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emo-markie · 3 months ago

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*:･ﾟ✧ Supernatural oc/reader fic recs

I like to read. So I read. A lot. This is my curated selection of fics that make me feral. I highly recommend checking out the creators!

REMEMBER TO READ THE TAGS!

Last updated : October 10, 2024

red means work in progress

blue means complete work

(sorted by alphabetic order)

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SAM WINCHESTER

Birdcage Fires by FallingDomino on Fanfiction.net

Rating: M

After finding a naked girl on a lonely stretch of California road on a stormy night, Sam doesn't have long to try and help the amnesiac girl before Dean drags him back into the life of hunting. Over the past three years, he never really forgot her, but when they reunite, the brothers discover something much more sinister about the night Sam saved her. Sam/OC, Before S1, skips to S4

Complex by NeQuittezPas on AO3

Rating: M

Sam Winchester will do whatever it takes to save his brother from Hell. When all else fails, he tries a spell—and botches it. Cassandra Holmes awoke from uneasy dreams and found herself transported to a fictional universe. Cass wants to go home. Sam wants his brother back. Maybe, working together, they can both get what they want.

Pie and Consqeuences by SteelRigged on AO3

Rating: T

Dean’s eyebrows were popping off his face. He looked at Sam, who had pie falling off his nose, and swallowed a smile. "You're getting slow, Sam," Dean said, and patted his brother on the shoulder. Sam wiped pie from his cheeks and chin. Veronica's rage had caught him off guard. She was one of the few people from his past he was still on good terms with. At least he thought they had been on good terms. At least neutral terms. Not pie in the face terms. “Oh Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,” Dean muttered, glowing with pleasure. “Don’t worry. I’ve been there. You probably deserved it.”

pythia - a supernatural rewrite by uncouth-the-fiffth on AO3

Rating: T

John goes missing. Like every time you use your Gift to track him down, it's hardly for his own sake. If it weren't for Dean, trembling under that too-big jacket on your stoop and working up the courage to even say Sam's name, you'd happily never think about their father ever again. Or what you're doing to Sam's life by pulling him back into the hunt. If it was up to you, John Winchester would never be heard from again. But the boys need you. So, you go.

I highly recommend checking out the author's other fics here: uncouth's spn fics

The LightBringer by I_Am_A_Silver_Lining on AO3

Rating: E

Waking in the body of Lucifer, having their memories and powers, should have been horrible. And it was... ...Until it wasn't OR Kore wakes up as Lucifer, powers, memories and all. She is still herself with a little something sinister sprinkled in and decides to rip up the script and throw the apocalypse out the door. However, her True Vessel seems to still believe she wants to get in him, but he'd MUCH rather have it the other way around... OR OC invades Supernatural and takes over the world one piece of trash at a time. with ART

This Untraveled Road (series) by BAPWarrior18 on AO3

By Fate or Free Will

Rating: M

In the year 2003, a witch unleashed a powerful spell that drastically altered the fates of thousands of girls and women around the world. Some were killed. Some were protected. Many went about their lives or deaths unknowing of their transformed purpose. However, each were meant to be soldiers in the war against evil. Each were meant to tip the scales in the favor of good. For one in particular, there would have been no tipping of the scales… if not for some higher being’s determination to piggyback not only on the spell, but on the things that had already been set in motion by demons. OR In which the Winchesters meet the original breed of hunter, causing tiny ripples that turns their world on its head. And brings forth the war of change. For better or worse.

War of Change

Rating: M

THE ROAD SO FAR… The Winchesters met their bespoke Slayer, shifting the balance of their lives and unknown to them, the fate of the world. The Catalyst awakened new paths, altered goals, and shifted motivations. Like a drop in a pond transforming into a tsunami. As intended. Six Special Children survived Cold Oak. Four Slayers fought at the opening of the Devil’s Gate. One Slayer met death and lived. One Slayer confessed and vanished. All the while, two beings of undefined purpose watched and plotted. None could have predicted the drastic turn of events caused by the union of Slayers and Champions. NOW Demons and hunters scramble to make sense of the new world order. Some revel in the change. Some attempt to fix the balance. Others struggle to carry out carefully constructed plans. In the meantime, the Winchesters navigate what it means to be Champions. The Catalyst comes to understand her true gift. And the purpose of The Connected becomes clear.

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DEAN WINCHESTER

one of these nights by uncouth-the-fifth on AO3

Rating: E

“S’ a good night,�� Dean tells you, beaming, “we can do another round, right?” “Hell yeah,” you shrug, and raise your empty glass, “Here’s to alcohol poisoning, baby.” “Yeah,” Dean echoes, almost slurring. “Baby."

This Curse On Our House by Sonny13 on Fanfiction.net

Rating: M

Faith has battles in her bones and nothing left to lose; a dangerous combination, but perfect for a hunter. But she's got demons out for her blood, convinced she can break some kind of curse, and they call her the Child of War - whatever that means. Things might be a little easier if Dean Winchester wasn't so damn frustrating.

Toil and Trouble by LittleGreenPlasticSoldier on AO3

Rating: M

What’s the best way to infiltrate a coven? Be a witch. What does a modern witch need these days… Dean is going to be your familiar. He really wants to be a dog. He's not going to be a dog, and it works out way better and messier than either of you planned.

“Yeah, I have a Great Dean.” by LittleGreenPlasticSoldier on AO3

Rating: E

Dean is a good boy.

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CASTIEL

Angel 101 by kittenofdoomage on AO3

Rating: E

The angels are dying out in huge numbers, and Castiel, searching for a way to save Jack from being used by them, and to also save them, is called by another angel to assist in what he thinks may be the solution.

Branded by ObliviousApple on AO3

Rating: E

Basically, the first time Cas ever touches you, a brand appears on your arm. A brand that says his name in Enochian. Come along for the ride as you try to stop the apocalypse, save the Winchester's from their own idiocy, and fall in love with our favorite feathered bastard. Spoiler alert: the brand is a soulmate mark. Who saw that coming?!

David by therev on AO3

Rating: T

What if the person who found amnesiac!Cas when he stumbled out of that river in Colorado had been a man and not a woman? And what if when Dean caught up with him, he found that Cas had a husband? And what if he was a real character and not the throw-away that they made Daphne?

Empire State of Mind by saprrowed on Fanfiction.net

Rating: M

Rating: E

Castiel makes a friend in New York City. And like many New York sitcoms, this is a story about nothing.

Feathers by enter_the_phantom on AO3

Rating: T

The giving of feathers and the revealing of wings is a sacred act for an angel, and it's something Castiel doesn't take lightly. But if there's one human he'd enter into such a close bond with, it's Abby Singer, the Winchesters' hunting partner and adopted sibling. Whenever he's around them, he feels things he's never felt before, and as strange as these new emotions are, he doesn't want them to stop. Unfortunately for him, Abby isn't the most receptive to his presence. They've been stubbornly opposed to his awkward attempts at friendship ever since they first met. In fact, it feels like he's the only one who can't seem to forge a relationship with the prickly hunter. Even more unfortunately, it doesn't seem to matter anyway, because another angel has already beaten him to it.

Gas-n-sip by eratothemuse on AO3

You just needed a job. Who knew that getting one at your local Gas-n-Sip would end up like this? (Set in 9x06 “Heaven Can’t Wait”)

Guardian Angel by ZonateBiscuit on AO3

Rating: M

When you feel lost, you begin to pray. Charlie Crivens is lost, but she's not sure anyone can hear her. Slow build Castiel/OFC

I Was A Stranger And You Welcomed Me by dorkilysoulless on AO3

Rating: E

Whoever he is, he's either homeless or hitching. He's also too damn pretty not to take home.

The Love Story of the Runner Up by Margo_Kim on AO3

Rating: T

“So you saw a white man in a trench coat pop out in an alley,” Paul says, “and you thought, what, ‘I want to see where this is going’?” “If you get hung up on details like that,” Miguel says, “it will take a very long time to get through this story. For a very weird era in his life, Miguel dates an angel who is in love with another man.

The Original Cambion by thereluctantshipper on AO3

Rating: E

Just as they're gearing up to stop the apocalypse, Bobby, Dean, Sam, and more importantly, Castiel, meet the original Cambion, a half-demon half-human hybrid. And she wants to... Help them? OFC insert, starts roughly S5E16, will not follow story all the way through.

Questions and Answers by lacqueluster (GG_and_MM) on AO3

Rating: E

Castiel is becoming increasingly uncomfortable in his vessel. He comes to you with some questions.

Where Angels Fear To Tread by OrigamiDoll on AO3

Rating: E

Reader meets the Winchesters and Castiel when they roll through town on a hunt. They inadverdently expose her to the supernatural and turn her world view upside down. Soon, her house becomes a frequent detour for the boys and a friendship begins to blossom between the reader and Team Free Will. Castiel finds himself fascinated by the reader. Where will things lead?

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CROWLEY

Dead Body Moving by NeQuittezPas on AO3

Rating: M

Nell never expected to return from her cross-country roadtrip, but when a fellow camper goes missing during her stay at the Grand Canyon, she may live far, far longer than she expected.

Like I'm Not Made of Stone by ProlixInSpace on AO3

Rating: E

In ancient Mesopotamia, one careless death-goddess invents a cruel curse. Its singular victim can never die, but will rather live the last single year of a random human life somewhere in time, every year, forever and ever. In Hell, a belligerent soul takes centuries of abuse from Lilith herself, and is molded through her cruel tutelage into something darker, more ambitious, and cleverer by far than your standard-issue demon. A pair like that can only become more than the sum of their parts.

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GABRIEL

alexa, play candyshop (bass boosted) by bumbleberrysky on AO3

Rating: T

You knew there was a reason some divine power brought you to the Winchesters all those years ago, but to this day you still have no idea what that reason is. It's something you're destined to find out soon though, especially when you return to the bunker after months away and find not only a new face, but one that belongs to someone who up until that point you'd thought was dead. What does his return have to do with the changes you're suddenly experiencing in yourself? Will you finally find out the reason you'd been brought here in the first place? Maybe... Chuck works in mysterious ways after all. [divergent around s13/the end of s13-- will likely have spoilers]

Along For the Ride by MyPurpleSkies on AO3

Rating: T

Danielle Awenasa Callaghan thought being a hunter was complicated enough. That is until she joins the Winchesters along for one hell of a ride that involves repeatedly saving the world from danger, falling for a Trickster that's more than he seems, hiding the fact that your godfather isn't exactly human from the boys you're beginning to see as part of your family, and discovering that she and the King of Hell share a mutual appreciation for David Bowie's music. Not to mention being told by a cupid that she's met her soul mate already. Oh, let's not forget that she nearly died and was saved by some mysterious stranger that Death refuses to tell her the identity of.

I Want to Tell you by lacqueluster (GG_and_MM) on AO3

Rating: E

He can’t tell her when she’s drunk. That wouldn’t be right. He’ll tell her tomorrow. He’ll bring her coffee and let her shower and then he’ll sit her down. Tomorrow. It’s definitely time. He has to get this off his chest and tomorrow is the day.

Kibble by The_White_Rabbit42 on AO3

Rating: T

Sam and Dean ask Gabriel to cat sit for you, and it leads to a surprising discovery.

Third Time's a Charm by The_White_Rabbit42 on AO3

Rating: E

Gabriel unexpectedly comes to your aid and reveals a part of himself you never expected to see.

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SIBLING OC

Dynamics of an Asteroid by NeQuittezPas on AO3

Rating: T

Sam thumped a photo album down onto her desk. Beneath the thin film of dust, the cover was dark burgundy. Margo recognized it at once. “Ah.” He was here for the other reason, then. The one she’d always dreaded, even if she’d imagined it more than a few times over the years. He was here because that photo album contained pictures of Margo from the time she was born through the time she was in high school. A rare few of them even showed her together with John Winchester—Sam’s father. And also, incidentally, her father. She was not prepared for this conversation.

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CHILD OC

Along Came Sophie by LaceyoftheTypewriter on Fanfiction.net

Rating: T

Dean is still fighting supernatural crime with Sam when a pretty young plot twist named Sophie Gardner shows up claiming to be Dean's 15-year-old daughter. As she worms her way into his heart, he comes to realize what exactly he's been missing, and how far he'll go to fix what's broken.

Light of mine by TheTardyOwl on Fanfiction.net

Rating: T

A Fledgling is almost killed during one of Michael and Lucifer's explosive arguments. Gabriel steps into the role of Caretaker for the little Angel and discovers that his new charge isn't what he expected.

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PLATONIC OC

Student Housing by darkshrimpemotions on AO3

Rating: T

Sam decides to rent out rooms in the bunker to college students. Finding yourself in a housing bind just before the start of your sophomore year, you decide the dirt cheap rent is worth the risk that your landlords might be serial killers.

#oh god people will know how much freak i am :')#supernatural #spn #sam winchester #dean winchester #castiel #crowley #gabriel #supernatural x reader #spn x reader #supernatural x oc #spn x oc #supernatural x you #spn x you #spn fanfic #emo-markie

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axkirak · 5 months ago

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The Curse of Cassandra [EP : III]

Read in Ao3 : here

Pairings: Qimir x f!reader(SEA Reader) [The Acolyte]

Content Rating : Mature 18+ Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warning (AT YOUR OWN RISK)

tags/themes : Alternate Universe - Dune & Star wars, Partners in Crime, Strangers to Lovers

Summary: Once, your mother told you that dreams are messages from the deep. This time, you dreamed of a terrifying future—your own death.

Status: finished writing this fic! (It will end in Episode 14)

A/N : For this chapter, I was inspired by Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga (2024), particularly the nightmare scene. I find it incredibly romantic and beautiful (without any sexual elements)

So that's it, close enough, welcome back furiosa and praetorian jack LOL

➡ Intro // EP : 1 // EP : 2 // EP : 4 // EP : 5 // EP : 6 // EP : 7 // EP : 8 // EP : 9 // EP : 10 // EP : 11 // EP : 12 // EP : 13 // EP : 14 (Completed)

Special OS : Phantom Thread

[Episodes 3] Dreams Are Messages From The Deep

Tonight, you dream, and it is far from a pleasant one.

Once, your mother told you that dreams are messages from the deep, the mysteries of the universe, akin to precognition. But dreams are often uncertain, uncontrollable, and unpredictable. like omens or cryptic hints of what is yet to come, they are puzzles you must piece together yourself.

You see it again: the puzzles of fateful catastrophes and the unclear path of the future. Corpses are strewn across the floors of spacecraft and the ground. The dream flashes between these scenes, intertwining them as one, despite being at different times and places. You know it all means something—these deaths are all the work of the same person.

And then you encounter it...the embodiment of the dark shadow that has haunted you in your dreams for months.

Before, everything was shrouded in impenetrable darkness, like staring into the abyss where nothing could be seen but an endless void. But this time, the dream is different. Beneath the shadows, you begin to see the figure of that person—a tall, imposing figure dressed in a sleeveless black cloak that blends seamlessly with the surrounding darkness. His face is hidden behind a cracked metal helmet, with a terrifyingly wide grin etched across the lower half.

A familiar yet strange feeling stirs as you gaze at him, and beneath that thick mask, where no eyes are visible, you know he’s staring back at you.

A Jedi? That’s your first thought. But the red lightsaber in his right hand says otherwise. No, this is a Sith.

Suddenly, something within you screams, warning you to flee.

You instinctively start running, but you never get far. The energy around you envelops you, pushing you back into the darkness. You see his hand raised, drawing you in effortlessly. The lightsaber is gone now. It’s no longer needed. With just one hand, he could kill you easily, like crushing an insect.

In an instant, his strong hand is around your throat, squeezing the air from your lungs. Your eyes widen in terror, unable to breathe, as the blackness of death moves closer, leaving a whisper deeply embedded in your consciousness.

"I told you, you can't run away from me."

You scream and struggle, refusing to surrender, desperately searching for any way to survive.

Then you feel the cold steel of a blade in your hand, and instinctively, you know this is your only chance. Without hesitation, you lift the knife and thrust its sharp point toward his throat, determined to kill him before he kills you.

But your flickering hope extinguishes just as quickly when he catches your hand mid-strike. His deep, menacing laughter sends a shiver down your spine, and in that moment, you realize—this is yet another failure leading you toward your death.

And then, you wake up.

The knife is still in your hand, just like in the dream. But now, you're in your bedroom, not on a spaceship. There's no blood, no death, and before you is not the mysterious Sith but Qimir, his hand gripping yours tightly, the blade barely a hair's breadth away from his throat.

His expression is calm, composed, a stark contrast to your own, pale and shaken. "You had a nightmare," he says softly, gently easing the knife from your grasp. "Go back to sleep."

His voice is soothing and tender, gradually dispelling the lingering fear from the nightmare as your racing heartbeat slowly returns to a steady rhythm. Almost as if in a trance, you do as he says. You allow him to guide you back onto the bed, his hands warm and reassuring as they touch your face, lulling you back into the realm of sleep.

This time, you don’t dream at all.

Qimir isn’t joking when he says he will teach you.

He starts with the smallest details, such as distinguishing between dangerous and harmless people. "You wouldn’t want to pickpocket someone who could kill you, would you?" Qimir remarks, pointing out a dark-skinned man blending into the crowd with tattered clothes, his body concealed under a cloak. Yet, you can still glimpse a large scar on his upper arm. "That’s a bounty hunter. His gun is hidden under the cloak. These guys are quick. He’d shoot you before you could even touch his pocket." It is astonishing how Qimir can discern such details just by observing a person’s gait or how they carry their belongings.

The next lesson is about disguise—how to blend in so seamlessly that no one could ever recognize you. "You’ve done well so far in hiding yourself, but it’s not good enough to fool me," he says. His words seem mocking, but you can’t deny their truth. "You can’t spend your whole life running and hiding. The key is to accept who you are before you start lying about it. A lie can never become the truth, but you can learn to live with it."

"You talk like you’ve done this many times before," you retort, unable to resist teasing him. Yet deep down, you are curious too. He knows too much and is too skilled—as if he has intimate experience with such matters.

But Qimir doesn’t answer your question. He simply smiles at you. For a moment, you are slightly taken aback. His smile seems oddly familiar, as if you have seen it before, but you can’t quite place when or where.

"Let the lies be a part of you, but never let them consume who you are. No matter where you are or what role you pretend to play, never forget your true self."—This is the essence of Qimir's teachings, beyond the various techniques and tricks of disguise he has revealed to you.

There is a subtle weight in his words, something that hints at more than just instruction.

The last thing Qimir chooses to teach you, and what you find most difficult, is the art of combat—both armed and unarmed.

It isn’t that you have never learned to fight before. Alongside rigorous mental training, your mother also taught you how to use a knife. "Our lineage is one of fighters. A knife is like a part of our body. We fight from cradle to grave. If you can't wield a knife, you’ve wasted your heritage." Your mother’s words echo vividly in your memory as you twirl the knife in your hand, trying to recall and review the lessons you learned long ago.

"What are you waiting for?" Qimir’s voice snaps you back to the present. "Just holding a knife won’t make you win."

You look up to see him standing in the open field outside the quarters. Qimir looks different today, dressed in white instead of his usual dark colors. His shoulder-length hair, usually a wild mess, is neatly tied back into a tight ponytail. A challenging smile plays on his lips as he raises his right hand, brandishing a short knife, ready for battle at any moment.

You step toward Qimir cautiously, your bare feet feeling the rough earth and stones beneath you. The muscles in your body are fully alert, a reflex honed from the countless times you have been trained.

Yet none of your previous lessons have prepared you for a face-to-face fight with Qimir.

Qimir’s lessons are nothing like your mother’s. There is no compromise, no leniency, despite the fact that you are just a small woman. Every move he makes is forceful, direct, brutal, and potentially lethal if he truly intends to kill you.

Qimir strikes first; his attacks are relentless and unyielding. You barely manage to dodge, feeling the rush of air from his arm sweep past your face. The sharp blade grazes the tips of your hair, sending strands fluttering to the ground, where they land like droplets of blood.

You retaliate, thrusting your knife toward his ribs and abdomen, but Qimir blocks each attack with ease. The clash of metal rings out, sending shocks through your wrist up to your shoulder, the pain forcing you to grimace.

Both of you pull back, sweat beading on your faces, eyes locked in mutual assessment. You swallow hard, slowly circling to the side, seeking an opening that wouldn’t leave you vulnerable.

Qimir’s strength is his advantage, but yours is speed. You know that the longer this drags on, the worse off you’ll be. You have to act quickly and decisively—one swift, precise move is the only way to defeat him.

This time, you let Qimir come close, allowing him to initiate the attack. You twist your body to evade his knife, all the while searching for the perfect moment to strike back. The pressure from his relentless assault closes in on your thoughts, triggering your survival instincts. You love life. You don’t want to die, and you will not surrender easily.

You are cornered, and a cornered animal will do anything to survive.

Quick as thought, in the split second, Qimir is preparing his next attack. You flip the knife in your hand, aiming straight for his throat.

But then, everything changes. The scene before you shifts abruptly, overlaying itself with the dream from the night before. The sunlit ground turns into an endless void of darkness, and Qimir transforms into the mysterious masked man from your dream. You plunge your knife toward his throat, just as you did in the dream, and he catches your wrist with the same speed as before. The sound of mocking laughter fills your ears—cold and terrifying.

Fear surges within you as you once again face the hopeless truth—there is no way you can defeat him.

The vision ends abruptly as you lose your balance. The next thing you know, Qimir throws you to the ground with all his strength. Your back hits the earth hard before his towering frame pins you down completely. The sharp edge of his knife presses against your delicate throat, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to cause pain.

"You are distracted. If this were a real fight, you’d be dead by now."

He lifts the knife away but doesn’t move from above you. One of his hands brushes the disheveled hair from your face as he peers into your ink-blue eyes. "Something’s bothering you. Is it that dream?"

You press your lips together, fighting back tears. The lingering fear still clings to your mind, refusing to fade, and suddenly, you feel a surge of vulnerability. "Qimir, I don’t want to die."

Qimir stares at you, blinking in confusion, his expression full of bewilderment. "I haven’t done anything to you."

"You won’t, but others will," your voice trembles, on the verge of tears, yet not a single drop falls. "When you hand me over to those people, I’ll surely die."

Your words make him pause, a flicker of hesitation crossing his features.

He knows it can’t possibly be true. The client who hired through the Bounty Hunters' Guild had specified clearly: they want this woman alive. The client doesn’t care how you are captured, only that you are brought in breathing. This means they have no intention of killing you. In fact, it is likely that you are of some special importance, something too valuable to be lost.

That’s what has piqued his curiosity all along. What makes a seemingly ordinary woman so wanted? What makes you so convinced that you are going to die when nothing points to such a fate?

"Can you tell me why you think you’re going to die?" Qimir asks, his tone unusually serious and firm.

His intense gaze makes your breath catch. Decades of pent-up emotions linger on your lips. You want so badly to tell him everything—about yourself, your family, and your bloodline.

But your mother’s warning remains deeply rooted in your mind and heart. "Never trust anyone. Never reveal our secrets to a soul. Your trust will lead to ruin, not just for you but for everyone."

You close your eyes briefly, deliberately avoiding his penetrating gaze. "I can’t tell you," you whisper, a wave of guilt washing over you.

A heavy silence settles between the two of you, thick and suffocating. For a moment, you feel the intensity in Qimir’s eyes grow stronger, as if he is desperately trying to unearth the truth from you with his gaze alone.

The minutes that pass feel like an eternity. Finally, Qimir rises to his feet and extends his hand to you.

"Don’t worry. As long as you’re with me, you’ll be safe."

You grasp his hand and push yourself up, feeling the firm, steady warmth of his grip. There is something oddly comforting about it—a strength that almost makes you forget your fears.

You can tell that Qimir is frustrated, though he isn’t the type to yell or complain. On the contrary, whenever something troubles him or when he is dissatisfied, he grows silent, his expression unreadable, almost emotionless. You have spent enough time with him to recognize the signs, and you dislike this side of him intensely. You would almost prefer if he just yelled at you outright.

You remain standing where you are, confusion and turmoil swirling within you as you watch his broad back retreat into the house, disappearing behind the old wooden door.

Deep down, you want to trust him, but you aren’t sure if you can really place your faith in this man.

Footnotes:

[1] Though the Bounty Hunters' Guild didn't exist during the High Republic Era, this fan fiction takes creative liberties with canon for storytelling purposes. It's not 100% accurate—just enjoy the read!

#star wars #qimir fic #qimir x reader #the acolyte fic #qimir #qimir x y/n #the acolyte #star wars fic #the acolyte x reader #qimir x you #the stranger x reader #the acolyte fanfiction #the curse of cassandra #qimir the stranger #the acolyte qimir #dune fanfiction #angst and tragedy

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ldrfanatic · 6 months ago

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slytherin boys at ttpd songs - the anthology

part two of the first part featuring only the added songs from the anthology

I forgot tags im sorry!!

slytherin boys my bookcase

mattheo riddle as... the black dog

"old habits die screaming" + "And remember how my rain soaked body was shaking. Do you hate me?" + "For a cruel fraternity, I pledged, and I still mean it." + "Now I wanna sell my house and set fire to all my clothes. And hire a priest to come and exorcise my demons."

explanation - following the war, I think that mattheo would have the hardest time out of all of them. Not because of being voldemort's son (I think he's used to the looks he gets from that). I think he has the worst time because of all of them, he has mad survivor's guilt. how is it that all of those good people died, and him, pledged deatheater, got to live? on top of that, mattheo is still wrestling with the trauma that his father inflicted on him. So, when a ministry member comes to begrudgingly tell him that he's inherited an estate from his father (really an estate his father stole from one of his followers), mattheo is actually sickened. He really does not want that property and cannot stand to be in that house. (he does eventually accept it and then donate it to an orphanage for magical children. there's a hopeful part of him that thinks that if his father hadn't been treated so poorly by muggle orphanages when he was a kid that maybe he could've been a better person).

draco malfoy as... cassandra

"When it's burn the witch they're shrieking, when the truth comes out it's quiet" + "twisting all my smiles into snarls" + "they say what doesn't kill you makes you aware, what happens if it becomes who you are?" + "bloods thick but nothing like a payroll"

explanation - out of everyone in the series, explicit, canon, and otherwise, draco was the one that saw the best and the worst of both sides. when he was growing up, he was always taught the value behind being a pureblood. that it was blood purity that determined a person's worth. their value. but a lot of that changed when he started seeing the ugly sides of the malfoy family. by the time he realized that his father was little more than voldemort's lackey (and not even the most important one), it was too late. his father had already molded him. the bright and happy kid that he once was had started to sneer at all of his friends. he no longer felt like it was a service to the magical community to finger out mudbloods in his classes to his parents. afterall, he also quickly realized that his father cared far more for money and power than he ever really cared about purity. he was just a number on a payroll.

theodore nott as.... how did it end?

"and so a touch that was my birth right became foreign" + "it's happening again, the empathetic hunger descends" + "lost the game of chance, what are the chances?" + "leaving me bereft and reeling, my beloved ghost and me, sitting in a tree, d-y-i-n-g"

explanation - the sympathetic looks started when theo's mother died in fourth year, and theo decided that he absolutely hated them. He didn't want people to look at him like that, or to walk on eggshells like they were constantly in fear of saying the wrong thing. then once word got out that his father beat him, he started keeping to himself. it was easier to avoid conversation all together than to try to explain the bruises when everyone already pitied him for his mother's death. what hurt the most, was that his mother had died so unexpectedly. to a disease that killed less than 100 people a year. the odds were in her favor, and she still lost. then theo lost too. what hurt just as much, was the way that his father changed after his mother died. the way that every little thing seemed to set him on a warpath. when he was a kid, theo loved his parents, and now, it felt like when he lost his mother, his father died too. one man, two ghosts, and theo.

enzo berskhire as... the manuscript

"and the years passed like scenes of a show" + "looking backwards, might be the only way to move forward" + "and the tears fell, in synchronicity with the score, and at last, he knew what the agony had been for" + "the only thing that's left is the manuscript"

explanation - lorenzo berkshire had loved history his whole life. where his friends found the subject bore them to tears, lorenzo found it a bittersweet interest. afterall, he'd never been that good at potions, always doing something wrong, and while he could hold himself steady on a broom, he was never going to be a quidditch star. history was easy. it felt natural. to divulge in the stories of the witches and wizards before him. following the war, a lot of death eaters wanted to move past it all. they wanted to forget. but lorenzo knew that it was important. that as hard as it was and as many tears as it may cause them, that they had to understand before they could progress, and the only way to understand was to look backwards. so, he made it his personal mission in his late twenties to record. he traveled all over europe for nearly thirty years gathering stories from death eaters of all ages and backgrounds. at nearly age fifty, he published his first and only book, echoes of the damned: the untold stories of former death eaters. unfortunately, he fell ill and died before he got the chance to see the impact his words made on the wizarding world.

#slytherin boys #theodore nott #slytherin #slytherin boys x reader #draco malfoy #mattheo riddle #enzo berkshire

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bluejaysandblackbats · 12 days ago

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Keepsafes

Fandom: Batman, DC Comics

Summary: AU where Martha and Bruce survive, and they adopt the batkids.

Chapters: 1/?

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Thomas Wayne, Martha Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Harvey Dent, Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain, David Cain, Talia al Ghul, Damian Wayne, Jason Todd, Tim Drake

Relationships: Thomas Wayne/Martha Wayne/Alfred Pennyworth, BruHarvey, BruTalia

Additional Tags: Canon Divergent AU, Hurt/Comfort, Bruce Wayne is Not Batman, Angst, Alfred Pennyworth Knows All, Bruce Wayne Only Has One Child, Bruce Wayne is Not An Only Child, Bi Bruce Wayne

Chapter One: Faces in the Carpet

Bruce stared at the carpet, searching for faces in the patterns while Alfred spoke to the doctors. He fixated on the agonized faces, the appearance of wailing people until they were all he could see. While he drowned in a sea of suffering faces, Alfred stepped over. He could still remember how his ears rang from the gunshots, but he could hear Alfred’s even tone muffled under all the white noise. Alfred crouched in front of Bruce, pulling Bruce back to the surface. “Master Bruce, would you like to come and see your mother?” Alfred asked. Bruce’s eyes widened, and he took Alfred’s hand. “She can’t see you this way. Here, Master Bruce.” Alfred pulled a wet napkin from a pack and wiped his face before taking Bruce down the hall to his mother.

Some of the tiles in the hallway were stained, and the numbers on some of the doors were missing. Alfred stopped at the door, and Bruce looked up at him. His lips parted as he searched for a way to plead with Alfred to come with him. “It’s alright, Master Bruce… She’s expecting you,” Alfred whispered as he gently nudged Bruce.

Bruce swallowed hard, remembering the flashing lights and the smell of gunpowder. His hands trembled as he grabbed the door handle, pulling and turning it. He shut his eyes as he entered the hospital room. “Bruce, lovey?” Martha called to him.

“Mom,” Bruce whimpered.

“Oh, Brucie,” Martha replied. Bruce opened his eyes, looking at his mother with tears in his eyes. She patted the bed beside her. Bruce crept closer and closer to Martha’s bed as tears streamed down his face. He’d never seen his mother look anything less than perfect before. Her hair fell in frizzy ringlets framing her face as they splayed out in all directions on her pillow, her face pale and greenish, the sling and the ill-fitting hospital gown swallowed her up. Bruce sniffed as he finally reached her, and he pressed his face into her lap before releasing a heart-shattering, trembling sob. Martha let her fingers dance through his hair, pulling playfully at the ends. “Bruce, I am fine. Honestly, lovey, I am not worth all this fuss you’re making.” She said it with a softness, but Bruce knew she was much more hurt than she let on. He didn’t mean to make so much noise, but the distress he felt bubbled over, and it was too much to contain.

He sniveled and gasped in a feeble attempt to collect himself, but it only made him sound and feel more distressed. Bruce wished that he could’ve been brave. He wished he could’ve protected Martha from any undue pain. Unfortunately, all Bruce could do was cry into her lap until he was too tired to do even that. Then, he climbed into her hospital bed and curled into her side. “Bruce?” Martha whispered.

“I wasn’t big enough… I—.”

“I am supposed to protect you. It has never and will never be the other way around. Do you understand me, lovey? I don’t know what I would do if something happened to you,” Martha interrupted.

Bruce didn’t reply. He couldn’t get past the thought of the gunshots. Blood seeping through his unconscious parents’ clothes. It felt wrong. And quickly, the fear and sadness turned to determination. Without another word on the subject, Bruce decided he’d become strong enough to protect his parents no matter the cost.

When he woke up, Martha was talking to the doctors. “Why can’t you just speak plainly to me? I don’t understand,” Martha asked.

Bruce didn’t move, but he opened one eye and met glances with Alfred. Bruce opened both eyes and mouthed for Alfred not to tell while he tried to listen to what the doctors were saying. “Well, thank you anyway. I will ask my husband when I see him,” Martha replied. After the door shut, Martha looked down at Bruce, tickling his neck before asking, “Could you make any sense of that alphabet soup? Or am I just stupid?”

“I didn’t understand it either, Mom,” Bruce replied, “How’d you know I was awake?”

“You stopped making noise,” Martha giggled.

“I should go and check on Master Thomas,” Alfred whispered to excuse himself.

Bruce sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Oh, Alfred, won’t you take Bruce with you? I’m sure Thomas would love to see him. Bruce, keep your father company for a while. I’m sure he needs it. I want to try and get freshened up,” Martha lied. Bruce kissed her cheek before taking Alfred’s hand. He didn’t say anything until they were in the hallway.

“What’d the doctors say about Dad, Alfred? I know you understood what they were talking about,” Bruce whispered.

“Master Bruce, your father will go home, but he may not fully recover… He may not be able to walk for the foreseeable future,” Alfred answered honestly, “He’ll need you to be patient and kind… without pitying him, of course.”

“Of course,” Bruce nodded, “Have you seen him?”

“No. I haven’t yet. I suppose you’re the first person he’ll want to see,” Alfred replied, “My sincerest apologies, Master Bruce. I should have escorted you all from the theater—.”

Bruce dropped Alfred’s hand. “Don’t be silly, Alfred. Thank you for sitting with me these past few days,” Bruce thanked him.

“You’re always good company, Master Bruce,” Alfred whispered, “I’ll wait outside for thirty minutes… And then I’ll get you something to wear.”

“Alfred, wait—.”

Alfred reassured him, “I won’t leave a second before thirty minutes have passed. " Bruce nodded as he turned his back and headed inside.

Thomas’ eyes were dark, he was pale, and Bruce stepped back, wanting to turn and run from the reality of the situation. His father was not as bulletproof as he imagined him. Thomas looked far too human for Bruce’s liking. He thought he could get away without Thomas knowing he was ever there, but he heard something that made him stop in his tracks. Thomas sniffed, and Bruce whipped around, watching with terror as Thomas started to cry. Bruce was speechless as he quietly approached Thomas’ hospital bed. “How can I hug you?” Bruce asked.

It startled Thomas, and he looked into Bruce’s eyes, searching for a look of disapproval or disgust. Bruce’s eyes were trained on Thomas, but they were steady… and his little hands were wrapped around one of Thomas’ in an act of consolation. “Just be careful of the IVs, but you can hug me,” Thomas sniffed as he tried to collect himself. “Sorry.” Bruce hugged Thomas and pressed his face into the crook of Thomas’ arm.

“I wish I was as brave as you,” Bruce whispered. Thomas tried to swallow, but his throat went dry. He sniffed as tears fell from his eyes. “It’s okay… I cried, too.”

“How’s Mom?” Thomas asked. Bruce climbed into Thomas’ hospital bed with him.

“She’s alright… She said she’s just freshening up,” Bruce answered. The monitors beeped, and Bruce looked up at them. “How bad is it?”

“Um… Spinal injuries are tricky, Bruce. There’s a lot of swelling, but I’m pretty strong. There’s a chance I could walk again with lots of physical therapy, but I’m sure I’ll need long-term assistance—.”

“Are you hurting?” Bruce asked.

Thomas rustled a hand through Bruce’s hair. “It’s there, and I’ll be feeling it quite a bit once the medication wears off, but—. It’s nothing for you to worry about,” Thomas whispered.

“Not true. Being a Wayne means helping others,” Bruce replied. He’d heard Thomas say that several times at press conferences and galas. The way Bruce said it made Thomas light up for a moment, and he almost seemed like his old self.

“That’s right, Bruce… But I’m gonna have to help myself, too—.”

“I know, but it doesn’t mean that you have to do it all by yourself. Mom says no man is an island. You’ve got to accept help when you need it,” Bruce interrupted.

Thomas chuckled. “I can’t argue with that,” Thomas replied.

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ashleyreyland · 4 months ago

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Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types Danny Phantom

Relationships: Tim Drake (DCU)/Danny Fenton, Danny Fenton & Jazz Fenton, Danny Fenton & Tucker Foley & Sam Manson, Batfamily Members (DCU) & Danny Fenton

Characters: Tim Drake (DCU), Danny Fenton, Sam Manson, Tucker Foley, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain, Jason Todd, Alfred Pennyworth, Barbara Gordon, Jazz Fenton

Additional Tags: no beta we die like danny, Ghost King Danny Fenton, Bad Parents Jack and Maddie Fenton, Good Parent Bruce Wayne, Not Phantom Planet Compliant (Danny Phantom), Guys in White | GIW Being Assholes (Danny Phantom), GIW is an Acronym for Ghost Investigation Ward (Danny Phantom), Guys in White | GIW Capture Danny Fenton

Summary:

Tim needs a break after his time spent finding Bruce in time so he decides to go to Gotham U. He meets Danny Fenton, the charming and handsome heir to Vladco. But there's something weird about Danny's home town and Danny himself and Tim is determined to find out what it is.

#tim drake #dc comics #danny phantom #dc x dp #dc x dp crossover #danny fenton #writing

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eccentricgrace · 2 months ago

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BOOK -WORMS || BatFamily

summary: somebody keeps rearranging jason's meticulously ordered bookshelves. the weird thing is, nobody is allowed in the library except for him and alfred. right?

tags: humor, domestic fluff, banter, nerd jason todd, big sister cassandra cain, secret menace alfred pennyworth

wc: 9,250

cross-posted on ao3 under the same name!

In the Before, Father had plenty of rules. Pain is the most valuable language. Words are meaningless in comparison. The mind is more reliable than the heart. She had learned all of these rules, committed them, made them a part of her— and she thought they were supposed to feel wrong, to make her feel bad. When the opportunity presented itself, she chose to be brave. She broke the rules. She left.

Cassandra liked being a Wayne more than she liked being a weapon. She liked the word “family.” She liked having siblings, and a Bruce, and an Alfred. She liked midnight milkshake runs with Steph and Duke teaching her how to play board games—she was really good at the one with stacking blocks in a tower, even better at charades.

She loved her new family before she could put the word “love” to it, and she was determined to learn the new rules, the ones made for better things, for safety, for the new word love. She practiced often, used what she knew, and did her best to fill in the blanks.

She knew that Alfred expected everyone to eat at the same time for dinner by his eyebrows furrowing at an empty seat, so she would remind everyone to come to the table five minutes early. She knew that Bruce worried for everyone to come home without injury on patrol by his tight frowns, the dimples of his chin, so she did her best to avoid taking hits and to pull her siblings away from the danger.

She also learned rules by making mistakes. This was her least favourite way to do it, because it always made someone sad or upset. For example, the rule about the manor’s library.

Cassandra had been in there several times before she knew she had broken this rule. She liked to wander the halls, poke her head in different rooms. She had done so often when she first moved in. There was no part of the manor that was left uncharted.

The library was quieter than any other room. Its doors were always shut, drapes always pulled in to keep the sun from streaming in through the windows. Shelves and shelves of books on the two-story walls that were left untouched.

Cassandra never stayed in there for too long, because while Alfred had been very patient in teaching her how to read, it didn’t come easy to her. But sometimes, she would sneak in for the quiet— she would run her fingers along the leather covers, or sit in the chair next to the fireplace. (It was the most comfortable in the entire house. She sat in every chair to test.)

The trouble came when she fell asleep there, curled up tightly in the armchair. She had heard the library doors creak open, she had woken up, but she also knew the footsteps— and Bruce wasn’t a threat.

She hadn’t thought to get up until Bruce’s voice cut through the silence like the time Dick accidentally dropped a wine glass on the kitchen floor. A sharp, broken, brittle noise.

“What are you doing in here?” Bruce choked out.

Cassandra opened her eyes. Took in his distant expression, his open mouth, his tense shoulders, his shaking hands. Wrong.

She sat up slowly. Blinked, to show she was listening.

“This—“ Bruce paused. He was quiet for a moment, and his face took the form of upset-blankness. “This room is off-limits. Nobody told you?”

Cassandra shook her head, frowning deeply. She made a fist and rubbed a circle over her heart. SORRY.

“It’s fine,” Bruce said tersely. Sullen eyes, sunken eyebrows, set jaw. Not fine. “Not your fault. I think Alfred needs help in the kitchen. After you?”

Cassandra didn’t ask why the room was off limits, because she didn’t need an answer. If Bruce had a rule, he had a reason. She snuck out quietly and trailed to the kitchen, and ignored how Bruce took ten minutes longer to join her.

The library was not to be entered. She understood that, and didn’t go in again. It seemed like that was the end of it.

And then suddenly, the rules changed.

She was delighted to meet Jason for the first time.

She’d known a little about him, mostly what Dick had told her when she first arrived. He told her about how Bruce adopted him, and how their brother Tim showed up… and then he got quiet, and his shoulders shifted, and he told her about the brother they had lost.

(“His name was Jason,” Dick said. His eyes were so sad. “You would have liked him. He made B laugh.”)

As it turned out, Jason wasn’t dead, but was very alive— and the mood was tense for a while. Everybody's actions were so loud and Cass spent a lot of time in her room, but it eventually leveled out.

“Alright. Who’re you?” Jason stood across from her, leaning one hip against the fridge. His arms crossed, his jaw clenched. Nervous. Cornered. “I leave for a while and all of a sudden the goddamn household’s in a state of exponential growth.”

Cassandra all but beamed at him. She pointed to herself. Tapped her nose and dragged her hand out in a folded shape, then raised it in the air. She pointed to herself, hit one hand’s two fingers against the other hand’s two fingers, and quickly spelled out her name.

ME - BIG SISTER. ME - NAME - C-A-S-S-A-N-D-R-A.

She must have been too excited, because Jason’s eyebrows furrowed, his eyes squinting. Confused. She looked around the kitchen to find paper and pencil, but stopped when Jason spoke up again.

“Hold on a second. Say it slower,” Jason said.

She happily repeated the actions slower. Then she slid her hands over each other, mirrored her two first fingers together, and pointed at him. NICE - to - MEET - YOU.

“Oh.” Jason scratched the back of his neck. “Hi. Nice to meet you too, I guess.”

Cass crossed her arms in an x-shape over her chest, and then pointed to Jason. She wiggled her index finger questioningly.

HUG - YOU?

Jason’s eyebrows rise. His eyes twitch momentarily. His shoulders lift. Surprise.

As Red Hood, Bruce called him violent and dangerous, a potential threat. Someone to keep an eye on. But when Cassandra saw him, she saw a scared animal backed into a corner. She knew how it felt. She’d been in corners before.

When Dick asked her what she thought of Jason, she smiled.

She told him he gave good hugs.

After that, Jason didn’t come to the manor often. Visits were few and far between, many people not even noticing he had shown up before he slipped away again. And that was curious, of course, but even more curious– everytime Jason came over, his first stop was the library. He would walk in, the doors would close behind him, and Cassandra would sit outside and wait for him to leave.

One time, he caught her on his way out, an armful of books in his arms. He screwed up his face. “The hell’re you doing on the floor?”

She curled her two fingers over and tapped them on her index. SITTING.

“Well, yeah. No shit. I can see that.”

WHY - YOU - GO -to - LIBRARY?

Jason raised an eyebrow and pointedly nodded down to the precarious pile of books he was holding. “I like to read?”

Then he left, leaving her with more questions than she knew how to answer.

It was like this about once every month.

She noted the routine with suspicion: Jason came to the manor, he greeted Alfred, spent little time catching up with everyone, slipped into the library, and left with a new armful of books. But nobody in the Wayne household ever went into the library, and that had been a rule. It seemed as if she was the only one noticing this repeated offense.

The fourth time she watched Jason leave, she decided to ask someone. Maybe the rule had changed and they simply forgot to tell her.

She found Dick in the kitchen. Her older brother was always the easiest to ask, she found. He was very patient with her while she searched for the right words. He smiled and he never seemed annoyed or frustrated by her questions. He was nice.

She tapped him on the shoulder and swiftly slid out of the way when he jumped up in surprise.

“Hi!” Dick laughed quietly, holding his chest. “You spooked me. Everything okay?”

She tilted her head to the side, a small frown on her face. She moved her hands quickly as she signed.

LIBRARY - RULE - WHAT?

Dick furrowed his eyebrows, quiet for a moment while he thought. Then he shook his head. “I’m not understanding. What library?”

HOME.

“The home library?” Dick clarified, and frowned when Cass nodded. “It doesn’t have rules…”

Cass scrunched her nose and shook her head vehemently.

BRUCE - LIBRARY - SAY - NOT ALLOW - FINISH.

Dick watched the signs and then his face slackened in understanding. He leaned back on the kitchen counter like he was suddenly exhausted. “Oh. That rule.”

Cass sighed.

Sometimes being a Wayne made learning the rules very hard.

“A couple years ago,” he explained. “Back when B had just adopted Jason. It took him a long time to get comfortable, and the library was his safe haven, I guess. You could always find him in there; it was his favourite room in the manor.”

Cassandra remembered to nod, showing that she was listening and that she understood.

Dick smiled, and his eyes glisten, a certain distant quality to them. Not quite sad, but almost sad. Remembering, Cassandra decided.

“When he finally settled in, he was pretty protective over it,” he explained, the smile brightening. “I wasn’t even allowed in. I remember one time I went in there to borrow a book for a case— I guess I put it back in the wrong spot, because he waited at the door just to scold me about it. He was pissed.”

“B was allowed, but he never really went in there. He liked to give Jay his space,” Dick chuckled, and it faded away as he scratched at the back of his neck. “After he… well, you know how Bruce gets when he’s grieving.”

She did know. He would not smile. He would throw his punches harder. A small furrowed line would permanently rest between his eyebrows. He got quiet-sad. Angry.

Cassandra frowned at the thought. She nodded again, this time in agreement, and then thought for a long moment, her hands hesitating in the air. Dick waited patiently for her to find her words. She liked that about him.

SAD - ANGRY - STILL?

Dick shoulders sank, the light in his eyes dwindling. He still smiled. Fake. “Honestly? Sometimes it’s hard for my heart to remember what my brain can see. I’m not even sure if that makes sense, and it’s sort of silly. I just know on bad days, it’s easier when he’s here. You know?”

JASON - STILL - GO-to - LIBRARY.

“Yeah, he probably does,” Dick murmured, looking away.

Cassandra was about to shake her head, was about to repeat her words. There was no ‘probably.’ Jason did go to the library, he went every single time he came to the manor. Surely she hadn’t been the only one to notice. He spent a lot of time there, too.

Dick’s phone chimed, and he startled, straightening his spine. He blinked a few times, energy pouring back into his movements as he laughed and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “That’s work, I’m probably late. Anyways. Was that all you wanted to talk about?”

Cass hummed softly. She opened her arms for a hug, and when Dick happily copied the motion, she fell forward to knit herself to his chest. She then pulled away, quickly signing.

THANK YOU. STAY - SAFE. I LOVE YOU.

She watched him leave for work.

Cassandra loved when Jason came over.

Her family are good people, but they are also often sad, and serious. It doesn’t take her long to figure out that, when Jason was at the manor, everybody acted lighter. Less likely to argue, less stress in their eyebrows, less tension in their shoulders. Bruce wouldn’t scowl as much. Dick smiles were even more frequent and genuine. Tim would spend less time in front of a screen.

His appearance in the manor was that of a missing piece pressed into a puzzle, and even though it’s crooked, doesn’t quite fit, the picture is more complete. Cassandra noted this change because it was unspoken, and the things left unspoken were always, in her opinion, very important.

The next time Jason came over, he once again had found refuge in the library. Cassandra waited patiently outside of the room and lingering in the hallway for the whole duration of the visit, which in turn lasted forty-three minutes and twenty-two seconds. She counted each one.

He held no books this time, which worked well for Cassandra, because if the routine followed that meant he would be back again soon. She greeted him with a wave, and he jerked a nod back before he followed the hallway towards the exit.

Tim poked his head around the corner as soon as the door shut. He’s narrowing his eyes in suspicion. “He keeps doing that.”

Ah. She had not been the only one to notice.

Cassandra nodded at him, and he rolled his eyes. “You’d think he’d finished reading all of the books in the library by now, but he keeps coming back.”

She neglected to tell him that she had seen him take out the same books multiple times before. That would be counter-intuitive to the mission. Instead she decided to do some more investigating. She tilted her head innocently.

YOU – ALLOW - in-LIBRARY?

Tim immediately began to glower, his eyebrows pulled in deep, his lips pulled into a tight frown-like line. Annoyed. Her little brother was adorable.

“No,” Tim said, crossing his arms. “I’ve only been in there one time, and then he gave me a lifetime ban.”

Cassandra blinked.

WHY?

“He’s got a personal vendetta against me!” Tim huffed, now throwing his arms up. “First, he had a whole fit because he found out I used SparkNotes on all of my assignments, and then he complained because I wasn’t handling the books ‘respectfully’ enough— which, whatever, because at least with my online PDFs I can actually highlight on them without him bursting a blood vessel.”

He had finished pacing around the hallway, and now just looked at Cass with his face full of disinterest, his foot tapping quick against the wooden floor. “I’m not the only one banned, either. I think Alfred is the only person who’s free to roam.”

That will be who she talked to next, then.

DAMIAN?

“I will give my entire trust fund to Damian’s cow if that soul-sucking demon is allowed to touch Jason’s books,” Tim said blankly. “Seriously. He’s weird about his library. He gets tetchy.”

Interesting.

She signed a thank-you towards him and then promptly disappeared.

Cassandra had been watching Alfred dust the bookshelves in the library for twenty silent minutes before he suddenly cleared his throat. One hand tucked primly behind his back, he turned to look directly at her.

“Mistress Cassandra,” he greeted, raising an eyebrow at her. “You haven’t investigated my work like this since we first became acquainted. Is something troubling you?”

She brightened and shook her head, sitting down on the couch in the library. She gestured to the seat next to her enthusiastically.

Alfred blinked, nonplussed, and set the duster down. He took a seat at her side, politely placing his hands in his lap. “What can I help you with, my dear?”

JASON.

Alfred’s eyebrows raise with genuine surprise. “Master Jason is troubling you?”

She shook her head emphatically, pinching the air with her middle and pointer finger to her thumb. NO.

“Well, that is a relief,” Alfred murmured. “Had he been bothering you, it would have been quite a shock.”

Cassandra flexed her fingers, looking down at her hands in deep thought. She wasn’t exactly sure what questions she wanted to ask, or how to ask them. This was the tricky thing about words— she had so much in her head and none of it fit quite right when she tried to put it in front of her.

She was grateful for the choice to speak, and grateful for Bruce teaching her how, and grateful that her family learned how, too, but it was still hard. Frustrating.

“Take your time,” Alfred said clemently. “Use small words, if that is easier for you.”

Cassandra nodded slowly, and formulated her thoughts together. She knew a few things: Jason was protective over his library, he had a system to organize the books, and that he came over frequently to swap out books.

JASON - LIBRARY - EXPLAIN?

Alfred’s eyes watched Cassandra closely as he spoke, and then he nodded, a faint smile on his face, because he always seemed to understand her no matter how few words she used.

“I see,” he said simply. “Shall I tell it from the beginning?”

Cassandra nodded, and happily leaned back in the chair, folding her legs up to sit crossed. Alfred didn’t tell stories often, but she thought that he was very good at it.

“Yes… I remember it like it was yesterday.” Alfred looked up at the ceiling, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “That little boy was so polite. It was clear to me that he had been very scared of doing something wrong, so he was very tentative. He was always willing to help around the manor, though.”

Jason still liked helping Alfred in the kitchen, Cass noted. Of her brothers, he was the only one who Alfred willingly let help with the cooking— not even Bruce was allowed to stand in there for longer than a minute before he was politely shoved out.

“I caught him glancing at some of the decorative books, old relics and things that were really quite dreadful to read, and it had occurred to me that the young man hadn’t been shown the family library,” Alfred explained, a warm smile on his face. “I’d never seen the boy light up as brightly as he did when I opened the doors.”

Cassandra tried to imagine it: her little brother, much smaller, beaming over the shelf-to-shelf literature. She liked to imagine that he had been skipping his feet around, dashing from corner to corner of the room to scan every inch.

It was a nice image —it made her very happy. She could see why Alfred loved the memory so much.

“I of course told him that he was more than welcome to browse any of the titles, and then I made myself sparse so he’d feel comfortable to explore on his own.” Alfred chuckled, shaking his head. “When I returned to call him for supper, he had fallen asleep, piles of books— that were taller than him, mind you— surrounding his chair, a volume of Shakespeare poetry open on his lap…”

Cass grinned.

“Needless to say, it became his safe space,” Alfred confirmed with amusement. “He spent days reorganizing every title to his own needs, and explained it to me in great detail so that I could continue to maintain it with him.”

Alfred looked over the shelves with a bittersweet smile. “He was very proud of it. I’m quite honoured that he shared it with me.”

Her grin eased into something thoughtful as she looked over the bookshelves. She understood the importance of a ‘safe space.’ When she was overwhelmed, she liked to crawl up into the attic’s rafters, where it was dark and damp, echoey enough to hear every incoming sound, and small enough to only fit herself.

Jason visited the manor for his ‘safe space’ often. She connected this with what she had noted of him when he entered every time— his relaxed shoulders upon leaving, his unclouded gaze, his jaw lax. Peaceful.

And when he left, subsequently, there were shifty eyes, his lips pursed in a firm line, his gate closed in one straight, quick path to the exit. Always quick to leave. Tense. Like he didn;t believe he was welcome.

Cassandra thought back to one of her most early realizations upon becoming a Wayne. Words, while available, were not always used. But she understood far more than words— bodies have always been the easiest language to her— and right now it spelt out ‘problem’ in big raised eyebrows.

So, she laid the pieces out in front of her, and put them together again:

Everybody missed Jason.

Her other brothers were happier when Jason visited home.

Jason visited home most often for the library. He liked his library a lot, and made constant efforts to maintain it.

There was her solution, then. Bruce would be pleased with her application of detective skills. Her lips uptick with a smile.

“Mistress Cassandra,” Alfred spoke up, raising an eyebrow. “You look positively devious.”

Cassandra’s eyes sparkled with mirth. She touched her pinky to her forehead and brought it out. IDEA.

Alfred hummed, looking at her with a great deal of speculation. The raised eyebrow lowered, and he very casually looked off to the side. “Well, I make it my mission to assist.”

Cass waited until the night before Jason was set to visit again. The halls were dark and quiet, and nobody was awake to witness her as she slipped through the doors.

She picked out one book. Just one.

She moved it one spot to the right.

Cassandra went to bed satisfied with her work, excitement dancing along her belly.

The next time Jason showed up, he was roped into dinner. Alfred was serving a sunday roast, which meant that it really hadn’t taken much convincing on Dick’s part to get him to sit at the table.

They ate, Cass watching with a quiet glee as Jason argued back and forth with Tim about trivial things, neither of them actually angry– shoulders raised, but gently; eyes sparkling with mirth, not gleaming sharp; hands gesticulating wildly, not clenched at their sides. It was a nice evening.

As expected, Jason retreated the moment he finished wiping his dishes clean in the sink. Cassandra tailed behind, unnoticeable, as he went to the library.

Cass watched as Jason methodically returned each book back to a particular shelf. He strolled to the other end of the room and knelt down, tilting his head. He ran his finger along the shelf, mumbling titles to himself, and then paused.

He pulled one out and tucked it under his arm, and then moved to a different shelf. There was no fumbling in the way he moved. It was calculated. Every single book had its own place, and Jason knew each one like the back of his hand.

He put three books away with little thought, and for a moment, she doubted her plans. Jason walked directly past the shelf she tampered with and put another book in its proper spot. As he stepped back, he froze.

Jason hesitated, pulling the book out of its improper spot. He turned it over in his hands, looking at the cover with bafflement and suspicion. He slowly pushed it back to the left empty space, where it was supposed to be.

She smiled to herself.

Yes, this plan would do nicely.

She’d finished her patrol, her hair was wet on her neck from the shower she’d had, her stolen clothes from Stephanie clean and loose on her body. She was going to the kitchen for a snack, but immediately rerouted when she heard the quiet, bewildered sounds from the library.

“Okay!” Jason’s muffled voice shouted through the door. “What the hell!”

She creaked the door open and poked her head in, looking at him with wide eyes. Jason looked over to her, his arms full of books that he’d been pulling with disgruntlement.

“Cass,” he said gruffly. “Have you seen anybody in my library? Messing with my books?”

She cataloged him, first. Distracted eyes, busy hands. His shoulders dropped, his waist relaxed. He didn’t suspect her at all. He was just very, very confused.

Cass shook her head honestly. She hadn’t seen anybody at all, unless she counted her own hands.

Jason grunted and went back to refilling his books. He moved each book with great care, and the efficiency that came with understanding a system so thoroughly, and for such a long time.

With the last book put into place, it’s well into the night. Everyone else had most likely left for patrol, with Alfred acting as support from the cave. Jason picked up his things to leave— his jacket, his motorcycle keys.

He gave her a serious expression. “Hey, you have my number, right?”

She nodded.

“Good. Keep an eye out for me. Text me if you catch them,” Jason said, his face grim like he was looking for a criminal, and not a nightly book re-arranger.

She nodded again, mimicking his expression. Pressing her lips firm, furrowing her eyebrows deeply. She flipped two fingers onto the back of her fist. of- COURSE.

Then, Cassandra realized that he had left without getting books.

Which meant he would be back soon— so she got right back to work.

(“…Mistress Cassandra,” Alfred cleared his throat.

She looked back at him with wide, innocent eyes.

“I know you’re aware of the importance this library’s organization has to Master Jason,” Alfred said succinctly. “So I do believe your intentions here are pure, yes?”

Cassandra smiled at him, and nodded. She put a finger to her lips. “Shhh.”

Alfred’s eyes crinkle at the corners, and his lips perk upwards in a prim line. Amusement. He quietly closed the doors.

By the time she had finished, the sun had fully risen. She left the library without anybody noticing, and fell asleep still giggling to herself at what was to come.)

An entire wall of books was resorted into rainbow order. Her favourite was the purple section. There were fewer covers that were purple, and it reminded her of Stephanie.

Her family found the results in the morning, while she shoveled bits of fried egg into her mouth. A very audible and undistinguished gasp from the hallway, coming from Alfred, was what alerted them.

Dick immediately got up, leaving his silverware to clatter at the plate. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and walked over. “Alf? What’s wrong? Is everything— what the fuck.”

“Language,” Alfred chided lightly.

Cassandra joined them, standing at Alfred’s side. Dick was striding up and down the library, looking at the shelves with wide eyes, mouth dropped, his hands tugging uselessly at his hair. Shock. Disbelief.

Cassandra pulled out her phone.

little Brother jay

👋👋👋📚📚📚📚📚📚📚❗️❗️❗️❗️❗️ [9:43am]

Fuck yes Cass this is why you’re my favourite [9:43am]

😇😇😇😇😇❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ [9:43am]

Dick’s phone rang, and he pulled it out from his pocket like it was a live grenade. “Oh shit.”

He accepted the call and Jason’s voice rang clear through the speaker. “HEY, ASSHOLE.”

“It wasn’t me!” Dick declared loudly. “I am innocent, your honour—“

The revving of a motorcycle. Honking of cars. Jason continued to shout. “HOW BAD IS THE DAMAGE? DICK, DON’T ANSWER. I’M ASKING CASS.”

Cassandra pleasantly held up both of her hands towards her in an L-shape, bending her index fingers, and then flipped them out.

“Large,” Dick translated miserably.

“FUUUUCK. WHEN I FIND OUT WHO’S DOING THIS, YOU’RE SO FUCKING DEAD.”

“I would like to have it back in the open that I’m not the culprit,” Dick started.

“WE’LL SEE ABOUT THAT. BE THERE IN FIVE.” Jason hung up the call.

They stood in silence for a moment, all looking at the books in varying degrees of emotion. Cassandra was admittedly quite proud of herself. It had taken the entire night to reshelve, and she did have a moment surrounded by piles of books where she was unsure if she’d be able to finish by the time Alfred woke up— but she persevered.

Dick meanwhile looked like he was watching his own death happen in real time.

“I think I shall see to the kettle,” Alfred murmured, and then succinctly left the library.

As expected, Jason entered the manor five minutes later.

The front door being shoved open was loud enough to hear across the span of rooms between. Heavy footsteps sounded across the hallways, a straight-shot charge to the library. Determination rigid in his shoulders, his gait, his path.

He shoved off his helmet and tossed it onto one of the sofas, and pointed to Dick, who was still standing frozen in the room.

“Out,” he demanded, and Dick raised his hands in surrender while he scurried out of there.

Jason turned back to the rainbow bookshelves. He crossed his arms, took a deep breath. Held it. Slowly looked at Cass, his face serious, set. “Report.”

ALFRED - DICK - FOUND - LIBRARY.

“You didn’t see anyone go in? Nothing happened before that?”

Cassandra shook her head. She hadn’t seen anybody go into the library. She would know— she was in it. Loopholes, she learned, were not the same as lying.

Jason grunted and looked back at the shelves.

She tapped him on the shoulder.

NEED - HELP?

Jason looked at her thoughtfully. “I’m gonna have to teach you how to organize it all. There’s a system. D’you like reading?”

Cassandra scrunched up her nose, tilting her head to the side. She held out her hand and waved it in a sideways pendulum motion. KINDA. READING - HARD. D-I-S–L-E-X-I-C.

“Ah,” Jason said, nodding his head once. “Well, as long as you’re careful with ‘em, I don’t give a fuck. One time Dickie came in here for a case and he bent a fuckin’ spine. It was a first edition, too. I told him if he did that shit again, I’d break his spine just so he’d know how it felt.”

Cassandra nodded sagely.

“Anyways. Let’s get started. We’ve got a lot of work to do,” Jason huffed. “So, first things first…”

Jason’s system was extensive and particular, much like the majority of his mission plans. He started with a general overview of something called the Dewey Decimal System, which Cassandra had never heard of before in her life. There were nine main classes, and then subclasses that further specified where a book’s place was. He had only liked to use the first part of this system for his own organization.

He then entertained Cass with a lengthy rant about how the Dewey Decimal System was rooted in a multitude of issues because of its dated origin, and he didn’t like it. (“Also, I just refuse to deface the spines with an ugly fuckin’ sticker. I don’t even need a sticker anyways,” Jason grinned. He tapped his head with a worn copy of Little Women. “It’s all in my big-ass brain.”)

She nodded, amused, and did her best to keep up. He had her pull all of the books down from the shelves. Eventually Alfred came in with tea, and immediately began to help her. They would pass them carefully to Jason, who would sort them on the floor by their first classification: genres.

Between her and Jason, they cleared the shelves all relatively quickly, and soon the entire library was littered with half-formed stacks of books.

NOW - WHAT?

“We’re gonna start putting ‘em back,” Jason said, standing up with a grunt. He picked up a large stack of volumes. “These are all nerd shit, science and philosophy, stuff like that. You put them on the shelf, alright? Careful, it’s heavy.”

Cassandra lifted them easily from his arms and slotted them back onto the left-most bookshelf. Then she moved books on religion, and then business, law, etiquette, and then filled more shelves with books written in different languages, Old English, Spanish, German, French, Arabic, Punjabi, Romani, Latin, Greek. Encyclopedias on medicine, on art, on music, on geography.

Alfred worked on previous shelves she’d filled, micro-organizing by topics, names, collections, etc., pulling out publications and moving them one way or another.

Cassandra’s arms were heavy and there was sweat on Jason’s brow, but he was beaming by the time that they got to the far left of the library.

“This is literature,” he explained. “This is the best part. This is the only part of the library that’s not done in alphabetical. Because it’s my shit, and I always know where it is.”

“I sort by author name, series, how rare they are, and how much I like them,” he said, standing tall, a gleam in his eyes. Happy. Proud. “I’ve read every single book in here, and this system has been years in the making.”

Cassandra clapped her hands, smiling brightly at him. YOU - MOVE - BOOKS. I - WATCH.

Jason grinned. “Sure. But pay attention, alright? You’re a certified helper if this shit happens again. You’re the only other person but Alfred and I that haven’t committed book-sins in here.”

Cass nodded, and watched carefully as Jason began to work his magic. At the very top, Jane Austen’s entire collection of works, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, Daniel Keyes’ Flowers for Algernon, S.E. Hinton’s The Outsiders, C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia, titles by a Virginia Woolfe, a Charles Dickens, an Andrew Clements, a Jerry Spinelli, a Katherine Patterson, a Robert C. O’Brien…

“Some of these B bought for me,” Jason explained as he’s shelving them. “He used to take me to these massive bookstores around the world for my birthday, and he’d just follow me around for hours while I picked out more books than I could even carry. I keep some of ‘em at my apartment, but most of them are still here.”

NO MORE?

Jason’s face shuttered, the calm dwindling away into something bitter, disgusted. A small downturn of his lips, his eyes narrow, his shoulders hiking up slightly. All very subtle changes– but not for Cass.

“No,” Jason smiled, his teeth sharp. The smile was weak, it didn’t meet his eyes– it was more like he was baring his teeth. Discomfort. “I’m not fifteen anymore.”

Cassandra frowned. Tried to find the best way to sign, he would take you anywhere if you asked, and, he misses you so much, I can see it in every way that he moves. But words are hard, and painful, and this was too important. So she stayed quiet. She’s becoming more like a Wayne every day.

When Cassandra awoke the next morning and made her way downstairs, arguing chorused from the breakfast nook.

“I didn’t do it,” Damian’s voice said, snide and short, Cassandra caught a glimpse of his nose turned up and his arms crossed. Annoyed. “I’m far too mature for such asinine activities. Perhaps it was Drake, he has a passion for being a nuisance.”

“Brat,” Tim seethed back. His eyebags are dark and heavy. He has his hair pulled back in a messy half-bun, but it doesn’t disguise how greasy it is. “I’ve been working on a case all week, I haven’t even left the cave. And before you even ask, I already checked the security feed, the cameras around the library were offline the entire night.”

They both looked at Dick accusingly, who startled, raising his shoulders in defense. “It wasn’t me, I wasn’t even in the city! I just drove in this morning.”

Cassandra stepped into view, and they all huff over their breakfast plates. She caught Tim’s eye and held her hands out and up, and then pointed out, her eyebrows furrowed.

WHAT - HAPPEN?

“The library’s messed up again,” Tim explained. Lips pursed, shoulders dropped low, back hunched over, eyes hooded and blank. Irritated. Tim never liked when there were mysteries he couldn’t solve. “All of the books are backwards or something.”

Yes. Because last night, she turned each book so that the spine faced the wrong direction. It was much faster than her other tricks, but effective.

“Alfred wouldn’t do it. It wasn’t Bruce,” Dick reasoned, scratching his chin. “He never goes in there anymore.”

“I don’t go in where anymore?” Bruce walked in, sipping at coffee from a chipped Father’s Day mug. His hair was wet and combed back, he smelt like Eucalyptus and mint. Freshly showered. He brought Cass in for a side hug when she scooted closer to him.

“The library,” Damian said, stabbing at a roasted potato on his plate. He scowled. “Tim tried to pin the blame on me, but I didn’t do it, Father. He’s lying.”

“Damian–”

“I never tried to pin anything on you,” Tim defended, rolling his eyes, “I just said it couldn’t be Dick, and it couldn’t be me.”

“It very well could be you,” Damian shot back. He furiously chewed his potatoes, swallowed, and then pointed his fork accusingly at Tim. “If you were the only one in the cave, then nobody else could have erased the footage!”

Bruce held up his hand. His eyebrows creased, looking at the both of them with great consternation. “Boys, settle down. Footage of what? What happened to the library?”

Cass tugged at his sleeve, and he immediately turned his attention down. She held her hands out pressed together and folded them open.

BOOKS.

“Are they destroyed?” Bruce asked, his voice going gruffer. A twitch of his left eye, his chin wavering. Worried. She quickly shook her head to ease his fears.

“There’s been someone who keeps going into the library,” Dick spoke up hesitantly. “They’re, uh. Moving around the books.”

“We don’t know who,” Tim added, sinking into his seat. “Cams are being wiped, we can’t catch anybody.”

Bruce pressed his lips together for a moment. It’s quiet, except for the faint scraping of silverware against ceramic.

He grunted finally, looking down to his coffee. He glanced back up. “Is Jason… aware?”

“Yeah,” the table chorused. (Cassandra nodded.)

“I see,” Bruce said slowly. He sat down at the head of the table. He filled a plate and set it at the empty seat beside him, motioned for Cass to sit down. He filled his own plate.

They ate silently, Cassandra munching on her own plate of scrambled eggs, of oat flapjacks– Bruce had given her extra blueberries on top, which was her favourite. Tim got up for another mug of coffee, and when he sat back down, Bruce cleared his throat.

“Tim,” he called. “Any running leads?”

Tim sat up straighter, and shrugged. “I have a few pieces of transient evidence that point to Mad Hatter, but it was cleaned up on the scene by a cop that’s being investigated right now. It’s been a while since we’ve seen him, but the—”

“On the library, Tim.”

Tim paused, looking up in surprise. “The—? Uh. No. I don’t have any leads. I don’t think it’s anybody at this table, because none of us are allowed in the library. Maybe Stephanie? Duke wouldn’t pull a prank like that.”

“Brown isn’t allowed in the library either,” Damian cut in, giving Tim the side-eye.

“Yeah, but, it’s Steph,” Tim reasoned.

Cassandra shook her head, lips pulled into a frown. NOT - STEPHANIE.

Tim sighed heavily, slumping back into his seat. He mumbled into his coffee. “Alright, fine. No leads.”

Bruce made a small verbal noise of acknowledgement, and turned to Cassandra. He very minutely narrowed his eyes. She stared back at him.

His left eyebrow ticked upwards. A silent question.

She blinked slowly. The corner of her mouth lifted.

“Hm,” Bruce grunted. He looked away and began slicing neatly at his breakfast.

Cassandra finished her breakfast and sent a new message to Jason, another string of book and blinking alarm emojis. He sent back an angry face and a thumbs down emoji, with a note saying he would be there later today.

Jason arrived as expected, and upon walking into the library, he only sighed. An obnoxious, loud sigh, with his head tossed back, his arms falling dramatically to his side.

“I can’t leave for more than a minute without someone touching my shit, huh?”

“We really don’t know who’s doing it,” Dick said apologetically, standing safely at the doorway of the big room. His toe doesn’t even cross the threshold. He put his arm on Tim’s shoulders. “Not even Tim has a hunch.”

“There’s an easy explanation for that,” Jason called out as he began to rifle through books to check their proper place. “Timbit, are you a suspect?”

Tim glared. “I didn’t touch your books, Jason.”

Jason flipped him off. He turned around and craned his neck, and his eyes met Cassandra’s. He jutted his chin out. “Hey. Come here.”

Cassandra walked in pleasantly, ignoring the blatant shock from her brothers behind her. She tilted her head in question.

“You start on the left side, alright? It looks like they’re all in the right place, just… backwards, for some fuckin’ reason,” Jason explained, furrowing his eyebrows. He shot his head to the doorway. “You two idiots. Get in here. VIP pass.”

Dick’s eyes widened, and he hesitated before fumbling forward. He flexed his hands, looking around the room like it had been his first time ever walking in. His eyes settle on Jason, a grin on his face. “You’re letting me help?”

“Yeah. Whatever,” Jason mumbled. He looked to Tim, who was still dubiously staring at the open room ahead of him. “Tim. You just gonna stand there all day?”

Tim narrowed his eyes and carefully stepped in, walking around slowly on the balls of his feet, Like a cat exploring new territory.

“Both of you work in the other language section,” Jason pointed to the middle shelves. “Don’t move the books around. Don’t open them. Don’t breathe on them. All you’re doing is putting them back in with the spine out. If you break any of these rules, I will know.”

“Yessir,” Dick saluted. He very happily began to fix the backwards books, smiling to himself as he did so. He touched each book very carefully, much like Cassandra did, the contents being precious and fragile.

Alfred stopped by with pastries, hardly batting an eye at the surplus of people in the library. He set down the tray, wiped the coffee table clean, and exited just as swiftly. Cassandra had a sneaking suspicion that he had told Bruce that everyone was convening, though, because moments later Bruce very quietly poked his head in through the doorway.

He lingered, watching with bright eyes, kind lines crinkled softly at the edges, his lips pressed together like he had eaten something sweet. Fondness. One of Cassandra’s favourite emotions to recognize. It made her heart feel light, and made her feel full and happy and safe.

Jason caught him before he could disappear down the hallway.

“Hey, don’t think you’re getting away without helping,” Jason spoke up, glaring half-heartedly. He motioned pointedly to the shelves. “These were your books first. Come help us fix this mess, one-percenter.”

Bruce opened his mouth, closed it, and then obediently walked in. He kept his hands easily to his sides. “Where do you need me?”

“Social sciences. Next to Cass,” Jason grunted, and focused back on his own shelf.

Bruce took his spot next to Cassandra, giving her a look. Very quietly and under his breath, he said: “I assume you have a motive?”

Cassandra nodded once, smiling at him.

He grunted again, and began turning books the right way around.

Damian joined them later with both Alfreds in tow– the cat in his arms, and the butler with more refreshments. He looked around the library with raised eyebrows. “Why is everyone gathered here?”

“We’re helping Jason fix his books,” Dick explained cheerfully.

“We’re doing free labor,” Tim corrected.

“Can it, richboy. You could use some free labor,” Jason said indifferently. He turned to Damian. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see what all the fuss was about,” Damian sniffed. He absently scratched the cat’s chin. “Every time we’re all in a room together, there’s often a chance for a funeral to take place.”

“Not every time,” Jason said dryly. “But whatever. Put the cat down, I’m putting you to work, too.”

“Excuse me?” Damian said, stepping away with narrowed eyes. Alfred (cat) held protectively in his arms. “I’m not a butler.”

“Damian,” Bruce lamely chided.

“Sorry, Pennyworth,” Damian acquiesced with an eyeroll. “Your role in this family is undervalued and highly appreciated.”

Alfred (butler) looked very amused as he nodded. “Yes. Well, I accept your apology, Master Damian.”

“Now you have to help,” Tim smirked. “Penance for disrespecting Alfred. Come on, demon-brat. Pick up a book.”

Damian scowled, but set the cat down. Without a word, he stuffily marched over to Dick and began helping him fix the shelves, grumbling under his breath. Moody, Cassandra thought with utmost joy.

It was a big library, but they are a big family. Not so good at communicating, but good at teamwork. Focused. With everybody helping, the shelves are fixed within a few hours, bantering and nudging shoulders all the while.

“Will you be staying for dinner, Master Jason? I’ll be making shakriye, if you would like to assist with the recipe,” Alfred said simply, as he led everybody out into the hallway.

“I’ll stick around,” Jason grunted. “I’m camping out in the library all night, actually. I’ll find which one of you is betraying me. Fuck you, Tim.”

Tim threw his hands up, scoffing. “I didn’t even say anything!”

“You hardly have to, Drake,” Damian drawled, walking close beside Dick. “Your presence is more than enough.”

“Guys,” Dick chided lightly, smiling wide. “Keep it friendly.”

And behind them, Bruce walked with his hand on Cass’s upper back, his eyes soft, attentive.

Cassandra smiled at all of it, feeling warm, feeling happy. She set the table with Tim. Dick helped Damian with his math homework. Jason and Alfred worked in the kitchen. Bruce looked over company paperwork. All of them in the same place, relaxed, content, a puzzle with its picture complete.

“Alright, theories?” Dick asked, sipping at a glass of water. “Who do we think is doing it? We’re all a detective family, we’re smart.”

“It's Tim,” Damian answered shortly, dipping his spoon into the stew.

Tim gave a blank stare, looking resolutely unimpressed. “It isn’t me. Don’t be ridiculous. I still think it’s someone outside of the house, my bets are on Steph. She’s cool with Jason.”

“Brown would never betray me like that,” Jason scoffed. “Use your fuckin’ brain. I’m literally her favourite.”

“I dated her!” Tim argued.

“Then she broke up with you,” Jason shot back, giving a shrug. “So. Now I’m her favourite. It’s a street kid thing.”

Tim rolled his eyes again and took a bite of stew. “Her favourite is Cass.”

“Ah,” Dick clicked his tongue, nodding passively. “Yeah, that’s true, Jay. She’s really close with Cass.”

Cass flushed, tilting her head to the side. Again, she half-signed with one hand: NOT - HER.

“Well, you heard it,” Dick gestured over to her, grinning. “If Cassandra says it isn’t Steph, then it isn’t Steph. She knows everything.”

“Told you,” Jason said firmly.

“Wait,” Tim frowned, swallowing his food. He looked at her, speculative. “Dick has a point though. Cass, you pay attention to all kinds of weird stuff that goes on around here. Have you seen anything?”

Cassandra blinked at him innocently.

Everyone looked over, the only sounds at the table being that of silverware clinking against the ceramic plates, people slurping at stew.

She shook her head simply. HOUSE - QUIET.

“Okay,” Tim said slowly, frowning more. “Well. That’s… a dead end, I guess.”

For whatever reason, they never seem to suspect her.

Her brothers were silly, and foolish. She loves them.

Despite Alfred’s insistence, Jason wanted to sleep in the library.

Cassandra didn’t move any books tonight. The memory of all of them fixing each cover properly together was fresh in her mind, and she liked the way Jason’s shoulders weren’t hiked up to his ears after dinner had finished. His eyes didn’t scatter uneasily over each hallway, checking low at every corner. He was no longer moving through their safe home like someone hunted.

This was to say, when she awoke the next morning, the library was supposed to remain untouched.

little Brother jay

You awake? [7:02am]

👍👍😊❓[7:03am]

Library. Cmere [7:03am]

Cass frowned slightly and slid out of bed. She quietly headed out of the hallway and down the stairs, listening to the sounds of the house waking up.

The heavy doors to the library are shut, so she must pull to open them, and when she poked her head in, everything looked… normal. She didn’t spot any discrepancies, nothing out of place.

Jason was sitting in the most comfortable chair. The one near the fireplace. The one that had started all of this for her, a lesson in grief and rules and love.

His body curled in comfortably, his head tilted down into a book, white-striped hair hanging over his eyebrows. For a moment, Cassandra imagined this very scene, but years earlier— trying to picture a Jason with crooked teeth, with smaller hands, trying to picture a Jason she didn’t have the chance to meet.

With everything lost, and everything found, there was so much love here, and Cassandra could see it in a way that nobody else could.

Jason flickered his eyes up from his book. “Cass,” he said neutrally. His shoulders relaxed in a practiced line. His face, falsely blank. Cassandra knew then that he had figured it out, who had been moving the books.

She didn’t so much as blink, didn’t tense, didn’t fret. She watched him, curious, waiting.

Jason didn’t say anything, only lamely tilting his head in the direction of the couch before looking back down. He was one of the few that didn’t always use words with her. He knew that she knew what he would mean.

She did. She slipped forward like ink and sat quietly on the couch, folding her hands in her lap. She watched her little brother while he flipped each page carefully.

She counted fourteen pages before Jason closed his book, setting it in front of him. He stared back at her for a long moment.

“Why?” He said, his voice gruff.

It was a reasonable question, she supposed. Why would she move his books? Why would she sneak into and disrupt his designated safe space? Why would she break the rules?

Cassandra flexed her hands, squeezing her fingers into her palms. She stared down thoughtfully, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. She let out a quiet sigh.

It was hard to use words verbally. Mostly impossible. It took more energy than was worth, and it made her head hurt. But this seemed important—to her, and to Jason.

This one word, aloud.

“Family,” she whispered slowly. Her voice was hoarse, quiet.

Jason blinked. Surprise and confusion flashed over his face, and Cassandra watched and noted each minute detail. Eyebrows high on his face, but creased together. A frown tugging at his lips.

She would need to explain further, which is equally hard, but she will try. She will always try, for her family.

She brought her hands up:

YOU - LIKE - BOOKS, she explained, her signs choppier than normal. A pause between every word. ME - BIG SISTER - to-YOU - WHEN - ME - HELP - YOU - WITH - BOOKS.

She nodded with finality, proud of herself.

“So,” Jason said, and his eyebrows are still furrowed, but there’s an emotion in his eyes that Cassandra can’t place. One that she doesn’t quite have a name for. It made her feel like she was sad, but happy, and found. “You mess with my shelves so I come over?”

Cass hesitated, and then nodded again. The statement was true— but it was much more than that. She always missed him, yes, but— but this wasn’t for her. She looked at the shelves, determined, and turned back to Jason.

BEFORE. YOU - Cassandra brought her hands in front of her, palms down, fingers out, and she shook them. Her shoulders draw upwards in discomfort. NERVOUS. NOT - FEEL - SAFE - at - HOME.

“That’s not—“ Jason argued, his shoulders tensing. Cassandra gave him a firm look, and the fight left him with a resigned sigh. “Okay. Whatever. Continue.”

Cassandra exhaled. LIBRARY - MAKE - YOU - FEEL - SAFE.

YOU - MAKE - FAMILY -

Cassandra frowned, looking at her own hands. The air was still and silent between them as she chose her next word. She moved her open hands in a circular motion, closing at the bottom.

UNBROKEN.

She emphasized: ONLY - IF - YOU - HERE. SAFE.

Jason went quiet for a long time. She let the silence wash over both of them, taking in his forcibly lowered shoulders, hardened misty eyes.

Cassandra didn’t mind, neither did she pressure. She simply allowed herself to be seen, to be quiet and still but also there. Being there was a privilege she hadn’t known in the Before, and was all the more willing to partake in it when she learned the comfort of just… knowing she wasn’t alone. Knowing she could make other people feel not alone.

However long later, Jason sniffed. Subtly swiped his hand against his cheeks, cleared his throat. His eyes red, darting up skittishly. His vivid green caught her deep brown, and held. She gave him a small, sincere nod.

I see you.

Jason swallowed, his throat bobbing, his eyes faltering with emotion. He raised his hand, his palm facing towards himself, and he let his fingertips brush against his chin. He swung his hand down, his palm facing up. THANK YOU.

Cassandra smiled at him.

Jason looked down, his hands thumbing back over his book. He sniffed again, and let out a small shaky sigh.

“This is one of my favourites,” Jason spoke up, giving a forced shrug of nonchalance. “I think you’d like it. It was in French, originally, but uh… this one was translated to English. I’ve had it for years. It’s good, it has pictures and stuff…”

He looked up, pausing, drawing a breath. Hesitation. Waiting. Nervous. Cassandra sat up a little straighter, trying to show her interest as she leaned forward. She quickly brought a hand to her chest and rubbed her open palm in a circle over her heart. PLEASE?

“It’s called The Little Prince, it was written by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry,” he explained shortly, his words stilted, his eyes flickering back up to her one last time before he cleared his throat and read.

“Once when I was six years old I saw a magnificent picture in a book, called True Stories from Nature, about the primeval forest…”

Jason had a nice reading voice. With every sentence she understood him a little better, why he loved books so much, why he spent so much time here. With every page she had scooted closer, until she was curled up on the arm of his chair, looking over his shoulder to see the illustrations.

He read her the story cover-to-cover, and then she shot up to grab another, and another.

They nested in the library for hours, eating the snacks Alfred snuck in, letting the world fall quiet around them until it was reduced to fireplace ash and ancient upholstery. She leaned his head on his shoulder, closed her eyes, and smiled, because she thought surely, it couldn’t get much better than this.

And then Jason stayed for dinner.

#fanfiction #fluff #batfamily #batman #jason todd #tumblr fanfic #cassandra cain #cassandra cain fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #batfamily fanfiction #batfam fanfic #writers of ao3 #domestic fluff #funny fanfic

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roipecheur · 23 days ago

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Summary:

If Batman's so determined to act like the self-appointed boss of every vigilante that crops up in Gotham, they're going to treat him like one--by unionizing with I.H.U. Local 1331, International Henchpeople United! (The pro-union propaganda in the form of a Batman fanfic you didn't know you needed.)

Fandom: Batman (Comics)

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake (DCU), Stephanie Brown, Barbara Gordon, Jason Todd, Helena Bertinelli, Jean-Paul Valley, Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain, Query (Riddler henchperson), Curly (Joker henchperson)

Additional tags: Labor Unions, Union Propaganda

Words: 4,509

#wrote stuff

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ao3feed-brucewayne · 5 months ago

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Duck Duck Goose (Vampire)

by TheSilverHunt3r Jason Todd-Wayne had an idea for testing who had been turned or replaced by a vampire: the All Blades. They can only be summoned when facing evil. They refuse to be used against the innocent or good. Now, morality of an entire species was not something easily determined, but Jason was pretty confident that the All Blades would consider vampires evil. He walked up in front of Damian and squeezed his hands together in a grip, as if he was holding a pair of swords. Nothing happened. That's unfortunate. Words: 1116, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 3 of TheSilverHunt3r's DC Fics Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, DC vs Vampires Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen Characters: Batfamily Members (DCU), Batman Ensemble, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain, Barbara Gordon, Stephanie Brown, Tim Drake (DCU), Damian Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Alfred the Cat (DCU) Relationships: Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Alfred Pennyworth & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne Additional Tags: dc v vampires au, Crack fic tbh, Oneshot, The all blades, What if Jason Todd had used the All Blades to check for vampires? via https://ift.tt/itNABU2

#IFTTT #bruce wayne #batman #the dark knight #the caped crusader #gotham #dcu #dc #ao3 #ao3feed

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sku11kidz · 6 months ago

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Fandom: Biohazard: Village, Resident Evil 8, Resident Evil: Village

Character Tags: Ethan Winters, Reader, Rosemary Winters (mention), Mother Miranda, Alicia Dimitrescu, Salvador Moreau, Karl Heisenberg,

Tags: Lord Ethan winters AU, Haha Ethan is an old 1950s dad, soft, Alternate canon, father is fathering, Child!Reader, children, horror tags, reader is no older than 12, ???, writer is a teenager/slow updates

Previous chapter ⭐️

The smell of smoke filled the forest, signaling the arrival of Heisenberg. He always hated going to Ethan’s small neck of the woods. He grumbled something as he felt a rush of warmth consume his body. “Looks like I’m here.” He pops his back and knocks on the mansion door.

“Ethan Winters! Open the door and speak to—“ before he can finish, the front fate opens wide open and shows the small rose garden in Ethan’s front lawn. Who’s standing in the garden but Ethan. You hold onto Ethan’s leg, snuggled into some warm clothes to hide you from the harsh cold.

“What do you want, Heisenberg?” Heisenberg smirks and blows smoke in Ethan’s face. “I want the kid.” He motions at you, kneeling to your level. “The kid’s a cutie. It would be a shame if Mother Miranda were to find out about-“Ethan steps in front of you, shielding you from Heisenberg's view. “The point, Heisenberg.” Heisenberg chuckles and stands up, dusting off his coat. ““You always get straight to business, Ethan. Fine, the point is, I’m here to make you an offer. You see, Miranda’s been tightening her grip lately, and let's just say some of us aren't too happy about it.” Ethan raises his eyebrow and tilts his head, gently pushing you away so you don’t hear adult matters.

You wander off into the cold forest, wearing the heavy clothes Ethan put on you so you wouldn’t freeze to death.

Even though you knew no one was there, you felt like something was touching or watching you. Ethan had told you to come straight back if someone saw you but you were determined to find the wood right away. You make your merry way towards the village, remembering where exactly your late father had kept his firewood collection.

As you walk over, you get distracted by castle Dimistrescu. The imposing turrets rise up before you, casting ominous shadows across the snow-covered landscape. Curiosity had gotten the worst of you and decided to go inside. You walk down the draw bridge when you hear a voice. “A little friend, I see?” You turn around and see the Duke smoking his typical cigar.

He chuckles softly. “I see Mr. Winters has taken a liking to you.” You would ask how he knew but the fact that you were overly bundled told the whole story. “It seems like you’re curious about what Castle Dimitrescu has to bring. Just like Mr. Winters when I first met him.” He chuckles softly. “Would you like to go inside and quench your curiosity?”

You nod happily and go inside without listening to his muffled warning. Upon walking into the castle, you felt like royalty. You made sure to explore every part of the castle. Your little journey is fun until you’re swarmed by some laughing flies. “Oh my! Sisters look!” Cassandra forms along with Daniella and Bela. They giggle and surround you. “A small human child from the village!” Daniella coos.

You shiver as they close in, their voices ringing in your ears. “I bet mother would love this kid!” Cassandra chimes. You try to back away, but the sisters are too quick, their laughter echoing through the halls. “Look at them run!” She coos. Just as you think there's no way out of the situation, you hear a familiar, stern voice booming through the corridor, "Girls! Would be all this noise at this hour?” The lady herself walks into the room and glares down at her daughters.

“Mother look!” Cassandra picks you out and shows you to Lady Dimistrescu. She looks down at you and grabs you by the scurf of your button up shirt. “A child? How could this be?” Not wanting to be held, you squirm. The girls coo and aw over your little movements. Lady Dimistrescu examines you with intrigue, her calculated gaze feeling as if it could pierce right through you.

“Can we keep her, mother? Please?” Bela begs. Alicia sighs and nods. “I suppose but we’ll have to speak with Mother Miranda first. Just be glad we got this child before Winters got his hands on them.” Immediately, the daughters all giggle and swarm around you.

“Can we name them?”

“I’ll make sure to tuck them into bed every night!”

“Mother can we please let them sleep in our room?”

Dimistrescu pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. “My darlings, please relax a bit. We don’t even know if we’re allowed to keep the child.” The daughters all collectively make a sound of disappointment.

She walks off with you in her hands and takes you to her room. Dimitrescu sets you on her bed and begins to dial the phone. “Now I want you to stay here until I’m finished with this call. Be a good child and don’t cause any problems for me.” She pats your head and sighs, waiting for the phone to pick up. As the phone rings, she sees that you’re overly bundled up for the weather. “Sweetheart, where exactly did you come from?”

You point to the window, the direction of Ethan’s house. She studies your point in disbelief and then follows your gaze, peering out at a distant silhouette of a familiar house. “No…” she mutters, slumping in her chair. “I fear that I must call that filthy man…” she mumbles, dialing Ethan’s number. You cautiously hop off the bed and tug on her dress.

The lady sighs and looks down at you. “Wanting to sit on my lap, darling?” She asks, lifting you up. She waits for the phone to ring and scoffs when Ethan doesn’t pick up. “Damn this man.” She mutters, slamming the phone back down. Lady Dimitrescu calms herself down and gives you a small smile. “If he doesn’t pick up, he’ll have to deal with you being my little one for the time being.” She stands up, still holding you, and walks off.

From this perspective, the world felt bigger than it should be. “For now, I shall protect—“ When the phone rings again, she sighs and storms back into the room, making it feel like a mini earthquake from your point of view. “How about you go play with your new sisters for the time being.” She places you down and gently pats your back. “If I’m not wrong, they should be in the front foyer.

You nod and quickly skimper off.

As you go downstairs, you hear giggling and whispers. “What do you think we should do with the child?” Cassandra asks. “They’re so cute! I really wish mother lets us have her.”

“Her?”

The room gets quiet but they all laugh. With mischievous smiles, the sisters turn to see you at the bottom of the staircase. Immediately, they swarm around you, their words overlapping. The sound of the buzzing throws you off and you begin to swat them away.

Their hands feel gentle as they touch your skin—but the grip tightens as they come closer and closer. You push and struggle, trying to break free, but it's no use. They all stop when they get a whiff of the smoke Heisenberg blew in your area.

“Ugh!” They push away from you. “You’ve been around that filthy man!” All three of them pick you up and bring you back to Dimitrescu. “Mother! This— this thing has been in the presence of Heisenberg!” Daniella pouts. “Yes…yes my daughters. This child belongs to Ethan Winters.” She continues to apply her makeup. “He’ll be here soon to get them. Just don’t destroy it before he gets here.”

“Miranda?” Ethan tilts his head, the shadow slightly vanishing and exposing his face and yellow eyes. “Yes, Ethan. If she finds out about that child in your care, she’ll simply scoop them up and use them for her own little necromancy bullshit!” Now that Heisenberg was in the house, it no longer felt like the safe home it once was.

While everything looked the same, the lights were dim and the room was only bright by candles. “I can tell you really want things to change with this one, Ethan.” Heisenberg takes off his glasses to look him in the eyes. “You couldn’t protect Rose and you couldn’t protect Mia. Most importantly, you can’t protect this child if they stay here.” Heisenberg stands up and extends his hand.

“I say we use this child to get rid of—“ Heisenberg stops when he sees the glare in Ethan gifted him. “Not a big fan of the idea, Ethan? Or are you just afraid of what giving your little ‘angel’ the cadou that made us the way we are?”

There’s a long silence. The only sound that could be heard was the crackling of the candles but even then, it was too quiet to notice at times like this. Karl sighs and shrugs, taking a seat. “They won’t be like us, Heisenberg.” Ethan wanted to make it clear that he didn’t want your life to be even slightly similar to his. “As a matter of fact, if you even touch them I’ll—“ Before Ethan could jump over the table and probably strangle Heisenberg, the phone rings.

Heisenberg chuckles and motions towards the sound. “Best you pick that up. Who could it be? Donna? Dimitrescu? Moreau?”

Ethan ignores him and walks over to the small dial phone, picking it up.

“Sending out your precious child while they’re more active than usual is a very dangerous mistake, especially when Miranda is on the prowl.” Ethan was about to snap at Heisenberg again but his energy is saved yet again by Dimitrescu.

“Hello, Ethan. I’ve come to inform you that your little…pet has escaped and come into my castle.”

Ethan turns to Heisenberg who has a smug expression on his face. “My pet? What do you— oh.” He sighs and leans against the wall. “My *pet*. I’ll be there to get them soon. I didn’t know they were there, my apologies.” He can hear Alicia blow out some spoke. “Good. Be any moment late and I’ll tell Miranda about this little issue of ours.” Before he can answer, she hangs up.

Ethan puts the phone away and goes to grab his coat. “Why don’t I come with you? It’s been a while since I’ve last visited that bitch’s castle.” Ethan looks at the mud Heisenberg tracked in and the small stains of dirt and oil he left behind on the chairs. He knew that if he was irritated by it, Miss D herself would kill them both on the spot.

“It’s best you stay. You uh…know how she gets.” Heisenberg lights his cigar and blows it into the air. Ethan sighs, seeing that Heisenberg has made himself more than comfortable’ in his home. With the clap of his hands, all the house lights turn back on, making it a home again. Karl smirks, seeing the little facade Ethan was putting up.

"Right," Ethan mutters, grabbing his keys. "I'll deal with this myself. Don’t get in the way.” Heisenberg smirks and leans back, the smoke getting everywhere. “Fine fine.” He shrugs.

After a few hours, Ethan comes back with you in tow. “Here, sweetheart. You’re back.” He leans down and kisses your forehead to endure that even with Heisenberg around, you were safe to be with him. Meanwhile, Karl looks down at you and gives off a big, toothy, grin. “So you’re the little secret, aren’t you.” He leans down to shake your hand.

Being shy, you hide behind Ethan’s leg. “I’m not a scary man, sugar!” Heisenberg laughs. His breath smelled of smoke and soot, an overall pungent smell to be honest.

Ethan grabs the cigar from Heisenberg’s mouth and stomps it out. “You know what I said about smoking in this house” Karl scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Aw what’s the matter? Can’t handle a bit of smoke?”

You cling onto Ethan’s leg, hearing them both slightly raise their voice. He looks down at you and sighs. “It’s best you go back to your little hell hole, Karl.” Ethan groans. With a smirk, Heisenberg puts his glasses back up and lets himself out. “I pray for that kid! You’ll kill it!” He laughs, escaping before Ethan could beat his ass.

Ethan lets out a irritated huff and calms himself down. “How about I make you some dinner. It’s been a long day for the both of us.” Gently, he pushes you off to the living room.

The sound of pans and pots banging together. Knowing best than to bother Ethan while he cooks, you sit in his favorite chair. It’s soft, welcoming, and a bit lumpy. You can sense that this chair is worn by time but who knows how long of a time.

The frost of your fingertips melt away and are quickly replaced by the affection of the flame welcoming you back. Not wanting to get up, you curl up against the sofa and close your eyes. Your past life begins to awaken in your mind, reminding you what happened before all of this.

You think about your mother and father, the two people who conceived and gave birth to your cute and beautiful self. However, if feels like they forgot about you after you were born. They were always busy and seemed nose deep into whatever work they had to do that day.

Between your father’s farm and your mother garden, they often left you alone. It didn’t mean they didn’t love you, you were their baby. They always clothed you, kissed you, and sent you to school to make sure you were intelligent in any field you’d want to grow into. They would always advise you to not go into three places:

The castle.

The woods.

The lake.

And the Reservoir.

Despite this warning, you were the adventurous type. It seemed like the woods were more welcoming than the old village anyways. You never liked being around the other neighborhood children. They all thought of you as weird.

After they started vanishing 1 by 1 near the lake, that’s when your parents told you to stay close to them. You wish you could remember more about ol’ mom and pops but you know how adults are. They either overprotective their children or give them too much independence at a young age.

Everything seemed fine before the Lycan attack. It seemed boring, but fine.

God, the Lycans. Even though the memory was still fresh in your mind, you’d try to forget it. The screams, the blood, your family ripped to shreds. It was all too much, especially for your small self. No matter how hard you’d pray to Mother Miranda to end what was happening to your home, it would get worse.

After your father turned into one of those beasts and killed your mother, you ran away. Cold and wet, you had found Ethan. You’re still trying to get used to him but it’s clear he cares.

It’s almost to the point where you’d call him dad. You don’t want to weird him out though so you stay quiet.

As you were deep into your thoughts, Ethan comes in and wraps a blanket around you. “I know you have the fire but I want to speed up the warming process. Afterall, getting you sick is the last thing I want.” He kisses your forehead, causing you to chuckle. As he leaves the room, he looks back at you, his face filled with a certain warmth. It was almost as if he had found something he lost long ago.

Feeling loved, you fall asleep to the sound of Ethan’s small radio playing old Miss D albums and vegetables being chopped. The couch felt more welcoming when you had a warm blanket to go with it. It felt like a warm hug from a loved one. That along with Ethan’s kiss made you feel like you belonged here.

He would make you food, shower you in affection, and give you your own bedroom in this large room of his. You felt bad for getting a slightly unnerving feeling from him but it quickly washes away when he reminds you how sweet and caring he can be.

He’s your father now. Someone who’d always protect you from harm.

Welcome home, sweetheart.

#ethan winters #re8 ethan winters #ethan winters x reader #re8 village #rebhfun #platonic!reader

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everythingheard · 9 days ago

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roleplay history

the rules are simple! post characters you’d like to roleplay as, have roleplayed as, and might bring back. then tag people to do the same. please repost, don’t reblog!

current

i'm just going to list a few of my current muses on this blog that i'd love to have more interactions for —

b.ernie h.ayes — m.onsterverse ( he's such a tragic character, very much a "cassandra figure" exiled for predicting the truth and rarely given his due, and i love writing him and his weirdness whenever i get the chance. this fandom is dead af, at least as far as rp is concerned, so i'd love to try tossing him into some aus if anyone was game. also, someone give me a trapper to write him with, i'm begging you; i do also write trapper myself lmao so if you'd want to swap roles and try your hand at bernie, i'd be down, it's always great to see bernie get more love. )

clemens — d.racula/last voyage of the d.emeter ( i love him so much, and i have so many ideas. he starts hunting vampires in 1897 in london after encountering d.racula at sea, and i'd love for him to meet other kinds of supernatural beings, or maybe even vampires who aren't evil. i also like the idea of an age of sail situation, with supernatural shit involved or not. )

r. m. r.enfield — r.enfield/d.racula ( one of my favorite underrated characters ever, and one i've spent copious amounts of time creating backstory and headcanons for. now that i've moved him from his own blog to here, i'd love to continue exploring him through rp. i'd love period threads, or threads set in the modern day; let him meet non-evil vampires, let him explore more of the supernatural world in general. be his roommate, idk. hell, let him be a muse's familiar but in a not toxic way! i have so many ideas and verses for this weirdo. )

sam singh-benford — r.esident e.vil oc ( sam is an oc i'm very proud of, and i'll always jump at the chance to write him more often. his passion as a photojournalist and his connections get him into a lot of dangerous places, and sometimes into a lot of trouble, but i love his resilience and determination to reveal the truth. he can easily cross paths with a lot of re muses, canon or other ocs. i guarantee you, he'll find a way lmao. )

past

f.itzwilliam d.arcy — p.ride and p.rejudice ( i loved writing this socially awkward man lmao. it was through this muse that i met some people i still talk with to this day, and one good friend i even still rp with on this blog. i know it's sacrilege, but i used his zombies verse the most, since t.wd fandom was really big, as well as re, and i enjoyed it so much. idk if i'll ever revisit him as a muse, but he helped me grow my writing immensely. )

s.am l.oomis — h.alloween ( i've written him on-and-off for years. we're off again at the moment because i didn't find many people interested in interacting with him at this point in time, but he might reappear if that changes. regardless, eventually, he always comes back lmao. )

d.avid c.ollins — the g.uest ( a niche muse that i'd bring back in a heartbeat tbh. the friend i wrote him with left tumblr rp, and i tried making verses for him in other fandoms, but no interactions ever really stuck. i still have long headcanon posts for him in my drafts here and a lot of interest in rping him again whether in canon or other verses, but i understand that people aren't always interested in writing with muses from a fandom they're not in. maybe someday! )

possible future

e.ddie b.rock/v.enom — m.arvel ( they're two separate characters, but i'm sticking them here together anyway bc of course i am. i haven't written either of them in a long time, but the muse is musing lmao. i like writing them together or apart, and i'd honestly be open to writing eddie against a v.enom or v.enom against an eddie, i feel like that would be really fun. i'm not 100% if i'm bringing them to this blog, but i'm currently removing a few muses i'm not using so there will be room...... )

k.anan j.arrus — s.tar w.ars ( i thought about adding back he and zeb together, but ultimately just brought zeb back for now. i think i want to reread the k.anan comics before i truly consider writing him again. )

f.iyero t.igelaar — w.icked ( this is a big maybe. this is my favorite musical and i'd like to write a muse i love from it, but idk if i'm going to at this moment. i am Unsure. )

fantasy oc ( sort of want to try rping with my fantasy oc. he'd obviously fit into a generic fantasy setting, but also l.otr, w.itcher, d.nd, d.ragon a.ge, even h.ellboy. we'll see. )

tagged by: @dhampiravidi ( thanks so much! ) tagging: @paramoira @amused-bouche @gotnowhereelsetogo @halliwellauto

@ofrcgency @timeguardians @dynastymuses + whoever else wants to do this.

#( you're just supposed to list muses )#( it was me who added all the rambling lmao )#( i'm the problem it's me )#( so please don't feel like you need to add anything beside the names just bc i can't shut tf up )#( also please take this as an invitation to come to me about any of these muses )#( i promise i'll be happy to yell about them )#╰ ––––––– ✧ OOC ˙

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ao3feed-piltovers-finest · 25 days ago

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Lessons in Pleasure

by Ragingsparrow

Caitlyn never goes out. It just simply wasn’t her. Ever since the ripe old age of five, she had been taught by her mother that school was the most important things in her life. She did not have friends, did not go out, and did not—under any circumstances–have sex.

But now Caitlyn is in college and she realizes what she has been missing out on. While she was stuck at home reading textbooks, everyone else had partied and hooked-up. At first, she shames those who participate in such activities, but when she overhears her long-time crush Maddie talk about how she likes someone with experience, Caitlyn decides to dip her toe in the thing that she always avoided: sex.

Except she has no idea what she’s doing. She’s never even had her first kiss. So she decides to enlist the school’s most notorious fuck-boy: Vi Lanes. Vi resigns herself to becoming Caitlyn Kirammans sex coach, agreeing to the deal so she could be tutored in science. But when the lessons start working a little too well, they both must determine if it is just the coaching that makes them inextricably drawn to each other—or something else

Words: 4398, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Arcane: League of Legends (Cartoon 2021)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/F, F/M, Gen

Characters: Caitlyn (League of Legends), Vi (League of Legends), Mel Medarda, Jinx (League of Legends), Jayce (League of Legends), Viktor (League of Legends), Maddie Nolen, Ekko (League of Legends), Vander (League of Legends), Cassandra Kiramman, Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s), Original Characters

Relationships: Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends), Jayce (League of Legends)/Mel Medarda, Ekko/Jinx (League of Legends), Caitlyn & Vi (League of Legends), Caitlyn & Jinx (League of Legends), Caitlyn (League of Legends) & Mel Medarda, Caitlyn & Jayce (League of Legends), Jinx & Vi (League of Legends), Ekko & Vi (League of Legends), Caitlyn (League of Legends)/Maddie Nolen

Additional Tags: Kissing Lessons, Lesbian Sex, Lesbian Character, Useless Lesbians, Gay Caitlyn (League of Legends), Gay Vi (League of Legends), Oral Sex, Sex, Gay Sex, Alternate Universe - College/University, College, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Canon Lesbian Character, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Smut, Eventual Smut, Shameless Smut, Gratuitous Smut, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Relationships, Fluff and Angst, Fluff, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Fluff, Funny, This Is STUPID, Love Confessions, Idiots in Love, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Falling In Love, Uptight Caitlyn, Caitlyn is annoying at first, Caitlyn is mean at first, Character Development, Vi is a Little Shit (League of Legends), Caitlyn is in love with Vi (League of Legends), Vi is in love with Caitlyn (League of Legends), Mel Medarda is an icon, We hate Maddie Nolen, Bad Parent Cassandra Kiramman

Read on A03. from AO3 works tagged ‘Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends)’

#ao3feed-piltovers-finest #a03feed-piltovers-finest #caitvi #arcane (league of legends) fanfiction

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maribatserver · 7 months ago

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Tag Team Tournament 2024

We're back for another year of good old fashioned fandom fun! This year the Tag Team Tournament will take place from Sunday, July 28th - Saturday, August 3rd, so make sure to save the date and get started on your projects early!

We've got some fun things planned this year, but we're also making some changes to how we're running the event this year! For the full rules and guidelines, check out our Event Guide Document, now newly revised for 2024! The short version is that we've changed some of our scoring to remove certain exploitable flaws that were exposed last year, clarified submission guidelines, added new ways to earn bonus points, and changed our team lineup!

Now, last year we had a very popular Shipping Bracket to determine who our eighth team would be, but this year we decided that we wanted out lead up event to better help you all prepare for this year's event. Also, @nottesilhouette asked really, really nicely for last year's runner up ship to get a chance in the Tournament, and how could we tell them no?

This year, our teams are:

Seamless Spin - Cassandra Cain x Marinette Dupain-Cheng

3's Company - Any Poly Ship

Rare Flair - Any Ship Without A Team

Lucky Shot - Roy Harper x Marinette Dupain-Cheng

Spandex Flex - Dick Grayson x Marinette Dupain-Cheng

Art Couple - Damian Wayne x Marinette Dupain-Cheng

Java Junkies - Tim Drake x Marinette Dupain-Cheng

Book Design - Jason Todd x Marinette Dupain-Cheng

We are super excited for this year's Tag Team Tournament, and we hope that you're excited too! To help you get in the creative spirit, and to hopefully inspire you with ideas, @newdog14 assembled playlists for each of our teams, which will be published one by one over the next few months. She got the idea for this after assisting with this year's Jasonette July Calendar Playlist, organized by @mochegato & @izanae, which we also encourage you to participate in.

Oh, and one more thing. We have heard that for some folks, particularly those who are responsible for small humans, the summertime is apparently not filled with an abundance for free time. So we thought we'd go ahead and give you all a little more to go on for your prep work this year, and as such we'll be publishing all of our prompts early this year, so be sure to keep an eye on our blog on Sundays going forward.

Many thanks to @newdog14, @nottesilhouette, and @izanae for their hard work in preparing this event. From brainstorming prompts to designing team logos to coding spreadsheets to tolerating certain people's tyrannical playlist standards, there's a lot of work that goes into an event this big! And thank you to everyone who has participated in this event, and to those who plan to participate this year. We could never pull this off without you!

#maribat #mlb x dc #maribat server #maribat event #tag team tournament #ttt 2024 #dc x mlb #maribat discord server

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axkirak · 2 months ago

Text

The Curse of Cassandra [EP : XIII]

Read in Ao3 : here

Pairings : Qimir x f!reader(SEA Reader) [The Acolyte]

Content Rating : Mature 18+ Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warning (AT YOUR OWN RISK)

tags/themes : Alternate Universe - Dune & Star wars, Partners in Crime, Strangers to Lovers

Summary : The last bloodline of House Atreides is about to reach its own conclusion. Both Yord and you understand what lies ahead and are ready to do whatever it takes to protect each other, even if it means one of you may have to sacrifice their life.

Status: just finished writing this fic! (It will end in Episode 14)

A/N : Just one chapter left until the end, and I'm feeling sad to see that many have stopped reading my fic. It's been tough to stay motivated to continue, but I want to finish what I've started. I hope those who are still following along are enjoying the story. Thank you for sticking with me

Ps.If you enjoy my work, please reblog it. Just liking the post won’t help others discover it.

➡ Intro // EP : 1 // EP : 2 // EP : 3 // EP : 4 // EP : 5 // EP : 6 // EP : 7 // EP : 8 // EP : 9 // EP : 10 // EP : 11 // EP : 12 // EP : 14 (Completed)

Special OS : Phantom Thread

[Episodes 13] Here I am, here I remain.

"Run away with me."

You aren't particularly surprised to find Yord standing at your doorstep in the early evening; however, his sudden plea still manages to catch you off guard.

Yord is still panting, one hand gripping the doorframe tightly. His face glistens with sweat dripping from his forehead, a sign of how hard he must have pushed himself to rush here. His wide eyes looking at you reflect a whirlwind of emotions—anxiety, concern, and anger.

"You don't have to do this," Yord says, his voice serious as he continues when you remain silent. "Those plans are complete nonsense! How desperate do they have to be to drag you into such madness?"

Ah, so he knows everything, you think to yourself, assuming it was likely Jackie or Sol who told him.

The plan Yord refers to is Sol’s secret scheme, a final attempt after repeated failures to capture the new Sith Lord. It involves using you as both bait and a means to force Qimir into revealing himself.

Qimir is an unparalleled assassin known for his perfection, having never left any evidence or shown any vulnerability that could lead to his capture. The Jedi call him ‘The Stranger,’ a faceless phantom, an identity-less shadow. No one knows who he is, when he will appear, or who his next victim will be.

Until now, only you and Sol know about Qimir's past, but even that hasn’t helped solve the case. All records of his time as a Padawan were erased long ago, and Vernestra, who could have confirmed everything, is dead.

The final solution comes down to you. Your visions and the deep connection you share with Qimir are the only keys Sol believes can stop him.

You remember when Sol came to you personally to discuss the plan. You sensed the weight of his desperation and the pressure he was under to make this choice, despite the warnings you had already given him.

In your vision, Sol wasn’t even a match for Qimir. The chances of him throwing his life away in this plan were dangerously high.

Yet, despite knowing this, Sol remained determined.

"Perhaps this is the only way I can atone for what I did at Brendok," he told you in a calm voice, his eyes reflecting his weariness. "We all have sins to repay and fates we cannot escape. Let me face mine as a Jedi."

His words took root in your heart. You knew that fate wasn't just pursuing Sol—it was after you as well.

Your thoughts return to the present. You turn away, unable to meet Yord’s eyes. "It’s impossible," you finally reply, trying to keep your voice steady, but the words come out in a trembling whisper. "You're a Jedi Knight, Yord. You can't throw everything away for me."

"Fuck the Jedi and the Sith! They don’t even care if you live or die!"

You flinch. You’ve never seen Yord explode with such rage before.

Noticing your reaction, Yord realizes he's let his emotions spiral out of control. He wipes a hand over his face, taking a deep breath to calm the fury still simmering within.

“Please, I’m begging you... just come with me,” his tone softens, shifting from anger to a plea. “There’s still time for us to run. I’ll make sure no one finds you. You’ll be safe with me. I swear.”

Yord grips your hand tightly, and you can feel the tremor in his hold. The Bene Gesserit training tells you immediately what’s behind it—he’s afraid. But afraid of what?

“This has nothing to do with you, Yord,” you say, feeling a pang of sympathy but not knowing how to comfort him. “But I’ve seen clearly… it’s impossible.”

You know that facing Qimir again is inevitable. Even if you fled with Yord now, it would only delay the inevitable. Eventually, Qimir will find you, and this path would lead Yord to a cruel, tragic end—something you would never allow to happen to your only living relative.

“But I’ve seen it too!” Yord blurts, still refusing to accept your decision. “I dreamt of you... of your death, at his hands. I won’t let that happen.”

His words don’t surprise you. Instead, you offer him a soft smile. The bond inherited from Paul Atreides stirs within your heart, prompting you to instinctively caress his cheek with loving concern.

"You may have just seen it for the first time, but I've seen it a thousand times," you say, weariness lacing your voice.

You’ve seen every choice, every possible outcome, and every death of your own—both in dreams and while awake. It feels as if you’ve lived through countless deaths, and the fear you once held has long faded into numb acceptance.

This is the torment of one doomed to see everything—a suffering no ordinary person could ever understand or endure.

"But death isn't the only path," you continue. "There are still many futures that can be changed, even if just slightly. But even a slight change can make all the difference. That's why I have to follow this plan."

"Then I’m coming with you," Yord insists.

You study the determination in his eyes under the temple’s dim light, realizing just how serious he is. "Yord, I’m not sure if..."

“You can’t stop me,” he interrupts, cutting you off as if he already knows what you’re thinking. “If you won’t go with me, then I’ll go with you.”

You want to argue, but you choose silence instead. You don't want him to come, yet you know that trying to stop him would be futile. Yord will do anything to stay by your side, to make sure you’re safe from every danger—even if it costs him his life.

And deep down, you know you’d do the same for him.

In that moment, both of you feel an unbreakable bond woven from a shared consciousness through the memories of your ancestors. The sibling love between Paul and Alia from the past intermingles with your own memories, merging into a blood bond that binds you both to your very souls.

Every path of fate and coincidence has intertwined to lead to this moment, where the last remnants of the Atreides bloodline stand before each other, waiting to take the final step toward the end of everything, together.

You press your lips tightly, your heart trembling with emotions too complex to name. Finally, you throw yourself into his arms. “I love you,” you whisper before pulling away.

Your unexpected action catches Yord off guard. He looks at you in surprise, noticing the silent fear in your eyes—the fear you refuse to voice and the fear he chooses not to ask about.

"I love you too," Yord replies, entwining his fingers with yours. In that instant, he feels as if the past and future have collapsed into one, compressing and enveloping both of you. His mind suddenly understands, without the need for explanation, that fate has already changed its course.

And though Yord can’t see visions as clearly as you do, he can still feel it…

...feel that this might be the last time he will ever see your face.

Eiram

Most of this planet is covered by vast oceans, with only a few forests deep within the islands. Scattered remnants of past disasters still litter the landscape—derelict houses crumbled by violent storms, massive trees left in unnatural positions, and the decaying remains of the Starlight Beacon, now completely covered in moss.

The ship lands silently on the beach of a deserted island. The ocean stretches behind them, dense forest lies ahead. It is peaceful and beautiful—an ideal spot for a tourist destination. Yet, Yord can’t shake the unease that gripped him the moment they arrived. Something feels wrong, but he can’t put his finger on why.

Yord tells himself it’s just the stress of the mission, but deep down, he knows it’s more. He’s sure you sense it too—the worry on your face confirms it.

“Are you all right?” Yord asks, his voice full of concern as he notices you dabbing a handkerchief to your bleeding nose.

He’s only recently learned that this always happens when you use your visions. You’ve told him it’s the price of defying nature—that each time you dive into heightened awareness, you pay the toll with your body. Yord feels sympathy for you, but there’s nothing he can do. He doesn’t have the power you do, and he has no idea how to ease the pain you endure.

“Not great, but I’ll manage,” you reply, your voice unusually cold as you nod at him. “Let’s keep going. We have a lot to deal with.”

Your gaze is steady as you look toward the wild forest ahead, the place where you told the Jedi The Stranger was hiding.

At that moment, Yord doesn’t catch the underlying meaning in your words or actions.

He doesn’t realize... until after it has already happened.

Why?

This thought races in Yord’s mind during his final moments of consciousness. His body slumps against a tree, completely immobile. Pain radiates in his head and back, and his vision slowly darkens. Yet he can still see you clearly. You stand above him with an expressionless face, holding the stun blaster—the very one he gave you for protection. It’s the same weapon you just used to shoot him from behind.

He furrows his brow, desperately trying to understand what just happened. What mistake led him to this situation?

His recent memories flash back to when the Jedi group, led by Sol and Jackie, ventured into the forest on your guidance. Yord had chosen to stay behind with you, ensuring your safety in case anything went wrong.

But they had unknowingly walked into the trap of a Sith Lord. None of them had suspected they were being watched the entire time—until the attack came suddenly when a tall man in a dark cloak lunged at them with a red lightsaber in hand. Though the man’s face was concealed beneath a strange helmet, Yord had known immediately who he was—The Stranger, the Sith Lord they had been chasing all along.

The battle erupted in a chaotic frenzy. Yord quickly realized how skilled Qimir was. His skills were no less than a master's, perhaps even beyond that. Despite being attacked simultaneously by multiple Jedi, Qimir maintained his defense steadily without flinching, countering with swift and powerful strikes. The brilliant red beam cut through the air with deadly precision. He moved too fast for anyone to keep up, and one by one, the Jedi fell before him, as if killing Jedi was no more than a simple task for him.

Yord could only watch in horror. Fear gripped his heart as he tightened his hold on his own lightsaber. In all his years as a Jedi Knight, he had never faced an opponent this terrifying.

“Yord! Get her out of here! Master and I will handle him!"

Jackie's shout snapped Yord back to his senses. He quickly grabbed your hand, taking advantage of the chaos to escape immediately. He wasn’t even sure which direction the ship was in—all he knew was that he had to get you as far away from Qimir as possible.

A deep instinct told him that if Qimir reached you, something terrible would happen.

Yord stopped running when you suddenly pulled your hand away from his. At first, he thought you were just exhausted from running, but before he could turn to check on you, an immense force slammed into him. His body was thrown violently and crashed hard against a tree, the impact knocking the wind out of him.

And now, here he is—helpless, barely conscious, and fading fast.

His mind races, but no answers come. His blurry eyes focus on you, filled with confusion. Gathering the last bit of strength he can muster, he manages to ask, “Why?”

You slowly kneel before him. For a brief moment, Yord sees guilt in your eyes, but it quickly fades back into cold indifference.

“Because of love,” you answer him. "That's why I had to do this. Please forgive me."

Your voice sounds distant and faint. Yord wants to ask more, but the darkness spreads too quickly, swallowing him whole and completely overtaking his consciousness.

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