#the failsafes have failed

[lurkiestvoid]

if, somehow, we claw our way back out of this hellfire relatively quickly, likely on the backs of millions of federal workers and civilian volunteers who held the line at great personal cost, and hopefully with very minimal loss of life, I do not look forward to the inevitably smug 'see? There was nothing to worry about, checks and balances 🤗' posts

[nenoname]

the irony of stan being left with the journal that details the portal deactivation process.... being haunted for decades with the knowledge that the button that could've saved ford was technically only a few feet away from where stan had been standing the entire time...

[empressofmankind]

Me, realising there's another sword Shivs can swallow aside from Croc's dick:

[bobcat-pie]

Has anyone else experienced the phenomenon of 2 OCs having 2 conversations as once while doing multi-paragraph roleplaying?

Like, at first, OC #1 has dialogue in two different paragraphs, and in OC #2's post, they respond to each of those dialogue lines in two separate paragraphs. Then OC #1 does that as well, and both lines of conversation continue through until one of them turns into a stub or the roleplay ends.

Just one of the unique quirks of writing roleplaying!

[homunculus-argument]

Being an ADHD adult is fun when people seem to get... personally offended when you are aware that you've failed, forgotten, or neglected something before, and plan your life with that awareness in mind. Like how does that work, that being able to plan and prepare for things not working out as intended is mature and responsible, acknowledging your own faults and flaws is mature and responsible, but somehow it's childish and immature to acknowledge that you are the liability in every situation, and prepare accordingly?

Like they'll look at you like you just called their dog a slur and just go "don't just already assume that you're going to [have a symptom], just don't [have the symptom] in the first place!" Like oh shit right damn. Titanic only sank because of the lifeboats. If there had been zero lifeboats on the ship, the crew would have been more motivated to do their jobs perfectly and everything would have been fine. Failsafe plans are demons that summon failure, the only sensible thing is to only plan for perfection and naturally assume that everything can only go flawlessly.

Like bruh.

[oatlystrawberryicecream]

it isnt that bruce failed jason one time its that he fails jason over and over and over he failed him when he hid willis todd’s murder, when he refused to trust his word about felipe garzonas, when he benched him without telling him why, when he left him on his own in ethiopia, when he used his death as a way to scare and guilt other robins into compliance, when he let his memorial say soldier instead of son, when he threw the batarang, when he beat his face in after rhato #25, when he took him back to where he died with no warning or prior conversation when jason would have done his best to help if he had just asked, when he used failsafe on jason to undermine his autonomy in such a traumatic way rather than oh i dont know USE IT ON THE JOKER

[ew-selfish-art]

DPxDC AU: Tim receives an interesting email from DalvCo explaining why the CEO is not to be trusted- It's an internal email and suddenly Tim is experiencing supernatural phenomena. He knows that the two events are absolutely related, but he's going to let the cutie stumble his way through data points and vague threats anyway.

(Sorry this got long lmao)

Tim is exhausted after a long night of staking out a new drug cartel with Hood (which in itself took a lot of energy from both of them to have the patience for the other- things are good, not great)... so right now he's logging into his WE email on the train to his office because he's incredibly late. And while he scrolls and contemplates the failsafes he has to make sure Tam doesn't murder him outright- he sees an unexpected email from Vladimir Masters.

Tim's curiosity is piqued, he'd thought that Vlad would have gotten the hint after Tim dismissed him at that Christmas gala a few years ago. Most people took Tim's snubbing as a fatality in the Gotham socialite scene- Most knew him to be 'an agreeable young man', and Tim's reputation had paid a small price for making Vlad's failed vibe check known to the room. The tabloids blamed it on the champagne glass he had in his hand- Has he mentioned how much he hates Vicky Vale lately??

Tim has a few stops to go and he's pretty sure that he's going to delete the email, but in sleep deprived inspiration, he decides it might as well entertain him while he waits. The letter isn't at all what he expected.

"Hello Wayne Enterprise's CEO Tim Drake, I'm sending you this letter on behalf of the entire Midwest to advise that you, under no circumstances, come into contact with or speak to the CEO of DalvCo Vlad Masters. He is underhanded and utilizes untraceable tactics to procure deals. We have reason to believe you may be targeted in the next few days and hope that you are able to take steps for your own safety to avoid Vlad Masters at all costs.

Sincerely, 👑"

Tim feels bewildered for a moment and then... Like a cat with a new toy mouse. A game was afoot! He needed to track down these hackers, he needed to be their best fucking friend (find out their secrets & Vlads) and he needed to apprehend Vlad ASAP! Untraceable tactics? Tim scoffs, but the challenge excites him.

Arriving at WE, Tam looks ready to throw a knife his way (he reminds her that Pru does it better) and states that if Vlad Masters tries to make an appointment- accept it but give him the run around. Make an appointment and continue to contest it, change it, delay it until Tim is actually ready for him. The lights start to flicker, both of them notice it.

Everytime Tim gets a second to investigate Vlad in his office, the room's temperature drops. Tim notices it, and having experienced a number of supernatural phenomena, he knows it has to be related.

Tim decides not to beat around the bush. He comes back to the office that night equipped with a Ouija board, candles and a bag of other occult accessories. He quickly finds, upon setting up, that there is now a groaning Teenager in front of him- lambasting his efforts and chastizing him for taking a meeting with Vlad. Did he not get the fuckin memo??

Tim quickly begins to ask his questions, grateful to not have to deal with the party game board, and takes diligent notes.

"Right, so, you're just a concerned citizen ghost who knows what kind of nefarious deeds Vlad gets up to, how?" ---

Danny is losing his shit. Here he is, having done all the ground work to tell this guy not to meet with Vlad and he's already got him on the schedule! Danny took a page from Technus' book and transported himself alongside the short email. He didn't get this guy at all! Tim was like, basically the same age and clearly super fucking smart, why was he acting like this was a fucking birthday gift? Scratch that, the dude has a Ouija Board- it's like a lame ass birthday party in here!

Danny cannot help himself but return to the visible spectrum and give this guy a talking to- Which, the atmosphere of a birthday party still doesn't change, for ancient's sake this guy is taking notes with a megawatt smile! He's smiling! Danny just described Vlad taking down like, three American dynasties and the dude is nodding his head along gleefully.

Then suddenly, Danny realizes that he might be on the chopping block. Tim asks his first question and it's not about Vlad at all.

"Er, yeah. Just a concerned ghost citizen." Danny cringes.

"Right, and that's why you hacked into the Mayor of your town's email... Right Tucker?"

Danny blanches, not because the guy knew about Amity Park, but because apparently Tucker's online persona had been compromised. SHIT.

"Uh, I'm not Tucker." Danny attempts to lie- why was he so bad at lying again?!

"Of course you aren't, he's currently playing doomed, but it would have been smart to take the out I offered you. Do you want to tell me your name or do you want me to throw out another random guess? You should know that I've done my homework."

"...It's Danny."

"Certainly not Danny Fenton? Who is, sorry to say it, heir to DalvCo? The same one who totally doesn't have a school record of absences equivalent to well documented town hauntings?"

"Yep." Danny cringes, and giving up the goat, transforms back into his human self, "But seriously dude, you can't meet with Vlad. He'll just... take it all."

Tim blinks at him a few times, and his cheeks flush. Danny desperately tries to ignore that response as well as his own (he knows his ears are red, sue him).

"Right. Well, how would you like an internship? First order of business would be meeting with me and my PA Tam and helping us play ball." The guy has a feral grin. The grin kind of scares Danny, it definitely annoys him and a small part of him is curiously charmed.

"Dude you're not hearing me-" Danny tries before being cut off.

"Yeah yeah, supernatural bullshit is involved, Got that." Tim waves him off. Okay never mind, not charmed at all, Danny is completely annoyed.

"I swear to all the ancients-" Danny has to stop himself to calm down, "Dude consider yourself fucking haunted. I'm not helping you with a suicide mission to talk to the creep and I will be making your ass miserable for deciding to go down this path."

"Is that a promise?" Tim is basically batting his eyelashes at Danny and Danny is desperately trying to ignore that.

"Bet." And then he goes invisible.

"That's cute, pretending to leave me." Tim smirks and Danny can't help but let out an exasperated groan.

As it turns out, Tim is incredibly difficult to spook and his normal haunting methods are not fucking working. Has this guy just, like, seen every single horror movie?

----

Tim knows this is going to be fun, even if it means not going out as Red Robin for a while... Maybe he should get back into his night photography and give the guy a chance to enhance the creepiness of Gotham? Maybe start going to restaurants alone and get the guy to join him at a secluded two person table? Tim has plans on plans on plans.

[evermore-grimoire]

The Evermore Grimoire: Heroes

Loki Laufeyson is the god of mischief & stories, a Prince of Asgard and a Variant of himself. After sabotaging the Asgardian throne on a number of occasions Loki found himself serving under Thanos by taking an army of Chitauri to New York City, but his plans were soon thwarted Thor and the Avengers. Before Loki could be taken back to Asgard though, the Avengers from another timeline altered history and caused him to escape using the Tesseract. He was then arrested by the Time Variance Authority and recruited by Mobius M. Mobius to hunt down Sylvie Laufeydottir, another Variant of his. Having learned that the TVA had been built on lies, Loki helped Sylvie track down the Time-Keepers and its founder, He Who Remains. They were warned by He Who Remains that if he was killed, his Variants would conquer the Multiverse. Sylvie still murdered him causing the timeline to branch indefinitely. Loki then found himself in a different TVA, and began Time Slipping between the past, present and future. Returning to the present, Loki met Ouroboros and learned that the Temporal Loom was on the verge of failing. His work to repair the Loom reunited him with Sylvie and encounter Victor Timely, a variant of He Who Remains. Despite their best efforts, the Loom collapsed and seemingly destroyed the TVA; however, everyone except Loki were in reality returned to their places on the Sacred Timeline. Learning to control his Time Slipping, Loki used his new power to go back to before the Loom was destroyed, trying everything he could to salvage it. Unable to do so, he time slipped back to his original confrontation with He Who Remains, who revealed that the Loom was a failsafe whose purpose was to protect the Sacred Timeline whilst eliminating the excess branches and preventing the Multiversal War. Defiant, Loki chose to destroy the Loom and weave the branches together by hand, sitting on his newly created throne at the End of Time, determined to protect the people of the Multiverse his own way.

artwork by Valentina Glebova

[lundenloves]

{✧} 500 wc | no warnings

taglist | masterlist | dad!simon masterlist | request info

Simon Riley who swore to never have kids, then was surrounded by three. Two oldest fighting and waking up the baby in his arms, earning a wild cry and two sheepish apologies. 

Simon Riley who was unable to bond with his children, not until after they had approached him for their missed love. An unsure hand pushed hair from their faces and a kiss to their temples, soft touch forever being a weakness. 

Simon Riley who had to leave for deployment and his youngest couldn’t understand just why he was leaving. She cried and whined, stuck to his camo clad leg at the door. “Dad has to go.” Was his attempt at consolation, picking her up and pressing his forehead to hers. “I’ll be back lovie, before you know it.” He couldn’t stop his leg from anxiously bouncing for a week after that. 

Simon Riley who secretly hoped to never make it back home after the scarring of previous deployments. He’d hoped to be shot square in the chest, with no chance of resuscitation. Because sometimes, just sometimes, the weight of his own emotional burden was too much to carry. 

Simon Riley who often dreaded coming home and having to take off the mask. The riddance of his failsafe ‘Ghost’ was like having the sheet pulled, entirely accountable for his actions (or lack thereof) and it was hard to hack. 

Simon Riley who couldn’t speak to his family for a day after being home. The urge to isolate so overcoming that he would either leave the house entirely or lie in bed for days. ‘Dad isn’t well’ was what the kids were told nearly every time, until they were old enough to see through it. 

Simon Riley whose jaw tightened at his daughter's fluoxetine on the counter. A mental spiral he had sent himself down, assuming it was entirely his fault she had been prescribed such medicine with his failings as a father. 

Simon Riley who was called upstairs to deal with spiders and such. Picking them up and taking them outside with ease, providing the largest amount of relief to his kids that he never did quite understand although reveled in. 

Simon Riley who had formed a bond with his middle child by collecting a note of cash from whichever country his deployment saw him in. She had hit most middle eastern countries, all strung up on a pinboard above her desk with a skull sticker beside. It was one of the few times a genuine smile stretched his balaclava, tucking the note gently into his tac vest with practice. 

Simon Riley who would never admit it but felt a pang in his chest on the night of his eldest daughter's first breakup. The faint stubble on his cheek dashed with few grey hairs, skin scarred, back sore and giving unwanted but secretly appreciated advice. 

this wasn’t supposed to be depressing but i know nothing else apparently. it’s bittersweet. leave me alone. it’s unedited and chucked out, sigh.

simon ‘ghost’ riley taglist: @vamppxncess @crowbird @misshoneypaper @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @liishook @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @takeomisbitch @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara @mistydeyes @writingmysanity @johfaam0 @idkjoequinn @gressseyy @fwibblefwobble @shibble @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @airghostlyfox @hotgirlsshareaccounts @simpxinnie @dilfdotgov

as always, comments are reblogs are hugely appreciated! i’ll sit in a hole if no one pats me on the head every now and then.

[idontcaboose]

Haunted car au part 9

Previous Masterpost

“O, please tell me someone is close by?” Red Robin hissed into his comm.

“Batman and Signal are on the way, 6 blocks out.”

“Neat, see if they can use the 109th st entrance, I will try to lead my goons that way.”

“Rerouting their gps, stay safe RR.”

Tim wasn't sure how to stay safe with a bullet wound in his leg, and a few grazes across his body. Part of the job he supposes. He wasn't sure which god or entity was enjoying his struggle, but he would not hesitate to smack them in the face with his bō. Tim took a small breather after losing his followers for a moment. His leg has a hole, his arms couldn't keep a strong grip on his grapple, not that it really mattered. A goon got an extremely lucky shot and destroyed the thing. So, grounded, with a barely functioning leg, and about 15 goons, and if the leaders of the group didn't flee already, then them too, looking for him. Not great odds. Oracle said Batman and Signal were on their way, and hopefully heading to the street closest to him that would work for some form of ambush.

“I'll go out a bit early, they won't be expecting it. Nah, they only set up to catch Signal, you know, the meta. The meta that can all but shadow step like a freaking d&d character. Such a great plan Tim.” Tim had started to mutter to himself as he attempted to tie on a better bandage to his leg than the slap dash one he did while on the move. He was just done securing it when a goon appeared.

“I found some blood over here!”

Tim almost screamed expletives on par with Jason or Duke, but he had some self preservation.

“ETA, hopefully it's NOW?!” Tim growled onto the comms.

“We are set up Red Robin, bring them through.” Tim could have cried in relief at Batman's voice, but he had some goons to lead.

Tim ran, not bothering to hide as he did. Luckily the goons did not think about surrounding the alley he was in, and they followed blindly into the bat's trap. He trusted that Bruce and Duke could handle the group, and limped to the Batmobile. It wasn't until Tim got to the driver's side passenger door did the universe have one last laugh at him.

“Well, well, we'll. Let's make a deal, little red bird.” Out of all the people to corner Tim, it had to have been the wannabe leader of the small time gang.

“Depends, is the deal you turn yourself in?” Tim automatically snarked.

“Nah, open the Batmobile, or I shoot you here.” The man sneered.

“Fine, fine.” Tim opened the driver's door and scooted away, his hands away from his sides.

“Good, keep backing up Red.”

Once Red Robin was far enough for the man, he turned and went to get into the car, only for the door to close on the man repeatedly. Tim could not help but just watch as the car kept smacking the guy until he managed to get into the seat. Unfortunately for the gang leader his hand was not fast enough and got slammed between the door and frame. Based on the crack and responding scream, the hand was very much broken. With a last open and close, the engine started, and the Batmobile drove straight into the group of goons and vigilantes.

Tim watched in morbid curiosity as Batman and Signal heard the car roaring towards them. Watched as they grappled upwards with just a small moment from them getting run over. Watched as 3 goons did not have time to move out of the way and got tossed onto the hood, only to slide off at the jerky stop of the car. It wasn't until Batman barked “Report.” over the comms did Tim snap out of his daze.

“The leader of the gang got into the Batmobile, and proceeded to try to run you guys over.” Tim slowly responded. “He held me at gunpoint and I couldn't move fast enough to do anything but let him. How did the failsafes fail at keeping him from driving?” Tim's voice petered out with the question.

The car door then slammed open and the leader fell out of the seat, and tried to scramble as far from the car as he could. It didn't take long for Batman to grab the man for questioning.

“Hey man, you good to move?” Tim startled when Duke appeared in front of him.

“Ya, ya. I have a GSW to my right calf, got grazed a few times in different places, possibly going into shock.” Tim dutifully reported.

“Got it, up and at ‘em.”

Duke carefully walked Tim to the Batmobile and settled him into the back seats, tightened the bandage on his leg, and put bandages on his other wounds. It wasn't until Duke went to go help Batman clean up and triage the remaining goons did he say something strange.

“Stay put, Red Robin. Keep him safe ok?” With the second request, Duke patted the driver's seat and left him alone in the car.

“What?”

Next

@kizzer55555 @sebas-nights @candeartist422 @trappednyourheart @fandom-life-corrupted-me @tkiesai @2lbballpeenhammer @admiralwidow @rewrittenwrongs @whotfevenknowsanymore @symmetricalastigmatism

@thespacedragons

@atinygracie @okami-love

@lesbian-spider-drone @1n0sss @forgetmenot-bluepurple

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Not A Verstappen: A New World {10}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: The heat of Qatar packs a punch and causes drama but nothing like what happens when the race ends. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, reader illness WC: 2k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine NAV: A New World One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || Ten NAV: Lights Out One

Round Eighteen - Qatar GP

“Goddamn this place is hot. I’m sweating my tits off.”

“Are you?” Lando chuckled. “‘cause they still look good to me.”

You rolled your eyes at his flirty wink and continued to try to fan yourself as you scanned your pass at the entrance. “Fuck, this has to be some crime, it’s inhumane to make us race in this heat. How the hell are you wearing a hoodie?”

“It’s comfortable.”

You couldn’t even fathom a response as you stared at Charles, but he just shrugged with a smile and said, “He’ll take it off for the ice bath.”

Your enthusiasm perked at the idea of both a shirtless Lando and submerging into the cold water. Except you knew you would be in your own motorhome where your ice bath was prepped, not able to enjoy the view in McLaren or Ferrari.

“Are you going to be okay in there, mon amour?” Charles asked as they stopped outside your destination. Neither of your boyfriends were happy with leaving you alone, but you hadn’t heard a thing from Lance all week and assumed his father was to thank for that. His son had been absolutely slated online after the video went viral, now he kept a low profile.

“I can handle the big baby,” you said with a nod, cursing the laws that stopped you from kissing them both. “Go, before I get us arrested.”

Lando’s lip curved up into a smirk. “Didn’t we give you enough attention this morning to last a few hours?”

“Non, mon cher,” Charles laughed. “Our sweet will never have enough.”

You hated how your blood began to rush faster from a few whispered words, and they continued to tease you as they went on their way.

“Remember to hydrate, Spitfire.”

You pressed the button on your steering console and nearly gagged as warm water filled your mouth. It was an effort to swallow but you forced the liquid down knowing you were losing much more from your body through sweat. Your suit was drenched and your eyes stung when even the balaclava couldn’t keep your forehead dry and the sweat ran into your eyes.

“I’m having words with Russell after the race, we can’t drive like this,” you complained again.

“I’m sure he will have a few drivers with the same issue. Sargeant is retiring from the race.”

You lapped the Williams car as it limped slowly into the pits but you couldn’t spare a thought for the rookie as your vision started to blur again. Shaking your head violently, you recovered your focus in time for turn one and throttled through it. Another lap down, too many more to go.

Your head was hazy, and your sight wasn’t much better. You were fairly sure it was muscle memory that kept the car on the track as you didn’t really remember the last few laps after your water ran dry. In all honesty you may not have realised the race was over if it wasn’t for Charles slowing down ahead of you. For a moment you thought you were gaining on him but you weren’t that lucky.

“What were the results?” you panted as you followed Charles on the warm down lap, running over the marbling and ignoring the system settings you didn’t have the energy to enter.

“Verstappen, Piastri, Norris, Russell, Leclerc, you. Nice job.”

“And Stroll?” The lap seemed to be going on forever as you took each turn at a snail's pace. You were hot and itching to get out of the seat that was most definitely burning your asscheeks.

“P11.”

You pulled into the pits and the engine stalled as you failed to disengage it properly. The failsafes clicked in and you fumbled for the harness as the need for fresh air almost suffocated you. Your mouth was too dry and the taste of metal coated your tongue. You didn’t even have the strength to climb over the halo and just slid down to the asphalt.

It took every ounce of will power to stand upright with the intention of making your way to Charles. But, as soon as you were upright it was as if all the blood drained from your brain and it was too heavy to hold up. You tried to take a step towards the ambulances that had arrived but when your foot lifted, the world tipped into darkness.

Lando searched the crowd as he stepped out onto the podium and waved proudly at his third podium in three races. He had seen Charles before being sequestered to the cool down room but hadn’t caught sight of you. Now he couldn’t find either as he scanned his team's area.

“Can you see them?” he asked Max beside him.

“No, but I saw Charles heading to her car before we left. Relax, she’s probably just chosen an ice bath over you.”

Lando snickered. “I won’t take it personally, I’m fucking cooking here.”

It was Jon who pulled him aside the instant his shoes hit the bottom step at the back of the podium. Lando knew something was wrong the moment he saw the worry etched on his PT’s face. “Max, you should come too,” Jon stated, his hand wringing together. “It’s your sister.”

Jon quickly recounted how you had collapsed from exhaustion trying to get to the ambulance in parc ferme. Charles had reached you first and then they had taken you straight to the medical centre, which was where Lando and Max were racing towards.

The medical centre was busier than either man had ever seen it and they passed Ocon and Sargeant looking a little worse for wear. Both looked up from their narrow cots in a curtained area but it was Logan who pointed to the door to a more private space.

“She’s in there,” he said softly. “They’re about to transfer her to the hospital. Sorry. Thin walls.”

“Appreciate it,” Lando nodded, skipping to catch up to Max as he pushed the door wide open.

“Zusje…”

Lando froze as he saw Charles sitting beside you, his hand holding yours carefully to avoid the IV that was pumping fluids back into you. Your race suit had been cut away and cooling blankets enveloped you as they worked to bring your core temperature back down into the safe range.

“I thought she fainted?” Lando murmured as he stepped closer and into the space Charles made between his legs, laws be damned. He placed his hand over yours, lacing his fingers between Charles as he sat on his knee.

“Her blood sugar was way down,” Charles said, his voice struggling to remain steady as he pointed to one of the bags connected to the IV. “Severe dehydration, hyperthermia. They are sending her to the hospital for monitoring, just waiting for the helicopter to arrive.”

“A helicopter,” Max frowned. “That’s not normal, right?”

“No,” Charles whispered before swallowing deeply and holding Lando tighter. “There’s something else that showed up in her blood test, mon cher.”

Lando twisted to see Charles as his voice broke. “What?”

Max circled the bed and reached for the papers that were still hanging from the machine that had since been turned off. “She’s pregnant too?”

Charles looked down and nodded, Lando’s spine stiffening at the news before he stood up and snatched the pictures from Max’s hands. His empty hands balled into fists and it was only your body in the bed that kept him from jumping over and tackling your boyfriends to the ground. “Which one of you klootzakken knocked her up?”

“It was an accident,” Charles said as he rose to his feet and wrapped his arms around Lando’s waist. “The doctor thinks she’s about 12 weeks along, but he wants the maternity unit at the hospital to check them.”

“She’s been racing,” Lando murmured, still in a state of disbelief. “She could have crashed.”

“She didn’t know,” Max growled under his breath. “How could she not know?”

The doors opened and three heads turned to see the FIA Director walking in, his eyes taking in the scene. “Good, you are all here.”

Max turned his anger to the Director who had clearly been debriefed on the situation. “How could you let her race in her condition? She got randomly tested in Singapore.”

“We test for drugs, Mr Verstappen, not pregnancy. General health check ups fall on the teams, any further questions should be directed to Aston Martin.”

More footsteps came down the hall and a nurse came with the news that the helicopter had arrived. Charles bent down and kissed your forehead, your skin still too hot on his lips. “I’m sorry, mon amour.”

Only family were allowed in the helicopter and there wasn’t enough space for everyone so Max ended up flying while Charles and Lando broke every speed limit on the road to reach the hospital. 

“She’s going to hate us,” Lando whispered into the silence that plagued the car. “Fuck, Charles, we’ve ruined her career.”

“Hey, shh, she’s not going to hate us,” he said, taking Lando‘s hand while praying he wasn’t lying. 

“Did you see it?” Lando asked, absentmindedly stroking the picture he still held. “A baby, Cha.”

“I didn’t believe them when the blood tests came back,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips before it dimmed. “I can’t help wishing she was awake to see it.” 

“Do you think…do you think it will be okay? The training, and racing…What if it hurt-”

“Don’t, Lando,” Charles cut him off with a shake of his head. “Don’t think like that, mon cher. Put your brave face on, for her. We’re here.”

Charles' hand slipped from Lando’s as they got out and it was a reflex to reach for each other when they met at the front of the car, except they couldn’t. Not there, not in public. The most they could allow was their shoulders to brush as they stormed inside the hospital and followed the signs to Maternity.

A dull thumping whomped around your head as you came back to consciousness and it took a while to realise the sound wasn’t inside your brain but from the helicopter you were a passenger in. Straps held you down on the gurney and you struggled against them before a hand gripped yours.

“You’re alright, zusje, calm down,” Max said through the headset that matched yours.

You looked around confused about how you had ended up in the back of a helicopter but it was the lack of two other people that worried you most. “Where’s Charles and Lando?”

“Don’t worry about those assholes, they’ll meet us at the hospital.”

You blanched at the acerbic tone and watched your brother's jaw clench with rage. A shiver broke across your skin despite still feeling like you were cooking from the inside out. “What happened?”

Max looked away and shook his head, refusing to explain further as the chopper started to descend. Mad at him, and mad in general, you pulled your hand away and found the buckle, unclipping yourself and reaching for the IV next.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m fine, Max, it’s just a little heatstroke.”

The nurse travelling with you had the same look on her face as what Max vocalised but she was more calm when she spoke. “You almost went into cardiac arrest, ma’am, and you are still at risk so please lay back on the cooling pads. We only want what’s best for you and the baby.”

Max winced and dropped his head into his hands. “Fuck.”

You blinked. Then blinked again. Maybe you did have more than just a little bit of heatstroke because you were obviously delirious. With a laugh you fell back into the cold blankets. “Crazy,” you mumbled as the buckle was refastened across your chest. “Could’ve sworn she said baby.”

Click here for the next part NAV: Lights Out .

[lucettapanchetta]

[LIVE BROADCAST] - PRIVATE Seven Red Suns, No Significant Harassment

[ It didn't work. ]

[ What didn't work? The plan? ]

[ It just didn't work. ]

[ No Significant Harassment, answer me, please. ]

[ The messenger delivered the pearls... ]

[ ...but Five Pebbles re-wrote the failsafe pearl. ]

[ Which means, we know exactly what happened. ]

[ Oh no. That can't be it, right? ]

[ We have other ways to save Five Pebbles still, right? ]

[ No. No we don't. We've failed, Seven Red Suns. ]

[ ... ]

[glitter-stained]

Oh I see you also wanted to see Jason abusing benzos after Gotham War. Good taste etc.

Anyway, I've given some thought about how that could end up happening, and... Well, for starters, I think this:

Should have consequences!

Maybe Jason takes more time to push through the fear and rescue the girl, and she ends up in the hospital, or maybe she dies (I'm always advocating for them both to die here, but in this situation, I thinking - she inhales a lot of smoke, has to go to the hospital, stays there in critical condition).

Anyway, Jason wouldn't have started abusing benzos just because of himself, but if affects his vigilantism? If it put other people at risk? Yeah, then he's gonna do it.

Alternatively, maybe he even tries to step back from vigilantism, because his condition is putting more people in risk than he not being there at all, and then ends up in the emergency as a civilian and there he is given alprazolam/diazepam/some other benzodiazepine and it works (somewhat? I won't try to understand how comic book logic for body modifications would interact with real world drugs). So afterwards Jason is like... "Hmmmmm this could make me functional again 👍 interesting" and there you go, that's the beginning of his descent into benzos abuse :/

I was about to say "Jason needs to abuse benzos because with the vicious circle of adrenaline/panic attacks he will die" but then I realised this man has the survival instinct of a lemming so your theory is much better, I do think he would take them to be able to continue vigilantism.

I don't want the little girl to die, not because I don't think you're right, but because it makes me too sad. With that being said, I've been considering some things:

-Jason died (his first death) of smoke inhalation

-PTSD is associated with memory issues regarding the event (not an erasure of the moment so much as distorsions, issues with memories, details remembered wrong or incoherently...) Add to that the fear failsafe and the fact that on top of being a traumatic event, this scene could be triggering to him, and Jason does dissociate sometimes (which in extreme case can be linked to "memory" issues when you're not aware of what's happening, ie because you're trapped in a flashback).

-with the rest of the Gotham War storyline happening, Jason had no opportunity to follow-up and take her to the hospital

Put all of that together in the shaker, and you have the perfect cocktail for a Jason overwhelmed by doubt because he can't remember whether the little girl survived.

And then

AND THEN that's where it gets interesting, because the fun thing about benzos is aside from all the other shitty side-effects those drugs, esp in high quantities, can cause temporary memory loss (kinda like when you get black-out drunk). So I'm picturing a Jason addicted to benzos, horrified at the idea of ending up like his mother but not even chemically capable of feeling afraid of it, always wondering if he failed to save that little girl, and with chunks of missing time... I like to think he'd dissociate more often too, as a reaction to the anxiety on top of that, so there's the horror of having his memory full of holes, feeling like he's living a half-life, not being sure of anything...

And, well. When you find a traumatized young man with such dangerous skills, memory issues, attachment issues and such evident vulnerability... There's a lot of things you can do with a man like that. A lot of things you can make them believe, make them feel, make them think.

[literallyjustforlurking]

War changes kids

I've only seen this fic concept once and it was lifechanging and I need to see it again.

The idea that CHB wasn't perfect before the war, the the survivors put a rose-colored tint over their memories of pre-war CHB and all the people who died before/during the Titan war, the idea that going through war changed all of these demigods.

In the fic they use time travel, which is a vastly under-used trope, and Percy and a few other campers travel back in time to their younger bodies to a few days before Percy arrived at camp.

Now that's cool and all but I think it would be really interesting just to see these demigods talk to their younger couterparts, and their past siblings and see just how their world view has changed.

Clarrisse for example she tells her cabin she fought in a war but didn't want to and they're all aghast, they've all dreamed of leading wars, how could she not want to? And Clarrisse being forced to realise the way these kids view the world with honor and glory through combat? Clarrisse looking at her brothers and sisters who died to war who are ecstatic at the idea of one? Clarrisse realizing this used to be her. The tired vertran watching the children who the war hasn't taken the light from.

Will meeting with his brothers and sisters from the past, fully prepared to talk about how the prep the infirarmy for the upcoming war, because having to choose who gets the ambrosia rations is a terrifying expierence he wouldn't wish on anyone. But none of them ask about the infirmary prep. Because they don't do infirarmy prep. They ask about his shooting, and his music and if his healing magic has gotten better. Will keeps bringing up how they need to start teaching first-aid courses to all cabins not just cabin 7. Will's talking to a bunch of kids who've only ever heard the songs of war through the side of the soldier. A grizzeled battlefield medic looking at a bunch of med-students who have never had to debate who they can afford to have die because they don't have engough medics for all the patients.

Malcolm bringing Nico to meet with his cabin mates to talk about how to make funeral shrouds but none of them want to talk about that, they want the glories to weave into their tapestries to impresse their mother. Malcolm explains the importance of starting the shroud when the demigod leaves for a quest and not when they fail to return. He wants to punch someone when he hears that maybe failures don't deserve shrouds. He says that then half of his siblings don't deserve the shrouds he made them. He wants to cry when they agree. Malcolm's talking to a bunch of children who've never gotten blood on a shroud because they've made so many in the past few days that the thread cut open their fingers. A tired brother looking at a fresh batch of soldiers who don't know the hatred that comes with having to dig a mass grave for your siblings because the energy needed to bury them are being used to keep someone else alive.

Annabeth meets with the other half of her cabin. She's nervous after hearing about how it went with the others. Thankfully they all want to talk about battle straegy. Annabeth brings up a hundred different failsafes you need to make in plans to keep people alive, she talks about back up plans and how to plan for a triage center and how to plan for the injured and how to make a plan to find the dead bodies and how too make a plan to organize rations and. They all stop up with the questions of who messed up. They sit around and pick apart stragies and make fun of screws ups of dead people, the same way you would nitpick stratagies of generals long dead. The same way she used to. She storms out as they debate the failures of her dead friends and family. Annabeth is sournded by people who have never had a plan that cost someone's life and don't understand the desperation that comes with it. A veteran listens to new recruits talk about how they would have done so much better, knowing that by the time any of them reach the rank where they would be the ones making the choices most of them would be dead.

I'm sure they're a lot more I could do but it is 11 o'clock at night and I am tired, I will probably add to this later but who knows.

If anyone has anything more to add please tag me or message me or both I would love to hear someone else's thoughts.

(Ps. If anyone has the name/link of the fic pls tell me I wanna credit the author and re-read it)

[easy-there-leftovers]

I See You, Darling (4)

[Astarion x reader] A little longer than usual, I hope that’s fine for all of you :,DDD I didn't want to cram too much into the post though, so the segment at the end might be continued in full detail, or maybe not! Let's see.|Word count: 2.9k.|

Content Warnings: Mentions of cooking, handling knives, blood, allusions to sex, a few ooc characters, reader being a dumbass and wahtnot.

Part 3 here!!

Masterlist here!!

A party is being held at the camp in the heroes’ honor, which greets you with a lively crowd that you’ll hopefully meet again soon. And with a gathering this large, you’re bound to garner attention. But with a constitution as poor as yours from the night before, a round of drinks is the last thing you want. 

Alternatively: A bloodless human tries to balance respectfully participating in a drinking party, while also not drinking at all. 

————━─━────༺༻────━─━————

The sun rises, the warmth of its rays gently waking you in the absence of the campfire’s flames. The soft chirping of the birds greet you a good morning as your eyes slowly open, ready to greet the day as a new opportunity arises.

Is what would have happened in a more idyllic scenario. Instead, you bolt awake with a pounding headache, worse than any hangover could possibly feel like, and quickly rush to get up. By the sheer brightness of the light that burns your newly opened corneas, it is far later than when you usually wake. And breakfast still hasn’t been made. 

“Well, good morning sleepy head.” One of your companions, Gale, says as he fixes his belongings. Readying himself for the skirmish that was about to take hold later on in the day.

“I’m very  sorry for waking up late. It won’t happen again.” You bow your head low for a moment before he waves you off.

“Oh come now, we all have our off days. Besides, I think the rest would agree with me when I say what you made for us last night was more than enough to last us ‘til morning.” His statement is punctuated by the lively sounds of the others training. Ready and well rested for whatever may come.

You look around. None have seemed to mind your temporary absence, so you endeavor to double check with everyone leaving and ensure that they had a sound strategy with the necessary materials and weapons should there be a need for failsafes. You remind them of certain notes that some of them have informed you about but failed to share with the rest of the group. 

‘While goblins typically go down faster than other opponents, they have no sense of honor nor pride which gives way for them the opportunity to use more underhanded tactics. But they also aren’t very bright, so you can convince the others to let them infiltrate the camp and eradicate them from the inside out.’

As the rest disperse, finalize their plans and check their supplies, your favorite character approaches you much like he usually does every morning. Only this time, you see that he looks very pleased. A more vibrant spark in his eyes as he opens his mouth to speak.

“Thank goodness you’ve finally woken up.” He looks at you, in the same way an old friend of yours would when they’re seconds away from telling a joke. 

The look fades soon enough though as he breathes out. You wonder if it’s because the joke isn't funny anymore, or if he never had a punchline to begin with.

“You looked a little ill last night, but you’ve certainly recovered.” Recovered isn’t the word you would use to describe your current state of feeling almost half dead, but you don’t bother correcting the details.

“And you look particularly vibrant today, Astarion.” The itch of your neck intensifies as you return a pointed look at him as he frowns.

“Oh, of course! Now, don’t be so upset. I will admit that I got a little carried away, I apologize.” He pauses. The frown remains on his face for a while before it is erased with his usual expression of confidence. 

“But let’s not fall out over this.” He moves to stand closer to you, taking your hand to his as he nears it to his lips as he continues. 

“We need each other.” 

And whether its done purposefully or not, you see his fangs peek out from his mouth and a shiver courses through your body.

You slip your hand out of his own in a panic and interject. 

“I know that much already, and I trust you not to let what happened last night happen again. I also apologize for not noticing sooner and dealing with the situation better.” You hold your head down a bit to apologize but quickly meet his gaze gain. “But I do need to know what we’ll have to feed you from now on.”

The look of confusion, and perhaps even shock that was once swimming in his eyes dissipates before you can notice them when he swears upon his resolve. “No innocents, you have my word. After all, you know what I am now. I can fight with all my weapons–” He grins, allowing you a clearer view than what you had earlier. “Teeth included.”

“And if I happen to drain the occasional bandit during a fight, what's the harm? They’re just as dead.” He makes a very compelling argument, at least to your standards.

You sigh, satisfied for now. You’re confident that none of your party members would end up at the mercy of his fangs, and you’re more than sure they would be able to overpower him more than your attempts did. But the same sentiment cannot be shared for possibly important, plot driving, characters that you might meet later on.

So you propose something to strengthen your trust that the unlikely will stay the unlikely.

“Look, I’m–” You breathe in, almost as if you're trying to suck back whatever courage washed over you back in as you steeled yourself for what you were about to say next.

“I’m not against you feeding from me, but!” You punctuate the last syllable as you see his grin growing wider. “We need to discuss things beforehand. No prowling over me while waiting for me to wake up or to sink your teeth into.”

The proposal greatly delights him, as is evident in his response. “Of course! That sounds eminently reasonable. I shall wait patiently until you suggest we… dine together. But until then: no more late-night surprises. You have my word on that.” 

After that, he makes a joke about feeling ‘peckish already,’ and quickly gathers the rest of the party to leave on their adventure.

You promise them a feast when they came back as the victors that they are. What you forgot, after what felt like weeks in the real world, was the crowd that would come filtering in to celebrate their heroes’ achievements as well.

————————————

When you saw the tieflings from the grove traveling alongside your companions, you knew they had come to celebrate. And you blanched at the thought of the provisions they’d be seeking to pair with their drinking. It’s been so long since you went through this event, and you no longer recall if they even ate anything during the party.

You look at your bubbling cauldron–– a bigger one as you had anticipated a few acquaintances accompanying them–– but you wager that at least a little extra things to nibble on won’t hurt to have. You still have quite the amount of camp supplies in the trunk, but you keep it reserved for the camp’s use only. So you smile at your returning comrades and alert the others that stayed behind for your reason to leave and that they can begin eating dinner. 

While others told you it wasn’t necessary, the rest just nodded with a smile and yelled that they’d wait for you to return. You return quite too quickly though, all the while informing them why you’re keeping the communal chest in your tent as you spy the child that tried to steal and swindle the group a few days prior approaching with the rest.

They have a laugh and you quickly proceed with your plan to find at least a few consumable berries and nuts or seeds to accompany the drinks later on. 

But foraging for said consumables near dark is a choice not for the faint-hearted. You came to realize this when you heard the low grumble of a large animal, thankfully far from your form. You turn to look behind you, taking great care to do so as slowly as possible so as to not alert the mysterious creature.

In the clearing, you spot a rather dark looking bear and you feel a cold sweat begin to form on your temple. Hands, growing wet in the dangerous situation you’ve placed yourself in. This wasn’t the same as being drained to death by a vampire, that, you could at least reason with. But a wild animal? With your lack of magical prowess and lesser knowledge of connecting with nature and the wild, you would be finished if it were to follow you.

The small pouch of nuts and wild berries stayed holstered on your waist, but the bear’s eyes that were previously low on the ground are now trained on you. Almost as if it were caught doing something it wasn’t supposed to be. 

You freeze. You forgot what the basic policy was around brown or black bears and therefore couldn’t do much about your current predicament. There shouldn’t be a bear around this area, not unless they had traveled from far away, or that this bear was one of your future companions.

And while the latter isn’t impossible, you most certainly did not want to gamble your life on a possibility. So you tried to compose yourself, returned the gaze of the bear with a shaky and careful nod, and turned back to return to camp. Figuring that the amount of tidbits you gathered would have to suffice.

 When you return, the company you shared seems to be in high spirits. Some more than others. But conversation was plentiful and you smiled as the tieflings cheered for your comrades. You quickly got to work and began to chop the nuts into thinner pieces. Something you learned to make the appearance of something look more abundant than it really is.

While you were chopping away unfortunately, you nick your finger along the way and silently curse. Unfortunate, but not an unforeseeable outcome given the booming drums of the bard that plays oh so nicely with your bloodless state. You quickly, but neatly, arrange the provisions on two small platters, and position them near the larger gatherings. 

“Flitting around like a hummingbird as always, I see.” A familiar, but not immediately recognizable voice greets you as you pass them. You turn and you see an unexpected acquaintance with a bottle in their hand and an incredibly charming grin.

“Dammon! How lucky of me to run into you.” You genuinely were elated to see him. You didn’t see much of him later on in the game, and being able to interact with him beyond the opportunities given to you was certainly nice.

“I could say the same. Though you’re as lively as you usually are.” There’s no malice in his tone, only an innocent observation, yet you feel embarrassed to have been seen scuttling about like a bug.

“I– promise I’m more organized. I just didn’t expect us to be having any guests.” He takes notice of how you push your fingers into your palms repetitively, a small action that soothes you.

“I think you’ve done more than a fine job already. The celebration is for you all, and it was us who planned to come and might’ve put your friends on the spot.” He later takes notice of the cut on your finger as well.

“Speaking of,” He gingerly grasps your hand, looking to you for permission, but you’re too confused to respond with anything he can understand. “Shouldn’t you be taking it easy for the night? You’ve done enough. And if what happened at the grove tells me anything about you, I’m sure they’ll survive even if you settle. Just for a bit.” 

He leads you nearer to the water and produces a small washcloth to clean a bit of your finger as you respond. “The grove? They did that on their own. I just um, take notes.” You sit on a fallen tree, your head still fuzzy, as you observe his crouched form. Inspecting the cut as he cleans it. 

A curious interaction. Not one that you’d expect from an non-romanceable NPC, but an interesting one nonetheless. And it would seem that someone had found it equally as interesting, if the way he scrutinizes you had anything to do about it.

He chuckles in turn. “If modesty is how you like to live, then I won’t impose.” He smiles and gets up as you continue your conversation. You don’t recall if the tiefling has ever had this much screen time, but his voice is rather lovely so you don’t complain about it.

You end up discussing quite a bit, but you focus on what can be done about your party. Specifically Karlach as you worry for the future and you’d like to have answers for her when he isn’t around during your journey. He doesn’t have much idea of what else can be done, but he does mention that he should have something by the time you meet him again in Baldur’s Gate.

You do remember that you might meet him a lot sooner, but you don’t mention it explicitly. You do, however, advise him to be extra careful around the oxen as they can be rather unpredictable this time of year.

As you continue, you notice his eyes flit up every now and then. Like something was catching his attention ever so often. You ask him about it and he actually laughs at your genuine inquiry. “It looks like I was wrong. Your friend there looks like he’d like his turn for your company.”

You turn around and you don’t immediately eye anyone looking in your direction. You were never the subtle type, so you looked around, blatantly searching for someone. It was a bit odd to see.

Your eyes do eventually train on his, but he doesn’t necessarily look like he wants to talk to you. Sure, he’s scowling away, though that’s not out of the ordinary at all. Besides, he has a bottle of something that you hope is helping him relax.

Still, perhaps Dammon saw something you didn’t so you politely thank him for his company and excuse yourself.

You greet the others that regard you as you walk past them. Declining the offers to drink and excusing yourself politely when you were asked to stay a bit. 

As you approach him, a tiefling tries to strike up a conversation with him. With a bored look, he dismisses them and turns to look at you. He takes a sip, sneers, and begins his rant now that you’re situated in front of him.

“I hate it. This is awful.” 

“The…wine?” He looks at you as if he should be mad, but a hint of amusement surfaces past the expression anyway. 

“There’s that, but I’m talking about the tieflings. We killed some goblins to save the others. The tally of lives didn’t change much. But what do I get for my hard work? A pat on the head, and vinegar for wine.” He looks down the neck of the bottle, swirling its contents before handing it out for you to take.

You look at the bottle, then him, warily. Modern alcohol is already a wonder to you, and this medieval mead could only do so much worse. Still, you take the bottle, and take a very small sip.

It’s a heavy, rich, red. Dry and sharp. You make a small sound of shock as you keep the liquid in your mouth. Offering him an awkward smile and a nod as you do.

“Ugh, see what I mean? Awful.” 

“All I want is a little fun. Is that so much to ask?” You would think that after an entire day of fighting whatever was out there he’d be tired. Apparently not. 

You sigh, ready to reprimand him and that he should just enjoy the night, but you stop when you feel his unburdened hand reach out to you. Eyes, boring into your own as he propositions you.

You’re here. Face in the grasp of a character you’ve longed to romance with what little time you’ve had away from your scholarly pursuits. Yet meeting him in strange, yet not all too unfamiliar, territory stirs uncertainty within you. Because while he doesn't have a knife at your throat like he did when your character first met him, it certainly does evoke the same sentiment.

‘To, “make me his”, is that right?’ While the idea is tempting, that statement alone can have various interpretations. And you didn’t want to hedge your bets on the one that made your heart race for all the wrong reasons.

Thankfully, he releases his hold on your visage. Only the gods know how much his touch alone can influence you, and you struggle to stand upright.

“I’m– very,-- truly, sorry, but don’t you think you have the wrong person? I mean,” You gesture to yourself with both hands, a cut visible from the labor in the few hours prior to the large festivities going on.. “Uh…in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly in a position to make any um, lucrative offers.” 

 He looks at you, a familiar expression graces his face. He leans his weight on one leg, and you struggle to recognize what his body language is conveying. This is one of those instances you wished you had the dice roll mechanic of the game at your disposal. 

“Why, that hardly matters, darling. What matters is that you’re here.” He takes a sip from his bottle, the very same that he allowed you to partake from moments prior. Only this time, without the sneer at the aftertaste as he continues.

“But then again, what’s a sinner to do when faced with the very embodiment of chastity?” A smile graces his face, but it’s one that is all too perfect. As if he’s rehearsed the same song and dance enough to save him lifetimes.

“Let’s wait until things quieten down. Once the others are asleep we’ll find each other.” 

You have no idea what to expect. Well, you do, but you’re not very sure if this is necessary. You’ll just have to find a way to continue the story without having to go through with this. For now, at least. 

“We’ll see about that, Astarion.” 

————━─━────༺༻────━─━————

Thank you to @rey26, @shyminnie07, @lynnloveshobi, @iggee-rose, @automnepoet, @tiannamortis, @aoirohi, @sarkara211, @jane-3043, @h3110-dar1in9, @h3ll0k1ttyl0ver333, @mimziethealien, @squichymochi, @sharabay, @furblrwurblr, @dork-of-the-universe, @thedevilssinner, @fuckalrighty, @queenofthespacesquids, @perseny, @goldenplutus, @h4nluv, @awkward-d3rs3-dr3amer, @auszimbo, @maruichio, @iamsexytrash, @craig-mywifeisdead-boone, @grimissleepy, @fandomsfanman, @bitchyzombienacho, @r1kk, @ancuninstar, @izuoyarmin, @gracemisconduct, @kiinokochii, @marina-and-the-memes, and @life-is-hard-m8 for asking to be tagged!!

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

What if you did find Jason at arkam asylum? What if you tried to save him and succeeded? How would that alter his AK mindset?

What I'm really curious about is if you got caught. Joker would obviously use you to his advantage. Poor Jason would be devastated. (Once he's lucid enough, which the Joker would probably make happen.) But! As AK isn't that what he wanted? For you so find him? Did he really expect little old you to pull it off?

I only see you as stumbling upon Jason in an emotional search. Still relatively thought out, but nothing like... Batman approved. You know? You probably had a fight or are avoiding Bruce altogether because you know he would tell you no/stop you.

Gosh, the drama! I have a cold and it is way past my bedtime. You have entered orangutan's sleep deprived angsty mind...

-🦧

Been thinking about this one so hard!!

Overall, I don't think you finding and saving him changes AK's mindset that much. You found him, yes, you did what no one else could. But every one else? They failed. Batman, the one who he swore would come save him, still never showed up. So do his plans change? No, he still wants to make Bruce pay, still wants Gotham under his heel to show that he can win. The Arkham Knight still wants his revenge.

I think, once he's free from the Asylum, he's probably softer to you when you're alone. He's more loyal (in a sense) and trusts you to come and go as you please. You've proven yourself to him, after all. He'd give you roles and responsibilities in the militia too, if you'd like.

But if you get captured along side him? Once he realizes you're not a hallucination? Every thing gets so much worse. He's harder and easier all at once to break with you there. He gives into everything quicker to try and spare you any pain, but that spark in his eyes? It lingers far longer than it should– than it would– if you weren't there.

You definitely didn't have a plan when you went to look for him, no back-ups or failsafes, you were just desperate. So, there's no one coming for you– either of you.

But you did find him, even if you didn't save him. And while this doesn't change anything, he won't forget it. He won't forget that you found him, and in doing so got yourself hurt right along side him. It breaks something in him, I think. It makes him heavy with more guilt, more anger, more violence.

None of this fixes anything, but I think it makes him weak to you– weaker than he already was. That guilt, that bond you have now (because no one else knows what you two went through) means he listens to you. No matter what you say, what you ask for, whether he agrees or not, he listens to what you say. (and if you say to burn Arkham, to burn Gotham and all her rot to the ground, he will)