegon said, seeing her reaction. "Unusually sweet for this time of year."

Y/N let out an involuntary snort, lowering her head. Their father was dead, the country was without a king, the family was falling apart, and this idiot was talking about how great the strawberries were.

"They really are good, I don't know what you mean," he replied, taking the last strawberry and popping it into his mouth. The girl smiled, for the first time in a long while, then looked at her brother.

"I miss you, you know?"

"I'm not dead yet," he said sarcastically, rubbing his face with his hands. Y/N set the plate aside, and Aegon extended his arm toward her, silently inviting a hug. The girl shook her head and stood up.

"Maybe I miss you, but not enough to hug you after so many days without a bath," she replied, nodding her head towards the bathroom.

"You've got to be kidding," he snorted, but she shook her head again and pointed to the bathroom. Aegon sighed and slid off the bed, looking at her reproachfully the entire time. When he stood, the sheet slipped off completely, and he, naked and unbothered, walked unsteadily toward the bathroom. Y/N asked the servants to change his bedding and clean the room while she locked herself in the bathroom with him. As he sat in the water, she perched on the edge of the tub, rolling up the sleeves of her dress.

She reached for the nearby comb and slowly began to untangle his matted hair. They both remained silent, as words were completely unnecessary at that moment. After a while, she put the comb down and picked up the sponge, wetting it and pouring water over his hair. Aegon closed his eyes and tilted his head forward.

Y/N grabbed the soap and lathered it in her hands, adding a few drops of lavender oil. Aegon smiled as the familiar, pleasant scent filled the air, while she began to wash his hair. He sat there with his eyes closed, allowing his sister to take care of him. Aegon felt that of everyone in the family, only Y/N truly cared about him. Despite being the second youngest sibling, just after Helaena, he had always gotten along best with her. They were almost inseparable, always sitting together at feasts, stuffing sweets into their pockets to eat later in the garden when they managed to escape the table. Rhaenyra, their half-sister, was always the oldest and most composed. Aemond, younger than Aegon, was calm and collected but could stab a knife into someone’s neck without blinking if provoked. Helaena lived in her own world, surrounded by books, flowers, and maesters who had tried to help her ever since they noticed something was off with the growing princess. Aegon was often irreformable, acting and speaking first and thinking later. When he was younger, he was incredibly unruly, the mastermind behind every wild idea that Y/N almost always eagerly supported. The young princess loved her brother, who always tried to make her smile. Aegon loved his sister and knew that of all the people in the castle, she was the only one he would kill for and die for either.

Young prince winced quietly when Y/N, massaging his tense shoulders, ran her thumb over a particularly tight muscle.

"You're as hard as a rock," she said, continuing to massage his back. Aegon smiled to himself.

"Not quite yet," he joked.

She rolled her eyes and soaked the sponge again, rinsing the soap off his back with warm water. As she got up to stoke the fire, Aegon submerged himself in the water, washing the soap off himself and his hair. After a moment, he sat up straight and wiped his face off, leaning on the sides of the tub. He silently watched his sister, whose silhouette was highlighted by the flickering fire in the fireplace. Her white, slightly wavy hair cascaded down her back. The young prince smiled and bit his lip. Blood of my blood.

When Y/N finished tending to the fire, she stood up and dusted off her hands. She looked up, feeling her brother's gaze on her. He watched her in silence.

"Care to join?" he asked, glancing at the tub before looking back at her.

She shook her head, stepping closer and looking at the murky water. "I think I'll pass this time."

Aegon extended his hand toward her, and she gave him hers, which he pressed to his lips, planting a wet kiss on her skin. She smiled at his gesture.

"I'll go dismiss the servants," she said, stroking his cheek. "Make sure you wash away all the sadness."

The princess left the bathroom and returned to the chambers. They looked much better now, with two servants finishing changing the bed linens. When they were done, she thanked and dismissed them. She approached the large wardrobe, looking for clean clothes for her brother. She planned to get him outside for a walk, even if just a short one.

She placed the clothes on a chair and sat on the bed, running her hand over the freshly made bedding. Shortly after, Aegon emerged from the bathroom, not bothering to cover himself with even a towel.

When he stood in the doorway, Y/N involuntarily looked up at him. She looked him up and down, causing Aegon to smile.

"Like what you see?" he asked, approaching the bed without taking his eyes off her.

"I'm just checking if you washed yourself properly," she retorted, lifting her head to meet his gaze when he stood right in front of her.

Aegon still wore a faint smile as he cupped her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. His pale skin had gained a bit of color from the hot bath, but he had goosebumps from the cool, fresh breeze coming through the windows. The dark circles under his eyes were still visible, but his gaze was now clear and certain, darkening as he was looking at his sister.

"I missed you too," he said after a moment of silence, during which they exchanged looks. He brushed his thumb over her lower lip. "Make love with me."

It wasn't a command or even a request. It was a quiet murmur filled with desperation, almost sounding like a plea. Aegon needed to feel her warmth, needed to feel something other than the alcoholic breath of death that placed cold kisses on him.

She silently stood from the bed, and before he could say anything, she touched his cheek and kissed him. Aegon wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close, returning the kiss. Blindly, he started to fumble with the ties of her dress, but seeing his struggle, she began undressing herself. He cupped her face in his hands, kissing her tenderly. When she loosened her corset, Aegon grabbed the bottom of her gown and quickly pulled it over her head, tossing it aside. She shivered at the sudden chill but soon felt Aegon's warm body against her skin. He smiled into her mouth.

"You're so soft," he whispered between kisses, holding her tightly as if he wanted to lock her inside his ribcage. "Go on, lie down."

She obeyed, positioning herself comfortably on a pile of pillows. Aegon hovered over her, kissing her gently. Their hands tangled in each other's hair, touching and grasping every bit of skin they could reach. Lips swollen from kissing released soft sighs and moans mixed with tender words.

Aegon could be gentle, delicate, and caring. He wasn't like this with the whores he sometimes brought to his chambers to relieve himself and kill boredom. But he loved his sister dearly and would never harm her.

The young prince couldn't remember the first time his sister came to his chambers and stayed the night. It was probably before their father's illness. One autumn, Aegon caught a terrible cold. He couldn't sleep at night, and his cough kept the entire western wing of the castle awake. One night, a sleepy Y/N went to his room, silently took the nearby laying ointment, sat on his hips, and began rubbing it on his chest. Aegon, feverish, thought he was hallucinating. But when he woke up the next morning and saw his naked sister asleep in his bed, he knew the events of the previous night hadn't been a fever dream.

Now, too, Aegon had to think twice if the soft body in his arms was really there or just a trick of his drunken mind.

"Are you real?" he whispered, pulling away from her lips and looking at her face.

"You'll have to find out for yourself," Y/N replied just as softly.

Aegon smiled involuntarily and hurriedly disappeared between her thighs.

At dinner, not only Aegon's chair was empty. The chair next to his, Y/N's, was also vacant.

Aemond glanced sideways at his sister, who tried to hide her smile behind her hair. Otto looked at her as well, then at her mother.

"Helaena?" Alicent spoke, looking at the blushing face of her daughter. "Is something wrong?"

"Aegon is feeling much better," she said. The young princess knew this first because the garden she particularly liked was just below her brother's chambers, and the windows, this time, were wide open.

[goomyloid]

got uty au pilled again, sorry... more info under the cut

an AU where ceroba, in the end, refuses to inject kanako with the serum. even after all her research, she just can't trust that it's totally safe. while kanako accepts this, she still wishes she could eventually be of use somehow, and indirectly blames herself for her father's death.

despite all this, with kanako alive, ceroba is able to grieve chujin in a far less desperate way, still having her daughter by her side. as the years go by, ceroba devotes more and more of her time to finishing chujin's research in hopes of finally making a serum that can save the underground. kanako is determined to help, too -- together, they clean up chujin's lab and make it a far nicer place to work, because they're in this together now. well, in theory.

ceroba still certainly takes care of kanako and does her best to be a good mother, but as time passes, ceroba spends more and more time in the lab trying to find an answer. kanako, being the social butterfly that she is, can't bring herself to always stay shut inside like her mother; she travels daily to Oasis Valley, making friends and becoming the town darling. as ceroba spends more time working, kanako spends more and more time taking care of the estate, trying to spend time outside whenever possible.

but it gets kind of lonely. the ketsukane estate is off outside of Oasis Valley, and not many people come by. she's worried about her mother, who's been shutting her out as she becomes more desperate to find a solution. there's only so much to do at the house.

then, clover falls into the underground and explores the dunes. there are barely any other kids at this spot in the underground -- finally, someone around her age! she's immediately entranced by them and determined to become their friend, even after finding out they're a human -- that just makes them cooler...!

but there's a problem; kanako has seen her father's tapes, she knows that a human soul would be extremely valuable to producing the serum. of course, she wants to help save the underground, and she wants her mother to finally be rid of stress and be able to spend time with her again... but after spending time with clover, kanako knows there's no way she can let clover die. they're like the sibling she never had...

and kanako can't even let her mother know that clover exists, either; she knows exactly what will happen if ceroba finds out there's a human here. and yet, a secret part of her wishes and hopes that maybe, just maybe, ceroba could find value in clover as a person and then they could all live in the ketsukane estate together. it would be a dream come true! maybe there's even some way clover can help ceroba without having to give up their soul...?

but things aren't destined to work out that way. any number of things could happen.

clover could peacefully move on in their quest through the underground, leaving a sad and lonely kanako behind.

or, ceroba finds out about clover in one way or another, and things are not looking good. but would she choose to take clover's life at the cost of her daughter's one and only friend?

what if clover didn't come in peace, but in vengeance?

or maybe ceroba somehow accepts clover, growing to respect them after all is said and done, and she tries to experiment on a living human soul?

or maybe, wracked with grief and loneliness, kanako discards her mother's warnings and takes the new, updated serum herself, determined to become the hero for her family like she always wanted...?

or, something else could happen.

what if, after an unhappy ending, kanako wakes up on that same day again, waiting for clover to come by the ketsukane estate for the first time? she doesn't even know how it's possible, reliving the same few weeks over and over. she just wants to find her happy ending, and she'll search and search for as long as she needs to.

how long can she watch the same endings play out over and over?

[sapphire-writes]

ceilings ~ modern!Aegon x Reader

summary: You and Aegon are friends, but there's always been something between you. This summer, it all comes to a breaking point.

warnings: 18+ (smut, fingering, oral fem receiving, p in v, kissing, semi-drunk s*x), drinking, partying, angst

word count: 4.8k

note: hi. uh oh. modern Egg angst. I hope you enjoy ❤️

masterlist

In a different world, you and Aegon Targaryen probably wouldn’t have been friends. You were different. He was reckless and careless; you were cautious and calculated. 

If it weren’t for a minor run-in with the law, your paths wouldn’t have crossed at all. Lucky for him, the Targaryen family has a lot of connections. So when Aegon, at the ripe age of 16 decided to rob a liquor store, he was issued a slap on the wrist and community service. 

Which led him straight to you.

Working with you, to be more specific. You had needed a summer job for some much-needed extra cash, and Aegon needed someone to sign off on his community service hours. 

All the staff were your age, and you’d quickly bonded with everyone. Rhaena became one of your closest friends, along with Aegon. You’re not sure how exactly you became friends; most likely he told some tasteless joke you’d scolded him for which in return caused him to say something even raunchier just so you’d keep paying attention to him. 

Aegon Targaryen was nothing if not a negative attention seeker. You’d fallen into that dynamic rather quickly, Aegon poking you, you poking back. It was gentle, playful even. 

In the middle of that summer, after a drunken night at Danny Greyjoys, you’d received a text from Aegon long after the party ended. You’d introduced him to your friend Sara who you brought along, and he’d appeared to hit it off with her. 

Give me Sara’s number, he’d sent, she’s super cute.

You’d rolled your eyes, watching more bubbles appear on the screen.

But also I’ve kind of been in love with you since the beginning of the summer, he wrote. 

Your heart stopped. The bubbles came back—then disappeared. Then came back.

He didn’t send anything else. 

You never talked about it.

In fact, you and Aegon moved on like he’d never sent it. 

It was always hard to say goodbye to him at the end of the summer. While Rhaena and Sara joined you at the local high school, Aegon joined his siblings across the country at Dragonstone Academy. 

But even after Aegon completed his community service, he kept coming back each summer. It wasn’t like he needed the money, his family was well off. He just liked the job, liked the company of his friends. 

Liked you.

You’d dated a few coworkers on and off throughout the years. Cregan Stark, Will Tyrell. But Aegon you’d always seen as a friend. At least that’s what you told yourself. 

Even when you’d accepted your college placements; Aegon at Citadel University, you at Winterfell State, you’d always return to King’s Landing in the summer months. 

You’d always come back to each other. 

Always teetering the line between friends and something else. Holding hands, cuddling, laughing, and joking, but nothing further. 

Just friends. 

Then, months into your junior year of college, Aegon’s dad died. You’d known he was sick for a while, a horrible slow deteriorating sort of death. But it still felt sudden. Like, the family had known he was going to die for so long, they almost forgot. 

He’d been different this summer. More distant. Drinking more. You knew he was grieving still, even if the relationship with his father was strained. Relationships are complicated. And that was still his dad. 

You’d sat in his car one night after work, just talking. He’d been tapping on the steering wheel with one hand, the other near his mouth as he worried the skin around his thumb with his teeth. A nervous habit. 

“You know, you and Hel are the only ones I can talk to,” he’d admitted, referring to you and his sister, “No one else…no one else really understands.”

You’d taken his hand in yours, sitting in comfortable silence as the engine purred and the sky grew darker. 

“I love you, Egg,” you’d told him, as you always did. 

“I love you too,” he said back, the words falling easily from his lips. 

Aegon was due to head back to Citadel University early the following week as summer came to its inevitable end. You’d all be parting ways soon enough, heading back to your college campuses for your final year of school. It was this fact that led Danny Greyjoy to insist on going out for drinks after work. A little hole-in-the-wall pub with darts and pool tables.

“We can go back to mine later,” Aegon had insisted, as you’d ordered another round of drinks, “Mum’s out of town on business.”

“Won’t Aemond mind?” Danny asked.

“He’s visiting his girlfriend,” Aegon insisted, “C’mon let’s get fucked up! Summer’s almost over.”

Danny agreed, shrugging and finishing his drink. Aegon had always been a bit of a party boy, but since the death of his father, you’d noticed an uptick in his recreational substance use. Alcohol; sometimes something harder. He’d shown up to work a few times violently hungover, or perhaps still intoxicated. You really couldn’t tell. 

You worried about him. 

You head to the bathroom to freshen up, fixing your mascara in the mirror when the bathroom door swings open and Aegon pushes inside. He’s got a cheeky grin on his face as he digs in his pocket, pressing his back against the door. You narrow your eyes, attempting to move past him but he blocks your path. 

“Stop it you weirdo,” you joke, laughing at his antics.

“Take this with me, c’mon,” Aegon teases, revealing two nips from his pocket.

“I fucking hate Mcgillicuddy,” you tell him, scrunching your nose at the clear bottle with its bright green label.

“Pussy,” he goads, smiling showing all his perfect teeth. 

Your heart skips a beat, as usual, and you snatch the bottle from him. You narrow your eyes as you crack the seal, before holding it between your teeth as you tilt your head back. The menthol-flavored liquor burns a path down your throat and a feeling of warmth blooms in your chest. 

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, taking his own and mimicking your movement. 

You cough slightly, watching his Adam’s apple rise and fall as he swallows. He discards the empty bottle, reaching for yours. 

“You’re coming to the after-party, right?” he asks, his Cheshire grin still on his face. 

“I don’t know,” you tell him.

“C’mon,” he pleads, “It’s one of my last nights, I’ve barely spent any time with you.”

You smile slightly. Not a complete lie. Aegon spent the better half of the summer chasing Aliandra Martell like a lost puppy. They had a brief, passionate affair that fizzled out rather quickly as she returned to Sunspear the previous week. 

“And who’s fault is that?” you tease, “If you weren’t so preoccupied….”

Aegon lurches forward, grappling at your waist, tickling your side. You squeal, pulling yourself away from his grabbing hands, cheeks burning.  

“Fuck off,” he interrupts, looking at you with more intensity in his violet eyes, “Please come.”

Something in the air crackles between you. A new wave of energy.

“Alright,” you tell him, “For a little bit.”

“You bitch!” Rhaena screams, trampling you in a hug as you arrive at Aegon’s. 

She’s already had a few drinks; dirty Shirley Temples most likely. Rhaena has one hell of a sweet tooth. She smiles, her lips slightly tinged red from the grenadine. 

“I didn’t know you were coming, I thought you wanted to sleep,” she says, only slurring a few words. 

You hold onto her, giggling at her carefree state. Rhaena is usually so poised and collected. 

“Egg made me,” you tell her, “Where is the bastard?”

“Living room!” Rhaena giggles, “You look so cute!”

You glance down at your jeans shorts and the small black top you’d chosen. Going out top, Sara calls it. You’d gone home to change before heading over to the Targaryen-Hightower mansion. 

“Thanks, Rhae,” you tell her, as she places a sticky kiss on your cheek. 

Moving past some people, primarily acquaintances and other coworkers, you make your way into the living room. The music is blasting, people lounging on the couches and sitting on the floor playing some sort of drinking game. A table has been set up, and you spot Jace and Cregan engaged in a game of beer pong. Multicolored lights flash around the room bathing everyone in a kaleidoscope of colors. 

Aegon sits on the couch furthest across the room between two girls; a blonde and a brunette you don’t recognize. They’re curled into him, laughing at something he says. His eyes meet yours from across the room, lighting up as he recognizes you. You walk over, shaking your head at him. So broken up over Aliandra, it seems. You laugh, rolling your eyes before standing in front of him as he reaches for your hand.

He calls your name over the music as his fingers lace through yours. His eyes are red, you’d assumed he’d been drinking more since leaving the bar from the incoherence of his texts to you. Aegon was quite impatient as you went home to change, your phone dinging continuously from his texts. 

“You started without me?” you tease, and he tugs on your arm, pulling you closer. 

Aegon leans forward, pushing his back off of the couch. Your eyebrows cinch together as he pulls you closer, face nearing your own. Heart racing, realizing what is about to happen as your faces come closer; So close you’re able to count each of his silver lashes framing those violet eyes. 

“Are you going to kiss me?” you blurt out, seconds before he does. 

Aegon’s lips are soft and warm, his tongue parts your lips before dipping inside of your mouth. He tastes like vodka, like summer, like…

You pull away, and he lets go of your hand, falling back onto the couch, looking up at you through hooded eyes. The blonde next to him continues talking, as though nothing had happened. Aegon turns to her, smiling and continuing their conversation. 

You’re not breathing; he stole the air from your lungs. You turn on your heel, heading straight to the kitchen. A bottle of tequila is the first thing you see among other various bottles and cups on the counter. You grab the bottle, taking a long swig, not caring who’d drunk from it before you. Your heart is beating erratically against your ribs. 

Aegon just kissed you.

Aegon.

You take another swig before placing it on the counter. 

Holy shit. 

It’s the strangest feeling; like something that was meant to happen finally did. You’re stunned, standing stuck as Aegon enters the kitchen, moving by you and filling his cup with water from the sink. You march over to him as he turns on the faucet.

“Aegon,” you say to him, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Yes,” he says, glancing at you, turning off the faucet.

“You just kissed me,” you tell him.

“Mhmm,” he agrees, placing his cup on the counter, fingers curling along the edge of the sink. He stares forward like he’s contemplating something. How is he not freaking out as much as you are?

“You just kissed….me,” you repeat, raising your eyebrows.

“Yeah,” he agrees, leaning forward and kissing you again. 

His hand finds your waist, the other cradling your jaw as he deepens the kiss. You kiss him back this time, arching against him, tangling your fingers in his short silver hair. His tongue pushes past your lips and you sigh as it enters your mouth. 

This is Aegon. You’re kissing Aegon. Yet you don’t really want to stop, not when his lips feel so soft and warm molded against your own, his palm moving to your lower back and then over the swell of your ass. 

Then someone enters the kitchen and you pull away from each other quickly, as though someone physically pulled you both apart. It’s Sara and Cregan laughing about something. Cregan spots Aegon and clasps him on the shoulder before pulling him back toward the living room demanding he be his partner in beer pong. 

Sara notices your flushed face and blissed-out, shocked expression. You reach for the tequila bottle again, taking another swig letting it burn trying to get the taste of Aegon out of your mouth. Her eyes narrow suspiciously as she comes closer. 

“Whoa there,” Sara says, holding out her red solo cup, “You okay kid?”

Swallowing the mouthful of tequila you stick your tongue out at your friend.

“Aegon just kissed me.”

“Wait….what?” Sara asks, eyes wide. 

You place the bottle on the counter and remove Sara’s cup before taking both her hands in yours. 

“Aegon. Aegon just kissed me,” you repeat, staring deeply into her eyes. 

“Okay….well,” Sara shuffles from one foot to the other and you frown.

“Well, what?”

“Did you like it?”

Fuck.

“Like it? Sara, he’s like one of my best friends here,” you tell her through a forced chuckle. 

“Oh c’mon. You and Egg have had this tension for years. Like yeah, you’re friends but…friends don’t look at friends the way Aegon looks at you,” she says while reaching for her cup and taking a sip.

Your heart pounds as you think about it. All these years, the harmless flirting. The love confession. That weird feeling in the pit of your stomach every time he was with Ali. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tell her, shaking your head. 

“Liar,” she calls you out, “And don’t think I don’t see how you look at him. The whole Ali thing this summer?”

“What?!”

“Girl, you were jealous,” she says, exasperated, “Jealous of her being with Egg.”

Okay, so maybe you had been a little jealous. 

“I mean…I don’t know,” you admit.

“Do not tell me you haven’t thought about it,” Sara tells you, “The boy’s been in love with you since we were sixteen.”

“Okay stop,” you tell her, face warming, “I don’t…I don’t know what to do…he’s going through it right now and he’s leaving soon. I just…I don’t think it’s the right time.”

Sara scrunches her nose, making a face. 

“Looks like Egg thinks it is,” she challenges.

You suck your lower lip between your teeth, unable to rid yourself of the feeling of his kiss. 

“Look, whatever happens,” Sara says, reaching out to touch your arm, “I think you should go for it. If that’s what you want.”

That’s always the question, isn’t it? 

What do you want?

There are no more surprise kisses as the night goes on. You play games, drink cheap liquor to get a little buzzed and laugh with your friends. You catch his eye briefly from across the room but nothing more. Helaena arrives at one point with her girlfriend Cerelle, blissfully stoned out of her mind and pressing a sloppy kiss to your cheek in greeting. 

People filter in and out as the night wears on. Rhaena is in no condition to drive home, and you hate driving home this late. You, Sara, Rhaena, and Cregan all decide to spend the night, fighting over which couch everyone will sleep on. Rhaena curls up on one with Sara, their legs intertwined. 

Cregan mumbles something about taking the floor, offering you the other. 

“Are you sure?” you ask and he nods, scratching the back of his neck, “You’re a gem.”

“Yeah yeah,” he grumbles, finding a spot on the floor.

You giggle softly, heading to the kitchen for more water. You hate hangovers and paced yourself rather well this evening, making sure to drink plenty of water between drinks. Your buzz is already fading as you fill your cup. 

You take a big sip, draining it halfway before filling it to the top again. You know you’ll be desperate for water in the morning and want to keep a full glass beside you. Plus, if Rhaena wakes up needing some you can offer her your cup. You shut the faucet, turning around and meeting the eyes of Aegon. Your heart skips a beat. You’d thought he’d gone to bed. 

“Hey,” you tell him, placing your cup on the counter, “Listen…Egg….”

He moves towards you, hands cupping your cheeks, pulling you in for a heated kiss. You kiss him back and it’s different this time. He tastes like water this time around, his movements less sloppy, more controlled. 

He’s sobered up, you realize as he moans against your mouth. 

Everyone’s gone home. Everyone’s asleep. It’s just you and him. 

He backs up, taking you with him, and dragging you down the hall. His hand laces through yours as he guides you into the hallway and into a room. His room.

The door shuts behind you and you keep kissing him, keep fisting the front of his shirt as he backs up knees hitting the bed and sitting down. 

You straddle his lap easily, as though you’d done it several times before. His hands move to your waist before dropping lower to palm your ass. You roll your hips against him as he takes your lower lip between his teeth, nibbling on the soft flesh. 

Your hands loop around his neck, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. This is Aegon. You’re kissing Aegon. Reluctantly, you pull away from his greedy mouth as his hands fall to your jean shorts, unbuttoning them and pulling down your fly.

“Are you sure?” you breathe, nose pressed against his cheek. 

Aegon’s breathing is shallow, one hand still firmly on your ass as he kisses the corner of your mouth. 

“I’ve wanted this since forever,” he admits, sending butterflies fluttering in your belly. 

He waits, not moving his hand; not going any further but also not taking any steps back.

“Me too,” you whisper and he presses his lips to yours once more. 

The kiss is hungry, stoking a fire of need deep in your belly. Aegon’s hand brushes against your lower stomach and the muscles of your abdomen contract as he breaches the band of your underwear. Fingers dipping lower, he circles your clit already wet and sensitive from your heavy makeout.

“Seven hells,” he murmurs against your mouth.

“Oh fuck,” you manage to squeak as Aegon sinks two fingers into your wet heat, curling them inside you.

He moves his fingers in and out at a torturously slow pace, the heel of his palm grazing against your clit with every thrust. 

“Fuck you’re so wet,” he comments, kissing you once more as you grind down against his hand. 

A whine slips past your lips as his lips move to caress your jaw, before kissing a hot trail down your neck. You can feel his smile against you as he speaks, “Shhh don’t wanna wake anyone, do we?”

He’s cruel with his comment, the pads of his fingers rubbing perfectly against your sweet spot sending sparks of pleasure down your legs all the way to your toes. Your eyes squeeze shut and you clench around his fingers causing him to chuckle.

“That feel good?” he asks, kissing right below your ear.

“Yes, feels s’good,” you mumble, fisting his hair harshly. Aegon groans as you ride his fingers, chasing the release building in your abdomen. 

Each curl of his fingers stokes a fire in your belly, and soon you’re trembling on top of him, falling apart as he silences your desperate cries with a kiss. Gently removing his fingers from your slick entrance he flips you onto your back, slotting himself between your legs. He pulls your shorts and underwear off in one fluid motion, tossing them to a corner of the room.

“D’you have a condom?” you ask breathlessly as you yank your tank top over your head. You unclasp your bra as Aegon removes his shirt, his violet eyes hungrily eying your freed breasts. 

You rest back on your elbows as he watches you. “Egg?”

His eyes snap back up to yours before he grips underneath your thighs pulling you toward him, “Sorry, yes, fuck,” he says, kissing your inner thigh, “Have to taste you first, please.”

Your face is on fire but you nod at his pleading as he buries his face in between your thighs. Aegon licks a thick stripe up your drenched slit, swirling his tongue around your sensitive clit. You throw your head back against the pillow as he continues to feast on you, alternating between dipping his tongue in your entrance and suckling on your clit. 

“Fuckfuckfuck,” you hiss through clenched teeth, “So fucking good Egg shit--” 

He moans against you, fingers digging into your thighs and soon your legs are shaking around his head, trapping him between your thighs as you come with a muffled cry. Aegon crawls back on top of you, kissing you fervently, the taste of you fresh on his tongue. You scratch down his back, pull him as close as you can to you. 

“Condom,” you gasp, feeling the hardness between his legs pressing as you through his jeans, “I need you--”

“Right here,” he says, leaning to his nightstand. He yanks the drawer open so hard, it crashes to the floor with a thud. You both freeze before descending into giggles.

“Shhh,” he cautions and you cover your mouth as your laughter continues, “Seven hells--” he reaches to the floor retrieving a condom. 

“Stop it,” he says with a smile, removing your hand to kiss you again.

“M’sorry,” you mumble, trying to hold in your laughter. 

Aegon slips his jeans down, followed quickly by his boxers freeing his long, hard cock. The tip is flushed pink, weeping precum as he lazily strokes himself. You wet your lips as he tears open the condom wrapper, rolling it down his generous length. Once he’s done, you’re quick to pull him back into a kiss, feeling his heavy cock slap against your inner thigh. 

“You’re sure?” you ask again, and Aegon nods.

“I’m sure,” he confirms, “Fuck, are…are you?”

“Yes,” you tell him, reaching to guide him toward your aching center, “Yes, I’m sure.”

He sinks inside your tight, waiting pussy and you gasp at the way he stretches you out. You’re so tight around him, it’s nearly painful for a moment as you adjust to his girth. 

“Fuck,” you hiss as he bottoms out, “Seven….”

“You okay?” he mumbles, placing a wet kiss on your neck.

“I’m good,” you confirm, fire blazing in your belly as he rolls his hips against you, stealing the breath from your lungs, “Gods…”

Aegon keeps his face buried in the crook of your neck, you can feel his hot breath against your skin in between the kisses and love bites he adorns you with. Every rock of his hips winds the coil in your gut tighter and tighter until you feel as though you’re a bowstring about to snap. 

“Fuck you’re so tight,” he murmurs, “Want you to come again, baby, c’mon.”

Nails digging into his shoulders you’re thrown over the edge, the coil in your gut snapping as white-hot pleasure washes over you. Your pussy clenches, milking his cock for all its worth as you feel him twitch inside of you; Aegon moans as he reaches his own release. 

You hold onto him for a moment, letting yourself bask in the pleasure he’s given you, feeling the weight of him resting on top of you, his softening cock still buried within you. Slowly, the tingling sensation of your orgasm begins to ebb, the sheen of sweat that coats your body causes you to shiver as you grow cold. Aegon rolls off of you, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed. He runs a hand through his hair, back still facing you. 

You sit up, watching him, suddenly feeling very exposed in your naked state. Aegon removes the condom, ties it, and throws it in the trash can beside his bed. Then he reaches for a pair of shorts. Heat blooms in your cheeks as you rise, searching for your clothes. 

Aegon doesn’t say anything, just watches you out of the corner of his eye. You grab your bra and shirt first, throwing them back on. Panic rises in your throat suddenly at what’s just happened. 

Oh gods.

You’ve ruined everything, haven’t you?

Why isn’t he saying anything? Aegon stands, running a hand through his hair.

“We’re okay, right?” you nervously ask as you slip your shorts and underwear back on, “This won’t change anything, right?”

You can’t read his expression. He gives you a wry grin before nodding. 

“Course not,” he says, grabbing your hand, “C’mere.”

He pulls you gently toward the bed. You curl up next to him, his arm underneath your head. He falls asleep first, you can hear his gentle snoring in your ear. You can’t sleep. You just stare up at the ceiling counting each inhale and exhale. 

“Aegon?” you whisper, turning your head.

He doesn’t answer, still lost in sleep, and you’re left staring at the ceiling once more. 

“Shut the fuck up!” Sara says the following morning. 

You’d gone with Rhaena and Sara for breakfast, leaving the others behind. You had gotten up, returning to the living room before everyone else woke up. Cregan was the only one awake, eyes narrowing as you lay on the couch. 

“Could’ve slept there,” he’d mumbled, before rolling over. 

Rhaena is slumped over her eggs, rubbing her temples as Sara excitedly shouts as you reveal what happened. 

“I’m serious,” you tell them.

“Was it good?” 

“Yeah, it was good,” you confirm.

“What does this mean?” Rhaena asks with a groan, “Fuck I think I’m gonna be sick..”

“I mean, I think I need to talk to him,” you admit, “About…this.”

“Well, I have to go back to the house anyway to pick up Cregan,” Sara says, lacing her fingers together, “Come with and you can talk to him.”

Nervous anticipation pools in your belly.

“Okay,” you tell her.

After dropping Rhaena at home, you and Sara head back to the Targaryen mansion. It’s quiet when you arrive, walking in the door like you both live there. Helaena and Cerelle are curled up on the couch watching a movie. 

“My brother still here?” Sara asks and Helaena raises her head from Cerelle’s lap.

“Mhmm, they’re in the pool,” she confirms, “Aegon tried to host a darty, not many people showed up yet though.”

“Of course he did,” you say, rolling your eyes.

Sara nods to you and you follow her to the back door. The Targaryen backyard is a prime party zone, with its waterfall pool, large stone patio, and massive green yard. You spot Cregan right away, tossing a cursing Aly Blackwood into the pool. 

Your eyes scan over the dozen people before your heart drops into your stomach. Aegon’s in the pool as well, silver hair slicked back, a lopsided smile on his face. That’s not what makes your heart lurch, rather it's who is attached to him. 

Cassandra Baratheon clad in a deep blue string bikini straddles his waist, playing with the sunglasses on his head. She takes them off, putting them on her own face before Aegon lifts her up, setting her on the edge of the pool. She giggles, hands on his shoulders before giving the sunglasses back. Aegon squeezes her thighs, no doubt leaving indentations of his fingers on her porcelain skin. 

“Oh fuck,” Sara whispers, “Y/N…”

“What?” you ask, tearing your gaze away, “What? No…no it's fine… that's nothing. I’m good.”

Sara’s eyes are sad, “Honey…”

“Seriously, Sara, I’m good,” you insist, chest tight with emotion, “I’m just going to grab a water…”

“Give me five minutes,” Sara tells you, “Let me tell Cregan I’m taking you home.”

You give her a wordless nod as she moves toward her brother. You walk past the pool over to a cooler, grabbing water. The sun suddenly feels uncomfortably warm, a dull throbbing beginning behind your eyes. 

Someone comes up next to you, reaching into the cooler. Aegon shakes his head, droplets of water flying this way and that. You stare at him, watching as he grabs a can of beer. He glances at you after cracking the can and taking a long sip. 

“What?” he says. It’s friendly but different. There’s a new edge underneath the question.

Nothing will change, right?

Your throat tightens and you can feel tears prickling behind your eyes. Aegon just stares back, running a hand through his damp hair.

“Nothing,” you tell him, “I was just leaving.”

“You should stay for the party,” he suggests casually. 

You gaze at him, searching his violet eyes for anything, anything at all. 

“I’m tired,” you admit, “I’ll see you later.”

Aegon watches you leave, Sara wrapping her arm around your shoulders. There’s a moment of pause as the door closes behind you, and then Aegon finishes his drink and returns to the pool.

To be notified when I post something new, be sure to follow @sapphire-writes-updates & turn notifications on 🖤

likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated but never expected 💋

[fairytalelover33]

One thing that will never cease to amaze me is how OVERLOOKED VI’S TRAUMA IS IN ARCANE.

Maybe it’s just the oldest daughter in me talking; But the trend I most often see in Arcane posts, rants and such, is a back and forth over Caitlin and Jinx. Who’s in the right between the two, who’s justified, who has more of a reason to grieve over their dead parent.

Vi is almost NEVER talked about when it comes to who has the right. And that is SO oldest sister of her.

She was the one old enough to properly understand what happened when their parents got killed.

She was the token older sister, always prepared to defend and take the fall for her younger siblings, hell, she was even prepared to get arrested or God knows what to protect Powder, Milo and Claggor at the age of what, 14-16?

She DID get arrested, and she was in there for about 7 years, in the darkest, dampest place she could possibly be, without sunlight, or fresh air, or ANY idea on if she would ever get out, her only hope and reason for pushing on STILL being her younger sister who also accidentally killed their entire family. WHO VI STILL LOVES AND WANTS TO PROTECT DESPITE THE FACT. And we also learn that Vi was definitely physically abused while she was stuck in that cell, (the look on her face when she hears that clunking coming down the hall proves it wasn’t an every once in a while thing.) She was literally forced to grieve alone, in the worst place imaginable, with no one to help her.

She is consistently shown blaming herself for the decisions of other people, because the over-pressured sister and daughter in her will definitely never fully grasp the fact that ITS NOT HER FAULT.

She had to come to terms with the fact that her little sister had chosen to work for and bond with the man that was responsible for the death of their father figure, and even then, after hearing the things Jinx had done, the ways she’d changed, Vi STILL tried to love her, to save her.

She was faced with a choice between her sister, and her (basically) girlfriend, and no matter how much you defend Jinx, or how much trauma she went through, or her lack of emotional maturity, none of that takes away from the pure terror of watching your sister point a gun in the face of someone you love, trying to make you ‘choose’. And then in the same moment, watching your girlfriend point a gun at your sister? Constantly being stuck in the middle of everyone you love?

Almost everyone she has ever loved either died, or completely turned on her, becoming a different person, or just straight up abandoning her.

The difference between her and the other trauma filled children of this series is that she’s not easy to pity like everyone else. She’s actually strong, and hasn’t completely lost her morals or snapped, even after everything she’s been through, so people don’t sympathize with her. She’s the token older sister, overlooked, over relied on, and villainized when she shows any sliver of fragile humanity.

(SORRY FOR MY VI RANT I JUST NEEDED TO GET THAT OUT 😔✊)

[ominous-horse-noises]

im ab to be annoying ab dimension20 fhjy but im genuinely loving the character arcs for the bad kids this season?

kristen going from self-annihilatingly stupid to trying to build a genuine bridge with the man who not only wielded the religion that traumatised her (bobby dawn), but also was trying to ruin her life, just bc she thought a grieving father ought to be comforted in some way? her genuine distress at being unable to revivify buddy even though the two had only had negative interactions, or her biting her tongue in front of her parents so she could better look after her little siblings? grappling with the fact that she still, on some level, expected practising religion to be easy and convenient for her as a holdover from an entire childhood spent being a Chosen One, and finally putting her nose to the grindstone and committing to working her ass off for a deity that couldn't even benefit her for a hot minute? making an effort to be cordial with tracker's new gf and letting go of that codependency? the kristen applebees from ep20 would NOT do all the same stupid shit as ep1 and i love that.

fabian being humbled by the narrative again and again has been an absolute treat for his character. the whole ivy/mazey situation was great: freshman/sophomore year fabian would've gone for ivy no sweat, i mean her character seemed pretty similar to pre-redemption aelwyn and he had a huge crush on her then. but this time, when he realised he'd hurt a genuinely great person, and intentionally swallowed his pride to make it up to mazey, even though it required him being 'uncool' with the whole twister thing. his general arc of learning that earnestness and humility doesn't make him less of a man felt like a natural extension of fabian defining his own version of masculinity- sure, a 'maximum legend', but also someone deeply involved in the arts, and someone who is less afraid of saying sorry and being vulnerable in front of someone he likes

fig. fig fig fig. what a woman. its been absolutely fascinating watching build her sense of identity over these three seasons. at her core, fig is a character that loves so deeply. in freshman, she was terrified of the depth of her own devotion, so she tried to distance herself emotionally from everyone. in sophomore, she built herself around that love for other people. in junior year, fig's arc has been learning she can do both: that she's defined by her love for others, but not solely by it. ik emily wanted to retire the character before this season but i think fig's paladin arc was the best capstone to her journey possible.

gorgug's arc has been about establishing clear boundaries for himself and i love it. im aware there's been some Discourse ab the mango soda scene but to me that was pretty easily chalked up to teenage insecurity. a big part of gorgug's arc was trying to believe in himself when everyone around him told him he was too dumb to follow his passion- imagine struggling in an area that you have no natural aptitude for, and someone comes along and also trounces you in the one area you thought you were the best in. i'd be petty and reactive too (gorgug follows up calling her a freak with the fact that she beat the shit out of him, so its clearly him just still smarting from a bruised ego and not actual malice). in general, i've really like gorgug learning to put his foot down and say enough is enough without completely losing his gentleness.

adaine hasnt had an obvious arc, but considering she addressed most of her baggage in the first two seasons, i'm not surprised. i would've liked to see the other bad kids address her 'teenage adult' behaviour, but her self-awareness about it and relying on fabian to pull in clutch for the oracool stuff still felt like she'd learned to rely on her friends at least + her reaching out to aelwyn and the two of them healing from their parents together has been rewarding it its own right.

riz is perfect and has learned nothing. his neuroticism is part of his natural swag

[anneapocalypse]

On the role of outsiders.

One thing I think makes the Scions' relationship with Wuk Lamat unique isn't that they're mentoring her--I don't really see it as a mentor relationship and for various reasons I think it's better for it not to be that--but that, as outsiders, she finds that she can show vulnerability with them that she's only rarely been able to show with anyone else.

When we meet Wuk Lamat in 6.55, it's pretty heavily telegraphed that she's posturing a lot to cover up some personal weaknesses or insecurities. This made me really curious about her, who she was and what that overconfident demeanor was covering for. And when I got into Dawntrail and started getting to know her, I wasn't disappointed.

(No Wuk Lamat hate on this post, please. Any responses clearly trying to pick a fight will be removed and blocked without reply.)

Wuk Lamat has a couple of foils in this story, but a big one is Sphene, and I love @unmovingtroika's description of Sphene as "unpersoned to an extreme degree." And as a distorted mirror of our main character, Sphene reminds us that any person in a position of authority or heroism is depersonalized to some degree, no matter how down-to-earth or benevolent.

Gulool Ja Ja is really presented to us as very much a people's ruler, the charismatic blessed siblings who united the peoples of Tural through curiosity and open-mindedness and understanding. And that may be largely true, but it's also made of him a myth, a legend inscribed in stone and memory. Meanwhile in the course of Dawntrail's story we also meet the real person Gulool Ja Ja... at least, the one who's left. The man who has spent three years grieving his brother, his ever-present companion, the Reason to his Resolve, a man who for the sake of political stability has had to hide his grief and loneliness from even his own children, as he does his best to carry out the work they had begun together, and complete the Rite of Succession in his brother's absence. And if there are places where Gulool Ja Ja failed to foresee the potential negative outcomes to the Rite, like Bakool Ja Ja's actions endangering his people, we might see there in hindsight the Head of Reason's absence in the final stages of the Rite's preparation. And we see, in some of Zoraal Ja's anger and resentment and insecurity, a glimpse of the ways in which the people's Dawnservant might have failed his own son.

One of Wuk Lamat's early growth moments is when the Scions convince her that she doesn't need to try and hide her obvious seasickness--an affliction she can't help, and which represents no failure of character on her part but which is, well, embarrassing. I love that she seems to particularly connect with Alisaie, who's had her own experiences of feeling inadequate next to her sibling, and feeling the need to prove herself on her own terms.

Could Wuk Lamat have been convinced to drop the act by her allies if they weren't outsiders? The problem is that everyone else in Tural, even her own siblings, are the people she'll have authority over if she wins. Erenville frequently rolls his eyes at his old friend's posturing, and fairly so, but Wuk Lamat doesn't behave that way just because she's insecure. In the same way that her father has had to conceal the death of his brother even from his own children, Wuk Lamat recognizes the danger of showing weakness before the people she will have to rule--especially when she's already aware of her reputation as being less qualified than her brothers. But these outsiders from Eorzea are different. They're allies who will never be her subjects. In private moments, she can be a person with them. She can be vulnerable. She can be Lamaty'í.

(Incidentally, I think this is also why I found Sphene calling her Lamaty'i so unsettling. Initially it seems like a simple misunderstanding, an outsider mistaking a very personal nickname for someone's "public" name. But in the hindsight of what we learn about Sphene, I think it feels a lot worse. Sphene is, consciously or unconsciously, pushing past the walls of formality and reticence that necessarily exist around a ruler when interacting with most people--nevermind a foreign head of state whose intentions are unknown. She's positioning herself as a friend when she is not.)

As the story progresses, we learn the Wuk Lamat and Koana have always been close. Now, in the Rite of Succession, they must treat one another as rivals and can no longer share confidences--at least, at first. Koana's love and protectiveness of his sister emerges with a vengeance when Wuk Lamat is in danger--and I'd venture a guess that he, too, feels safer showing this sudden vulnerability before his allies and those of his sister, because again, they will never be his subjects. While we get only briefer glimpses of Koana's journey with Thancred and Urianger, I'd guess that their friendship has affected him in similar ways.

One of the benefits of blessed siblings is that they are never alone. They bring two perspectives to any situation, but they also have one another to confide in, to understand, to commiserate over the burdens of leadership in a way they can't with anyone else, not even family. Wuk Lamat and Koana taking on the role of Dawnservant together brings the benefit of their very different strengths and perspectives to their people. But it also means that neither must take on those burdens alone. When their allies depart, they will still have one another. There will always be someone at their side with whom they can just be a person.

The tragedy of Zoraal Ja is that he's evidently never had that kind of relationship with anyone. The myth of his seemingly miraculous birth has depersonalized him from the very start. All his life, he has carried the burden of living up to the expectations of the Resilient Son, and has never enjoyed the close relationship his brother and sister have with one another. To the very last, he attempts to live up to the legend alone--and he fails.

One of the biggest themes throughout Final Fantasy XIV is standing together. There is strength in companionship and cooperation, but for that strength to flourish, there must also be trust and vulnerability. Wuk Lamat and Koana ultimately find that in one another, as siblings and co-rulers, but the Scions play the important role of offering them an outsider's friendship in their journeys when they are cut off from one another, and would otherwise be alone. As Ketenramm and Galuf Baldesion once were to Gulool Ja Ja, the Scions to Wuk Lamat and Koana are neither mentors nor subjects, but companions and friends.

[your-regular-toast-enjoyer]

Yandere! Batfam x Reader

Batfam x reader or Batfam/reader

Yandere Batfam x reader or Yandere Batfam/reader

Word count: 8639 words

TW: GN reader, adult Damian Wayne, mentions drugs, yandere, neglect, angst and kidnapping.

You were Bruce’s youngest child, a year younger than Damian and several years younger than the rest. You were simply the result of a hookup on one of Bruce’s many business trips, it might’ve been to Europe, Africa, Asia, Australia or even just somewhere else in America. The point is, you didn’t grow up in Gotham until the age of thirteen when your mother died in a violent car crash, one in which you had also been involved. 

You had sat for hours in the backseat, slowly seeing your mother’s life drain from her eyes as the fire brigade did their best to cut their way into the car. It had all been for nought though, with her dying before the paramedics even arrived. You were physically fine except for some deep cuts and bruises, but your mother’s abdomen had been pierced as a drunk driver of a flatbed lorry carrying steel poles had backed violently into your car, sending the metal sticks flying straight towards your vehicle. One of the poles had gone through the window and hit your mother. It was a gruesome sight, so vile that you threw up several times as you were hauled out of the wreck.

Legally, you were supposed to go to your father, even if your mother’s parents, possible siblings or someone else were willing to take you, the law demanded that it’d be your father who took you. Bruce had signed your birth certificate, he wasn’t unaware of your existence, and he had since your birth sent monthly child support to your mother, but that was all you really were to him up until that point; A negligible extra expense. 

It wasn’t that Bruce disliked you when you came to the manor. You were simply a scared kid who had just lost their mother and was deeply grieving. He had dealt with plenty of those. He had just been busy… He obviously had his obligations as Bruce Wayne: CEO duties, public image and bundles of paperwork, but it was more so his obligations as Batman and to his other children, which pulled him away from you when you first came into his home. Damian, especially, took up most of his time. Not only did the two of them constantly train for protecting the city, thus developing a closer bond than you’d ever have with either of them, but Bruce was also very aware of how Damian’s childhood at the league weighed down on him mentally, so, he kept him close, let him vent his frustrations and slowly but surely get over his trauma. 

 From the very beginning, you became the forgotten child:

Dick was always so focused on Damian, singing his praises and always taking care of him. He usually forgot to even greet you whenever he visited the manor for a week or two, often going “Oh! I haven’t seen you all this time! Well, bye to you too Y/n”, whenever he left. Whenever the oldest brother was visiting, you’d stand in the doorway to the living room, observing with stinging eyes as he embraced Damian like the boy mattered more than the entire world. You had forgotten how it felt to actually matter that much to someone. You wondered if you ever had. Why you tortured yourself with watching the two, you didn’t know, perhaps because you longed to be in Damian’s position? You weren’t even sure yourself. The reason probably didn’t matter, as your forced your eyes to stay on the two, only leaving when you could feel silent tears run down your cheeks. 

Jason was the friendliest, not particularly caring for Damian and Bruce either, often calling the green-eyed boy “Demonspawn”, which you’d laugh loudly at, only to be sent to your room by Bruce for upsetting Damian. Jason understood though, usually going to your room to hang out with you and listen to your stories, unlike everyone else. He came to adore you. Damian might’ve been Dick’s favourite sibling, but you were Jason’s. Since Damian was called “Babybird”, Jason called you “Tiny tweet”, even though you didn’t hold the title of Robin. You loved the times when Jason was there, he made you finally feel understood and heard. Unfortunately, Jason was at the manor even less than Dick, (who spent 90% of his time in Blüdhaven), since he couldn’t stand the sight of Bruce for longer than an hour every other month. So, the brief moments of reprieve the second oldest offered were few and far between, still leaving you isolated most of the time.

Tim barely spared you a glance, too busy with his own school, vigilantism and friends. He appreciated that you weren’t annoying like Damian, who’d constantly attack him, thus automatically bringing you above the little devil on Tim’s tier list of family members… however, Damian was at the very bottom, which didn’t make it a great achievement. If you ever tried to converse with Tim, he’d dismiss you with a wave of his long bony hand, telling you to find someone else to chit-chat with. You stopped your attempts at befriending the middle child after a handful of unsuccessful tries, barely seeing him after that. As a matter of fact, whenever you tried to visualise a picture of Tim, it was the image of his slim dismissive hand which appeared. You had forgotten if his hair was black or dark brown, if his eyes were light blue or grey or if his nose had a bump or not. He bordered on becoming a personal myth to you; You knew he existed in a far-off world, but he wasn’t within your orbit.

Damian was at first fearful that you’d take his place, bullying you, physically harassing you and bringing up your mother until you were left wailing on the floor. When you told Bruce though he’d always tell you to, “Be the bigger person, Damian has been through a lot”. You wished you could have fought against your youngest brother, but not only was he older and stronger than you, but he was also a trained assassin and vigilante. You stood no chance. When Damian realised that you were no threat to his position, he left you alone, avoiding talking to you and interacting with you on the basis that you simply didn’t matter to him. He had actually once accidentally told a teacher that he only had three siblings, not realising that he had forgotten about you until he was on his way home, replaying the conversation in his head. Damian might’ve once tried to become closer to you after Alfred had given him a long spiel about how “family is important”, but quickly realised that you trusted him less than the thieves in Crime Alley, and so he abandoned the idea.

Bruce didn’t mean to ignore you, it was purely accidental, but he had on multiple occasions forgotten your birthday and even once failed to remember buying you any Christmas presents, leaving you as the only Wayne child with no gifts that year, to which you had simply muttered something along the lines of, “Of course”, not in a vengeful or angry way, instead in a resigned and understanding tone, before going back to your room that night and not leaving until a day or two later. Alfred had scolded him for that occurrence, there wasn’t really anything he could’ve said in his defence and even Dick had looked at him with disgust as they all took in the image of you standing there, alone, surrounded by gifts that weren’t for you. It had been a striking visual, yet not enough to make Bruce change his ways. It wasn’t that he held any animosity towards you, you were simply just air to him, he had no idea where you were at any given time or who you were, sometimes he even forgot your face.

Alfred was a kind man, an understanding man. However, just like Bruce, he also had others to worry about, and the more isolated you became in your behaviour, the less able he was to spend time with you. Not only that, but he also refused to hear you talk badly of any of your brothers, and even Bruce was off the table if you felt like complaining. Alfred was a sweet and patient man, but to you it felt as if he had lost the plot, as if he didn’t understand how badly you were treated, because his love for the others blinded him, making him an unfortunate enabler of your torment. Alfred was only really good for giving you a biscuit/cookie when you sat in the kitchen, apathetically staring into a wall, for venting your frustrations, however? He was useless.

Your father neglected to handle your trauma. However, somehow, in his messed up brain, he reasoned that any trauma which was vigilante-related could somehow be considered worse as it was on a much larger scale than a single individual losing their mother. This made you grow resentful of both Damian and your father, the careful way Bruce would adapt everything to fit Damian’s wants and needs, disregarding yours, slowly lit a fire within you, a fire which burned with hatred towards them both.

I could see you wanting to join the vigilante life when you’re perhaps fifteen. You had watched the others train for years and would often sneak into the bat cave after dark to train yourself. You were good, really good, so you decided that you might as well start doing actual vigilante work. You did realise that you hadn’t quite reached a fighting level where that’d be a good idea, so you decided to find a more seasoned mentor. A slight detail, which would become important. Your father didn’t have the time to teach you. So who did you call up? That’s right! Jason.

 Jason was reluctant to take you under his wing, at first. He even came to the manor to convince you that vigilantism wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. However, after pouring your bleeding heart out to the only brother who cared, he accepted, still apprehensive though.

Jason started his training from the top, getting into the basics swiftly. You got it down faster than he had at first thought, being an astoundingly quick-learner, something which the red-masked vigilante attributed to having Wayne blood in your veins. After locking down all the groundwork within a year or so, it was time to start your specialisation; Choice of weapons, fighting style and general tactics were all next. While training with Jason, you slowly moved into the spare room in his apartment. It wasn’t like you had a bunch of things to move, but what little you had, Jason helped transport from the manor to his primary safehouse.

When Jason considered you ready, you started working as his shadow sidekick. Never known by the vigilante community at large, but definitely a secret menace to Gotham’s criminals. Jason did a good job of keeping your vigilantism a secret After your first three years of training, you completely stopped visiting the manor, even on holidays. You were technically a legal adult now and felt no obligation to stick around a house whose inhabitants had made it clear that you were unwelcome.

No one except Alfred knew that you had completely left for the first long while, with him being the only one you had bid farewell to. The old butler refused to tell Bruce until the man noticed himself. That day would come approximately four months after you stopped coming to the manor, on Christmas eve:

Damian had been the one to notice your absence secondly, after Alfred. He commented on it during the Christmas family dinner, one which Bruce only held for his sons' sakes, and where the only two not attending were Jason and you. Even Dick was there, on a visit from Blüdhaven, spry and jolly around his favourite younger sibling. Damian. 

“Where’s L/N?” The green-eyed man had questioned loudly. Silence followed. Bruce took a look around, you weren’t there. They all knew that Jason wouldn’t be attending, he had declined Bruce’s requests every year since his resurrection, instead opting to go to Roy’s place. A lump formed in Bruce’s throat, yet he didn’t know why. “Damian, can you go get them down? They probably didn’t hear that dinner was served”, Dick requested kindly with a smile on his lips. The man in question would’ve usually complained, but since it was his eldest brother who asked, he got up wordlessly. Conversation at the table resumed, with Alfred biting his lips in contemplation. ‘Should he have informed Bruce of your absence, even though he knew you were at Jason’s?’ ‘Perhaps’, he concluded, deciding to keep silent about the whole matter, it was unfair to you. You had moved on, and even if he missed you terribly, it was not his place to demand your return. A piercing “What!” Stopped all the chatter at the table. Damian came barrelling back into the dining room, grabbing the side of the door with a tight knuckle to stabilise himself. “Their room is completely empty! All their stuff is gone! The only things left are the bed and closet!” 

Bruce had stood up immediately, his chair colliding with the ground behind him as he brushed by Damian, entering your room, his son had been right. Your room was empty. None of the posters you had brought with you from your life with your mother, no papers lying scattered around and no other signs of use. As Bruce looked closer at the remaining furniture, he found that a thick layer of dust coated every surface. The room was as empty as when you arrived as a child and something in Bruce’s stomach dropped. “Y/n!” He called out. No reply. Soon, the entire manor was looking for you, even Alfred pretended to do so as well, his guilt of knowing eating him up from the inside. None of them found you, you had vanished without a trace.

 Somehow, your perceived disappearance became the thing to snap your family’s collective consciousness. All hyped up by each other’s worry and driven into a frenzy. Bruce believed that you had gotten kidnapped or ran away, and it scared him. The thought of his negligence having brought you to extremes was like a spear through his heart, switching something on in his brain. He ordered his available sons to scour the entire city of Gotham to find you, completely forgetting about Christmas and leaving only Alfred behind to stay at the manor, in case you returned on your own. Bruce also ensured that most rooms in the manor were lit, like a lighthouse showing you home. Meanwhile, you and Jason were celebrating the holidays at Roy’s place in Star City, oblivious to what was taking place in all the major cities. You were playing with Lian as the two men chatted about old times and the poor quality of the beer they were drinking; Roy had let you two stay for a few days, so Jason could properly enjoy the festivities without thinking of his alcohol percentage as he was the designated driver. None of you had any idea of the ruckus going on only a few cities away.

It was after this Christmas that the family changed irreversibly. Suddenly, your safety became their top priority. Spear-headed by Bruce, who had a borderline existential crisis as he believed there was an equal chance of you being dead in a ditch somewhere and you being tortured by some rogue. Bruce was overtaken by guilt and challenged this feeling into pure rage as he beat up henchmen and rogues within an inch of their lives, believing them to have somehow connected you to Batman. They hadn’t and were entirely unaware of why the bat was so obsessed with this one person. Were you perhaps vital in an ongoing detective case? Or did Bruce Wayne tip him off to be extra vigilant when finding his youngest? They had no clue.

Well, obviously, Christmas was ruined. When all of the batboys and their father returned home empty-handed, they were in no mood for celebrations. Tim simply sat in a chair, lamenting, as he stared into a wall with something akin to resignation, running calculations in his head of where you could have possibly gone, before heading for the cave to view the security footage as far back as he had stored. Bruce and Damian refused to simply stop looking for the night, not staying long at the manor before they started searching other cities, making some of their vigilante friends aware of the situation. After staying in the nearest bathroom, and regaining control of his emotions, Dick joined his youngest brother and father in their quest for searching other cities. Bruce went to Metropolis, Damian to Central City and Dick to Blüdhaven. They had planned that they would each scour a city tonight and one the night after, it would be impossible to find you during the day, as there were way too many people wandering the streets. Alfred still remained silent, he didn’t think it was fair of them to bring you back, not with the way they had treated you and not when you had clearly left of your own volition.

Bruce had informed his closest friend, Clark Kent, of your disappearance, with the alien immediately insisting on aiding in the search. “It’ll be quicker if we both look at the same time!” Clark had yelled determined through the phone, his southern drawl helping to calm Bruce’s nerves, if only slightly. That was how not only Batman but also Superman started patrolling the streets of Metropolis, in search of a single person, you. Jon too wanted to aid in the search and offered Damian to take over looking in Central city, so he could look somewhere else instead, thus covering more ground, Damian agreed and went to Coast city. 

As the news spread to the citizens of these cities that the Supers and the Bats had teamed up to look for one of Bruce Wayne’s missing kids, it became the talk of everyone’s dinner tables. News channels ran multiple stories about it, despite it being Christmas, being hyped up in no small part thanks to Lois Lane, whose heart went out to the Waynes for losing someone so close to them. The story had slowly morphed from you having run away voluntarily, to you having been kidnapped as a ransom. Everyone who heard of your story believed it to be a tragedy committed by someone who couldn’t even hold up the sanctity of the holiday spirits.

Back at home, Tim reviewed all of the security footage and went as far back as four months, that was when he saw you exit the manor with multiple boxes in your arms, loading them into a red lorry. He kept looking at you walking back and forth for a while until a well-known presence stepped out of the vehicle. Jason. Tim stood still, you hadn’t just moved out of the manor, you had moved in with Jason. You had moved in with the second oldest brother, and neither of you had bothered to inform anyone! Tim seethed, he wasn’t mad at you, no, he could never be. But Jason, the mere thought of him now made Tim’s blood boil. He believed that his brother had borderline kidnapped you away from them. His ire intensified when he saw Jason enter the manor and come out with more of your stuff packed into boxes. That was enough evidence for Tim to conclude that Jason must’ve forced you to move out, that it really hadn’t been your choice at all… Skillfully ignoring how none of the people in the manor had ever given you a reason to stay, let alone noticed that you had been gone for over four months. 

However, knowing that you were with Jason made him able to conclude that you were likely in one of his safehouses or spending your Christmas with his best friend Roy, those two were inseparable, after all. He decided that he would look through Jason’s safe houses, then he called up Damian, “Go to Roy Harper’s place and look for Y/n. They’re with Jason.” Tim’s voice was dark, foreboding and it even made Damian’s hairs stand straight. Truly the stuff of nightmares. Tim explained the situation to both Dick and Bruce afterwards, as he glided through the air from safe house to safe house. Letting the two know that he had sent Damian after you and that they could come home now. Even if Tim currently held the desire to puncture Jason’s lungs for taking you away from them… away from him, he knew his older brother would never let anything happen to you. You were weak in his mind, and in the rest of the family’s mind too. Perhaps they would’ve worried less if they knew of your vigilante training… or maybe not. Vigilantism is dangerous, after all.

When Roy had turned on the TV briefly, you had all been bombarded with news of your disappearance. Your apathetic face from your last high school photo was plastered on every news network, big and small. News of an all-out search party with multiple vigilantes involved was outlined in great detail. Both Jason and you looked at each other with a mix of concern and confusion. It had been four months since you had last been at the manor, Alfred knew of your departure, what were they doing?! Lian had thankfully been put to bed, none of you wanted her to view the panic that crossed all three of your faces. “What the heck are they up to?” Roy questioned no one in particular. “It’s probably a façade, someone might have noticed that ‘Bruce Wayne’ was down one child and now he needs to find me to assure them that I’m not dead. It wouldn’t be a good look to have multiple children die in your custody. No offence Jay”, you postulated, it was a far reach but still the best explanation you could come up with. Jason had agreed with your assessment, giving you a light smack to the back of your head for mentioning his death. He wasn’t mad, but he always joked that it was a sensitive subject.

The three of you tried to come up with solutions to the problem at hand when you were interrupted by an impatient knock on the door. “I’ll get it”, Roy muttered. Making his way out of the living room, where you had previously stood, and towards the entrance. The moment he turned the lock, the door was swung open by whoever was on the other side, the wooden frame just barely missing Roy’s face. Heavy footsteps made their way towards the living room. Roy barely had the time to realise who it was before they were gone, striding towards where you were. 

“Damian?!” You exclaimed, confused. The green-eyed man stood in front of both Jason and you, wearing his full Robin costume. You wondered how he had gotten here so quickly, the news mentioned how he’d been to both Central City and Coast City, both were relatively far away from your current location. “I’ve come to take you home, Y/n. We have been worried for your safety and I see that Todd took full advantage of your little outburst.” Damian’s voice was spiteful, Tim had managed to fuel his ever-latent anger and direct it towards Jason. You tried to rebuke your youngest brother, but Jason stepped in front of you, ready to defend you against the green-eyed menace, “As if! They’re not going back with you, just to end up being ignored by everyone again! Just because Bruce needs his public image to be clean, doesn’t make it their problem! So run along, Demonspawn!”  Damian did not take well to refusal, let alone Jason’s uncalled-for name-calling. 

Damian marched past the taller man and straight towards you. As he tried to grab your forearm, he was thwarted as you defended yourself, blocking his arm and throwing him to the ground. Damian was shocked and Jason was grinning like a proud father. Roy came strolling in at the same time, having checked on Lian’s safety, no problems there. “What did you teach them?!” Damian screamed at Jason, blaming him for your newfound strength. “Everything, they’re a vigilante. I’m not gonna send them out on the streets without knowing how to defend themselves.” The second oldest brother swung an arm around your shoulders as you stood still, giving Damian a look that promised nothing good. 

Well, this was unacceptable to Damian, who had silently called for reinforcement, filming your entire interaction so far on a gadget connected to his chest plate. When Bruce heard Jason’s words, he felt yet another stone sink to the bottom of his abdomen, he had let you become a vigilante, his little Y/n… No, this would not do. All of them agreed on this. Once they had you again, they all decided that anything vigilante-related would be kept out of your reach. While both Dick and Bruce were flattered that you’d share a career path with them, they could not accept the danger it brought you in.

It didn’t take long for Damian’s request to be honoured, as Bruce and the boys took a zeta tube to Star City and immediately went to Roy’s. It took no more than twenty minutes, with Damian engaging in a violent screaming match with Jason, accusing him of kidnapping you, of forcing you to play his mock Robin just to spite your shared father and of many more heinous crimes, which the green-eyed man covered your ears for, despite your attempts to get him to stop touching you. When a barrage of impatient knocks sounded on Roy’s door for the second time, he didn’t open it. Instead, he opted for locking Lian’s bedroom door and grabbing his bow as well as a handful of arrows, which he had reverse-engineered from Oliver’s original ones, aiming one at the entrance. 

Of course, none of the dark-haired men on the other side waited for Roy to feel charitable enough to invite them into his home, as Dick harshly kicked the door in, wooden splinters spreading across the entrance hall’s floor. “What the hell are you doing in my home!” Roy screamed, hoping it wouldn’t wake up Lian. His bow was still pulled tight, an arrow aimed at the newcomers as a threat to not tread further into his flat. “Calm down, speedy. I will replace your door. I’m here to bring my youngest home”, Bruce muttered as he tried to enter the living room, only to be stopped by an arrow flying just past his nose. “Do not take another step. You are intruders”, Roy seethed, orange strands of hair swaying in the air as he made his way in front of the bat trio of Dick, Tim and Bruce.

Bruce was almost surprised by Roy's violent reaction. Almost. He was obviously quite aware of the redhead’s close bond with his second oldest, who had in turn evidently been closer to you than he had ever thought. You had moved in together, after all. Bruce did not blame Jason like Damian and Tim, instead, he simply saw it as an accentuation of his own failings as a father. Still, it was a very serious action to threaten the Batman, the very implications of which stunted both Bruce and Tim for just a moment. Dick wasn’t, however, immediately turning on his trusted secret weapon, skilful manipulation. 

With slow steps, Dick managed to get right in front of the archer, putting a caring hand on his shoulder. “Roy. Surely, as a father, you of all people must understand why Bruce wants his child back. Y/n and he needs to mend their relationship. For Y/n. Imagine how they’ll feel years in the future when they have no father to turn to? They have the chance to get a real security net, something which I know you always wanted at their age. Surely, you must realise that just you and Jason can’t be enough… Not to go into too much detail, but the two of you haven’t been known to be the most… how would you put it… reliable? Stable? …clean?”  Dick’s mention of Roy’s former substance problems broke his initial apprehension. Between Jason, you and him, it was a topic that was never mentioned, it brought back doubts and was probably his second biggest insecurity, his biggest one being… “Imagine if Y/n was Lian? You would want her to have a father, wouldn’t you? Of course, you do! That’s why you stayed. Y/n needs a father too, and not just that they need all of their brothers at their side, Jason can’t stand in for a father. Surely, you would know.” Dick continued. It was a dirty trick to mention Lian, but it worked as Roy lowered his bow, stepping aside for the Waynes to enter the room where Damian and Jason were currently in a screaming match.

Once Jason saw his other brothers and Bruce, he ripped you away from Damian and tried to push past them, holding your hand protectively and tight. It didn’t work, however, as Tim was quick to stun his older brother with a taser, right after Dick had tugged you securely into his latex-covered chest. You didn’t quite know what happened after that, Dick pried your lips and teeth apart, dropping a little round tablet on your tongue, before immediately shifting his hand to cover both your mouth and nose. Shifting the pill around in your mouth to not swallow it, while you tried to kick him away, did absolutely nothing. Dick was stronger and a greater fighter than you’d ever be, your attempts at resistance were little more to Dick than a cat scratching his arms. The blue-eyed man held you close with his free arm, gently cooing supportive reassurances as the pill melted in your cheeks, bitter and promising a nightmare when you woke up.

When your eyes opened again, you were laying in your old bed at Wayne manor. The window had been covered up with thick metal bars, spread no more apart than half of your head’s size. Much of your old stuff, which you had brought to Jason’s primary safe house, was back. They were nowhere near where you had put them when you lived here previously, a testament to how little whoever had reinstated your items actually knew about you. Sitting up, you found that your old cotton bedding had been changed for what you assumed to be silk, it was weirdly soft and you didn’t enjoy it in the slightest. Your duvet was a deep shade of green with golden accents, and you immediately knew who was responsible for the change. Damian. Perhaps he was even the one who had moved all your old stuff back. Their methodical placement, with very few items not lining the wall, certainly looked like how Damian had decorated his own room.

 A large red box, filled with all your old clothes, as well as a bunch of new items stood in the middle of your room. You ignored it as you swung your legs over the side of the bed, trying to stand up only to find that your vision was double-crossed and your breaths shallow, you were dizzy beyond measure and your head pounded like mad, not to mention the coating of glistening sweat, which made you feel gross just being in your own body. What in the world had Dick given you? 

Still, you attempted to move to the door, even if you realised you couldn’t stand up without fainting on the spot. Grasping your mattress tightly with both hands, you gently lowered yourself to the cold floor. Moving your legs under you, you managed to sit on your knees. Leaning forward, you took the fall with your palms, now standing on all fours. You hoped no one would ever see you in this state, it was humiliating not being able to move about as you normally did, but you had to get out or at least try. You had no idea what your father and brothers wanted with you, but you had a feeling it was nothing good.   

Sliding your shins forward and following the motion with your hands, you slowly made your way towards the door. Raising a hand to the knob, you were surprised when the door swung open by itself. In the door stood Tim, warm towels in his arms. “Ah! I saw on the camera feed that you were awake! I thought you might enjoy some pampering.” A beat of silence rang out as you met Tim’s eyes, pale blue like a summer sky. You almost impressed yourself as you jumped forward, drilling the top of your head into his knees, making the lanky man fall to the ground with a grunt, as you tried to crawl away as quickly as possible. Tim was quick to get back on his feet, running after you, but you had already reached the closest stairs leading down. It only took one look down the long wooden construction to realise what you had to do, even if it would hurt more than anything. Tim realised what you were trying as he saw your shifty eyes cast a sideways glance down the steps.

 “Y/n! Don’t you dare!” You didn’t let him finish as you closed your eyes and leaned to the side, starting to roll down the steps… or at least you would have, had it not been for the iron grip on your forearm. At first, you believed it to be Tim, but as you started to struggle, you realised that the hold was too tight and the hand too strong. Cracking open an eye, you could feel your heart sink into your stomach. Damian. Somehow, your youngest brother was the scariest one. The others were always ambivalent to your presence, but Damian had been openly hostile to you in your youth, oftentimes attacking you verbally or physically, and you didn’t doubt he could be violent towards you again. “What are you doing, Y/n?” His voice was no-nonsense, yet his eyes were soft. A strange dichotomy. “Getting away from you psychos”, you mumbled coldly, your throat was dry and the urge to cough arose as you spoke. The green-eyed man looked pensive, a tick in his jaw betrayed how he was trying to hold in his anger. He didn’t bother answering your insult, instead, he slung you onto his back and made his way back to your room, sneering at Tim when the two passed each other. Once back in your room, Damian held you down on the bed by your wrists, as he sat next to you. A general meeting was called, involving everyone in the family, except Jason, whom you had no clue where had gone.

Bruce had arrived almost immediately, with Dick prancing in not too long after. You weren’t sure what they wanted from you, assuming this was all to save Bruce’s public image, but even if that wasn’t the reason, you were sure that it was nothing good. They had all shown up on Christmas just to take you away from the only people you considered close friends and family. No one with good intentions would do something like that. As soon as the offending Waynes had all arrived, you spat out for them to announce the purpose of your kidnapping immediately. Both Bruce and Dick seemed disturbed by you titling their actions as a kidnapping. With the latter trying to defend it as being more of an obligatory change of scenery. It didn’t work, and you waited for someone to give you a proper answer with a deadpan. Damian had loosened his grip on you as the others arrived and all sat at the edge of the bed, surrounding you and making sure that you no longer had any possibility of escaping. It was claustrophobic and ominous.

Bruce was the one to explain that they had all led you back home to build the relationships, which you had all been deprived of in your younger years, expressing his regret and familial love for you, something which was echoed by the other men in the room. You were unconvinced. Telling them to drop the act and just tell you the real reason already, exclaiming how you didn’t have time to play charades with them. No matter how much they tried to convince you of their sincerity, you would have none of it, throwing their past actions in their face as proof of their dishonourable underlying motives. The meeting adjourned with no real progress made, other than the four of them deciding that you would be a danger to yourself if left alone and, therefore, making a schedule of when each of them would be by your side.

Bruce was shocked at your inability to believe in their love for you, his guilt multiplying by a hundred as he realised how untrusting you had become of your own family. He realised that he was to blame, attempting to grasp your hand, so small compared to his. Yet, when his fingers came close to yours, you jerked away, sending him a stare filled with nothing but disgust and hatred. He swore to change this, to do anything in his power to turn you to the truth of your family’s love for you, his love for you, his youngest child. The one he had almost let slip away. 

Dick was heartbroken, he had truly believed that when they revealed their regret, you’d accept them back into your life with open arms. At your apprehension, the acrobat felt as if he was brought right back to when his parents died. Once again feeling his family slip through his fingers. However, this time, he was no longer the innocent bystander, who had done nothing to deserve the situation. No, this time he felt just like the man who had cut the robes of his parents’ trapeze. He had been the one who sabotaged his relationship with you. Still, he refused to let that be how the two of you would part ways. No. He deserved a second chance, he was your brother, after all. Family doesn’t just split with each other because of misunderstandings. He promised you and himself that he would not let it end like this. The two of you would become just as close as he and Damian, no matter how long it’d take. Dick could wait... No, he couldn't.

Tim blamed Jason for your sudden unwillingness to trust their intentions. Not even giving their prior neglect any thought. It was funny how he had practically worshipped Jason when he was younger, but now? Now, he blamed Jason for having corrupted your mind. Tim had completely turned around the memories of you attempting to communicate with him when you were younger. Instead of him telling you to scram every time you walked into his room to talk, he had deluded his own mind into thinking that he used to welcome you with open arms. Certain memories of Conner and him playing video games for hours on end were changed into the two of you doing the very same. He did not blame you for your hesitance, he preferred to solely, yet delusionally, place the entire blame on Jason. The ex-Robin, who had once been Tim’s biggest idol, had now turned into his greatest enemy. The way he so readily placed the blame on someone else spoke volumes about his lack of awareness when it came to your lucidity. He was sure that he could turn your mind ‘right’, by that he, of course, meant, ‘make you believe his version of events’. Tim’s delusional memories might’ve started off as just a plan to manipulate you, but they almost immediately turned into his own perceived truth. Anything to place the blame on Jason and not himself.

While Damian also disliked Jason like Tim, he was nowhere near delusional. He was highly lucid and entirely aware that, yes, they had all treated you like you were nothing more than a nuisance. Yes, you were probably well within your right to deny them any affection or chances. Yes, their new-found obsession with your love had become unhealthy and guilt-ridden, and it was certainly to your detriment. However, Damian had always been selfish and spoiled, two traits of his that he was aware of, yet couldn’t find it within himself to change. He was brought up as a prince his entire life, first as the heir to Eth Alth'eban and then as the unofficial prince of Gotham. There had never been anything he wanted that he didn’t get, and he knew that you would be no different. He was loyal to any cause he set his mind to and now, you would be it. No matter how much you’d fight, he was willing to keep his course. It was better for the both of you, he would get to enjoy your presence, and hopefully your care, while you’d be protected from any and all harm. Damian would give you the world if you asked, literally, so he saw no reason why he couldn’t demand your affection.

After your initial shock at the kidnapping subsided, you came to realise that your family’s newfound care had nothing to do with their public image, but rather some psychotic break in their mentality. Their affections turned clingy and you slowly started to feel a sense of hopelessness. They never let you be alone and they were so demanding of your affections. 

Dick was especially bad in that regard, forcing you to cuddle and be physically affectionate, even if you showed an aversion to physical touch. He didn’t understand why you wouldn’t want to be close with your eldest brother, which meant he lent you little to no understanding in regards to any lack in the enjoyment of his company. Bruce never stopped Dick, always excusing his overly affectionate demeanour and encouraging you to do the same. Dick would in general be very open and clingy in his affection, barely letting you leave the couch or bed so that he could just encase himself around you like plastic wrap, rubbing your cheeks together and otherwise holding onto you tightly. It would really just be a way for him to make sure yiu were still there, that you weren’t missing like the night they brought you back. It really changed him deeply. Dick would also likely move back into the manor, much to everyone’s, except you, delight. That way he could be near you more often and better follow the observation schedule that they set up.

Bruce himself was much more willing to let you have your space, but there were certain things which he demanded, like you calling him dad, or at least father, or you eating your meals next to him. The eating arrangements always put you between Bruce and Damian, across from Dick. If that wasn’t bad enough, Bruce also enjoyed watching you eat, feeling a sense of fulfilment as he ensured that you stayed safe and sound. Of course, Bruce had cut you out of vigilante life completely, and if it had been solely up to him, he would’ve wrapped you in bubble wrap and kept you by his and your brothers’ sides forever. However, he realised that bubble wrap might be uncomfortable and probably wasn’t a very breathable material for your skin, so he did the next best thing. He made sure that you were constantly provided for, as well as spoiled beyond measure, giving you any gift that he thought you could possibly enjoy. It was, in a way, his way of giving you back what he felt he owed you for all the birthdays, Christmases and other holidays that he had missed out on. Not only that, but he also enjoyed the idea of him providing for you as a good father should.

Tim spent hours trying to ‘re-program’ your mind. He would describe in great detail how the two of you used to spend time together. He became frustrated when you explained how none of it ever happened and started to double down, blaming Jason for messing up your mind. Sometimes, Tim would even drag you to his room, which had become even messier as he slowly started to spend less time there and more time with you, and force you to re-enact ‘your old memories’ by playing the games he remembered the two of you playing. He would force you to sit on his bed, between his legs, as he caged you in with the rest of his lanky body and rested his head on your shoulder. It made you claustrophobic and uncomfortable, but Tim would get pouty and extend the gaming sessions if you tried to get away. The worst part of being with Tim, however, wasn’t listening to his delusional rants about your old relationship, no, that was an unavoidable nuisance at best. The worst thing was how he would dirty Jason’s name with the vilest of allegations, none of them rooted in reality. Everything from Jason kidnapping you, to Jason wanting to put your life in danger to punish Bruce and, worst of all, that Jason was somehow in a conspiracy with the League of assassins to kill you so that Damian would be Bruce’s only true heir. Whether or not you believed anything Tim said in the beginning, it was hard to entirely brush off all his claims as they were repeated to you verbatim almost every day. Sometimes Tim would even present ‘evidence’ for his claims, like videos of Jason acting suspiciously, or messages intercepted between Talia and Jason, written in their handwriting, mentioning you in a less than ideal light. Most of this ‘evidence’ was either taken out of context or simply fabricated. With many of the letters that Tim claimed were from Talia having been written by Damian, who knew his mother’s handwriting down to the smallest flicker of her wrist. 

  Damian was perhaps the most refreshing of them. He wasn’t nearly as overbearing as Bruce, nor was he as clingy as Dick and Tim. Damian was simply quite demanding. “L/n, sit next to me”, “L/n, come read with me in the library”, “L/n, come walk with me through the gardens”, and so on. His commands were easy to follow, and not to be questioned, Now, that was something you could do. Damian was less of an affection seeker, he was more patient than the rest, perfectly willing to wait until you were ready to get emotionally close to him. He would wait, with welcoming arms and a composed smile. If you ever showed Damian any affection, like a hug or putting your head on his shoulder while the two of you were reading, he would experience a brief moment of shock, before laying an arm or two around you, careful not to overwhelm you, but absolutely celebrating like new years in his mind. On the other hand, if you were to try and escape, Damian would have no qualms about breaking both of your legs with a sledgehammer, Annie Wilkes-style. Damian is deeply loyal, both to you and to Bruce, but even more so to himself and his personal beliefs. Once Damian sets a goal, he will not lose sight of it, this is also why he can remain so patient with you, but it also means that even if you somehow calm down the rest of your family’s yandere tendencies to manageable levels, this will never be the case with Damian. He will forever remain by your side, ready to protect and serve you. He does almost become reverent in his familial love for you, not in a deity-like way, but he does view you as one of the only people set above him, this reflects in the painted portraits, which he will no doubt create for you. Your room and his will both end up covered in your portraits, from different angles, with different hairstyles and so on, it is almost unsettling to see your own eyes staring back at you everywhere you go, almost like a 1984 Big Brother, only it is yourself. Damian will also take you to interact with his pets, he might keep both Titus and Batcow at a distance at first, afraid that they’ll hurt you, however, he almost transfers ownership of Jerry and Alfred the cat to you, thinking you could probably need some non-human companions to help you settle back in. He would also help you re-decorate your room if you’d like, only to sneak in deep green imagery here and there to remind you of him.

They are all exceptionally loving of you, you are their little prince/princess/royal, and they make sure to treat you like one. Alfred is almost embarrassed at the over-the-top behaviour, but he accepts it, as he feels obliged to always go with what Bruce wants. Bruce was once his little boy, (not biologically but in spirit), and he understands why the man acts as he does, even if he disagrees with the intensity of their treatment of you. He does, however, offer brief moments of reprieve, when he takes observation duty and simply lets you sit in the kitchen, munching on a cookie or two, doing whatever you want, as long as it doesn’t bring you in danger. It feels nice to just be yourself, even if only for a fleeting instant.

Jason had tried to get you back many times but was constantly being fought back by the rest of the family, physically and mentally. He had tried asking Roy for help, but the redhead was afraid of what they’d do to Lian, so he refused. The other Justice League members were of no help either, while they enjoyed Jason’s presence, they were first and foremost Bruce’s friends, and as such took his side in the matter. There was nothing Jason could do, he was powerless to help you as you were practically held captive within your old childhood home.

In short, the family made you the jewel of their eyes, your previous neglect was swept under the rug and you’re expected to forget it or at least forgive them. If I were to rank them from worst to best, it’d probably be Tim, Dick, Bruce, Damian and Alfred, (let’s be honest, he’d definitely turn at least slightly yandere after a while, even if you won’t notice. Heck, the fact that he lets Bruce hold you captive definitely screams “Not entirely against you being here against your will”). I think Tim would be the worst, as he often puts the need to convince you that you have always been close and his hatred of Jason before your actual wants and needs, and he will do things which you will find traumatic and uncomfortable, just to get you to agree with him. Dick is right behind him, as he puts his own need for extreme physical validation before your comfort and will expect you to forgive him relatively fast, as well as not being particularly sympathetic to your situation. Bruce and Damian are both tolerable, with Bruce being slightly worse due to his extreme overbearingness and lesser patience. Alfred is… well he’s Alfred, he treats you like a normal person would, while just being insanely enabling in his lack of action against Bruce. You’ll never escape any of them, so you better get comfortable.

[green-eyedfirework]

To say this is a surprise is an understatement.

Slade made the offer in seriousness, though perhaps not fully.  It’s the first offer he’s made since Adeline’s passing and while it’s been four years, long enough for the grieving period to be over, he hasn’t given full thought to remarrying.  He has his hands full, with Grant’s sullenness and Joey’s muteness and then the addition of Rose, and the idea of finding a new mate was a distant one.

Richard Grayson is handsome, to be sure, and charming, a jewel of the Wayne pack with no shortage of admirers.  His introduction to society was unfortunately followed by his father’s disappearance and the flurry of a mourning period it prompted, cutting off courtships for a few years.  Lord Wayne was thankfully found a few months ago, but it appears he’s not quite all the way well, because Richard and his siblings arrived in London on their own this season.

They’ve been fawned over at every turn, a sickening display that Slade’s mostly avoided, but he ran into Richard quite by chance when Rose went missing on an outing at the park.  He found her with Wayne’s little brat of an heir, both kids shrieking gleefully under Richard’s fond supervision.  Once the children made friends, there was, of course, no escaping the interactions, and Slade watched with increasing desire as Richard calmly and evenly handled two sets of hellions with admirable ease.

The omega is young but mature, gracious and kind but also stubborn.  Protective of his packmates, of children no matter who they are.  Pretty.  Rich.  Enough hints of fire to pique Slade’s interest.

When Joey all but clambered into Slade’s lap to solemnly demand that Dick join their pack, his interest finally solidified into an offer.  Even Grant only made a huff at the proposition, a ringing endorsement from the sullen teen, and Rose was willing to do anything to ensure she keeps her playmate.

So Slade sent his offer, serious but expecting nothing of it.  For all the reasons Slade wants him, Grayson has a hundred admirers, younger, richer, belonging to more powerful families.  Slade is a widower with three children and Richard is the eldest omega of the Wayne pack, he didn’t imagine it would be taken seriously.

“Forgive me, but I have to be blunt,” Slade said, crossing his arms on his desk and leaning forward.  “Why?”

Richard is sitting in the seat opposite, straight-backed, shoulders relaxed, hands resting in his lap.  He radiates tension despite it.

“You were the one who made the offer, my lord,” Richard says evenly.  “Are you rescinding it?”

“I’m asking you why you’re accepting it,” Slade says flatly.  He has no patience for games.  “I’m nearly twice your age, with three children.  I cannot possibly be your best offer.”

“If you’re so certain I wouldn’t accept, why did you offer at all?”

Yet another question answered with a question.  If he wasn’t already suspicious, the deflections would cement it.

Slade narrows his eye.  “Don’t play naïve, boy, it doesn’t suit you.”  Something flickers in Richard’s eyes, there and gone.  “If I’m your choice, then there’s something you’re hiding.”  He drops his voice to a growl, “And I don’t like secrets near my family.  Not after what the last one did.”

Richard drops his gaze and swallows, shoulders hunching, giving into the anxiety hovering around him like a cloud.  Slade gives him a minute.  If he still won’t speak, Slade will have him thrown out.  The children will be unhappy, but better unhappy than maimed.

“I—I was—I am,” Richard swallows, tries again, swallows, tries again.  “It’s just—I wasn’t—I—”

“Just spit it out,” Slade snaps.

Richard doesn’t flinch, but he does draw in a deep breath, and when he exhales, he looks up to meet Slade’s gaze.  “I know that your lordship already has three children.  I was hoping that someone of your position, with an assured line of succession, would be more amenable to taking a mate with prior engagement in behaviors that might threaten the parentage of any heirs.  If I was wrong, I hope we can resolve this amicably and restore the goodwill between our packs.  It was never my intention to bring any harm to your pack.”

Slade takes a moment to sort through all of it.  Richard is ashen, but still keeping Slade’s gaze, sitting prim and proper as though he hasn’t just admitted to being ruined.

“You’re not chaste,” Slade says finally, leaning back.

“No,” Richard says.  His hands are clenched in his lap.

“Who?” Slade asks.

It’s not precisely idle curiosity, not with the darker parts of him wanting to shred to pieces anyone who dared to taste the omega.  An earlier courtship, maybe, one cut off by Lord Wayne’s disappearance and never resumed?  Slade knows that betrothed omegas and alphas will fool around, hiding away from their chaperones, not thinking about the consequences should the agreement be broken off.

“Does it matter?”  Richard’s jaw is tight.

Slade raises an eyebrow.  “If you want to reach an agreement, yes.”

Richard takes a controlled breath and looks away.  “Lord Desmond,” he says sharply.  That isn’t what Slade was expecting.  “It happened years ago.  It will never happen again, I swear it.  There was no one else.”

[starless-nightz]

ARCANE: LEAGUE OF LEGENDS MASTERLIST

I'm crazy, baby! -> Jinx X fem! reader

Sevika cuddling HCs

Jealous! Jinx HCs

Yandere! Jinx HCs

Jinx with Caitlyns sister! reader HCs

Dont leave me -> Jinx X fem! reader

Jinx with a S/O who has the same curse as Arlecchino

My perfect girl -> Mel Medarda X wife! reader

Ekkos girl -> platonic! Ekko X fem! child! reader

Good luck, babe! -> Jinx X Piltover! fem! reader

Vi NSFW HCs

Runaway girls -> Jinx X Piltover! fem! reader

High School AU! Caitlyn secretly dating Zaunite! fem! reader

Jinx NSFW HCs

Jinx with a singer! S/O

Jinx falling for Sevikas sister! reader

Jinx flirting with bartender! reader

Jinx catching her S/O cut themselves

Abandoning Jinx HCs

Caitlyn spoiling her fem! S/O

Jinx with a pyromaniac! fem! reader

Caitlyn NSFW HCs

Tell me will my name be your last breath? -> Jinx X civilian! Piltover! fem! reader

Caitlyn with a S/O who cries during sex

Sitting on Jinx's face

Doing an all day for Jinx

Jinx with a calm and gentle! S/O

Poly! Lightcannon killing someone who disrespectes their S/O

Jinx and her fem! S/O looking after Isha HCs

Jinx with a ballerina! S/O that fights very elegently

Caitlyn with a fem! S/O who is an enforcer and lost her father in the attack

Jinx, Caitlyn and Maddie with a fem! Zaunite! mage! S/O

Sevika and Ambessa with a fem! singer! S/O

Platonic Isha with a twin sibling! reader

Mel with a suger baby! fem! S/O

Jinx and her S/O grieving Isha HCs

Caitlyn with a S/O who was injured in the attack

Jealous! Intersex! Ambessa fucking her fem! S/O HCs

Jinx with a fem! S/O thats has a very cozy and very maximalist house

Poly! Caitlyn and Maddie HCs

Exhausted! Caitlyn being taken care of by her fem! S/O

Jinx falling for Ishas older sibling! reader

Maddie with a fem! Zaunite! S/O whos mad at her

The look of love -> Jinx X fem! reader, platonic! Isha X fem! reader

more to be added...

main page

[batcowenraged]

do you think that bc there’s been plenty of heroes using the same name/mantle that when jon returns to earth after being aged up people assume he’s a completely different superboy and the “former” one (child jon) died like so many other child heroes have

even if the situation is cleared up eventually (even if it’s cleared up as fast as possible) do you think there’s a few weeks when people are holding candlelight vigils and making memorial posts on social media and giving gifts to all the supers

there’s mothers who’s children have been saved by jon or have lost their children to supervillain catastrophes handing flowers and food and handmade gifts to superman saying “pass them on to superboys mother. send her our empathy”

fathers who’ve endured the same stopping superman on the street to shake his hand and tell him they understand bc being superhuman wouldnt make him immune to feeling alone in his grief

robin is handed art and photos of the supersons and string bracelets in super colors from kids and pretends not to notice adults slipping grief support pamphlets to batman or batgirl or nightwing or whoever he’s patrolling with that night

superboy is given homemade action figures of two superboys both him and the little kid he shared a mantle with older siblings and older cousins and aunts and uncles all look at him with understanding

supergirl won’t except anything just flinches and flies away people get it they stop approaching her

do you think they keep anything civilians gave them?? bc they are grieving someone, just not in the way civilians assumed

[thatforkedroad]

always in reverse

[also on ao3] Siblings Marian and Garrett Hawke are so similar, and yet they’re as different as night and day (2!Hawkes au character study)

----

Marian is born exactly fourteen-and-a-half months before her brother. It’s long enough for her to claim absolute superiority as the eldest Hawke sibling, but not quite long enough for her to remember a life before Garrett. 

She has their mother's eyes and he their father's, but they share Malcolm’s thick sheaf of black hair, untamed and always unkempt despite their mother's best efforts. When Marian cuts her hair with the kitchen knife, they could be mistaken for twins. 

The similarities run deep and shallow. She and Garrett are both brash; they always have been, as if it was a part of the bloodstream tying them together. They both run straight into trouble, but brother is brash in that dashing hero sort of way, and he talks his way back out of trouble with an easy grin. Marian is brash, but not in the way people like. She learns to fight dirty in back alleys and the schoolyard, and an insult is met with a fist long before she can even consider a witty remark. 

He tracks mud in the door after a hunt, but he always cleans up after himself. He doesn’t leave blood or dirt on the table or ruin his third shirt that month. If he does get into trouble, he has their mother’s smooth speech and noble posture mixed with their father’s quick wit and brilliant smile. All Marian has is two hands and a bright-red temperament. He’s made for building and she for breaking. 

Sometimes it’s a wonder they’re related — a wonder she’s related to anyone in her family, even. She is not a mage or healer like her father, and she is not a proper lady like her mother. At least it gets easier with the twins. Sure Bethany’s even worse than Garrett, the perfect daughter for their highborn mother and the perfect student for their healer father, but Carver’s like Marian. Not by accident, either; he watches Marian practice — all jabs and sharp swings — until she takes pity and shows him a few sword stances she picked up in alleyways. 

Still, he’s more of a Hawke than she’ll ever be; he fights to protect, never to break. He shadows their parents as much as he shadows her. 

Marian is fourteen-and-a-half months and five years older than all of her siblings — so when Father dies, it would only be natural if she took on his roles to help her mother. That’s what the eldest is supposed to do. 

In some ways, it’s what she does; she’s the one who takes on more work to make up the coin they need, she’s the one who keeps the family safe when some idiot tries to nick Bethany’s purse. But Marian has spent her life trying to be anything but her parents and all she does is break things. So when someone has to take Malcolm’s real role, when someone has to care for the twins and fix the hole in the roof and make sure their mother is eating enough, Marian can only watch while her brother takes it upon his shoulders. 

He takes to older-brother-father with the same smooth ease he takes to everything. He comforts his younger siblings with stories and corrects Bethany’s form when she casts (even if he’s barely been practicing himself) and loses arm wrestles to Carver on purpose. He encourages Bethany to go for that apprenticeship with the apothecarist on the edge of town and congratulates Carver when he eventually gets his commission in the army.

Marian knows Garrett’s trying to fill the grieving hole in his chest with responsibility, but she doesn’t know how to stop him. All she has are two hands, and it’s oh-so hard to save someone from drowning when you’re nose-deep in the water too. 

In all his new responsibility, Garrett forgets to shave a few too many days. His thin stubble begins growing out into a thick black beard and Marian keeps spotting a dead man out of the corner of her eye. Nobody says anything. She supposes that in the mirror, it must be harder to notice the similarities between her brother and the corpse in Lothering cemetery. Garrett can’t see how it looks when he leans down to point at Bethany's book or when he claps Carver on the shoulder with a laugh. Doesn’t see the heartbreak in their mother's eyes or the way Marian’s heart tightens.

The twins don’t seem to notice either, or at least don’t seem to mind. Maybe it makes things easier for them, smoothens the transition from child to half-orphan until grief is hardly visible in their gold-and-blue eyes. 

But all their mother does is notice. Garrett smiles like a ghost and Mother treats him like the sun, something that will burn her eyes red if she looks for too long. Before Father, Marian would have asked her brother what it was like to be a vessel for their mother’s grief. After, now, everything has changed and she finds the question dying on her too-different tongue.

Besides, it doesn’t take long before she learns the answer for herself. 

They’re one of the last families to leave Lothering. It’s not like they take long to pack; they’ve been preparing for a moment like this since before Marian was even born, in case Father or Garrett or Bethany were seen by some nosy neighbour or lucky Templar. They’ve always known something would happen, always known there was something temporary about this house — even if they didn’t think it would end quite like this. 

But they’re Malcolm Hawke’s family and he taught them to help before he ever taught them to hide. When word and panic reaches the town, the Hawkes reach their neighbours — the old lady opposite whose children haven’t visited in a decade, the young parents four doors down, the veteran with the poor leg the next street over. They help them pack onto the few carts in town and assure them it will be fine. They stay until the darkspawn are visible from the highest hill and don’t look back when the monsters drown their home in Blight. 

Marian leads her family and the meagre few belongings they carry across Ferelden. They’re sore and tired and in the early stages of a new grief, but none of them complain about the hard paths and miles to go.

Marian wonders later if leaving earlier would have made a difference. If she should have ignored their father’s old lessons of compassion and just grabbed her families’ hands and ran. Some of the smaller darkspawn might still have caught up, yes, but surely not that ogre. Or if it had, maybe they would have been less tired when it did. And maybe, he would have…

When the ogre rises onto the plateau with a deafening roar, Marian grits her teeth and readies her sword for the first strike — but Bethany and Carver rush in before she can even react. She’s not sure how it happened. She’s not sure if it was because Carver was a faster runner or because Bethany has always been more careful or because twins don’t share their luck in equal parts. She just knows that within moments, she goes from being the eldest of four to the eldest of three. 

The siblings kill the thing they don’t yet realise is their brother’s murderer before they rush over to their mother and Carver’s not-quite-corpse. It is not an easy battle, but it seems too simple for what they know has happened. 

Marian drops to her knees by Carver’s torn chest. She vaguely registers Bethany’s distraught mumbling about healing spells and Garrett's too-wrong silence. But she can't take her eyes off her littlest brother’s red face. 

Carver reaches blindly up to his eldest sister with a bloody hand. In his dead-man’s-clumsiness, he smears it on her face before she can catch his hand and hold it for dear life. He returns her grip for a dear few moments — and then his fingers go loose and his eyes glaze over. 

The four of them stare at the body— no, at Carver, at Marian’s baby brother — until they really realise he is not going to move again. Little Carver, who would tumble and scrape his knee and always get straight back to running, is not getting up this time. Silence reigns over the family of now-four for minutes. They all know the darkspawn are coming, Marian knows she needs to tell them to move, but they– they can't leave him, can't carry him, can't save…

The silence is not broken gently. It is snapped in violence when Leandra looks up with fury in her ice-cold eyes and tells Marian this is your fault.

Garrett then says something, pulls their mother from the body (no, Carver), but Marian doesn’t hear or notice over the wide-eyed ringing in her ears. She lacks the words to defend herself — or worse, she lacks the will. Maybe, somewhere in her heart, she agrees. Maybe this is her fault, because Marian is the eldest by fourteen-and-a-half months and she is not her mother or her father, and all she has ever done is break things. 

[bldhrry]

A Court of Passion and Daydreams

Chapter One | Fresh Out The Slammer Azriel x OC!Reader Next Chapter Series Masterlist | General Masterlist

word count: 3.3k

warnings: angst and sexual innuendos (like hinting at wanting someone in a sexual way)

author's note: hi guys. this is my first fanfiction post so please let me know what you think. i intend on making this a series, but i'm not sure how many parts yet. feedback is very much welcomed!

She had returned from the Summer Court after 5 years and she had grown since the last time Azriel had seen her.  She was slightly taller and her face was now more womanly than girlish, her expression inviting but wary.  Her figure was fuller, curvier than it had been before; her eyes were wide and her cheeks round and when she looked at him she timidly smiled and lowered her head.  He gave her a grin and turned his attention to Rhysand and Tarquin’s father.

“We’re sad to see her go.  She was a delight and an honor to see her grow into the woman she is now.” Tarquin’s father looked at her with a sad look on his face.  He had no daughter, only sons, so he found a daughter in her during the time she spent there.

“Thank you for taking her.  I didn’t know who else to ask to help her properly.” Rhysand also turned his attention to her and her smile grew as they locked eyes. They grew up together and despite being cousins, he considered her his blood sister.  They never introduced each other as cousins, only as siblings.

“I’m sorry again.” Rhysand turned to look at the High Lord.  “For your mother’s passing I mean.”  Rhysand just nodded his head.

She had been sent to the Summer Court in order to redirect her grief.  Her mother had died when she was a babe and with nobody to care for her, she was sent to live with Rhysand and his mother at the Illyrian camp.  She knew who her birth mother was, but considered her aunt to be her real mother.  When her mother and cousins were murdered, her grief and anger consumed her. When she heard the news the House of Nightmares shook with her scream and power.  Nobody knew what to do; nobody knew how powerful she was until that moment.  Shadows erupted from her body, covering her body and the space around her.  The walls continued to shake and dust fell from the ceiling.  Rhysand was the one to make a move, the only one not scared of what she would do.  His own power enveloped her and calmed her until she was a weeping mess, reminiscent of a child.  They cried together.

She begged to go with Rhysand and his father, her uncle, to the Spring Court to get their revenge, but was shot down.  Unlike Rhysand, she didn’t know her power and she was a risk.  Her personality didn’t help either; she was impulsive and quick to anger and they both knew she would slaughter the whole house indiscriminately.  She relished in the death of the Spring Court’s High Lord, his wife, and heirs.

It wasn’t that nobody wanted to handle the grief that came with the death of Rhysand’s mother and sister.  Everyone grieved the unjust murders, but she became violent and her power only grew from her anger.  Her father was no help; his mate, her mother, had died and he grew mad without her.  He abandoned her after her mother’s death, appearing only for her birthday.  Rhysand’s father couldn’t handle the loss of his mate either and secluded himself in the House of Wind.  So, it was just Rhysand and her dealing with it all.

Despite her uncle’s cruel nature, the relations between the Night Court and the Summer Court were amicable.  She had been once and Rhysand took note of how at peace she seemed surrounded by the sunlight and water.  So, Rhysand reached out to the High Lord of the Summer Court and asked for her to seek asylum there.  He thought the change in atmosphere would help; the House reminded her too much of her mother and it only seemed to make her worse.  Rhysand had Cassian, Azriel, and the routine of the Illyrian lifestyle while his sister had nothing.  She was Illyrian trained, but was ostracized by the other warriors and the females there.  Tarquin’s father readily accepted Rhysand’s request and so the move was arranged.

She had protested, begging to stay with Rhysand.  He was all she knew.

“I can keep the house while you, Cassian, and Azriel train and fight.  I can do what our mother did.  Please don’t leave me.  I’ll forget her if I’m gone and I can’t bear to lose her.”  She screamed and begged.

“You will die if you stay here.  They will train you to control your powers.  Nobody can know how strong you are.  It’s safer this way.”  He reassured her.  She was strong and he feared she was stronger than him; her power had the potential to be dangerous to not just herself, but to everyone around her.  He couldn’t bear to think what would happen if anybody outside of the Court knew of what she was capable of.

The day she arrived at the Summer Court was dark and rain pattered heavily against the roof of the House, matching the somber mood of the group.  Cassian had stayed behind, his duties at the camp not allowing him to leave, so Rhysand, his father, and Azriel accompanied her.  They winnowed into the foyer of the House and were met with the High Lord and his son, Tarquin.  Rhysand’s father stayed aloof and made no move to greet them.  Rhysand was the one to initiate the welcome, shaking hands with the High Lord and his son, both of them sharing their condolences.  She stayed back, staring at the far wall in the back.  She was expressionless; she had no more to give.  

The High Lord made his way to her and took her hands that were clasped in front of her.  “I am so sorry for your loss, but we are glad you are here.  Welcome to the Summer Court.  Anything you need, I will get for you.”  

All she could do was look at him, her eyes void of life.

Her and Azriel had not been particularly close.  Neither was she and Cassian.  The tense relationship between the three males made it so Rhysand kept her away from them, cautious of their nature and manners around another female, especially a young one.  As time went on, the relationship grew into a brotherly bond and she was accepted into their band of brothers.  She grew closer to Cassian; their humor and personality were the same and if she wasn’t with Rhysand, she was with Cassian; so much so that rumors spread throughout the village that they were together, mates even.  That couldn’t have been farther than the truth.

Her and Azriel were friendly and civil, their time together always shared in a comfortable silence.  When the relationship between the brothers was tense, she was quick to defend Azriel and when Azriel had nightmares of his abuse, she was the one to comfort him.  She pitied him and what he had gone through.  She also lost her mother and she could empathize with his pain.  But his reserved and almost intimidating persona made it difficult to be near him for long, let alone hold a conversation with him.�� 

“It’s good to see you, Azriel.”  He blinked, shaking the memories away.  She had made her way towards him, excusing herself from her conversation with Cresseida.  

He took her in and smiled.  “You’ve been missed, Princess.”  She laughed, the noise filling the foyer.  The pet name had been coined years ago when he learned of her beginnings and it had stuck ever since.  She can't remember the last time she heard her name come from his mouth.

“How have you been?  I hear they call you the Shadowsinger.”  She raised an eyebrow, her smile turning from genuine to amusing.

“And the Spymaster.”  He flashed her a grin.

Her grin grew, showing her teeth and she snaked her arm around his.  “I wish Cassian could be here.  I thought they’d excuse his ban just this once.”

It was now Azriel’s turn to laugh.  “He destroyed an entire building; I doubt they will ever forgive that.”

She rolled her eyes and they landed on him.  She took him in.  He hadn’t gotten taller like she had, but he had gotten more muscular.  His chest and shoulders were broad and his arms thick with muscle that flexed through his Illyrian leathers.  His face was sculpted and his jawline sharp and his eyes were wide with contentness as he looked back at her.  She couldn’t help but notice the flickers of gold that shone through.

The look between them was longer than either had intended, but it was difficult to break.  She broke her gaze first with a small laugh, her cheeks flushed.  He let out a breath and looked towards Rhysand and Feyre, wishing they would finish their conservation so they could leave.

After a few minutes, Feyre embraced Tarquin and his father while Rhysand shook both of their hands.  She broke away from Azriel to embrace them both, whispering "thank you’s" and "I will miss you’s" into their necks.  

Tarquin held on to her longer.  WIth one more squeeze he held her at arms length and kissed her cheek.  “Come back soon.  Please.”  She nodded and brushed a tear away.

She stepped back and looked at Rhysand and he cocked his head toward Azriel.  She took the cue and made her way towards him, his arms already outstretched.  She nestled into his chest and turned her head to look at her found family, giving them a small wave before Azriel winnowed, taking her to the Night Court.  Taking her home.

The affair began with small, longing, fleeting glances.  She had found herself sitting next to Azriel at every dinner and meeting.  She couldn’t help but feel like she was glowing, flames kissing her skin every time they touched or brushed past each other.  She couldn’t relax in his presence, his stare hard, but soft when his eyes rested on her.

Azriel felt the same way.  He watched as she would move about the room and as she talked and smiled and laughed.  He took note of the glimmer in her eye when she bantered with Cassian.  He could feel something glow and dance in his chest when their eyes met and he too felt like he was on fire whenever they would touch.

Cassian picked up on the tension, but kept his mouth shut.  Azriel would be embarrassed and Rhysand would be protective.  But he would silently laugh whenever he saw her tense up when Azriel would enter the room or when Azriel stared at her for too long.

Months had passed since she had come home and she settled into Velaris life and the dynamic of the Inner Court with ease.  Her and Feyre were nearly inseparable and to everyone’s surprise her and Nesta were thick as thieves.  Amren had been wary at first, but soon they were having lunch dates every day and inside jokes.  Her and Mor couldn‘t have been happier being back together.

Rhysand was overjoyed that his sister was back and seemed happier than ever.  She was back to her old self: loud and fierce and quick witted.  Whenever he had the chance he would hug and kiss her and sometimes he felt like he was embracing his mother again.

The Winter Solstice quickly approached and she, Mor, and Feyre were looking at dresses for the ball Rhysand was hosting at the Court of Nightmares in Hewn City.

“I like this one.”  She announced to Nesta.  It was navy blue with lace sleeves that cuffed at the wrists and flowed into a lace that laid on top of the satin fabric.  The lace had embroidered, glittery stars.  “I think it would compliment the silver jewelry I have.  What do you think, Nesta?”  She looked at Nesta who had a green gown in her hand.

“It’s great.”  She narrowed her eyes as she examined the dress.  “It’ll compliment your skin if anything.”

She hummed in agreement and took it off the rack.  Moving towards the counter she spotted Feyre, Elain, and Mor huddled together looking at a dress.  Feyre turned around and tilted her head.  She raised the dress so she could see and smiled.

“Looks great!”  Feyre yelled from across the store.  

She paid at the counter and with the bag in hand, made her way towards the group.

“I’m not sure about it.”  Elain murmured.  The dress was a pale pink with a sheer fabric over the solid material.  “I don’t think it will go with the theme of the ball.”

“There’s no theme.  Just go in what you’re comfortable wearing.”  She spoke and the group turned around.  Feyre and Mor hummed in agreement.  “Who cares if you’re not wearing a dark color.  You have fair skin; the dress will compliment that.  Just get it.”  

Elain smiled at her and nodded, taking the dress from the rack.

“I’m going to go to my apartment and put the dress away.  I’ll see you at the townhouse for dinner.”  The group nodded and turned back to look at the dresses.

She walked behind Rhysand and Feyre towards the thrones at the end of the room.  She was second in line unless Rhysand and Feyre had a child and her position behind them showed just that.  Rhysand let his power flow and she did too.  The room shook as they walked, dark, thick shadows framing her body and flowing behind her and her lazy smile grew as everyone looked at her with shocked expressions.  Nobody had seen her for five years and nobody knew she even had powers, let alone powers similar to their High Lord.

Azriel and the rest of the Inner Court followed behind them and Azriel was ashamed, but couldn’t help but follow the swing of her hips and the sway of the dress that subsequently followed.  She looked beautiful in the gown with the simple silver chain around her neck that fell close to the neckline of the dress and the diamond hoop earrings.  Her hair was half up and the crown, given to her by her father, sat atop her head.  She was gorgeous and his growing need for her threatened to explode and fill the room.

The festivities began with a snap of Rhysand’s finger and Azriel stood at the bottom of the stairs watching the crowd with his staple cold, expressionless face.  Out of the corner of his eye he could see her, standing next to Rhysand’s throne, also watching the crowd.  He noticed the subtle sway of her dress as she moved with the melody of the band and she would leaned forward slightly as the music grew louder and more aggressive and the dancers turned and turned and turned.  She wanted to dance, but he was too shy to ask.

Cassian could see all of this and just smirked at his brother.  If Azriel tried he was sure that she would accept any and all advances he would make.  He nudged his brother and nodded towards her.  “If you don’t, then I will.”  He smirked and Azriel huffed.

“I’m not a good dancer and I don’t even feel like dancing.”  He lied and Cassian grinned.

“Fine.  Then I’ll do it.”  He pushed himself off the wall and Azriel scowled at his back.  WIth ease, Cassian made his way up the stairs and extended his hand towards her.  “May I have the next dance, Princess?”  She snorted and nodded, taking his hand.

They descended the stairs and moved seamlessly into the crowd.  Cassian looked ridiculous as he danced, his movements were jerky and he kept tripping over his feet.  She laughed each time, throwing her head back.  Despite the noise, that was the only sound Azriel could hear and he couldn’t help but watch as they danced, her leading Cassian through the movements.  The dance ended and they bowed at each other, their chests heaving.  Azriel stared and gripped his thigh.

Cassian came back with a grin plastered on his face and Azriel rolled his eyes.  “Your turn now brother.”  He panted.

Azriel let out a deep breath and looked at her as she approached the table at the other end of the room and picked up a glass of wine.

Like Cassian, he kicked himself off the wall and stalked towards her.  His heart pounded in his chest and he could feel himself sweating underneath his suit.  His mouth was dry as he reached out and touched her shoulder.  She jumped and turned around, her expression was softening as she took him in.

His suit was a simple black with a white shirt underneath with the first few buttons undone, exposing his tattoos.  She gulped her wine and forced herself to look elsewhere.

“Dance with me, Princess?”  He managed to get out.  

She smiled shyly and nodded, placing the glass back on the table and extending her hand.  He took it and led her to the dance floor.  He managed a cool demeanor but with her hand in his and her scent filling his senses, he was light headed and wasn’t sure how he was going to get through the dance.

The music began and they moved in tandem.  Their bodies were tight against one another, breaking apart every now and then to switch positions.  He reveled in her presence and couldn’t take his eyes off her.  They didn’t break eye contact the entire time.  With every turn she made, she quickly looked at him again, her chest humming and glowing as it always does around him.  They raised their hands and held them, slowly lowering them and as they did, he noted the way her chest rose and fell, touching his.  As their arms continued to lower he kept looking at and she kept looking at him.  Agony seemed to flash in her eyes as their bodies pressed against each other and again when she turned and faced him.

The song ended and they broke away and she nearly gasped at the loss of contact.  They bowed and she swallowed the lump growing in her throat.  She nodded and smiled and murmured a quick “thank you” before swiftly turning around and making her way towards where Rhysand and Feyre sat.  Azriel was left dumbfounded and his head cloudy but the only image that thrived was the look in her eyes as the dance came to an end.

She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked up at her High Lord.  She curtsied and lowered her head.  He nodded back at her and with a wave of his hand he dismissed her.  She turned away and made her way towards the exit.  Her head was spinning and she couldn’t shake the feeling of Azriel’s hand in her's, his chest meeting her’s, and the way he looked at her like it was the last time.  By the time she made it to the dark hall towards her room she had begun to hyperventilate; her body was hot and her hands shook.  She needed him again even if it was only for a brief moment.  She needed to feel his hands secured around her as he had done before.  For a brief moment she thought she may die if she couldn’t have it.

Unbeknownst to her and the rest of the Court, Azriel had slipped out from the ballroom and was following her down the hall.  She was practically running and he could hear her ragged breathing.  She rounded the corner and he quickly followed.  His steps were quick, his strides long as he tried to catch up to her.  His shadows moved around him, seemingly trying to push him forward.  

She made it to her door as he caught up to her.  Before she could register his presence, he grabbed a hold of her wrist and she looked at him.  Their gaze were hard and fueled with passion and the air seemed to have been sucked out of the hallway.  The only thing they could hear was their ragged, heavy breathing and she glanced between his eyes and his parted lips.

“What are you…” She trailed off and shook her head, as if to clear her mind.  “Are you okay?”

And for the first time in a long time, her name fell from his lips and it was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard.

“Celestia.”

[bluedalahorse]

I mentioned wanting to write a fic about how things become a little more functional between Simon and August in their 20s, so here’s the scenario I want to write the fic about:

Simon and Wilhelm are close to graduating university. Felice is doing studies abroad in some capacity, and Sara is on the other coast of Sweden. August has just returned from university at Georgetown and is taking up some crown prince duties.

Simon and Wilhelm didn’t go to the same school—they each ended up in a school that fit their study needs—but they’re about 1-1.5 hours apart by train. They try to see one another relatively often, maybe on the weekends. They each have their own set of friends at their own school. In the final semesters of university, Simon gets involved in some particular, career-related project I haven’t decided on yet, which takes up a little more of his time. Their relationship is a little more “long distance” than usual but they still care for each other.

Wille’s having a rough go of it, though. In part he’s struggling academically, in part because he’s feeling the identity pressure of, who is he exactly? He’s done a lot of exploring over the past years, after leaving the crown, because trying to find yourself after a life of being told who you need to be is an ongoing process. He’s still trying to figure things out. There might be some Gender in the mix, too. (I am a they/he Wille truther.) Anyway, some of Wille’s university friends use recreational drugs, never in a way where they’re pressuring him but in a way where he’s around it. And with things being tough, Wille uses a few times in a “just for fun, just this once” sort of way, and then it begins to escalate.

Simon obviously notices that Wille is using, because his life story and what he remembers of life with Micke means he will notice. And immediately he knows he wants to get Wille help, but he’s also terrified of this becoming a situation where he feels like he has to handle everything by himself. He enlists the help of Sara and Felice from afar, he talks to Linda about it, but he realizes he also needs help from someone in Wilhelm’s family. Someone who sort of knows the upper class pressures and the way Kristina and Ludwig can be and all those insider things. It’s the kind of thing he might go to Erik about if Erik were alive, but Erik isn’t alive, and who was Erik anyway?

Well… over the past six or seven years, Wilhelm and August have been doing their best to have some kind of relationship. It starts awkward and hesitant at first, but becomes something over time. They try to check in on the phone once a week, and they try to coordinate their plans going in to family Christmas and such. They know what they are going to say if Kristina tries to pit the two against one another, they know how to cover for the other if one of them just wants to duck out of the fifth course of dinner and just scream. They can talk each other through panic attacks now and grieve together. Maybe Erik was the brother each of them wanted. Maybe they are also becoming the sibling each of them needed, inch by inch.

And Simon knows this, and has been okay with it happening because Wille respects his boundaries around it and has kept his Simon sphere and his August sphere separate so far.

But now Wille is in danger, and Simon knows he wants someone from Wille’s family (the part of Wille’s family he’s not part of, anyway) to help him.

So he calls August at an awkward time of day and says, “Hi. I didn’t want to have to do this, but I need your help.”

And August has noticed the signs of a growing addiction in Wille as well—of course he has, he has watched his father, he has dealt with this himself—and was about a day away from calling Simon in desperation.

“I need your help, too,” August says.

So they end up banding together to help Wille, to make sure Wille feels supported by both of them, to handle as much as possible before Kristina can swoop in (or before they have to call her in, in a careful and coordinated way.)

Simon and August end up talking about their own fathers, and realize they share some experiences, that they can relate to each other’s hypervigilance, even if they came from different social classes. How would things have been different, they wonder, if they had known this from the start?

As Simon opens up to him, August comes to realize the extent to which Simon still lives with the aftermath of the video. August realizes that yes, Simon is getting incredible grades and gaining people’s respect and presenting at music conferences around Europe as an undergraduate, and that still coexists with the pain and the fear. August has always loathed himself for posting the video, but his remorse takes on a new texture, one that is more inclined toward positive action steps than wallowing.

As August opens up to him, Simon comes to realize that August loved Sara, that August still regrets not loving Sara the way she deserved to be loved. Simon has to some extent rationalized August’s falling in love with Sara as fuckboy manipulation tactics—that’s easier to believe—but he notices the similarities between how August loves and how Wilhelm loves, how they both burn so bright for another person that they sometimes can’t see that person clearly. Simon starts to see how August tries to care for other people and make them feel like they belong, even if it doesn’t always look the way he expects.

We were all so young then, Simon and August think.

Wilhelm looks at these two unexpected people who love him and want him to be well (who love them, they tentatively suggest, as August and Simon each hold one of their hands.) Wilhelm is surprised and a little afraid and also a little… hopeful?

We are all so young now, they all think. And yet we are still growing.

And together they build something new.

[foralternateuniverses]

Misty Sights au

modern-ish au Sabo takes the death of his older brother pretty badly, he stopped himself from properly grieving while caring for Luffy, but now that Luffy is seemingly doing better and is busy with life, it finally hits Sabo

he's not sure if Koala thinks the temporal job offer to take care of a lighthouse on the cold waters of a North Blue coast will help him, maybe she thinks that the isolation will give him the privacy he needs to properly grieve, he's not sure why he accepts the offer, maybe he's still running away from his feelings

but he does he's not sure if he's happy to find out he has a work-mate after arriving at the lighthouses' little island, he was supposed to be the only one there as far as he knew

Yonji, his workmate, apparently, is also there to process the death of his older brothers, whose ship sunk on those same frigid waters in the solitude of the lighthouse

the two men find themselves bonding over their shared feelings and experiences, growing closer and closer although Sabo can't seem to shake off the feeling that there's something wrong

Yonji seems obsessed with guarding and searching for something

but what is really wrong?

Yonji shouldn't have been there in the first place Sabo might not have been paying attention but he walked by the graveyard when he arrived in town, and there he saw a beautiful woman with dyed pink hair visiting, in front of her were 4 gravestones maybe he'll meet her later, and maybe she'll tell her about the tragedy that befell her family when Ichiji and Niji died, the ship they were working in sinking due to a terrible stone, and later her youngest brother died in those same waters after investigating the ship and retrieving clues of something more, worse, having happened on that ship maybe he'll tell her of her (and the only brother she has left) ongoing fight against her father's prohibition of further investigating the wreckage, more than sure that he's hiding something, being the only survivor of said tragedy

Yonji started investigating cuz, despite his brothers deaths being ruled as drowning, he couldn't shake the suspicions that the marks on Niji's body created

(Ichiji's was never retrieved)

They said that the bruises were made as the storm and waves threw Niji around the ship, but Yonji, son of an abusive father and avid fighter, can recognise a bruise born from a fight

The public and the press may believe Judge's tragic tale of failing to save his sons (and the rest of his small crew) but Yonji (and Reiju, and Sanji, and Zeff) know better

Yonji, soon before his mysterious death, managed to retrieve some audio recordings from the ship, they had gone missing on the way to the person who would restore them

but Hancock somehow found them for Reiju after Yonji's death on his next trip to the wreckage

After Sabo learns all of this, he decides to help and get Luffy and co's help too

-and also has a bit of a crisis cuz tf you mean he's in love with a ghost-

now onto the acechiji (lmao)

Ace and Ichiji were together but in a bit of a distance-relationship because of work (and Judge), it wasn't really that early in their relationship but they have been keeping it to themselves (their siblings only know that they're seeing someone)

poor Ace thinks Ichiji is suddenly ghosting him (he is, cuz he dead) before he learns about the incident (and Ichiji's death) and makes contact with Reiju and Yonji and he dies in an "accident" while taking the records to be restored Yonji dies sometime after this

a year later Sabo goes to the lighthouse

[salmonvanillur]

realistically, how does diavolos birthday celebration work

both he and satan were born the day a family member died, with satan being lilith and diavolo being his mother who died in childbirth.

the difference with satan however is how lilith and her death was a private affair, due to the only people who knew about her existence in the devildom were the demon king, diavolo, and barbatos, with the rest of the general population, including other nobles, being unaware of her existence in the first place. it is shown or at least implied that satan was designated their sibling by the demon king and with the brothers not leaving the castle for the entire first year of residence, everyone who is not those three people believe that the siblings have always been the seven brothers.

however, even if I disregard all of what I just said, the fact is that to the denizens, the brothers are simply are "fallen angels” meaning even if the denizens had known of satan's birthday, they wouldn't have given any of the brothers such a special celebration like they do in recent years due to the discrimination they faced for having been former angels.

diavolo however is the prince and it has been shown in his birthday events (specifically the 2022 event) that he has an enormous celebration each year, organized by barbatos which is joined by all of the denizens. a celebration that he must attend as his royal duty.

satan had the opportunity to mourn the person he never got to meet. the brothers are doing better now and he doesn't seem to think about it at all, but diavolo? if I recall correctly, he has said that he believes his father holds him responsible for his mothers passing, yet every year they throw a celebration for his birth.

how many years did it take for them to switch from mourning the queens death and replacing the silent and respectful vigil to the vibrant and playful celebration for the prince’s birth? did they mourn for a day and celebrate for a week or longer? did they ever mourn, or because of the kings unspoken blame did they ever celebrate him? and if they did celebrate, was diavolo made to feel guilty, knowingly, or even worse, unknowingly by his father? did he see the celebratory cake and decorations and think that it was undeserving since “he killed his own mother” as his father told him despite never saying it?

did he feel bad when the House of Lords challenged and doubted him, not only because of the potential disappointment he could bring to his father and barbatos, but because he feels like his mothers death would have been for naught? he never had time to grieve and if he did, it wasn't intimate or an experience that could've been had in such a personal way to him like how lilith and her memories were told to satan.

satan had a family that grieved and celebrated privately, his birthday is celebrated because they care for him and have reassured him time and time again that they don’t hate or blame him or that they wish lilith was still there instead of him. not like the lonely prince.

diavolo has those friends and found family now, after so many millennia of the closest thing he felt as someone genuinely caring about him being barbatos. with his lie detection skills, could he tell that mephisto is, at best, ingenuous in his attempts at friendship. with mephisto believing they are still friends does that mean diavolo took what he got.

diavolo had no one, no one to tell him about his mother and all the small things, things like her favorite tea or if she was ticklish or what the worst joke she ever told was (satan believed her best being when she told them all cats go to PURRgatory when they die, despite the others telling him it was the worst joke not only because of that, but she couldn’t say a word without doubling over in laughter)

even if everyone told him of her kindness and generosity and everything that made her a worthy queen, he still couldn’t have anyone tell him about his mother and who she truly was. yet every year he celebrates, maybe by now he’s gotten over it but there’s still the chance that he feels guilty for her death and how the people have been forced to forget their queen

I don’t know how to end this off but I like to think that when during the periods of his first birthdays where he was less reactive or the day after, diavolo would have a sort of talk with him about their similar experience