#that has to be the angriest hes made me

[gifti3]

remembered the asmo cockblock scene once again

[orcelito]

oh,,,,

Brad referred to Wolfwood as Vash's "partner"

Oh.

[plusfuckingultra]

Now,

How.

How to address her.

A different kind of ache,

Of hurt.

The kind that I hate,

But thrive off of.

The kind I'm determined to move past,

Yet can't seem to rise above.

I smell her in the laundry sometimes,

In cheap dish soap.

I see her in the shows I watch,

And the anxiety they invoke.

It makes me weak.

You made me weak.

It makes me sick.

It made me sick.

You.

Make me sick.

[kisses4reid]

criminally hot | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

summary - you get wrongfully accused by a sheriff, and it isn’t you who’s angriest. it’s your boyfriend who has to expose your relationship in order to clear you.

genre - spencer x bau!fem!reader, fluff, slight angst if u squint, angry reid x calm reader

wc - 1.2k

warnings - reader uses she/her pronouns, handcuffs, violence, a weird white man i know id be fucking scared as well, oh swearing as well.

a/n - i love u you’re so awkward i am doing so well bc of ur request, keep requesting things your brain is crazy. ummm anyways this is my first time writing this kinda thing omg how exciting okay start reading it wtf you still doing here?

request - ( from @babyoureahauntedhouse ) omg hii!!! :3 this is my first time requesting, so please excuse the awkwardness 😭😭😭😭 first of all, how are you????? i hope you’re doing amazing!!! absolutely no pressure, but can you do one where reader gets falsely arrested (not a huge thing, maybe in a police station at a small town or something) and spencer absolutely **loses** his shit at how she’s being treated????? like, she’s freezing and the sheriff or somethjng keeps pushing her and then he just bursts into the interrogation room and uncuffs her and it’s just very fluffy???? thank you!

Emily handed you your coffee with a smile, receiving a small thank you in return. It was warm in your hands and created a comforting contrast to the cool chill of the police precinct you were set up in.

Things were going well given that you’d only been in the small town for half a day. The team debriefed on the plane, but Aaron had been on the phone with the leading detective for at least an hour now asking him where he was.

Emily headed off to the restrooms when a slender hand made its way to your waist. You turned and felt your cheeks heat, knowing exactly who is was.

“Hi Spencer.”

“Hi Y/n.” His eyes held sweetness in the chocolate swirls, and you felt like a kid who had been given candy. Spencer and you had been dating for a few months, but somehow in a team of profilers you both kept things under wraps, even with Spencer’s clumsy touches and your lingering stares. “I wish we were home,” he whispered.

You glanced around for anyone who could witness your interaction and get suspicious, but you were mostly alone other than Hotch and some officers who were weirdly taking a lot of attention to you.

“Yeah me too. I’m feeling oddly popular and not in the good way.”

Before you could talk more or offer him a sip of your coffee (even if you know he doesn’t like it), Aaron calls his name and the slim tall boy scurries away with a straight face.

You turn to find something to do. To reread a case, to help someone fill out papers, to talk to Morgan or Garcia. You would’ve opted to huddling in your cardigan if a tall man didn’t interrupt.

“Y/n L/n?” He asked in monotone. His arms were at his sides, one hovering above a pair of cuffs that hung from his police belt. Furrowing your eyebrows you answered,

“Yes? What’s wrong?”

“You’re under arrest for the robberies of…”

His voice pounded into the background of your head, thoughts attacking your eyes through a sudden headache as the words registered before you could help it. The room was silent except for the man’s voice, yet all you could hear was the furrow of eyebrows and quick approach of your boss, Aaron Hotchner.

“What’s going on here?”

“Your agent has been seen…”

You stood still as another officer came behind you and forced handcuffs onto your arms, gripping your wrists with unnecessary force that would surely leave bruises. You winced and looked between your boss and the officer, and then at Spencer, who was being pulled back by Morgan. He yelled your name in worry, witnessing the hardened grips on your body and rough pushing you were being subject to. Your coffee splattered on the ground, staining your white shoes.

There was only mumbles and white noise, as your eyes met with Spencer’s. The large officer behind you kicked your leg to get you moving, the shock glueing your shoes to the rubbery floor. And you almost didn’t even notice the hand on the back of your neck pushing you towards a dark room with a desk and two chairs.

You were so familiar with these rooms and yet it felt so different.

Of course, you didn’t actually do anything. And of course you attempt to clear that up to the officers who are slamming their hands on the table and screaming as much as they could, in a poor attempt to intimidate you.

Aaron was in the corner with a scolding face and hard hand to his chin, observing the situation with an intensity you barely ever see.

“Last month, you were seen at one of the houses that got robbed over night. You left a few days later, after also being seen at two of the other houses-“

“So she was seen at three of the ten houses robbed and you arrest her?” Aaron spoke up, bringing the men’s attention to your boss instead of you. You took the opportunity to look outside of the window.

Though it wasn’t clear, you could make out the outline of a tall boy you wished would just break into the room and save you.

And he did.

“Your evidence is illogical and childish. She’s an FBI agent for gods sake-“

“Anybody can be a suspect Agent Hotchner, even federal agents.” The tall one replied with a stubborn mumbled.

Suddenly, the door was slammed open and you were met with a disheveled Spencer panting with a red and severe face. He didn’t even bother looking at you before he starting schooling the men in blue, who at that point were glaring at him and attempting to look more intimidating than they actually were.

“I’ve read your files on this case and nothing links to Y/n L/n, not one-“

“There’s no way you read our-“

“I can read more in a minute than you can in a day, dickhead. Y/n was meeting old school friends when she was in town, we went to the Diner Inn afterwards and we met with her parents who have receipts for the meals because they’re-“ he turned his glance at you,” “sorry Y/n- they’re hoarders. You have nothing against her other than some positively reported visits and some photos of her hugging the house owners.” Spencer had slowly pinned the officers to the opposite wall unconsciously. It was hot. “I was there, I’m her receipt. And like her parents, she loves keeping those. So if you want to insist she’s your culprit, go for it. But your going against a man with eidetic memory and a lot of evidence.”

And while he was logical and correct, he was also a little too truthful.

The officers blinked in fear. Spencer definitely didn’t seem the type to yell or swear, so this clear, concise and undermining approach to the situation was somehow even scarier.

“Spencer,” you began, “thank you.”

He looked at you, his expression softening into empathy and care, “Of course.” His hands found a key in his back pocket as he approached you, starting to promptly uncuff you.

As Aaron continued to speak with the officers of their major mistake, Spencer took you outside of the room and into a private office. Your heart was racing, but it seemed Spencer was more stressed than you. He paced as you leaned onto the front of a wooden desk, hands over your chest as your eyes trailed Spencer.

“I’m sorry, Y/n. I should’ve reacted faster, then you wouldn’t have been..” He stopped closely in front of you, his breath hot on yours as his gaze scoured over your body for injuries or bruises. “Are you okay?”

You smile calmly, “I’m fine. My leg hurts, and I think my wrists will be bruised, but I’m fine.”

He took your hands and rubbed his thumbs on your wrists carefully, causing butterflies to explode in your stomach.

“Thank you Spencer.” Your eyes dance with each others. “You were really hot. Maybe I need to get arrested more often.” You joke with a lift to your voice and a smirk, causing him to look down with a smile and shake his head.

“If being angry makes me hot maybe you should reevaluate what you-“

Your lips found his, you hand going to his bicep and his going to the back of your neck, before a clearing of the throat took you both out of your trances. It was Hotch.

“I’ve got some paperwork you both need to sign. About the arrest and,” his hand waved between you two, “this.”

Morgan stood behind Aaron with a smirk, leaving quickly to go tell Garcia that she had lost their bet.

taglist: @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es

[feathered-serpents]

The angriest the live action Avatar show has made me is Pakku telling Katara women can’t fight and Aang… agreeing with him?????

In the animated show Pakku said Katara can’t fight and Aang was like “well Pakku’s fucking stupid” and taught Katara in secret. Never ONCE did Aang doubt Katara’s skills but here he goes “Nah don’t fight I can’t lose you” and it’s making me see RED

[storiesfromafan]

The Prank - Mattheo x Reader

A/N: I bring you all a Mattheo Riddle one-shot! I've been struggling with writing insporation for all my current works 😭 So please bear with me 💜

Prompt: “I’m going to break your arm like you broke my heart”

Pranks. A Slytherin's dangerous and destructive pass time. About 98% of the Slytherin house loved a good prank. The more damage – physical or emotional – the better. And the three best know Slytherin pranksters are Theodore Knott, Lorenzo Berkshire and Mattheo Riddle. They salivated it, and relished in it. Always trying to out do the others last prank.

Many have fallen subject to them, and a lot more in the cross-hairs too. Most Professors hate to have them in their classes because of their ways. And other Professors gave them detention before they’ve done anything. Many students even stayed clear. You being one of the few exceptions. For you were entangled with Mattheo, your loving boyfriend.

You put up with your boyfriends past time. You never stopped him, nor do you condone it. He was his own person, has his own mind. There was one time a prank dragged you in was when it involved a group, one of them being a good friend of yours. After that happened, you out your foot down. And so the three made sure to be more thoughtful, thinking it over before doing it.

It was early evening, just before dinner time. In the Slytherin common room, by one of the fires, was Theodore, Lorenzo and Mattheo. All three lounging around and talking shit. Shit about other students and Professors. It was all calm and leisurely.

That was until the common room door opened. And the loud stomps across into the landing atop the stairs leading down into the belly of the beast were heard. With the silence, those closest to the stairs heard a loud sigh or huff. Following it was the loudest, angriest voice. The pain in their voice sent chills down all to hears spines.

“MATTHEO RIDDLE!!” you yelled. Uncaring of how loud you were, or of your tone. You were furious, and hurt. Wanting blood.

Mattheo – who had been lounging on a couch – jumped, scurrying to sit up. He turned to look behind the chair, and to the stairs. Stomping down those stairs you finally came into view. The way you stood tall, face red and looked like you had been crying. That got Mattheo's attention. He fumbled to get up and move towards you. When you saw him you moved to him, meeting half way.

The fire in your eyes, the anger he could see clear as day. “I’m going to break your arm like you broke my heart!” your voice cold, and deadly.

Mattheo's blood ran cold. “H-huh?”

Your teary gaze darkened, drawing in on the boy before you. “You heard me!”

“L-love...” Mattheo sputtered. “I-I don’t know what’s going one?!”

You lifted a shaking fist, held tightly in it was parchment. You took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. Then you threw the crumpled parchment at Mattheo. He fumbled but caught it. Looking to the parchment and then back to you, confused on what it meant.

“How could you!” You half whined, half whimpered. “I thought I meant so much to you!?”

“You do love” Mattheo replied quickly.

“Then why? Why break up with me over parchment!?” you finally broke, voice dripping in anguish as the tears finally fell.

Mattheo's eyes widened. ��WHAT!? I didn’t love!!”

He continued to tell you how he hadn’t sent you a parchment message, nor did he break up with you. All the while you cried and argued with him. Back and forth you went. Mattheo trying to grab a hold of you, but you pushed his hands away. One thing led to another, and to the surprise of Mattheo and everyone in the common room, you slapped him.

You looked from Mattheo, to your hand. Shocked you had slapped the gorgeous boy. Shakily you took a breath and released it. Then you turned, talking off to your room. Tears still streaming down your face. Mattheo stood there shocked, cheek hurting from your actions.

He stepped forward, “(Y/N)!” Mattheo called, voice breaking and laced with confusion and hurt.

Then he heard it. A snigger. Which turned into a full on laugh. Turning on his heel, Mattheo was greeted to the sight of Theodore laughing like a lunatic. Lorenzo looking to the laughing male like he had a second head.

“O-oh man” breathed Theodore holding his sides. “T-the look on your face!”

Confusion marred Mattheo's face. His mind going over everything, eventually putting the dots together. Your hurt and anger, the parchment and Theodore’s delight and laughter. Now he got it. His friend pranking him.

“You!” Mattheo growled. “W-why!? Why’d you do it!?”

Theodore’s laughter died down, a shit eating grin upon his lips. “Paybacks a bitch, right?”

Ah yes. Just a week ago Mattheo had pranked Theodore. It was when he was chatting up a girl he’d been eyeing for a while now, a girl he contemplated turning his back on his playboy ways for. But in came Mattheo. Causing havoc with his prank, that lead to that girl getting angry with his friend, and not talking to him since. Along with detention for the disruption that came to the classroom.

Mattheo saw red. Ready to lung at his friend but Lorenzo got to him first. Holding him back, talking to him. Somehow he got through to Mattheo, who took off towards the dorms. He had to get you to talk to him.

Lorenzo turned back to the pleased Theodore. “Really? You couldn’t have just did something that would get him detention?”

Theodore thought about it. “Nuh. Plus, he’s no fun since he’s been tied down".

Lorenzo rolled his eyes before walking away from his friend. He wasn’t going to support this. Not one bit. “Just remember" he threw over his shoulder. “Mattheo won’t take this lightly...”

That sobered up Theodor. “S-shit...”

[downwiththemutantnjnjaturtles]

Raphael's First Love—A Talk With Splinter

part of the First Love Talk miniseries!

sfw 💫 word count: 1.2k

The old metronome in the corner of the dojo ticked on incessantly as Raphael sat in indignant silence with Master Splinter. After four outbursts, a fight with Leonardo, and days of distance, Splinter had put his foot down and called his son in for a talk about his behavior. Beneath his stern exterior, Splinter was concerned.

"Raphael, explain yourself," Splinter demanded with a calm voice, treading a thin line with his angriest son's temper. Not out of fear—Splinter could and would easily put the giant back in his place even as an old rat. That was no issue. "What has gotten into you?"

Weeks of this crap, that's what, thought Raph bitterly. Weeks of feeling sick to his stomach every time she was around, trying to put up a good front and getting embarrassed by himself or his brothers; he felt stupid. Weak. Utterly at her mercy, and she didn't even know. Good. I don't want her to. Splinter gave him a skeptical eye. He shifted his position multiple times, uncomfortable and trying to look casual. Grunted dismissively. But he knew his father was not going to take that for an answer. He let out a scoff, dodging eye contact, "Things gettin' under my shell like usual."

"But not like usual, because you are worse-off than usual," observed Splinter.

His mental health was actively declining the more he deliberated on the pang in his heart he felt when he thought about her. It made his guts twist to think about why he was so angry, why he was even afraid of her, deep down. The last thing he ever wanted to admit to himself, let alone Splinter, was that he cared what she thought. A lot.

Too much.

All of his brothers seemed so confident, and yet he was self-conscious. Why? Why do I gotta be like this?!

Raph shrugged. "You know me, master. Comes with the whole package, whether all of you like it or not." He was already moody, prone to rapidly-changing emotions. That was never a guess, it was a given. "Look, I'll do us a favor and just end this convo now—I ain't in a bad way. And Leo needs to stay in his lane comin' to you over a little fight." He started to get up, leave the terrible silence of the training room and that god awful ticking metronome. Splinter jabbed his cane into his plastron, knocking him back, and then brought it down hard on his foot. Raph yelped and stumbled down, quickly reassuring his seated position.

"Enough!" Splinter barked. "Sit, Raphael."

Splinter had his full attention, now. The top of his foot ached dully.

Raph was seething on the inside. On the outside, he slumped over his knee, hiding his face behind his thick forearm.

This was all her fault. If she hadn't fallen—literally crashed—into their lives, he would be fine. There would be no question about what to do or what he was feeling. It was always them and the shadows—no people, no complications. He always knew that would never be accepted despite craving it with every ounce of his being. Why change that? Why suddenly bring more emotions into the mix? Before her, it was all straightforward. Now, he worried if he was too brutish, too much of a freak, if his normal habits weren't so "normal". He didn't want to feel like he was under one of Donnie's microscopes, with her eye looking through the lens.

Splinter furrowed his gray brow at him, resting his hands on his cane. "This is about your self esteem, is it not?" he questioned carefully. Prying.

"You couldn't know anything about it!" Raph shouted back. He swung his hand as he spoke. "I'm a six-foot turtle, there's no changing it! No changing me!"

Sighing a light breath, Splinter closed his eyes. This was going to be the challenge for the day. No day was without its challenges. He recentered his thoughts, looking for a different angle. He wanted to speak his son's language.

"Correct, there is no changing you."

Raph stuttered on his response as his face fell almost imperceptibly, but Splinter knew every minute expression of his kids.

If she knows, I'm done for. Raphael's mind was swirling and his thoughts were reaching dead-ends left and right. There was no changing. No hope? He couldn't tell. He'd given up before he'd even tried. Because like his weapon, he was defensive, and did everything possible to protect what? Himself. His big, soft heart in there that needed some serious attention. The thought of telling her made him want to hurl. But like a moth to a flame, he kept coming right back to her, torturing himself with "what-if's" and doubts he had all the while.

"What do you want me to say, Splinter?" Raph spat with a low voice.

"I want you to be honest with yourself," Splinter replied.

Raph poked the tip of his sai into the mat before him, digging it into the material. "Okay, I'll bite," he said, "what do you think I'm lyin' about? Huh?"

He already knew the answer to that. It was everything; he rejected the shyness he felt inexplicably when she was around. He felt dirty next to her, or if he accidentally touched her, it was an ordeal. Because he was a mutant and she was a human. Out of all of her pick of people, he never could have been at the top of her list. He doubted he even made the list as an option.

Knowing Raphael was lying then, too, Splinter simply lifted his chin at him, and waited for the real answer.

The silence was getting to be too much for him. He jammed his sai into the mat, stabbing through it. But in his face was sadness, not anger. He finally admitted, "I just want to be accepted. Even just by her." Fiddling with his sai, he averted his eyes to stare at something random next to him, adding quietly, a little bashfully: "Aaaaaand sometimes I think Leo has a…better shot than me. That's why we were fightin'. I went nuts because he was gettin' along with her and it made me feel some stuff I don't want to feel."

There it was, thought Splinter, bingo. "Well, you are certainly not the first young man to make a fool of yourself over a girl."

"Master, I don't even know what to do with myself. How am I ever gonna know what to do with her?"

"The first step would be to stop ruining my mat," Splinter said as he bonked his son's head with the end of his cane, irked that he was creating a hole in it with his sai. Raph quickly tucked his weapon away. He muttered an apology. Splinter cleared his throat before continuing. "The second step would be for you to face your fears, Raphael. Accept them, conquer them. You are as you are—what humanity thinks of you is not your concern. You know who you are. I would like to think that [y/n] does as well."

Raph shifted, uncomfortable. "Yeah, I don't think she does. I don't really…"

She was all too kind, beautiful, and smart; a deadly, terrifying combination, in his predicament. He'd been plagued with dreams of being with her night after night. Not worrying about a single thing until the moment he woke up—he was stressing every morning. His anxieties always seemed to curse him cropping up in his dreams; not even in sleep could he escape her sphere of influence.

Placing a gentle hand on Raphael's shoulder, Splinter looked down at him, "Then, you show her who you really are. Raphael."

[trans-axolotl]

content note: discussion of suicide.

this next monday will be the six year anniversary of losing one of my friends to suicide.

when he died, my high school barely mentioned his death, even though for other students who died by things like car crashes or illness, there were so many public expressions of grief. they believed that having any memorials for a student who died by suicide would encourage other people to die the same way. in their rush to erase the circumstances of his death, they erased the memory of his life.

there are so many things i am angry at that high school about in terms of how they treated mental health (mandatory reporting and collaborating with cops, their refusal to recognize the ways in which that system led to peer-to-peer crisis support, their refusal to recognize the ways that trying to keep each other alive through trial and error was scary and exhausting, carceral disciplinary policies, etc etc etc). but i think one of the things i am still angriest about is the way they enforced shame around his death. it felt like they were retroactively blaming him for the constellation of circumstances that made suicide an option in his life. it felt like they were blaming those of us who missed him and cared about him and wanted to grieve him. it made those of us still there who were actively suicidal feel even more scared about the reaction if we did reach out for help from one of those mythical safe adults.

as an adult now involved in psych abolition/mad liberation work, it makes me so fucking mad to see the ways in which he was discarded by people in authority positions. and the older i get, the more options i have found in my life for making sense of the world and finding healing and community and support which were never available to him because he died when he was 16 and the only things offered to him were a carceral psychiatric system that blamed him for his own fucking death. it feels so incredibly unfair.

i miss him and i think i always will; i can't remember his laugh or the sound of his voice or his favorite color any more and that aches. this grief is so heavy and it feels harder in a new way each year, when i become older than he will ever be. sometimes meeting new comrades or seeing new anticarceral suicide support models hurts because i wish so fucking bad that we had that back then. i remember how close we came to losing even more people that year and i know it is simple fucking luck that i'm still here when he's not.

i remember another letter (never sent) that i wrote to a friend while they were in an ICU bed after a suicide attempt when i didn't know if they would live or not. i have spent so much time in the past 10 years begging for anything to keep me and my friends alive, but even in that letter i knew that there is so much fucking violence that is hidden beneath psychiatric logics of cure and safety that promise a "solution" to suicide. I knew that institutionalization, coercion, and shame would not have helped build a life more liveable for him or **** or any of the people i've loved and lost since.

there needs to be more fucking options for care and support that aren't so incredibly cruel to suicidal people. i know so many people doing incredible work in alternatives, peer respite, a million different frameworks for healing and liberation. but it makes me so mad every day i have to live in a world where there are still people restrained, locked up in psych wards, having all autonomy and personhood taken away from them. knowing there are dozens of people every day getting blamed for their deaths the same way he was blamed for his.

i miss him. i cared so fucking much for him. and he died by suicide, and all of those things are true. he has been dead for 6 years and he lived before that and the people who loved him want to remember all of him; our celebrations of his life should not require hiding the way that he died.

Image description: [1000 origami cranes in all different colors and patterns that are tied together in strings of 25]

(these were the 1000 cranes we made to give to his parents, in memorial and recognition of how much he meant to us.)

[lectern-fullcauldron]

the thing about joe hills, at least for me, is that once you're accustomed to Joe's streams, no other streaming style is compatible.

let me explain. Joe, last I heard, has over 4000 unread messages from people asking to be unbanned. the ban hammer falls heavy, the ban hammer falls firm.

the angriest I've ever heard Joe was during a section where he stopped playing minecraft to give an extended speech about the importance of no platforming facists, about recognising dogwhistles, and making sure the community he's built is protected from those that could harm it.

Joe mods his own streams - except on special occasions where he'll pay a moderator to look after chat when Joe is busy.

and because Joe is self modding, the stream often moves with chat. Joe reads what we say, and because he has both discord and YouTube chats (rip twitch chat), he'll read aloud messages for different chats to hear. and so you learn names in Joe's chat. you say howdy to regulars (or ahoy) and the chat moves slow enough to say howdy back.

there is no spamming in Joe Hills' chat. No all caps. No strings of emojis. Chat moves slowly, and legibly so that we can read and consider and talk to one another.

The rules are engraved on the doors to the chat, and we all know them, once we've been there long enough. And they're good rules. Incredibly good rules. people who break them are often timed out so that they can read the rules and consider where they messed up before trying again.

One rule I appreciate most is the one that bans mentions of like counts, or view counts. The stream ethos is to not get neurotic about numbers, to not make Joe neurotic about youtube metrics that make no financial impact.

I cannot be in a stream, now, where the streamer is obsessed with their view count, and says things like 'im not starting till we have five hundred likes on the stream or I have a hundred thousand subscribers.' I can't do it.

the Joe Hills community is the place I've felt most comfortable on the internet. It is a space that you can tell is over ten years in the making. Joe has consistently made choices about his YouTube career that conform to the ethics he voices.

His stream has no 'real' dynamic overlay so that people can know they don't have to commission graphics and music and alerts to be a successful streamer. He often has a microphone out of his office window so that we can hear the birds singing. His camera grows and the abacus beads clack whilst the beetlejhost suit waits just out of sight.

Joe Hills is filmed before a live streaming audience (that's us!)

[celaenaeiln]

so my friend, at 12 am, called me just to say that dick grayson is the only one in his family that bruce truly views as an equal and then hung up. what. what do i do.

well, call them back and tell 'em they're right 😂😂😂

I started cackling so hard I began wheezinggg oh my god that's hilarious!!!

But maybe for a more reasonable time to talk about this concept after you wake/have woken up from your dick grayson cameo dreams, I'll drop some comic panels

Dick is privy to all of Bruce because of the way Bruce treats him like an equal

He lets Dick in on secrets that he doesn't tell any of the others

I've made a post before on how Clark views Dick as his equal just as Bruce views Dick as his equal.

I'm going to drop the Bruce segment here:

When Bruce was gone the only person he entrusted any information to was Dick. He left a personalized - voice activated - message for Dick and only him that lists his worries, faults, and regrets.

"The girl, Cassandra Cain... I told her to give this file to you should I fall tonight."

"She's my greatest sin, Dick. My deepest regret. Stay alive, and please. Try to forgive me--"

He lists his insecurities to Dick as friend, as an equal.

Of everyone Bruce left behind, the only person Bruce left a message for was Dick. He relies on him unconditionally to take over because Bruce doesn't seem him as a kid like he does with the other - don't get me wrong, he still values and knows just how brilliant the rest of his children are - but he sees Dick as an equal in terms of intelligence, abilities, and leadership. Actually -

Bruce puts Dick on a pedestal.

He views Dick as the golden standard of everything he's working toward.

The reason I think Bruce is so harsh on Dick in regards to training is he doesn't see him as a kid that needs protection, he seems him equal to himself.

Time and time again he sends Dick on solo missions because of the faith he has in Dick's abilities and intelligence

In another comic there's an Arkham breakout and Bruce just. He just sends sends Dick on a solo mission to contain the entirety of Arkham and the villains inside by himself.

And Dick does. Effortlessly.

The fight for Spyral

"I know the other heroes. I know them all. I'd have them do it, but they can't. They'd fight, but eventually they'd give up, they'd give in."

We all know that Bruce despises himself when he fails at something. He thinks he's the best in the world and struggles to cope with the idea that he failed. As such, Bruce views Dick as an extension of himself. Unlike with the kids where he acknowledges their differences and treats them like children, Dick and Bruce are so intertwined that Bruce considers Dick as the "good part" of himself while Bruce is the "bad part".

He gets the angriest at Dick during times where Dick disagrees with him because he believes that Dick should understood what he's going through and what he believes in. For his part, Dick is always on Bruce's side and acts like Bruce's leash. He'll let Bruce do anything he wants as long as it's within the limits of acceptable behavior. Once Batman crosses those limits, Dick fights with him to bring him back.

As such, Bruce doesn't differentiate himself with Dick. He is the best and as a result so is Dick. Except in his mind Dick is better than him in every way possible and he took the steps to ensure it through training.

One of the reasons people in the comics call Dick the Golden Child is because he's the living embodiment of everything Bruce strived to create. It's not because he follows his orders religiously or anything. No, Dick just gives Bruce a longer leash than most.

In the Spyral fight I think he hits Dick because he is in part frustrated with himself. Imagine seeing someone you have unconditional faith in because you know they're capable of the very same things as you and can even surpass you fall to a threat. Doesn't that mean you would've fallen too? Is their failure just as much yours if you see yourself as a god? But how can a god-like being fall?

Their relationship is complicated because while Bruce sees Dick as his own person, he also sees him as the reflection of his success.

That's why Bruce is harsher on Dick than the rest of the kids. That's why Bruce makes Dick his right hand man. That's why Bruce shares his sorrows, fears, and vulnerabilities to Dick.

The way they interact, they view each other as father and son but with all the roles and responsibilities as partners.

Dick's compartmentalization and the way he mothers Bruce and Bruce allows it? He doesn't let anyone do that. I feel like on some level he subconsciously expects Dick to take care of him. As someone he can turn to with his worst and darkest sides and still be loved and appreciated and told everything will be alright. It's not a burden he places on the rest of his kids. Which is why Dick's relationship with Bruce straddles the line between son and guardian with him playing both roles and Bruce reacting/ forcing him to react that way.

Also

"Robin fuctions as support."

"Robin wasn't your idea, Bruce! It was mine! I sat in your cave and I watched you and I learned-- and when you needed my help I was there!"

"I'm not your employee, I'm not your son. I'm your partner."

One thing that differentiates Dick's robin from the other robins is that while the other Robins were worried about meeting Bruce's expectation, Dick was more worried about Bruce not seeing him as an equal. He ran away from home because he was mad that Bruce was becoming more controlling and not at all like how they used to be - partners.

There's a reason Dick is the only one Bruce views as his equal. It's because the experiences they've shared have woven them so tightly together that Bruce considers Dick his better half and pillar of strength. If he falls back, he can rely on Dick to take over. Emotionally and physically.

Still laughing at your friend lol. Wild

[noemilivv]

Request: You know that scene from The Show must go on with Charlie and Vaggie singing the reprise of "More Than Anything" On the night before the battle? Well can you do that but with Husk and his s/o with the two either singing or talking about how much has happened but they’ll always stand by each other’s side even if they’re freaking terrified about the outcome of it all and saying the word “I love you” for the first time in the process

ofc i can do that!! this is so cute and husk has my heart so haha

Warnings: Reader basically takes Angel’s place in this, Mentions of Drinking, Mentions of Death, Mentions of War

“More Than Anything”

“I guess you really have changed.” Husk said, giving you a soft smile.

“Hey.. Charlie said we could live tonight however we wanted.” You started, smiling back at him, “So pour me a fresh one, and let’s get to living!”

You watched as Husk crossed over to the other side of the bar to prepare your drink, you let out a dreamily sigh that felt like it was being held in forever.

Husk had only entered your life a few mere months ago, but you don’t think you’ve ever cared for someone so…lovingly.

Truth be told, you didn’t know how far this would go, if he even felt the same, hell, if you both even survived tomorrow. But you didn’t care.

When you were with Husk, it felt like you could be the weirdest, saddest, happiest, angriest, silliest, and most fucked up version of yourself without judgement. And…it was a little strange.

Hell wasn’t the kindest place to you, and neither was your life on Earth, but that didn’t matter.

Husk would be there to put all the broken pieces of your heart back together, sure, they were only binded by mere pieces of figurative glue or tape, but even with the most crappy materials that belonged in a kindergarten classroom, Husk would be able to put it together good as new.

After a short conversation with Husk, you went over to Charlie and hugged her, thanking her for everything the hotel has given you. It looked like she was about to cry right then and there.

While you were at it, you went over to Pentious, thanking him for being one of your closest friends while at the hotel, and wished him good luck in the battle, and good luck winning Cherri’s heart, patting him on the back before you left.

Then… you snuck off. You stood against the wall, feeling tears prick in your eyes, little did you know a certain cat approached you.

“You snuck away.” He stated. “What happened?” He asked, coming over to your side, leaning against the wall.

Neither of you made eye contact, instead you both just stared at the other side of the wall.

“I’m just so scared…” You mumble, your voice cracking, the water works spilling out of your eyes.

You wiped your eyes, trying to stop hiccups from escaping your lips, “What if we lose?”

Husk sighed, bitting his lip, he wasn’t ready to say this, but this could possibly be the last chance he had to do so, “Then at least I’ll die with you by my side.”

Your head whipped around to face him, surely you heard him wrong! “Huh? Wha— What do you mean?”

He took a breath in, turning to his body completely to face you, “I… I know this is sudden, but if I die tomorrow, if you die tomorrow, I need you to know that you made me a better man.” Husk said, looking into your eyes, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“If tomorrow, one of us is gone, you need to know I love you more than anything.” Husk whispered, holding your face in his paws.

Your foreheads connected, feeling eachothers hot breath on your face, and all you could do, is lean in, and kiss the man who made you feel whole again.

[tropes-and-tales]

Care and Comfort

CW:  Richie being Richie, swearing. Angst and fluff. Mentions of Mikey's death and addiction.

Word Count:  2070

AN:  Requested by an anonymous person!

February 22.

It’s a tough day.  You’ve been with Richie long enough now—two years—to know what the date means.  What it is the anniversary of.  You came into Richie’s life after Mikey exited it, but you knew enough of your boyfriend’s best friend. 

What a charming, larger-than-life man he was.  Mikey Berzatto.  Mikey Bear.  Charismatic.  Filled the room with his presence, his stories, his ability to make a person feel like the most important person in the world.

Also an addict.  Also, probably, a narcissist. 

So it’s a tough day for Richie.  Mikey’s suicide blew a hole in the lives of those who loved him, and Richie loved Mikey like a brother.  Two years out from his death, Richie is no closer to any real closure:  he misses his friend.  He loves his friend.  He hates his friend for what he did, all the shitty behavior before he finally made a choice that couldn’t be taken back.

February 22 is the day that Richie’s feelings break loose like a storm.  He rages, he goes sulky and quiet.  He gets mad at Mikey, and because Mikey isn’t there, he lashes out at those closest to him.

You, namely.

But you can handle it.  What sort of girlfriend would you be if you didn’t help him weather these hard days?  Because you know, deep down, the person Richie is angriest at is himself:  that he didn’t see it coming, that he didn’t do more to help his friend.

-----

Your first year together, Richie was snappish.  He tried to start fights with you all day, and you—not understanding him completely—were too bewildered to rise to any bickering.  Your confusion took the fire out of him, and he spent the rest of the day maudlin, full of apologies, rife with terribly negative self-talk.

This year? 

This year, Richie is just sad.

He stays in bed past noon.  He gets up around one in the afternoon, wanders out into the living room of your shared apartment, then promptly plants himself beside you on the couch.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, soft.  You glance at him, take in the red-rimmed eyes, the deep lines etched between his brows.

He answers with a grunt, a non-committal noise.

“Hungry?”

Another grunt, and this one sounds sort of like a no or a nah.  A beat later, though, you hear the snarl of his stomach, and you laugh softly at it.

“Let me make you something.”

That, at least, earns you a grumble, a string of unintelligible words, but he doesn’t object when you stand up and make your way to the tiny kitchen.

-----

You’re no Carmy, and you’re no Sidney.  You’re no Tina or Marcus or Ebra.

Still, you can hold your own as a home chef.  You had a mother and a father who cooked, who taught you how to fry a chicken breast, how to make a simple fresh pasta, how to roast a piece of beef or pork.

So you can’t do a Hamachi crudo or a lamb ragu, but you can do comfort food.  Food that sticks to the ribs and warms a person from the inside out.  For Richie, on this difficult day?  You make him breakfast for early dinner or late lunch. 

You slice up the brioche you got earlier in the week and find it perfectly stale for French toast.  You put cinnamon and a pinch of cloves in the egg batter, fry up the slices to perfection.  You fry some bacon to the crispness Richie likes; you make a pile of buttery scrambled eggs with goat cheese and chives folded in.

You finish it all off with strong coffee in the French press, which Richie used to scoff at as needlessly fussy but now can’t live without.

You don’t bother to plate it nicely.  This isn’t the Bear, and no one is going to give you a star.  This is food as medicine, and you heap everything on a plate and carry it—along with silverware and the coffee—into the living room.

Richie has gone horizontal as you cooked, stretched out on the couch with his face to the back, but the scent of the food makes him turn a bit and glance up at you.

“Said I wasn’t hungry.”  He sounds peevish.

“Just have a bite or two.”  You set the silverware down with a clink, and Richie heaves a sigh, rolls over, sits up.  He doesn’t quite glare at you, but it’s glare-adjacent.  A slight narrowing of his eyes as he looks at you.

“Didn’t have to fucking do all of this.”  His voice has a rough edge, but you know him well enough to hear the faint thread of gratitude underneath all the gruffness.  Richie never knows how to handle being taken care of.  He’s used to being the one taking care of others:  his daughter, his ex-wife when they were still married.  Mikey’s mother, after Mikey’s suicide. 

He’s the real-life version of setting himself on fire to keep others warm, so he is always surprised when someone else cares for him.  Even if it’s something as ordinary as making him a comforting meal on a day when he’s too paralyzed by grief to feed himself.

-----

As you had guessed not hungry wasn’t true.  Once Richie gets a few bites into him, his appetite awakens and the plate is cleaned of crumbs in an appallingly short amount of time.

“Good?” you ask, and he mumbles a sheepish “thanks,” so you clear away the empty dishes, take them to the kitchen, rinse them off.

When you return to the couch, though, Richie is sitting up straight and gazing right at you.  He waits until you meet his eye, and then he says, slowly and deliberately, “thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He clears his throat, seems embarrassed by himself.  So much of his bluster and cockiness is an act, a smokescreen.  Richie is often insecure, chagrined by his own behavior, and you can guess that he’s berating himself for being curt with you earlier.  For dozing in bed for so long when the two of you have so few days together.

“Really didn’t have to do all that though, sweetheart,” he starts, and you wave him off.  You sit beside him, and he lifts his arm automatically, the gesture for you to tuck yourself against him, but you shake your head.  You settle against the corner of the couch, then pat your lap invitingly.

“C’mon, Jerimovich,” you tell him.  “Let me scratch your head.”

Your first impression of Richie is the most lasting one, even two years in.  He puts you in mind of a shelter dog—kicked and mistreated in some prior life, yearning for affection, baring his teeth at the thought of being kicked again. 

And like a dog, the man loves to be petted.  It’s not necessarily sexual; it’s the simple fact of human touch, the feel-good chemicals that release in his busy brain when you skate your fingertips over his bare skin, when you press your own body against his, when you scratch your nails over his scalp.

Which is what you do now.  You let Richie settle in your lap.  He tucks one arm underneath him, but he wraps the other over your thighs.  Once he’s situated, you just…pet him.  Scratch his head.  Sometimes you press your fingertips in the small muscles that go tense and bunched at the base of his skull, but mostly you just pet him.  Let the repetitive motion lull him, and you feel him relax against you little by little.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you ask after a long stretch of silence.  The T.V. is on, some true crime cop show, but it’s muted.  The only sounds are those of city living:  faint doors opening in the hallway of your apartment building, traffic in the street, the occasional gust of wind against the window.

“No.”

A beat, and then you ask him to tell you a story about Mikey.  It makes Richie sigh, and he starts with the well-worn story about Bill Murray, but you interrupt him.

“No, tell me a story from when you were kids,” you clarify.  “Tell me about Baby Mikey, and make sure there’s lots of Baby Richie.”

He chuckles against you, and it sounds warm.  Genuine.  He’s never said it, and you’ve never asked, but you can guess that it helps him somehow, when you ask for Richie stories in the guise of Mikey stories.  How you gently try to frame him as the main character in his own life instead of Michael Berzatto’s side-kick and sometimes-stooge. 

Now, Richie tells you a story from his high school days, and it’s his own story, and Mikey is just a supporting character, but an important one—a supporting character before the crush of adulthood, before Papa Berzatto took off and left Mikey as the man of the house.  Before the Beef as it skidded into bankruptcy, before the arson attempts and shell games with Unc’s money, before the pills and the dealing out of the alley, before whatever darkness in Mikey swallowed him up and put him on that bridge with a gun two years ago to the day.

It's a funny story, some prank on some stodgy old teacher, and Richie chuckles as he tells it.  You can hear his own darkness bleed out of his voice, can hear him remembering the good ol’ days instead of wallowing in the bad ones.  You can hear him remembering his friend who was more like a brother—remembering him in all his bright promise and not as he left.

The story ends, and then you hear it:  a weak sniffle.  You lay your palm over the curve of his skull, hold him, and think that a cry might do him good.  Richie holds so much in; tears might be healthy, might help him grieve Mikey in a more healthy way—

“I know it, you know,” he says against your lap, his voice thick with unshed tears. 

“Know what, baby?”  You wonder at what revelation he is going to share with you, what understanding in his own psychology or Mikey’s has come to him.

“I fucking know I don’t deserve you,” he replies, and it surprises you.  You gape wordlessly above him.  It wasn’t what you were expecting him to say.

“All this shit,” he explains.  “My life’s a fucking mess, and every year, I fall into this black hole and you have to pull me out.”

You smile down at where he’s settled in your lap, and you feel a wave of love for him wash through you.  Your boyfriend, Richard Lawrence Jerimovich.  Rough around the edges and then some, but underneath all that trauma and hurt lies the biggest heart you’ve ever seen.  A heart of gold.  A man who wants desperately to belong, to be loved, to be needed.

“You’re putting a lot of weight on have to,” you tell him.  “I don’t have to.  I want to.”

He shakes his head.  “Shouldn’t fucking have to or want to.”

“It’s just life, Richie.  It beats us up.  What’s the point if we don’t take care of each other when we’re feeling a little more beat up than usual?”

“You take care of me more than I take care of you.”

You scoff, and you resume scratching his head.  Dragging your nails through his short hair.  “Bullshit.”

“You do.”

“You keeping score on me, Jerimovich?”

He grumbles at that.  “You’re not keeping score?”

“In love?  Never.”

As usual, the mention of love makes him squirm.  Makes him uncomfortable.  He’s perfectly fine saying it to you, says I love you easily and without a bit of hesitation.  Hearing it said back to him, though?  That’s entirely different.

You say it as much as you can.  You let him squirm and be uncomfortable and you let each mention of your love for him chip away at those rough edges a little more, revealing more of that big heart of gold.

“I love you,” you tell him, and sure enough, he squirms again.

So you say it again and again, over and over, until he finally surrenders to it, sighs and nestles himself in your lap, and he mutters it back to you as he allows you to comfort him, to take care of him.  To love him.

[sluttysnowangel666]

The Song of Blackwoods & Brackens: Chapter 15

masterlist

Chapter 15: The Battle of the Burning Mill

cw: graphic depictions of war

𐂃 𐂃 𐂃 𐂃

I didn't know how I got there. All I knew was that these moments were about to be my last.

Everything had happened so quickly. The situation spiraled out of control before I even realized it was occurring.

Smoke was everywhere, bodies were everywhere. I couldn't walk without stepping on someone. I knew I was going to die. I could barely walk, could barely see.

I could live with dying. I made my bed, I'm ready to lie in it.

He and I were doomed from the start. I loved him; It ruined my life.

———

"I wish I could keep my hands off of you." Benjicot says, kissing my forehead repeatedly.

"Touch me all you want, Benji. We've got a month of time to make up for." He smiles, continuing to plant gentle kisses on me.

He holds me close, our bodies still wet and cold from the water. "Does something trouble you?" He asks.

I sigh, "How could you tell?" I pause for a moment. "I just... I curse the Gods for making me as they did."

"What do you mean?"

"A Bracken." I say, saddened. "A Bracken woman."

I turn to face him before continuing, "I want to love you freely with no consequence. I want to stay in bed all day and eat cake with you. I want my brother to love me, despite what I'm doing to our house, to my duty."

"Fuck duty." He says.

"I wish we could just run away together. Live here, hunt, fight, fuck, build our land, maybe our own new house... A family."

"What would you name our house?" He asks.

"Brackwood." I jest, and he laughs.

"You truly do something strange to my heart, my lady." He says. "I think we should return. Midday is nearly upon us."

He pulls me up. We dress and begin our walk back. I don't know why, but I feel an impending sense of doom.

We make it back to the edge of the woods, when Benjicot pulls me in for a tight kiss.

"I love you, my lady." He whispers into my lips. "I've loved you since the day I met you."

"I love you in return, Lord Blackwood."

We part, painfully, like getting a limb cut off during a fight.

I make my way back to the castle, and my heart sinks at the sight before me.

My brother's horse, my uncles carriage, and... a Lannister carriage.

"Oh, no. Oh, Gods no." I whisper to myself. I turn to run, but I turn right into the arms of my uncle.

I gasp in shock, I try to break from his arms but he has me tight.

"Uncle-"

"Be quiet!" He yells. I immediately burst into tears. My uncle curses and drags me into Stone Hedge as I cry and fight and drag my feet.

He covers my mouth to keep the Lannister lords from hearing me sob as we pass the council chambers. He opens my door and shoves me inside to the floor.

"I've had enough of this. You will get out of your brother's clothes this instant or I will cut them off you myself, get you in that bloody dress, and let that Lannister wed and bed you here and now!"

"You wouldn't dare!" I scream at him through tears. He unsheathes his sword.

"Is this how you dare treat the Lady of House Bracken?" I yell as he yanks me by my arm, using his sword to rip through the fabric of the back of my tunic. "Your own brother's daughter?"

He turns me around, forcing me to look upon the most angriest stare I'd ever seen from his eyes. He raises his hand, and lands a cold, harsh slap across my cheeks. I fall to the floor, holding my cut cheek from his ring in pain. "You are to never speak to me of my brother again, or I will have your head. Fuck the Lannister alliance, I will behead you myself."

He waits, but when I say nothing he exits my chambers; My cheek bloody, my clothes ripped, everything perfect beginning to fall apart.

My sadness began to grow into anger. I was so stupid. I did this to myself. It was mine own fault for falling in love with him. I should've just left when I had the chance,

married the Lannister. I hated this place, I hated my brother for never caring, my uncle for the same, the servants, the handmaidens, the other lords. All they did was watch and let it happen.

I stood up and stormed outside, but the guard my uncle placed outside my door grabbed my wrist.

"Let me go. This will be your only warning."

He laughed. "Your uncle said you weren't to leave this room... He said I could use any force I wanted to keep you here."

I unsheathed my sword. He was quick, but I was quicker. With one shove I slammed my sword into his stomach. He fell to his knees, the blood eliciting gurgling, choking sounds as he began to drown in his own blood.

He fell on his face, dead.

I had killed my first man.

While I didn't know it yet, I would kill hundreds more in less than an hour.

I went outside, straight to the boundary stones. My tunic was almost ripped entirely, revealing my whole backside, but I didn't care. I was fuming with so much anger, fear, adrenaline. Nothing would stop me. I was going slightly mad.

I began moving the stones, one by one, by myself. Nothing was about to get in my way.

"Aeron!" I turn and look, to see some Bracken men walking towards me. "You moving the bloody stones again?" They ask laughing.

"Yes." Is all I respond. They begin to help, and I don't make any attempt to stop them. Within 10 minutes, there's a small enough clearing for the cattle to walk through. I chase them with my sword, herding them to the Blackwood land.

Twenty minutes pass of me sitting with the men along the stones, talking.

"Can you even get that thing up?" One of them asks about my sword.

"Well enough for killing Blackwoods." I say, and they laugh.

And then the sweetest voice, like a siren song to my ears, yells in anger.

"BRACKEN!"

I turn and look, unphased. I knew it would be him to come. No one else got more upset over the stones being moved than he did.

His eyes soften. He looks me up, confused at my disheveled appearance. He continues anyway, angry even more so now that he knows I messed with the stones.

"Put the boundary stones back." He says, stern, but not harsh. His way of warning me.

"We didn't move them!" I say, marching towards him.

"Oh, did they move themselves then? Just rolled their way over so Bracken cows can fill their bellies on Blackwood grass?"

"The assize of Riverrun-"

"Fuck the assize," He says, exasperated. "and fuck you. This is our land."

I look at the men behind him, weighing my options, then I look back to him.

"It's Bracken land." His eyes fume with anger, yet he's utterly confused if this is a jest. Was I alright? Everything had been such a dream this morning. He wondered what the bloody hell happened between then and now.

I ignore the snarl on his face and turn to walk away. "Babe killer." I mutter, loud enough for him to hear.

"What did you say?!" He knows it's no longer a jest now. I'm, for some reason, being serious. What he can't figure out is why. He's concerned, yet angry with my blatant disrespect. I stop, nodding my head. Will I do it? Do I dare begin this game?

I turn.

"Your false Queen Rhaenyra is a kinslayer."

He hides the shock in his eyes. Benjicot was fading, and Bloody Ben was returning. He's done with this bullshit game. If I'm willing to roll the dice, he's willing to take the gamble.

"Your uncle declared for Aegon... Did he?" He steps towards me. I say nothing. "Well, then. Let me tell you Aegon Targaryen is no true king."

He steps closer, mere inches away from my face. "Just as you... are no true knight."

I'm fuming, as is he. "You're both craven..." A shove to my chest, "Little..." another. "Cunts!" A final harsh shove, pushing me back into one of the Bracken men.

I unsheathe my sword, aiming it towards him.

He laughs, a frightening laugh, filled with anger and resentment. His lips curl into a smile and he glides his tongue over this teeth. "You wouldn't dare."

Is it a threat, or a plead not to do it?

"Y/N..." He whispers a quiet plea so only I can hear. The clarity began to hit me, the way he said my name like that. I had lost myself for a moment.

I lowered my sword, but it was too late.

One of the men behind me swung at one of the Bracken men, and from there it turned into a ballroom blitz.

The men around us began fighting, swinging their swords. The sound of the metal clashing was deafening.

Someone went to swing their sword at Benji, and I reflected it with my own. The man pushed me aside, shoving me into the boundary stone. I hit my head hard, immediately going dizzy. I touched the warm liquid seeping down my face, and turned to see Benji had struck down the man who pushed me.

He came to me, pulling me on my feet. "We have to go now."

More and more fights began breaking out. For every Blackwood that showed up, another Bracken did as well. The field was becoming surrounded with men, horses were whining, trying to avoid the cross fire. My uncle and brother run up, swords unsheathed, Lannister men hot on their heels.

"Go, now!" Benji yells at me, his voice is fuzzy due to the ringing in my ears.

"I won't leave your side." I yell.

"Y/N, no one is surviving this, go!" He shoves me behind him as my uncle approaches.

"Y/N?" Aeron asks, "What the hell are you doing?"

The fighting around us doesn't cease, in fact it grows, spreading like wildfyre.

"Aeron-"

"Your sister has been ruling in your stead, pretending to be you, Aeron." My uncle yells over the fighting. Aeron grows angry. He unsheathes his sword, going to step around Benji.

"Don't touch her." Benji warns, shoving Aeron back. Aeron stares, shocked.

"What in the Gods names have you done, Y/N?" My uncle asks, immediately understanding everything that has happened while he's been gone.

"Aeron." My uncle starts, "Bring me her head."

"Aeron, my blood, please." I beg.

He sighs, sadly. His voice cracks at his words, "I hope you'll forgive me, sister."

I shove past Benji, sword in my hand, raising it to fight my brother.

"Y/N!" Benji yells, preparing to swing at Aaron.

"Benji, stay back!" I command him. He's terrified to follow that order, but he does.

"Brother, listen to me-"

"How could you betray our family?" He sobs, our swords clashing together.

"We never were a family!" I yell in anger. "You don't know what he's done to me! You never cared! But, I still love you, brother! Please stop this." I cry.

Aeron brings his sword down, slicing it right down my eye.

I fall to the ground, screaming in agony. Blood poured down my face. I was blind. My brother, my twin, had cut out my eye.

Time slowed, yet the next events transpired so fast.

I looked up with my good eye, my brother standing over me, Benjicot with his sword slowly raising, ready to shove it into Arron's back.

My brother cocks his sword back, ready to take my head clean off. I take my hand off my eye, picking up my sword with both hands. It nearly slips from all the blood.

I shove it into my brother's stomach.

The world goes silent. Everyone watches. I just killed the heir to Stone Hedge.

I sob, and pull out my sword. His hands move to his stomach, and he falls to his knees in front of me.

"My blood." I sob, cradling his head in my hands. "I'm so sorry."

"Sister..." His bloody hand reaches up to cradle my bloody cheek. "I am sorry... Sorry I wasn't... a better brother."

He coughs, spitting up blood. I pull him into my lap, sobbing. "We... were born into this world, my sister, but we were never meant to die together."

He closes his eyes, and they never reopen. I sob, cradling his body to my chest. I kiss his head. My childhood best friend, the one I played with, who raised me until my Uncle took him under his possessive control.

"You dare mourn him, when this is your bloody fault. You killed the heir, you whore. You're no true Bracken."

I look up at my uncle, my chest rising and falling with intense anger. Tears fall from my eye.

Benji stares at me, fearful of the woman he loved turning into a mad man before him.

I stand, my brother's body lying at my feet. The fighting continues.

"Kill them all!" I cry out, "Kill every fucking Bracken and Lannister until their line is dead!"

"Get back, Y/N!" Benjicot yells, shoving my arm down to keep me from raising my sword.

"Stand back, My Lord!" A Lannister yells, standing in front of my uncle with his sword drawn.

Bodies start dropping like flies, and in the chaos I lose sight of my uncle. Benji fights behind me the whole time, both of us protecting each other's backs.

I suffer a severe blow to my leg, the gash is deep, making it near impossible to walk on.

"My Lady, you must go immediately." Benjicot says, holding me up to keep me from falling.

"Find my fucking uncle." I mumble.

"It's over! You must go! I will finish this for you, that I swear, My Lady."

I shove him off me, balancing on my good leg. "Don't lose sight of who you are, Y/N. Go now, before it's too late."

"My brother is gone. I will kill my uncle, even if it kills me."

"Then I'm sorry for what I'm about to do." Benji says, holding his sword towards me.

"Why are you protecting him?!" I yell.

"I'm protecting you! Don't be a fool! I will not lose you!"

"Do what you must." I say, raising my sword back. He sighs. I give him one last look, blood covers him from head to toe.

"Don't. Don't make me do this." He begs.

"I always knew you were a cunt, Blackwood." I say. He cries, red tears falling down his cheeks.

"Please. I'm begging."

I swing my sword at him, but he blocks it. The unfortunate part for him is he trained me. I know his moves. I know how to best him.

We fight. I fume with rage, he cries in sadness, both of us mourning who we were just a day ago.

I swing, but he knocks my sword out of my hand and sneaks upon me from the right, where my eye no longer could see him. He grabs my wrist, and I gasp.

"I'm sorry, Y/N."

Everything goes dark.

[disgracefulthings]

Whether you ship them romantically or platonically, Shen Jiu x Yue Qi has to be one of the most tragic couples I have ever come across, not just because of their circumstances, but who they are as people.

Shen Jiu shields himself in cruelty and refuses to allow himself to be vulnerable to anyone, even to those he has cared about. He convinces everyone he is a monster, he was able to convince me he was a monster with a single line in the story (we'll get back to that)

Yue Qi refuses to tell Shen Jiu the truth of why he never came for him. He is afraid of confronting his failure because, even if Shen Jiu hates him, he is still there, and Yue Qi rather be hated than to lose his Xiao-Jiu again.

In two timelines they failed to find happiness. In one, they both die horribly, in the other, one dies while the other is unaware of what he lost.

I love MXTX's writing, and there is a part of the Yue Qi and Shen Jiu extra that I absolutely loved. After Shen Jiu reunites with Yue Qi and believes the man had abandoned him, he wishes that he found him dead on the side of the road instead. This line made me hate Shen Jiu a bit, and it's probably his cruelest line in the book, but it's also a lie, something you don't realize until the end of the extra. Luo Binghe tortures his master for who knows how long, but he isn't able to get him to break until he reveals that Yue Qingyuan was dead. I do believe that the break is partly caused by the fact that Yue Qi came for him, something he thought would never happen, but I believe this scene is supposed to show the truth, that Shen Jiu never wanted his Qi-ge dead, even at his angriest, because no matter what he thinks, seeing him dead on the side of the road would break him more than the abandonment ever did.

[rorywritesjunk]

No longer locked upon the land but free on the rolling waves

You and Buggy come face to face with himself from the past, and while you’re fully accepting that this is your husband as a child, Buggy doesn’t want to accept it.

Rating: PG-13ish, but just due to some swearing.

Warning: Upset kid, upset husband. Reader is way too nice, doesn’t necessarily take husband’s feelings into account as well.

A/N: A combined request. I did a few versions of this story before feeling like it hit the marks I was wanting to hit. Also, I’m just trying to vibe off what I’ve seen of Kid Buggy. I’m no expert. I’d protect that kid with my life. He’s so adorable. I also like the trope of “Meeting your self from another time” and ���gets turned back into kid-self”. This is the former, and I know shit about time travel but I just kind of made something up.

This is the last chapter with the epilogue at the end. This has been a lot of fun to write and I've enjoyed it so much, thank you all for reading it and replying! I've loved responding to you all. So thank you thank you thank you. I liked how this chapter wrapped things up. Moments go a little quick but that was the intention. Nothing was to really be drawn out.

Title comes from “Sailing Song” by S.J. Tucker.

Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4 + Chapter 5 + Chapter 6/Epilogue

TAGLIST: @lostfirefly @misadventures0fdes @sylum @valen-yamyam16 @dohkyu @fluffybunnyu @skyofsteel @lavalampskyy @gingernut1314 @ane5e @madam-o @the-angriest-angel

Chapter Six

Your husband decided to stay back on the ship while you and the kid went into the town. His excuse was he needed to get the crew ready or something, but you didn’t push him for a real reason. Part of you wanted him with you when you went into town because you didn’t know what to expect. Would some kind of portal open up and tear the kid away from you, kicking and screaming, or would it happen in an instant, like when he first appeared? You were going to cry either way, you just wish you had some kind of idea of what to expect. 

But you also didn't want Buggy coming because again, what if some portal opened up and tore your husband away from you as well as the kid? You didn't want him disappearing on you at all so you just gave him a kiss on the cheek before heading off the ship with the kid.

“I think that the table was over here.” Kid Buggy said as he held your hand, leading you down a street. You knew what he was looking for but you let him take charge, wondering if he knew here to look. The table wouldn’t be there anymore, it hadn’t been since you turned 14 and left to start your apprenticeship and your parents moved elsewhere. They still made jewelry and sold it, but in another town on another island. 

It was hard not to tell him everything, because even though Buggy said he doesn’t remember anything about this whole ordeal, what if this was different? What if something was triggered that changed the course of the kid’s life from this moment forward? You didn’t want to take the risk. You loved your life, your husband, and the life you two had together. Nothing could change that, so you never told Kid Buggy that he stole from your parents, or that he would become a Devil Fruit user at a young age (he never questioned Buggy’s head popping off his body during their first meeting), nor did Buggy ever tell him what happened between him and Shanks. 

“You think so?” You replied as you followed after, smiling down at him as he turned his head in every direction, a look of concentration on his cute face as he tried to remember where to go. He stopped a few times, looking around, wondering where to turn. You were patient, giving his hand a squeeze whenever he’d start walking again.

“I’d bring you back with me if I could, y’know.” Buggy said as he looked up at you. “Introduce you to everyone. They’d think you were great.” He then looked away, searching for the table of merchandise that no longer existed. “But I know you wouldn’t wanna come with…”

“If I could come back to my husband in the end, I would.” You assured him with a smile. “But you’ve seen how you are as an adult, you can’t survive ten minutes without me, so I have to stay back with him.” Truthfully, if you met the crew, you would have brought hell down upon them. While your husband would speak highly of being an apprentice under Gold Roger, you had other opinions, ones that you wouldn’t share because you didn’t want to upset Buggy. There was always something under the surface whenever you listened to your husband speak about it. The self-doubt, fear of failure, everything, and one time when he was drunk he cried about Shanks, often feeling lesser than his friend, but then the next morning as he sobered up he would curse the same man. 

“Yea?” He grinned. “Really? I think you’d like it. You could even meet Shanks, since you said you never got to meet him.”

“Maybe something will happen and I can someday, Buggy.” You steered him out of the main walkway, letting people pass as you knelt down in front of him. “I want you to know that I have loved spending time with you, sweetie. It’s been one of the best things ever.”

He blushed at that, avoiding your gaze as he looked away. “Are you saying goodbye to me?”

“No! Not yet, just…” You hesitated. He wasn’t used to this kind of attention, the praise, compliments, affection even. You wanted to give him as much as you gave your husband because you saw the way he would brighten up when you’d tell Adult Buggy how handsome he looked in his coat while you’d straighten his cravat, or when you’d let him know how much you loved him every night before going to bed. You meant every word you spoke to Buggy as an adult, and you wanted him to know the same as a kid. “I want you to know you’re a wonderful kid, Buggy.”

He was still red in the face but he allowed you to wrap your arms around him and pull him into a hug. He mumbled something in response and you didn’t quite hear it, because he suddenly pulled away from you, his eyes lighting up in excitement.

“I can hear Shanks!” He said as he looked over your shoulder. “I think he’s calling for me!”

You turned in the same direction but didn’t see or hear anything. What was going on? He grinned at you before he suddenly took off running in the direction he was looking. You got to your feet and started after him, but he was fast. He turned down an alleyway, calling for Shanks, and when you finally caught up to him your heart dropped. It was a dead end and he was nowhere in sight. 

So this is how it ended then.

~

You came back to the ship an hour later and went right to your room, ignoring the looks of the crew and even your husband. He noticed you were alone, so he told the first mate to keep an eye on things while he went after you. Buggy wasn't sure how upset you would be, because even after ten years of marriage he wasn't sure how to handle it.

He found you sitting on the bed, leaning back against the headboard with something in your hand. Buggy hung his coat and hat up before taking his boots off and climbing into bed next to you. You immediately leaned into him, curling up against his side as he put his arm around you.

“I'm going to miss seeing you as a kid.” You sniffled, looking at the once stolen pendant in your hand. “You were so sweet, Buggy.”

“I was a little shit.” He rolled his eyes, clearly having a different opinion on the whole matter. You looked up at him with watery eyes and he sighed. “Fine, yes, I was a sweet little shit.”

“I just wanted you to feel safe and loved, Buggy.” You wiped at the tears as they rolled down your cheeks. “And you're not going to remember any of it.  What was the point of any of this?”

He just shrugged, pulling you closer as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. He wasn't really good at using words to comfort you. He was used to actions like giving you gifts or finding ways to make you laugh instead. He hated seeing you so upset, but he knew better than to tell you to suck it up and move on. The one time he said that to you ended up with you giving him the cold shoulder for a week and he couldn't deal with that again.

“I just wanted you to be okay, Buggy.” You mumbled as you tucked the pendant away in your pocket. “I hate you went through so much before we met.” You rubbed your eyes. “And…and you're not going to remember any of this.”

“Yea, well…” He hated saying sappy things, like something out of a silly romance novel. He sighed and gritted his teeth. “If I didn't become an apprentice and continue being a pirate, we wouldn't have met.” You glanced up at him and his cheeks started to turn red. “The kid will be fine, because he will meet some way too nice tailor, fall madly in love with her and be an idiot about it, and she will show him all the love he will ever need.” He huffed and pulled his arm away from you, crossing them over his chest as he looked away. He felt a little uncomfortable but he knew you needed to hear this. “And when they hug for the first time he'll remember a moment of feeling safe as a kid but he won't know why, and when they kiss for the first time it will make him realize how much he wants her in his life.” He took a deep breath and exhaled before scowling. “Okay? So… so the kid won't remember what you did for him but he'll have a sense of familiarity when he meets his future wife, because she treats him with kindness and never asks for anything in return, and he really doesn't deserve someone like her.”

When he was finished with his rant he looked down at you, only to be horrified when he saw new tears streaming down your cheeks. Oh shit. He didn't mean to make you cry.

“S-Sorry, I didn't mean to-” He was at a loss for words. “Why are you-”

“R-Really?” You whimpered. “You felt that way when we met?”

He turned even redder if possible, unsure if he should keep talking or not, but you were almost smiling now as the tears rolled down your cheeks so he sighed and nodded.

“Y-Yes.” He said, looking away from you once more. “I… I knew the moment you gave me a hug that you and I were meant to be, because I felt safe in your arms and… and you took good care of me even before we started our relationship.” He scratched his cheek, looking so very uncomfortable to be carrying on like this, but your crying was letting up and you were looking at him with such love in your eyes that he thought he was going to literally fall to pieces in front of you. “Fixing my coat, clothes, even my gloves. It… it was nice and you didn't have to do that because I wasn't the nicest person to you at times, y’know.”

“I fixed your gloves just to spend extra time talking to you.” You said, giggling as you wiped your eyes with the hem of your shirt. He looked at you in confusion. “I made it up that your gloves needed fixing. I just… wanted to spend time with you after fixing other things, and you didn't know what I was talking about so you let me.” You smiled brightly at him. “I lied because I liked you, Buggy.”

His jaw dropped, a look of betrayal on his face. “What?! You lied?!”

You laughed. “What? I liked seeing your hands without them, honey, because you always wore them. That was the first time I felt your hands without gloves on, you know.”

“I can’t believe you lied!” He wouldn’t drop that tiny detail. “After all this time you lied about my gloves needing to be fixed?”

You knew what he was doing, trying to distract you from being upset, and you appreciated it. It still hurt having the kid disappear so quickly out of your sight but it was a comfort to hear from your husband the little bits he could recall, even if it wasn’t exact moments of his time with you. You didn’t want him to be hurt, or go through the heartaches of growing up, but if it meant the two of you meeting and falling in love, then maybe you could accept that you couldn’t fix everything.

“I love you, Buggy.” You told him as you leaned over to kiss his cheek. He turned red and looked away again but he put his arm back around you, pulling you closer to him before he looked back at you. 

“Yea, yea.” He kissed you on the forehead and sighed. “I love you too.”

~*~*~

“Buggy! Where’ve ya been?” One of the older crewmen asked. Buggy didn’t turn around, instead looking at his now empty hands. Where did the pendant go? He just snatched it off that table and he had it in his hands just moments ago, but now it was missing. Did he somehow drop it? “It’s been twenty minutes, kid! Don’t take off like that!”

He glared up at the man. “Not my fault you can’t keep up with me!”

The man just laughed and patted him on the head; the kid immediately swatted at his hand, trying to get him to stop. He didn’t take off running, he had just been with the crew and then it seemed like everything went still for a moment. He didn’t want to say anything so he kept quiet, trailing after the adult as they went to join up with the others. 

“We weren’t too worried, y’know. Figured you’d turn up once you got hungry.” 

Buggy just nodded, glaring at the ground as he walked along. It’s not like he disappeared or anything. He was just out of sight for a few minutes. Shanks and him did it all the time. 

They were walking down the street that the vendor was on where he took the pendant from. Did they somehow get it back? He hesitated but risked taking a look as they walked by. The adults were talking to a customer, showing off pieces while a girl around Buggy’s age sat nearby, looking completely bored. When their eyes met she perked up a bit and gave him a big smile. Buggy made a face and looked away�� but the adult he was with noticed the exchange and laughed.

“Flirtin’ with the local girls, Buggy?”

“Shut up!” He snapped. “Let’s get back to the ship!”

“Don’t you want to say bye to your girlfriend?” He teased as Buggy glared at him, his face red. He was about to say something else when something tugged on his sleeve. He spun around, ready to fight, but froze when he saw the girl standing there, holding a flower in her hand with a big smile on her face. 

“The red flower looks like your nose.” She told him as she took his hand and placed the flower in it. “I like it.”

Buggy didn’t say anything as his hand closed around the flower. He was frozen where he stood, not sure how to respond to that, but the moment didn’t last because she turned and went back to her parents, taking her seat near the table once more. He didn’t know what to say or do next, but the adult grabbed him by the back of his shirt and pulled him along, laughing and joking about young love and other stupid shit Buggy didn’t care about. He stuck the flower in his pocket and looked back at her once more, his face still as red as his nose. She was watching him leave and gave him a smile and wave as he left. 

Yea, okay, he decided she was kind of nice, but he wouldn’t see her again so there was no point in saying hi to her or asking her name.

 It was just a one time meeting by chance.

[northoftheroad]

Has Dick ever attempted to kill Zucco? Because it's something I see very often being brought up in discussions about Dick Grayson. But in everything I've read, the only thing Dick has ever done to Zucco is bring him to justice with Batman's help after finding out he's who murdered his parents.

Hi, Indeed, the idea that little Dick was out for bloody vengeance is blown hugely out of proportion and it's tiresome to see it so widespread! As far as I know, he's never been out hunting for Zucco with the expressed intention to kill him.

(I might be late to the party because I saw that @farshootergotme recently made this point in two posts – definitely check them out (part 1 and part 2). But since I've been working on an answer, I'll press on.)

The original story (and later retellings of it) in Detective Comics # 38 (1940) had Dick intending to go to the police but Batman stopped him and said it would lead to Dick himself being killed because "the whole town is run by boss Zucco" (who was a big time boss at the time, he's been very much reduced in importance since).

Detective Comics # 38

In Batman Year Three (1989), right after the murder, Dick tells Batman to "Kill him for me". He's never out looking for Zucco, though, and by the time he's taken in by Bruce from the orphanage, he says it wouldn't change anything, he just wishes he "could do something so people like him couldn't hurt anyone ever again".

Batman vol 1 # 436 and 437

I think the angriest we've seen Dick is in Batman The Animated Series. I believe the BTAS episodes Robin's Reckoning (1993) started the trend of little Dick going out by himself (in different media, he has been looking for Zucco, running away from being mistreated, following Batman, and visited the circus).

In BTAS Zucco wasn't caught after the murder and little Dick was indeed out to look for Zucco, but nothing was said about killing him. He still becomes a pretty happy Robin in the show, but he does blow up when Zucco comes back to Gotham and Batman doesn't want Robin's help to look for him (because Batman was afraid that something would happen to Robin). There is a moment where Zucco (and the audience) is supposed to wonder whether Robin will let him drop a long way down, so this, I would argue, is the closest we'll ever see to Dick wanting to kill him. But this is Dick as a young adult who have lived with Zucco getting away, as opposed to comics.

BTAS Robin's Reckoning

In the Robin Annual # 4, Year One, (1995), where Dick is placed and mistreated at a youth centre, he runs away to get away – with no intention of looking for a criminal, just to save himself. He's still alone and miserable after Bruce has taken him in so he does go out one night to visit Haly circus, which is back in town. Haly is killed, Dick attacks the killers and has to be saved by Batman. Dick's internal thoughts in this book are about putting Zucco away (in prison), not killing.

Robin vol 2 Annual # 4

In The Choice in Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight #100 (1997), Dick does go out to look for the murderer, and Zucco dies of heart failure (or something like that), but Dick says he didn't want him to die. And in Dark Victory (1999–2000), Dick tells Batman he wants to help. However, Batman takes Dick with him to confront Zucco; Dick chases Zucco who (again) dies from medical issues, and Dick does not look triumphant.

Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight #100 (The Choice)

Dark Victory

And in New 52, (Nightwing vol 3 # 0, 2012), 15-year-old Dick is indeed out looking for Zucco, because he feels it's his responsibility, and he starts to fight criminals together with Batman out on the streets. Again, nothing is said about wanting to kill Zucco. The Long Year in Secret Origins vol 3 # 1 (2014) has a slightly different version, but here too, Bruce and Dick only talk about catching Zucco.

Nightwing vol 3 # 0

Secret Origins vol 3 # 1 The Long Year

There are a few more versions of Dick's origin stories, but I think I've covered the ones most people know about. I'm not really familiar with the animated Teen Titans but, as far as I know, there is no mention of Tony Zucco here (since some people seem to think that Robin is actually Tim Drake, even though it's clearly based on New Teen Titans. And I believe there is a reference to the circus somewhere?).

Thanks for the ask! I have been writing snippets about the subject of fanon murder child Dick Grayson here and there, it was good to get a reason to collect my thoughts and panels once and for all.