#tw: graphic depiction of violence

[aftgficrec]

My Personal Favorite Fics EVER!! All Neil/Andrew

I hope I am doing this right! I just hit the share button on my bookmarked fics. Idk if any of these have been on here before (I have read a lot of fics and it gets confusing to know which ones I found on here bc there are so many good recommendations, or ones I found on my own. But these are 3 of my favorite fics that I feel like are the most well done!

• Everything's Alright by DarkD: This fic is unfinished but so worth the read!! It is a soulmates au, and in it Neil and Andrew are looking out for eachother since they are 6 and 7 years old. It completely changes their dynamic but manages to keep the characters realistic. I love the direction it was going, I hope the author finishes it, but even if they don’t what they have written so far is worth the read.

• If I Knew You by AceSirenSinger: This fic is soooo amazing!! It was posed pretty recently (starting January 2024 and finishing in May) and It shows a different direction with Aaron and Andrew’s bonding, and different reasons for them having problems with each other. It features writer/author Andrew and Law Student turned police officer Aaron. The writing is so high quality and it is a completely finished fic!! The writing to show the writing of the book Andrew has written alone is impressive enough to get you to read it. I love it so much, it also gives a more realistic approach to Neil’s life and trauma as well as gives you more of a perspective on the problems of Aaron’s life. (Even tho it’s an au and doesn’t show his life during AFTG)

• Deep blue ( but you painted me golden ) by Jeaneil_22: This fic is not finished but completely captivated my attention when I saw it. I was surprised I had not read it before (because I am obsessed with Raven Neil fics, and this is one of them) but then I realized it was posted within the last year or so. It’s completely underrated. It does have a lot of hits but the kudos count not being in the thousands is a crime against humanity. The realistic take on. Neil’s trauma and different things going on as he is still connected very heavily to the Moriyama’s is sooo interesting. And if you are looking for a fic where Neil is a victim of SA/Rape this fic is also a good one for you. (Though it does have a lot of trauma so mind the tags) I know a lot of people are looking for fics like that tho and it’s hard to find bc there is so much SA trauma in AFTG 😔

Thanks for the recs and for sharing your thoughts on the fics! Readers, all of these stories lean toward the darkest themes of AFTG. -A

Everything's Alright by DarkD [Rated E, 182901 Words, Incomplete, Updated June 2023]

Previously recced here

Souls weren't meant to be left alone, so they split, always looking for their other half. No matter how long it took, the moment a soul existed, it sought the one that would complete it. The main indication is, when one of the halves of the soul turns seven years old, an identical mark appears on both parts. Along with that comes a set of unique abilities that soulmates can only use with each other—for protection, for finding each other. Soulmates would never be alone.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: child abuse, tw: torture, tw: blood, tw: gun violence, tw: homophobia, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: murder, tw: canonical character death

If I Knew You by AceSirenSinger [Rated T, 43145 Words, Complete, 2024]

Previously featured in this long andreil + aaron angst ask, our staff recs writers post, and as a random rec

Neil is imprisoned at sixteen years old for being the Butcher of Baltimore. Andrew obsesses, and Aaron obsesses because Andrew does, and everything goes wrong and raw and painful. Feat. the twinyards breaking each other’s hearts, and a decent amount of shade on the American justice system.

tw: implied/referenced murder, tw: recreational drug use, tw: implied/referenced violence, tw: implied/referenced torture

​​Deep blue ( but you painted me golden ) by Jeaneil_22 [Rated M, 163298 Words, Incomplete, Updated Sept 2024]

After the horrific incident that happened in the nest and the sound of Kevin crying, Nathaneil made the hard call and bargained with his life to get Jean and Kevin out, having no slight idea about the storm that was heading his way And after being missing for two years, Jean and Kevin swallowed the hard truth that Nathaneil might be dead somewhere To their surprise one day he appears out of the blue looking so much like their brother but nothing like Nathaneil at all Or Nathniel went on the run with his mother when he was 9 years old but three years later Nathan caught up to them and threw Nathaneil in the nest So we can say some things went a bit different .

NB: playlist for this fic

tw: dark, tw: gang rape, tw: dubcon, tw: human trafficking, tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: suicidal thoughts, tw: assault, tw: flashbacks, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: abuse and torture, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: medication addiction and withdrawal, tw: recreational drug use, tw: nonconsensual drug use, tw: vomit, tw: homophobia, tw: canonical character death

[mpxmaxim]

{{tw: graphic depiction of violence}}

From the moment he saw their surroundings change to resemble an eerily dark home, Maxim knew that this nightmare would be a special one. It was rare for him to play with dreams as vivid as In-Soo’s and he would take every opportunity to make them as life-like as he could. Some might call it a cruel act for him to traumatize his victims in the most ruthless and vile way possible. The son of Phobetor would call it ‘practice’. 

Those sweet, begging whispers were music to his ears, almost addictive. Still, they weren’t enough to please him. After all, he was just getting started.

The smile on his face only faltered briefly as he watched the man retreat back and closer to the projection of himself. Unbeknownst to his victims, Maxim was only with them as something akin to a spirit and it took a combination of luck, persuasion and an enormous amount of concentration to make them believe he was real enough to touch. For a split second, a scowl flashed over his expression but was quickly replaced by a more sinister, amused grin to cover his misstep up. 

When he finally spoke, his tone might be considered casual, almost disinterested, if it wasn’t for the twisted kind of amusement he failed to mask. “I see.” For a moment, he simply watched the shadows hungrily reach for the old couple as the demons’ wretched screams and wails filled the halls, before he finally made his way over to stand a few steps behind the elderly woman and face In-soo. If he was to fully enjoy this, he wanted to see his reaction. And his new position would allow him to do so without interfering with the gruesome shadows and their own plans for torment. Not only that, Maxim had to make sure to be able to read his victim’s expression to adjust his words for just the right kind of manipulation. 

Would he have known his victim and connections better, the son of Phobetor might’ve introduced himself with a specific name, one he would’ve known to be unfamiliar to In-soo to cover his own tracks and lead him to believe that he was plotting revenge on somebody entirely different. Though, this was a risky game to play. Calling himself by a different name could result in his victims being acquainted with the original, which would make it harder for him to keep them trapped within their own nightmare.

Revealing his own name would render the careful masquerade of his cheerful expression useless and make it easier for his targets to take find him. 

Thus, he simply shrugged and shook his head, the chipper look on his face contrasting with their surroundings. 

“You can call me whatever you want. I’m just here to help you.” Lies came easy to the demigod after a lifetime’s worth of dishonesty. 

His gaze shifted to what he assumed were In-Soo’s grandparents before he took half a step back to make way for another arm to reach out to them. “Don’t you miss them? Don’t you want to see them again? Be with them?” There’s a special kind of tenderness in his voice, fake enough to be considered mocking. 

His hands clasped behind his back when the shadows finally clawed at the couple, and his smile softened as he admired their work. He resembled somebody looking at a masterpiece in a museum, making the fact that he was watching blood trickle along freshly ripped skin that much more chilling. 

“Do you remember how the air smelled when they were skinned alive, over and over again?” Maxim knew that his words were a calculated risk at best, seeing as he had no information on whether In-soo had any recollection of that day, if he even saw the spectacle happen and how the seniors got murdered to begin with. But this was the beauty of nightmares; if he could get his target to believe in his storyline, they could visualize it. This was precisely what he came to practice—the art of choosing the correct words to make someone see exactly what he wanted them to, regardless of their own memories. 

The night was quiet, a soft breeze playing in In-Soo’s curtains through his open window. He had been lucky to fall asleep quickly, the music he was listening to still coming from his phone on the nightstand, Bomi curled up against his hip.

The dreams had started as usual, sweet and gentle. Tiny bunnies playing in a field of flowers, his dolphin self jumping with the waves as Hua laughed, the sound clear as crystal. It felt nice, safe and happy, In-Soo sighing in contentment in his sleep.

Then the darkness came, slowly seeping through the corner of his vision until everything was black around him. He had no sensation of space anymore, like if he was floating in a big box void of gravity. The vet felt his throat tighten, tears raising in his eyes, ready to fall. Carefully, he sat down, finding just a bit of reassurance in feeling the ground under him, and wrapped his arms around his knees. Curled up on himself, he didn’t see the shadow approaching.

In-Soo’s head jerked up at the question and he sniffed, wiping the few tears on his cheeks away. The new presence felt strangely familiar, like and old memory coming back to him, but he couldn’t pinpoint from where. He stood, trying to recognize the stranger before him. "In-Soo… In-Soo’s my name. Who are you ? What do you want from me ?" he answered, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. There was no surprise when no answer came, only a mischievous smile seemed to reply to him.

The vet shifted in his bed, his eyebrows furrowing in a painful expression. He knew what was coming and he desperately tried to wake himself up but the darkness’ hold on his soul, on his will, was too strong. Feeling his distress, Bomi bumped her head against his hand, meowing softly. But even her softness wasn’t enough to help.

The dream’s man talked again, sending a cold sweat down In-Soo’s back. His mind knew it was a trap but he still turned around and hopelessly watched as the darkness turned into the familiar hallways of his family house. The pictures on the wall, the small pedestal table with his mother’s favorite bouquet of lavender, everything was a he remembered, down to the scent of tea and fresh yakgwa.

When his grandparents appeared, smiling at him, In-Soo retreated, his back crashing into the man’s chest. He could only watch in horror as shadows came out of the walls, grinning at him, their long arms reaching for his family.

"Please no" he whispered, chocking on new tears. "Please don’t do that, please… No."

[whatlovelybones-if]

DEMO RELEASE!!!

THE DAY IS FINALLY HERE!!! IT’S BEEN QUITE A RIDE Y’ALL, BUT WE’VE CONQUERED BURNOUTS AND OVERTHINKING TOGETHER TO ACTUALLY GET BACK ON TRACK WITH WRITING! I HAVE CHAPTER TWO ON THE WAY ALREADY AND IT’S GONNA BE LONGER THAN THE PROLOGUE AND CHAPTER ONE COMBINED SO LET’S GO!!!

⚠️ CONTENT WARNINGS: insinuation of child abuse ⚠️

create your friendly neighbourhood killer surgeon.

meet a characters that plays a huge role in the MCs life.

live through a childhood filled with sinister figure(s).

meet a new friend and lose them.

get a glimpse of what has shaped the surgeon’s past.

⚠️ CONTENT WARNINGS: murder, violence, gore & body horror ⚠️

a missing report. a murder. a youngblood cop. surely nothing can go wrong, right?

settle into your quite extraordinary life in helmsford.

WHAT IS THAT MELODYYYY?

deal with a pesky voice in your head.

meet vivienne, the kind psychiatrist, who wants nothing but to help you. it’s for you to decide how you feel about that.

what are you hiding, doctor?

what will you do when someone stumbles on the skeletons you hide in your closet, or should i say, basement.

kill.

A/N: a reminder that i have quite a lot of issues to fix in this update so i appreciate all the feedback i’ll get. they will all get fixed and major changes will be implemented with the update of chapter 2, including adding trans options, tattoo options and the touch-averse option.

fair warning that the graphic contents of this story will get worse, the prologue and chapter one were just the tip of the iceberg. if you get easily disturbed by these scenes, i’ll start implementing the auto-skip option from the next update to avoid the gruesome scenes.

acknowledgements: special thanks to fish (any pronouns) for helping me immensely with the coding aspect and @nikkefort (they/them) for providing a great design to all my imaginations. i have huge respect for coders cause i can’t do it properly even if my life depended on it. without these two superstars, this game would take years to complete so a huge shoutout to them!

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, LET’S GET TO WORK!

[lyculuscaelus]

Ah yes Homeric spirits. You know what’s truly Homeric? Not the apologetic stuff inserting for a character, not the discreet description of the time and location for the settings of your story…

But the way one’s head was rolling on the floor still talking or their eyes were pumping out of their sockets or their teeth were clenching the bronze spear piercing through their mouth, as a treat.

[natyoboi]

unpopular opinion

Country bear jimboree does not deserve the gun

He should be thrown off the airlock and experience his lungs exploding

Y’know. Like the hit game Among Us.

Don’t mind me I’m just being a hater lmao. Getting into Mouthwashing recently as you can tell by my reblogs.

[fantasyinallforms]

New Scars, Old Wounds

Summary: {M, 10.7K)

The company is chased from the goblin tunnels and into trees, where they are forced to make their last stand against Azog. Thorin charges his old foe, and Bilbo comes to his aid. Only this time, when the eagles come to save them, they are unable to reach the king and burglar who are left to Azog's mercy.

[zach-m-kelvin]

Some more yanclock related stuff

Icecube has blood because I said so

[allykatsart]

Infirmary

Next

Previous

I wish I could add just one more image for a trigger warning, but I hit 10 images and that's the max. So a community warning/tags will have to do! This comic wraps up this arc and bridges to the next! I hope it makes sense why I put Peccantum's deal after this lmao.

There will be consequences for this, don't worry, Peccantum doesn't get off scott free. And Vox isn't bad at what he does, Peccantum just caught him a little off guard!

Who is Peccantum?

[apollo-likes-writing]

June of Doom Day Two - Double-crossed/Forced to Watch

Fandom: Honkai: Star Rail

Characters: Veritas Ratio, Aventurine, Sunday

Ship: Golden Ratio (Aventurine/Dr. Ratio)

Summary: An AU where Sunday knows about the three Cornerstones during the confrontation between himself, Aventurine, and Dr. Ratio. Chaos, whump, and angst ensue.

Word count: 3,364

Tags: Whump, angst, graphic depictions of violence, torture, mind control, mind manipulation, illusions of pain but it isn't technically real, manipulation.

Author's Note: I don't know how I vomited up over 3000 words for this, but here I am. I hope you enjoy! As always, please comment and reblog as it helps me out a bunch (and gives me a much needed serotonin boost). This is not beta-read so please let me know if there are any spelling/grammar mistakes/goofy pacing.

@juneofdoom

Masterlist | Day One | Day Three

Two men stand side by side in front of huge oak double-doors, both in elaborate clothing; one in green, black, and white, and the other in blue, white, and gold. They are presumed to hate each other. They do not. Far from it, actually. They have found a special kind of companionship during their short period of knowing each other. Who would’ve thought a Stoneheart of the Interastral Peace Corporation and a professor of the Intelligentsia Guild could get along? Especially with temperaments as different as theirs. Aventurine: a “crazed gambler” as the other likes to put it. A man of extraordinary levels of luck and the tendency to value petty bets over his own life. Veritas Ratio: a “stuffy doctor” as the other likes to playfully tease, much to his dismay. A professor of profound intelligence, continually disappointed by the divine entity that refuses to cast THEIR gaze in his direction standing next to the man cursed to withstand the favour of another. Both are pitied. Both are revered. Both are about to stab the head of the Oak Family in the back.  

“Sunday is just beyond this door. Are you ready?” the doctor asks, his head turned towards the shorter man beside him. 

Aventurine’s eyes remain trained on the door in front of him. “Yep. You?” 

“Tell me your plan.” 

“I’ll play it by ear.” 

“Are you serious?” 

“When am I not?” 

“Is that a serious question?” 

“It was a rhetorical question, Doctor.” 

“Mine was nothing of the sort, Gambler. Are you telling me you do not have a plan for facing Sunday?” 

“Three chips will do.” 

After that short bicker, Aventurine winks at the man and steps forward to push open the door. It takes everything in Ratio to not sigh and roll his eyes. Doing so would only encourage the man in front of him further, so he instead schools his expression to one of his usual neutrality and calmly strolls into the room behind his companion. Inside sits Sunday, who raises from his seat on the opposite side of the huge circular table and welcomes the two men with a gesture of his hand. 

“It seems my puzzles are too effortless for you, IPC ambassador,” he begins. 

“I see you put a lot of effort into welcoming me, Mr. Sunday. However, this is no way to greet a guest,” Aventurine replies coolly, crossing his arms. 

Sunday smiles, teeth glinting in the light above him. “Well, this isn’t an invitation, but a summoning. Before we speak, I need to test your character. You understand, yes?” He gestures to Ratio, whose expression remains unmoving. “I imagine this knowledgeable doctor friend of yours has been of great help, hm?” 

Aventurine’s faux smile matches the man in front of him. “Certainly. You ought to know this better than I do – he has already faithfully fulfilled his duties, hasn’t he?” 

“Yes. The doctor has assured me of your noble character. He considers you, like himself, a virtuous person who can be trusted by The Family.” Ratio is getting a little sick of being talked about as if he wasn’t in the room. He doesn’t let that show on his face, of course, but he can’t help but feel a little irked. 

“You don’t look too well,” the ambassador suddenly states bluntly. “Am I making you anxious? If not, then it means I’m on your side.” 

“You’re a wise man, Aventurine.” The Halovian places his hands behind his back – the image of grace. “My only concern is that you’ve used your wisdom at the wrong time to meet the wrong person and put yourself in a situation where you shouldn’t be.” His sister’s death. “If I wasn’t mistaken, you have just made a serious accusation against The Family.” 

“You are not mistaken. Depravity is creeping in around you, Mr. Sunday.” This is certainly not how Ratio would go about this. This is creeping into increasingly dangerous territory. “There’s no need to be evasive. Let’s talk about your sister, shall we? Many suspect her death to be the work of outsiders, but I know you are of a different opinion.” 

Ratio can’t tell for sure at this distance, but he could have sworn that Sunday’s posture tenses. 

“Now, your noble status has become a shackle, preventing you from apprehending the murderer and avenging your sister’s death. You’re feeling anxious because you’re out on a limb. But don’t worry. I am on your side.” 

Despite the tightness of his shoulders, Sunday’s voice betrays no such tenseness. “I’m immensely honoured by your concern for me, Mr. Aventurine – since you’re so selfless and generous, I believe you wouldn’t ask for anything in return, would you?” 

“Naturally, you wouldn’t incur any loss from this. I simply want to reclaim what is mine: my liberty, and my personal items under the Family’s custody – the bag of gift money, and-” 

“The Cornerstone and the box that it inhabits.” 

“That’s right.” 

“A treasured asset of the Strategic Investment Department, a sacred stone that seals the Emanator of Preservation, granting significant power to each of the Ten Stoneheart's, yes?” 

“You would be correct.” Where is this going? This is like an elaborate chess game, two players taking the other’s pieces for their own gain. For all his intelligence, Ratio can’t figure out who has the most pawns at their disposal. He knows he is one of them, but his move has already been made. 

“For an object so precious, it probably comes at an even higher price than other forms of recompense.” 

Aventurine frowns – a performed frown – but a frown nonetheless. “I’m sure you’re aware of the high level of risk I’ll be undertaking to bring the truth to light-” 

“Mr. Aventurine,” Sunday starts, raising a hand to silence him. “When you’re out and about, do you always make adjustments to your appearance? Your tie should be on the centre line, your shirt must not protrude from your vest, your trouser creases should be perfectly straight, and always aligned with the tips of your shoes.” 

The blonde nods. “Of course.” 

“I don’t, because it is not appropriate to do so in the company of others – you should make sure you are presentable and in order before leaving the house. Unlike you, I’m not the kind that takes risks. The Cornerstone must remain in the custody of The Family.”  

Looks like the first piece has been taken. Aventurine sighs. “...No room for negotiation?” At this, Ratio moves from where he stands next to the IPC ambassador to the bookshelf closer to Sunday. Ratio must admit that he is a pawn to both players. He doesn’t like it, but it’s a necessary evil. This room is a giant chess board, and he just took his turn. 

Sunday shakes his head. “Please don’t let me turn you down twice.”  

“...Fine. The gift money is fine. I suppose you wouldn’t mind that, yes? After all, a businessman can’t function without a bargaining chip.” To that, Sunday lets himself raise an eyebrow. 

“You compromised quicker than I thought you would,” he notes. “Unfortunately for you, it is a gambler that needs a bargaining chip, not a businessman. I have no qualms in giving you your gift money, but before that, I need you to tell me-” 

Suddenly, Aventurine gasps and takes a step back. His eyes glaze over, and he looks at the Halovian in confusion. It’s a look that appears real. Sunday’s halo glows a myriad of psychedelic pinks and blues and yellows and greens. Ratio must turn away to prevent his distaste from becoming apparent. Sunday is using the power of the Harmony.  

“What exactly is in the box that you have decidedly forsaken?”  

Sunday raises his arms reverently and looks to the ceiling. “Oh Triple-Faced Soul, please sear his tongue and palms with a hot iron, so that he will not be able to fabricate lies and make false vows.” 

“...What is this?” Aventurine shoots a glance towards Ratio, but sees his head turned. 

“Under the light of the Harmony, all wickedness is revealed. I implore THEM to shed THEIR light, and I’ll ask you questions on THEIR behalf. You have two minutes to prove your innocence and gain my trust.” 

“...And if I refuse to answer?” 

“You can certainly try – at your own risk, of course.” Sunday grins. “We’ll see if the Harmony rejects you.” At Aventurine’s decided silence, the sky-haired man begins his interrogation. Ratio turns his head back to the two men. Despite his disgust, he cannot help but be a curious man, so he watches. 

“Question: Do you own a Cornerstone?” he asks. 

“Yes.” The answer is immediate, almost as if it escaped Aventurine’s mouth before he had the chance to think about it. Not good. 

“What a simple answer,” Sunday states, nodding in faux approval. “You, too, understand that nonsense leads only to your expense. Let us continue.” 

“Did you hand over the Cornerstone to The Family when you entered Penacony?” 

“Yes.” 

“Does the Cornerstone you handed over to The Family belong to you?” 

“Yes.” 

“Is your Cornerstone in this room right now?” 

“Yes.” 

“Are you an Avgin from Sigonia?” 

What has that got to do with the current circumstances? 

Aventurine falters slightly at the question, clearly taken off guard. “Yes. Why do you know that?” 

Sunday ignores his question. “Do the Avgins have any ability to read, tamper with, or manipulate one’s own or another’s mind?”  

“What?” he barks out a laugh at the apparently ludicrous question. The action makes Sunday’s halo brighten and Aventurine winces before answering properly. “No. Does it matter?” 

“Do you love your family more than yourself?” Sunday asks, tilting his head to the side. These questions are getting weirdly personal. Ratio crosses his arms. 

“Yes.” An immediate answer. 

“All of the Avgins were killed in a massacre. Am I correct?” 

“No.” 

“Are you your clan’s sole survivor?” 

Aventurine hesitates. “...Probably.” 

“Do you hate and wish to destroy this world with your own hands?” 

A second hesitation. “No.” 

“Alright. Final question: Can you swear at this very moment, the Aventurine Cornerstone is safe and sound in this box?” 

A third. “Obviously.” 

Sunday nods. “Very well. I have no further questions.” 

Ratio gives out a silent sigh of relief. Sunday moves around the table and strolls towards Aventurine, his halo is so bright that even Ratio can feel it. The atmosphere of the room is suffocating in the will of the Harmony. The high-inducing rainbow of colours escaping from behind the head of Sunday is becoming overbearing for the doctor, let alone for Aventurine. He can’t help but feel pity for the Sigonian.  

Sunday halts a few steps away from the Stoneheart. He taps his finger against his chin as if pondering something. “You know, if there could only be one thing I detest in this vast Universe: it would be dishonesty, Mr. Aventurine.” 

Wait, what? That wasn’t what he was supposed to say. Ratio can’t stop himself from shooting a glance towards Sunday from where he stands behind him. 

“I- I beg your pardon?” 

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. You have been lying through your teeth ever since you stepped onto this planet.” 

“Well- yeah. I haven’t exactly tried to hide that. Isn’t that what your mind-fuckery is all about? To get me to tell the truth? Or are you just trying to show off?” he asks, subtly glancing at Ratio. “Or does your ‘power of the Harmony’ not work?” 

“I can assure you, the Harmony influences all. However, I will admit that I have hidden something from you, Mr. Aventurine,” Sunday replies, his wings pitching downwards a little. 

“Well, isn’t that a surprise,” the gambler retorts, evidently filling his words with as much sarcasm as he can muster. His knees buckle slightly, clearly struggling under the weight of the Emanator’s gaze. Ratio can’t look away. 

“While my powers of persuasion have every capability of forcing the truth out of your lips, I decided to do a little experiment to see if you’re capable of honesty of your own volition,” the angelic man says. “You apparently are not. Do you understand what I’m saying?” 

Aventurine stays silent. 

“I’m saying that I know that you’re lying to me.” 

Throughout this entire negotiation, this is the first time Veritas has felt fearful. The room becomes even more suffocating, if that’s even possible. He forces his own face to remain neutral. He plays the role of traitor in this grand play, after all. He must see it through for his companion’s sake. 

From where he stands, he can see Sunday’s shoulders shake. He’s laughing. He’s enjoying this. 

“I know about the Topaz Cornerstone. I know about the Aventurine Cornerstone. And, as similar as it is to your own, I know about Jade Cornerstone.” 

Oh. Shit. 

“How you managed to sway not one- but two individuals from a group as discordant as the Ten Stoneheart's to go along with your terrible plan is beyond me.” Sunday barks a loud laugh. “Truly, you are too much of a risk-taker, Mr. Aventurine. Now-” the man lifts an arm out in front of him, as if reaching for Aventurine from a distance. Ratio can’t stop himself from taking a step forward. He can’t let the man he cares for break in front of him. 

“Kneel.” 

His knees hit the floor, the full force of the Harmony crashing down on him. The scolding feeling of something forcing itself into his brain causes him to squeeze his eyes shut. He opens his mouth to scream, but it’s as if his throat has closed. Useless and silent. 

“What on earth are you doing?” The other man looks on, frozen. 

“You are not the only liar in this room, Aventurine.” He turns. “Come here.” 

He leans forward from where he kneels and falls onto his hands and knees. He crawls over to the Halovian, stopping only when his head almost hits Sunday’s thigh. He falls back onto his calves, looking up at him in pure disgust. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” His face is forced into neutrality against his will. “Let’s play a game, Aventurine. Tell me what your plan is and what Ratio has to do with it, and I’ll let him live.” 

From where he kneels, Ratio turns his head to gaze at Aventurine, unable to look at him in any way except for indifference. He’s fucking terrified, but he can’t make that obvious no matter how much he wants to. 

“Can’t you just force the truth out of me? Why not do that instead?” he asks, looking at his companion on the floor with an expression Ratio wishes he could mirror – fear. 

“That’s boring,” Sunday replies simply. His calm demeanour is steadfast but with a smile that is growing wider with every passing second. “I find this maintains much more efficiency.” 

Aventurine scoffs, still attempting to keep his act. “What does killing an Intelligentsia Guild member do for you that maintains efficiency? You’re mad.” 

“It maintains efficiency because you care about him, Mr. Aventurine. I see all in the Dreamscape. I see the looks shared between the two of you. The companionship you fostered in the short time of knowing each other. You may think you’re able to disguise your relationship with insults and petty arguments, but you cannot. It is frightfully obvious. Besides, you’re more likely to answer truthfully if the life of someone you care about is at stake.” 

“This is pathetic! He has done nothing to you.” It’s obvious that Aventurine is grasping at straws here. 

“You’re right. He has done nothing to me. He has lied and told falsehoods but only because you told him to. I have no reason to do this,” Sunday shrugs, his grin becoming a little too wide. 

There is an oppressive silence that follows. One that draws the line between predator and prey; master and slave; the controller and the controlled.  

“I’m doing this because I hate you, Mr. Aventurine. And you love him.” 

With that, an excruciating pain sets Ratio’s nerves alight. It rips through his mind and tears into his heart and lungs and stomach and extremities. His back hits the floor and he spasms where he lies, agony devouring his senses. 

Veritas Ratio screams. 

He is not a man that screams. Not usually. At pain he normally gives a small grunt and gives a debilitating glare to whomever or whatever caused him harm. Anything more would infer a weakness he doesn’t have. Not here. Here, his voice is guttural and raw and pitched and agonising. It echoes around the room and rises above the Choir of the Harmony that deafens everything else. His eyes snap shut so tightly that he sees stars dotting around in the darkness of the underside of his eyelids. 

“Open your eyes,” several cacophonous voices demand. 

He does, his eyelids shooting open through a compulsion that makes him sick. The psychedelic neon colours of the Harmony streak across his vision and blind him. He continues to convulse on the floor. The pain causes him to double over as stinging tears rip themselves from his eyes and smudge the red under his eyes. 

“Look at him.” 

His head snaps up and his eyes meet Aventurine’s. He’s frozen in place and looking at him in pure horror. Undoubtedly, he has been compelled to stay where he is, made obvious by how much his legs shake and his fingers twitch in futile attempts to reach Ratio. The doctor’s breaths come out in short wheezes, his chest rising and falling in quick succession as panic sets in his bones. While he is not a man to scream, he is also not a man to panic – it is a brief episode of intense anxiety that the brain concocts and transforms into a physical response. Ratio is a man of knowledge and has ways of stopping panic in its tracks before it takes root. In this case, however, knowledge is stripped of him and thrown out of the window. In a small corner of his mind, Ratio knows that this onset of fear and panic is caused by the effects of the Harmony. It is superficial. It is not real.  

But Aeons above – it fucking feels real. 

It carries on for what feels like hours. For all Ratio knows it could have been. If he was more cognizant, he would wonder what Sunday’s goal in this endeavour is. Is it to drive Aventurine into telling the truth? To prove a point? The answer to that is between Sunday and his Aeon. 

He’s sure he blacks out every now and again, the pain writhing across his spine easily becoming too much for his body. He faintly hears the calm voice of the Halovian above him standing resolute as he speaks to Aventurine. He can’t make out coherent words, but by what he can tell from the Stoneheart’s expressions it’s nothing good. He should have been sent to the waking world by now, right? That’s what everyone in The Family says happens. If you want to leave the Dreamscape, you can. You can wake up in your designated Dreampool whenever you want without hindrance. Or is Sunday stopping that as well? He doesn’t know if that’s even possible.  

It’s only when he is once again on the edge of falling out of consciousness that the power of the Harmony lifts from his trembling and fragile body. It isn’t slow like he expected it to be – but rapid. It is immediate and the loss of such a suffocating presence is almost as painful as it was before. He quickly feels arms wrap around him from where he lies limp on the floor, the familiar fluff of the collar of Aventurine’s coat warming his cheek.  

“I’m sorry, Veritas,” he whispers in his ear. “I should never have let this happen to you.” 

Faintly, the doctor hears the wooden door of Sunday’s office click shut. It’s then when he realises, he has been picked up and brought out of his room. Through pained eyes, he gazes at Aventurine. He then lifts a heavy arm to cup the man’s cheek, before slipping into unconsciousness for the final time. 

[shenenenigans]

FILE A-1226 | SUBJECT 020798

THREAT LEVEL: High

STATUS: ???

020798 has been found sneaking into segyein only rooms and stealing numerous files and records. She has also caused harm to multiple workers in the infirmary by subjecting them to extremely hazardous elixirs on multiple occasions. She has done this either by injections in their sleep or by “gifting” the workers juice which they drank unaware of the poison. This has unfortunately gone under our radar until the day of her departure.

020798 also tried to kill one of her nurses, Ambys, a former interviewer who worked on Incident 8-625 in the 39th ANAKT Garden. Cameras show 020798 hitting Ambys in the back of the head with her IV stand before proceeding to stab him directly in his chest with an unknown object. She looks to have dug deep into his body, removing his heart. She collects many blood samples from him, then throws her unidentified weapon at the camera allowing her to escape with no witnesses.

From gathering evidence, it seems that she had made a makeshift laboratory for herself in an old closet where she created a serum out of the blood she collected from Ambys. We are not sure what she was hoping to make of it.

Ambys cannot die. We are sure 020798 was aware of this information, as most of the files she stole were about him.

020798 left a camera on nearby her laboratory, where she smiled into the lens and waved. We can also see Ambys steadily regaining control of his body, which is due to his species being able to regenerate any part of the body after a short amount of time. 020798 must have removed his heart in hopes of slowing him down.

Ambys and 020798 had a fight in her laboratory where Ambys tried to restrain her. She was quite violent and acted very out of character. She is seen injecting herself with the serum she made and becoming more aggressive after being injected. Black veins circled around the site of injection. Her nails also became stained black.

Ambys slammed her against the wall, breaking her collar, and holding her by the head.

020798 thrashed about before her head was violently torn off. Another student had walked in after the incident occurred, and he was dealt with accordingly.

We are sure that 020798 is dead. However, when her body was transferred to a holding room, after 24 hours, it was missing. We do not know what happened during that time.

Ambys visited 020798’s body within those 24 hours, but refuses to talk about the situation.

In short: 020798 is dangerous and most likely deceased. We will not label her as missing and instead hide this event from the other students by reporting her death as a surgical accident.

If 020798 is still, in fact, alive: please do not be alarmed. She will not survive more than one week.

020798 deceived us all. We thought she was a sweet, kind girl at heart. This is her true nature. Do not be fooled in the future. There will be incidents like this again if we do not keep close watch.

Other notes:

Ambys will not be punished for causing the death of a student. It was in self-defense.

If there are any future sightings of subject 020798, please report it to ANAKT Garden staff. We will only then proceed to search for her. We are still confident that she will not survive.

From now on, all infirmary staff will lock all doors before closing down for the night. We will now have night time surveillance.

020798 had also stolen files on herself. It is possible she found things she shouldn’t have.

We will now relocate the records into a secluded area.

tags! @bluemoonscape @4listr @starry-skiez @rockwgooglyeyes @aakaneeee @paradisedisconcert and also @apriciticreveries @pwippy and @nottoonedin ! for the last three im not sure if you wanted to be tagged since you only liked the post but i did it just in case… please let me know if i missed anyone! if i did, i apologize! you can also tell me if you want to be added here as well <3

[adrift-in-thyme]

Whumptober Day 3: "Make it stop"

Read it on Ao3

- Wild & the Chain

- Summary: When Wild is captured by the Yiga Clan, Master Kohga decides to get his revenge

CW for graphic depictions of violence, torture, blood and injury, vomiting, and a character briefly wishing for death

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

“Get up!”

Wild pries open his eyes just as a boot connects with his side. He jerks away with a hiss of pain. 

Of all the horrible ways to wake up…

The face of a Yiga assassin comes into view as his vision clears and he groans. 

Even better.

“I said, get up!”

Another kick that takes Wild’s breath away.

“Yeah that’s not the best way to get me off the floor,” he remarks, dragging himself into a seated position.

That earns him a sharp smack across the face. Wincing, he watches as the assassin bends down, unlocking his chains. They fall to the floor with a clatter. But Wild hardly has time to breathe a sigh of relief, or rub his wrists, or even to plan a quick escape. Almost immediately, the Yiga yanks his hands behind his back, then ties them tightly with a thick rope.

The coarse material rubs at his already raw wrists. It only adds to the cacophony of aches that have begun to arise now that he’s conscious. Wild blows out an annoyed sigh. As if he could forget how sorely he had lost his last fight.

Rough hands haul him to his feet and he stumbles. His surroundings go fuzzy and dim and for a moment he is certain he’s going to faint. But then it passes. And not a moment too soon. The Yiga shoves him forward and wrenches open the cell door.

The same one they’d thrown Barta into, Wild realizes dazedly. The thought doesn’t make him feel any more comfortable.

“Walk,” comes the sharp order, accompanied by another, hearty push. Stumbling on achingly numb legs, Wild starts forward.

He falls more than walks down the stairs. Between the Yiga’s forceful movements and the haze he has yet to pull himself out of, he can hardly keep himself upright. Even the journey across the main room is difficult.

Especially once he realizes where they’re headed.

“Master Kohga will be so pleased to see you,” his captor hisses, no doubt noticing the sudden increased tension in Wild’s shoulders.

“Didn’t I kill him?” Wild asks, with a forced chuckle. Maybe if he feigns nonchalance it will mask the thundering of his heart. He sends a furtive glance around the space, looking for anything that could possibly allow for a quick escape. But there is nothing.

…and no one. Save for the few assassins who leer at him from beneath their masks.

He swallows, hard. “I think I remember dropping his own weapon onto his head.”

That garners him a swift kick to the shins. He trips, only saved from face planting by the Yiga’s tight grip.

“You are a fool to think our master is so easily defeated. You on the other hand…”

The hallway narrows, then widens into a familiar room. He forces himself to take a deep breath.

“…you will meet your end today.”

Wild lifts his head as he walks through the doorway, heart situated painfully in his throat. Master Kohga sits before him, looking very much alive.

“You,” he snarls as soon as he lays eyes on the champion. “You cocky, undying little punk! You thought you had seen the end of the Great Master Kohga, didn’t you?”

Wild shrugs, a slight smirk on his lips. “I did drop a boulder on your head.”

The Yiga restraining him kicks his legs out from under him. He hits the ground with an “oof.”

“That-that is inconsequential!” Kohga replies, huffily. “I am more powerful than death! But for the pain you caused my beloved, loyal followers” – He rises now, stomping his foot along with every word– “You. Are. Going. To. Die!”

His captor’s grip tightens and he yanks on Wild’s hands. Wild falls back, head bumping against the assassin's hip.

“Shall I take him outside, Master Kohga?” A sadistic sort of excitement colors his voice. It makes Wild’s blood run cold.

Kohga nods. “Yes, take him. I do not wish to ruin my furniture with his blood.”

Again, Wild is hauled upward, though this time a vicious sickle finds its way into his back. It bites into his flesh and he fights not to let out a hiss of pain.

“Move,” the Yiga snaps and Wild stumbles out into the sun.

Kohga sits cross-legged over the crater Wild had been so certain he had plummeted into, hovering serenely just above it.

“Come forward, hero,” he sneers as Wild is shoved toward the gaping hole. “You will be pleased to find that I have perfected my art more than ever!”

With a snap of his fingers, a massive boulder appears above his head. Dozens of tiny spikes protrude from its smooth surface. Wild’s blood runs cold. Abandoning his more measured, methodical tugs of before, he begins yanking ferociously at his bonds.

But then, the Yiga drives his sickle into the back of his leg and all thoughts of an escape vanish. He chokes on a cry. His vision bleeds white. It’s all he can do not to pass out.

One, swift movement and the weapon is out of him, tearing through his flesh as easily as fingers through tissue paper. This time he screams.

He hardly registers it when the Yiga backs away, barely realizes that a large, stone door is sliding over the opening behind him, blocking any exit.

But Kohga’s shrill laughter pierces his ears like knives and he drags his head up to look at him.

“If I were you I would run,” he says, voice nearly brimming with excitement. “Because the time for vengeance has come!”

He begins to swing the boulder over his head. With each trip around it gains momentum, growing closer and closer to the moment when it will break free and careen straight at Wild.

Come on, get up. You’ve got to move.

Gritting his teeth, Wild forces himself to his feet. Pain shoots through his leg anew, like a thousand tiny shards of glass have entered his wound. A scream breaks through his parched lips. His lungs burn, breath coming too fast, heart beating erratically. Stars explode before his eyes.

And still the boulder spins. The motion makes him dizzy.

On trembling limbs he stumbles forward, bile rising in his throat. But each step is sheer agony and he’s slow.

…much too slow.

When the boulder flies free, he can’t evade it. It collides with his body and he goes flying. Pain erupts within him. It steals his breath, propels forth a shout of shock and agony, makes his extremities go numb. He can hear his bones cracking even over the rushing in his ears. His vision goes blindingly white, then spotty, then dangerously dark.

He hits the ground, crying out at the agony of the impact. And the boulder comes down with him, crushing his prone body.

Somewhere, Kohga is laughing. The boulder disappears, retreating back to its owner to prepare for another round. Wild knows he should get up, knows he should at least attempt to run. But all he can do is lie there, trying to breathe. Trying to stay awake.

Blood gurgles in his throat and he pitches sideways, gagging on it. Against the blurred sand, the liquid looks far darker than usual. Almost black.

Like the blood of the Shadow, he thinks dazedly.

He doesn’t get much farther than that thought. Because once more the boulder shoots forward. This time it rolls into him more than flies, shoving him against the far wall and pinning him there.

He doesn’t have the strength to scream, even as the spikes tear out chunks of his flesh and his shattered bones protest this newest assault. He yearns for oblivion that refuses to come.

“So, hero, how do you like it?”

It hits him again, smashing him against the cool stone. He gags on blood once more. It drips into his eyes, runs in rivulets down his face, pools in the gashes that run along his body. 

“Painful, isn’t it? Well, that is what you did to me!”

Wild teeters on the edge. Of death or unconsciousness, though, he isn’t sure. Death, he hopes.

(Though at the same time, he doesn’t, because that means he has lost the battle again, failed everyone again, but sweet Hylia he just wants this to stop. Please make this stop.)

And it’s clear now that there will be no other escape.

Your brothers aren’t coming for you. Even if they are, they’ll be too late.

It’s already too late.

“But the mighty Master Kogha prevails over pain and death! You, however, are weak! Weak, weak, weak!”

The boulder retracts and Wild watches it dimly. One more hit is all it will take. He is certain.

So much for coming back to life.

He can see bone, he realizes, shining gorily from his left arm. It is at a strange angle too.

Must be broken. 

It certainly isn’t the only thing. But somehow, that hardly seems important at the moment. 

His eyes slip closed. Everything hurts. The only other time he felt like this was when he collapsed on Blatchery Plain.

I’m sorry, Zelda, for putting you through this again.

I’m sorry…

“Champion!”

A shout rings out across the space, protectively furious and wonderfully familiar. There’s a scream and the sound of something heavy hitting the ground. But the blow he expects doesn’t fall on him.

Instead, gentle hands lift his head, cradling it. He blinks open swollen eyes to see the blurred face of Twilight hovering just above him. Legend and Sky appear over his shoulder, seconds later.

“Twi.”

Clumsily, he tries to reach out with his less injured arm, eager to touch him, to prove that he is real. But his body refuses to follow his commands. He doesn’t have to worry, though. The rancher’s hand easily finds its way into his.

“I’ve got you, Wild,” he says, and there is pure fire in his tone. “You’re safe now.”

A head of familiar pink hair leans over him. Gentle, trembling hands nudge his chin upward. 

“Here, you’ve gotta drink this.”

Potion is poured down his throat, lukewarm and burning. But the magic of it begins its work immediately, zipping purposefully toward the worst of his wounds.

Wild swallows it with an effort. Then, he drags his eyes back up to meet Twilight’s. “Kohga?”

It is hardly a whisper, yet they hear it anyway.

“Dead.” He thinks it’s Sky who answers, though his voice doesn’t quite have its usual tone. It is a brittle thing. Dangerous. “For good this time.”

Wild tries to grin, but finds he isn’t quite up to it. “Good,” he mumbles instead. “Tired of his dumb belly.”

Twilight’s lips quirk the slightest bit. Gently, he brushes aside Wild’s bangs, wet with blood and sweat.

“Well, he’s never gonna touch you again.”

“Now, rest up,” Legend says, shakily. “We’ve got this handled. You focus on not dying.”

Any other time Wild would laugh and tease the vet about his blatant caring. But all he can focus on is the pleasantly numb feeling that has begun to spread throughout his body, and how warm Twilight’s embrace is as he scoops him carefully off of the ground. His eyes slip closed of their own accord. Before he even realizes what is happening, the darkness swallows him and he is gone.

[iamnotthere-idonotdie]

dream of me

part four

…………………………………………………………………………………….

…………………………………………………………………………………….

synopsis: reader and bruce have moved in together and their relationship is going well. but a new gotham criminal kidnaps reader and they face sudden death, as well as a secret bruce has been keeping.

content: batman/bruce wayne x reader, cursing, no smut, violence, torture, death, blood, breaking/broken bones, kidnapping, brutality, guns, knives, vomit, graphic descriptions of violence and injuries

a/n: okay so this one took a dark turn, and i’m very surprised i was able to finish it so fast. i knew how i wanted this to play out but i wasn’t expecting it to get as graphic as it did so i do apologize for that honestly. i think what im learning is that as i write, i sort of envision it as a movie playing out in my head so sometimes it can feel more like a script than a story. also sorry if there are some wrong medical terminology and stuff in here, and sorry for any typos as well!

edit: also— i think i was kind of envisioning the joker here as seen in something like the killing joke (movie). honestly i just kind of read this joker with mark hamill’s voice altogether.

……………………………………………………………………………………

“good morning, sleep well, i hope?”

“good morning, alfred. yes i did, thank you.”

you pour yourself a cup of coffee in the kitchen as alfred makes breakfast. you grab a mug for bruce and pour his as well.

“bruce still out?”

“yes, he called and informed me that he’ll be back soon from his workout.” alfred says as he flips the omelette in the pan.

“these workouts have been getting longer and longer.”

“he does like to keep active.”

“right, he just seems to get up so early for them. the other day i woke up in the middle of the night and he was gone, it wasn’t even 4am yet.”

“he finds the 24-hour gym is less crowded in the early hours.”

alfred slides the omelette onto a plate and sets it on the small table for you.

“thank you alfred. i just worry he’s not getting enough sleep.”

“oh, i’ve been worrying about his sleep for years.”

“i sleep plenty.” bruce enters the kitchen. “morning alfred.”

“good morning, sir.”

bruce walks over to the table and kisses you.

“good morning.” you say as you hand him his coffee.

bruce sits and alfred sets a plate of breakfast in front of him too.

“thanks alfred.”

“i just hope you’re sleeping enough is all. it seems like lately it’s been less and less.” you take a sip of your coffee and look at bruce. you don’t want to be a nag, but you do worry.

he takes a sip too and looks back at you.

“i’m fine, really.”

you smile unconvincingly at him and continue eating.

the rest of breakfast is quiet, but you don’t mind the still silence. this morning routine has brought you comfort over the last few months since you moved in. alfred set up your own room when you first came, but you and bruce quickly realized you both prefer sleeping in the same bed. that is, when he’s actually sleeping in it.

you finish breakfast and bruce takes your plates and puts them in the sink, alfred already turning on the tap.

you and bruce go back upstairs and you start getting dressed for work. he doesn’t always go in, but even on days like today when his work is to be completed at home, he still drives you. he told you early on that you could work hybrid as well, that you two could work together at home on his off days. but you enjoy working at the desk. and with this new outreach project you’ve been working on, you prefer having the team in person to collaborate.

as you button your top, bruce comes up behind and wraps his arms around you, stopping you from finishing.

“bruce…” he cuts you off by kissing your neck. you leave your shirt half open as you turn around and put your arms around his neck. you kiss, letting yourself forget about work. he slides his hands down your back and pulls you in tighter. you won’t ever get enough of this.

your phone’s alarm sings to tell you it’s time to leave. bruce pulls it out of your pocket and silences it, tossing it on the bed with a smile.

“i really should go today.”

“i think you should stay.”

“i don’t know…”

“it’s not like you’ll get fired, i’m your boss.”

you laugh lightly.

“maybe i should fire you, would mean you’d get to stay home all the time.”

you laugh again and kiss him.

“well maybe i could take a sick day today.”

“don’t worry, i wont tell anyone.”

he smiles and kisses you again. all that time getting dressed was for nothing as bruce unbuttons the rest of your shirt and you slide your pants off. while this isn’t a usual part of the morning routine you’ve established, you welcome the variation.

you run your hands through bruce’s hair and watch his chest rhythmically rise and fall as he sleeps. you let him sleep as long as he seems to need to, which is much longer than you thought it’d be. you eventually drift off too, the sound of his quiet snoring lulling your eyes closed.

it’s not until late afternoon when you both wake up again, the thick curtains unable to hide the sliver of sunlight peering in.

“you let me sleep so late.” bruce sits up in bed.

“you seemed like you needed it.”

he leans down and kisses you then gets up and starts getting dressed.

“the weather is supposed to be nice today.” you sit up. “maybe we could go to the park.”

he looks at you and smiles.

“that would be nice.”

you get up and get dressed too.

“i’ll go ask alfred to pack us some lunch.”

“okay, sounds great.”

he gives you one more kiss before heading downstairs. you finish getting ready and grab your phone off the floor. a text from tim, your former coworker in california, sits in your notifications. he and his husband have adopted a young girl. you smile at the family photo he sent and reply with your congratulations. as you look at the message, you let your mind wander and start to think about the prospect. of course you know bruce would be an amazing parent. but you’re not sure if you’d be. or if that’s even what you want. your life is so perfect now and you don’t think you want any of it to change. at least not for a while.

you go downstairs and find bruce packing some sandwiches into a bag. he zips it up and looks at you.

“ready?” he asks.

“ready.”

you decide to walk to the park since it’s only a few blocks away. the sun sits on your skin like a warm blanket as you and bruce walk. the two of you sit by the pond under an oak and eat your late lunch. the sound of birds and ducks paired with the cool breeze rushing through the tree leaves make for a perfect spot. you and bruce lay down in the grass and kiss, your picnic site offering enough privacy that you don’t have to worry about people seeing you. it’s not as if either of you care anyway, really. you’re not trying to hide your relationship, and with bruce’s status it’d be nearly impossible to try. but you still try to avoid paparazzi when you can. you and bruce lie there in the park together until the sun sets slowly behind the hill.

“we should get going before it gets too dark.” bruce sits up.

“i suppose we should.”

bruce grabs the bag and holds your hand as you make your way back home. night falls quickly as you walk. with only a couple blocks to go, you hear a commotion up ahead in an alleyway. sounds of a fight echo down the street. bruce stops walking and lets go of your hand.

“stay here a second.” he hands the bag to you and starts walking toward the source of the sounds.

“wait, shouldn’t we call the police or something first? or maybe we just wait for the batman to come and take care of it. you shouldn’t go down there by yourself.”

“you can call the police.” he continues.

you let out an exasperated sigh and watch bruce turn the corner. you press the numbers 911 into your phone. you finger is just about to click the green button when a strong hand covers your mouth and drags you backwards. you scream into the glove as loud as you can but the fight drowns out your attempts at getting bruce’s attention. all you can do is move around as much as possible to try and shake this person off you but they tighten their grip and then you’re being pushed into the back of a van.

three other people are inside and they grab you. you feel the rope burn your wrists as they tie your hands together behind your back. your throat already feels like it’s being torn apart from screaming. one person spreads a strip of duct tape over your open mouth but you still try to scream for bruce. suddenly a sharp pain strikes the back of your head. the tears have been blurring your vision but now everything is even fuzzier. you let out one more sob before the pipe hits you again and everything goes black.

pain.

that’s the first thing you feel when you finally come to. that’s the only thing you feel. a throbbing, deep pain throughout your entire body like you were just spit out of a cement mixer. you’re hands are still tied behind you and your ankles are stuck to the legs of a metal chair.

you force your eyes open, but everything is still dark. have you gone blind? is your sight gone? where are you? who took you? why can’t you move? you cant see you can’t move you can’t breathe you can’t hear you’re hurting you’re crying you’re screaming you’re shaking you—

the sound of a heavy door swinging open makes you freeze. strong footsteps slowly get louder and louder, closer and closer. the footsteps stop behind you and then you’re assaulted by a harsh bright light. it was a hood over your head, and the figure has now taken it off. the footsteps make their way around you and he stops in front of the chair you’re tied to, his back toward you. your breath shakes as he just stands there, staring straight ahead.

then he starts… crying? his shoulders shake and he gets louder. no… he’s laughing. he slowly turns around to face you, his red painted on smile sending a chill down your spine.

he bends down so his face is level with yours, your noses so close they nearly touch.

“good morning sweetheart.”

the tears continue streaming down your face as he straitens back up and turns, walking toward a table against the wall in front of you. he stops at it and slowly picks up an almost comically large knife.

you sob at the sight of the weapon, knowing it’s intended for you.

“i have a problem.”

he sets the knife back on the table and turns, walking towards you. the door opens again and you see a man in a clown mask rush by and place a camera on a tripod in front of you. he presses a button and a red light comes on and flashes at you.

“a problem that can only be solved by you.”

you somehow find the strength to open your mouth and speak, the words coming out hoarse and quiet.

“…m—me?”

“yes. i am in need of some… capital. some dineros, some cold. hard. cash. now i know you’re dating ol’ brucie and i know he has some access to just a bit of money.” he walks around you and stands behind the chair. “so, brucie boy, from your friendly neighborhood joker, deposit some dolores for me in a safe and lock it up real tight. bring it to the chaplain bridge, in person, at midnight tonight along with the key and you’ll get to see your precious little babe once again.” he grabs your face and squishes your cheeks together.

“oh, silly me, i forgot to tell you how much! let’s see, oh, how about, $50 million. that seems fair enough, don’t ya think?!”

he bends down so his face is next to yours.

“isn’t 50 million enough to save the life of your dearly beloved?”

he pulls something out of his pocket. you feel the cold barrel of a gun press against your temple and let out a sob.

he pulls the gun off your head, still pointing it at you.

*click*

you scream and jolt away. terror runs through your body like electricity.

you look over and he’s still staring at you with the gun pointed in your direction. out of the barrel popped out a banner, with the word BANG! on it. he turns back to the camera and waves.

“see ya tonight.” his tone is sinister and he laughs again.

the man in the mask flips the camera off. he tosses the gun behind his back and it clacks as it hits the concrete. he claps his hands together.

“so! now’s all that’s left to do is sit by, hang tight, let loose, and wait for midnight!” he laughs again and he and the other man leave the room with the camera. the clang of the door closing echoes throughout the room as you sit there alone.

you let out an ear-piercing, guttural scream and continue sobbing. all you want is bruce. you call for him, over and over, hoping by some miracle he’ll hear you through the thick concrete walls. you keep screaming, so hard and so loud that you vomit. now bile covers the front of your shirt and tears cover your face.

the echo of the door rings through the room again and fast footsteps approach. another man in a clown mask with a syringe in his hand unties your arms. before you let him stab the needle in, you punch him in the throat as hard as you can muster. he gags at the blow at stumbles backwards, dropping the syringe. you lean to try and grab it and the chair you’re tied to tips over onto the floor. your face slams into the concrete and you hear a crunch in your nose. you cry out and now all you see is red. you fight through the pain and reach for the syringe. it’s right there, just centimeters away, when a large boot stomps on your hand, surely breaking multiple bones. you scream in pain as the chair is reset upright. you scream and sob as the men grab your arm and stab the now-dirty needle in your vein. you keep crying, but as the seconds go by, you hear yourself getting quieter. the room around you spins in slow motion as your eyelids get heavy. the last thing you see is the joker’s white face and red smile.

your eyes slowly flutter open again. you didn’t know this was even possible, but somehow you wake up in even more pain than before. the joker is still standing there in front of you. smiling. laughing.

“you’re spunky. i like you.”

you all but growl at him as he walks toward that table in the corner, picking the knife up again.

“i thought you’d be asleep until our appointment with good ol’ bruce but the tranq must have been watered down!” he turns to you and laughs.

he carries the knife as he walks toward you.

“at least now we can have a little fun!” he takes the knife and you close your eyes, preparing yourself for the pain. but instead you feel the rope around your wrists and ankles fall.

“what’s say we play a game, hmm? i’m gonna bring in three of my best boys. and the longer you can stay upright and fighting, the more likely i’ll be to not kill you and your dear dear bruce tonight.”

the door opens again and three sets of footsteps walk in behind you.

you just stay sitting in the chair. how are you supposed to fight these huge men?

the joker sighs.

“if you’re gonna be a party pooper, then i guess we’ll have to find another game to play. maybe… target practice?” he throws the knife above your head and it hits one of the three men square in the chest. he falls backwards. dead.

you gasp and try to hold back tears as the joker just laughs.

“guess i do need some practice… i was aiming for his head! haha!” he buckles over in laughter again as you try to catch your breath.

“well good news now is you only have to outlast two goons!”

you slowly stand up, not wanting the next knife to land in your sternum. one of the men walk over to you. the joker takes the gun from before out of his pocket and holds it up above his head.

“ready? fight!” he pulls the trigger with a click.

a huge fist comes flying at your face and makes contact with your cheek. you fall to the ground in pain. he kicks you in the stomach and you just stay there, laying on the ground. he stomps on your chest, your stomach, your head. all you feel is blow after blow. the joker is just laughing at your misery.

you feel a rush of adrenaline run through you and you growl in anger. when the next stomp comes toward you, you grab the booted foot and yank as hard as you can, bringing the man to the ground. you’re surprised you had the strength to do that. you quickly stand back up and kick him in the face, breaking his nose too. you kick him in the crotch and he screams. you sit on top of his chest and punch him with your unbroken hand. over and over and over. all you hear is the sound of the joker’s maniacal laugh and your own grunts as you beat the guy’s face in until he no longer resembles even a man. finally you stop, feeling proud of your strength but guilty for your brutality.

before you can get up from sitting on him, the other man is picking you up and slamming you into the concrete. your shoulder hits the ground hard and you scream. he picks you up again and throws you back first, your head colliding with the concrete so hard you’re sure they’ve both cracked. he grabs the front of your shirt and lifts you up. your body goes limp from exhaustion and he forcefully sits you back on the chair. he punches your face. one. two. three. four. five. six. times then he finally walks away. your vision is blurred and you’re seeing colorful stars flash all around you. you look down and see blood dripping down from your face and onto your lap. the joker just laughs again.

“well, you fought off one! bravo! of course that means only one of you will die tonight. shame. lovers dying together is the sweetest ending of all. romeo and juliet… swan lake… the notebook...” he pretends to wipe a tear. “but oh well. at least now you get to pick who dies! haha!”

“me.” you immediately answer. “kill me. not him.”

“awww how noble! sacrificing yourself for the love of your life, it’s a beautiful thing! very well. you’ll be the one to die.” he takes out a pocket watch. “my oh my look at that! it’s showtime, baby!”

you get tied up again and dragged out of the room. the hood is placed back on your head before exiting, and you’re thrown back into a van. the drive is longer than you expected. how far out of town were you?

the van stops after what you guess was about a half hour long drive.

you’re dragged back out of the van and onto the street. the hood is removed and the joker is gripping your neck and leading you onto the bridge.

you make it to the middle and he shoves you to the ground. you only now notice the gun in his hand.

“oh bru-uce! show me the money, baby!”

his voice echos across the water under the bridge and you wait. you hope he doesn’t come. you hope he’s decided to let the police handle it. you hope he didn’t choose to risk his life for you. because although the joker assured you that you’d be the one to die, you obviously can’t trust that he won’t pull the trigger on bruce too.

“come out come out, wherever you are!” the joker yells in a singsongy voice. “well isn’t this a disappointment! at least it was gonna be fun to kill you. now i almost can’t even enjoy it.” he points the gun in the center of your forehead. you close your eyes and let yourself cry.

you picture bruce’s face. flashbacks of when you first met him come to mind and you go through it all. you think of his smile, how it was crooked and always made you smile back. you think of his hair, how it was always just a little tussled and never quite laid flat. you think of his skin, how it was warm and how it felt against yours. you think of his laugh, how it can at times feel rare but when you hear it, it’s like the world stops. you think of his eyes, how they’d glow like warm honey when the sunlight hit them just right. tears stream as you think of every part of him. how you wish you’d spent more time memorizing him.

you hear the cocking of the gun and you gasp. you only now realize how afraid you are to die.

suddenly a loud clang behind you startles your eyes open and the joker stumbles backward. a large, dark figure comes swooping in and tackles the joker to the ground. the gun is kicked away and you watch as the batman punches the joker in the face, repeatedly. the men from the van come rushing in and the batman takes each one down with little effort.

soon, he’s standing in the lowlight of the bridge, looming over the bodies of his victims of vengeance. he walks back over to the joker and picks him up by his collar and holds him over the bridge above the water. the joker laughs.

“well then what’s it gonna be batty-boy?! you gonna kill me?! do it!”

the batman hesitates to drop him into the rough rushing river water below.

“do it!” the joker laughs in his face again.

you see the shine of red and blue lights flashing behind you and hear sirens. the sound of many footsteps come rushing onto the bridge as officers take the bodies off the ground and into custody. a few more train their guns at the batman and instruct him to let the joker go. after some time, he flings the joker back over the railing and slams him onto the ground. the officers rush to handcuff the joker and the batman walks away, back toward you.

“this isn’t over, batman! it’ll never be over!” the joker laughs again as he’s dragged away by the officers.

the batman bends down behind you and unties the ropes around your wrists.

“are you okay?” he asks, quietly. his low, gravely voice tinges with familiarity.

you just nod and he scoops you up and carries you to the ambulance. he gently sits you on the gurney and the paramedics begin treating your wounds and setting up an iv. the batman just stands there and watches, as if to make sure you’ll really be okay. you stare back at him, trying to place this strange gut feeling. the medics walk away for a moment to grab something else, leaving you and the batman there, just looking at each other.

the medics come back and start to bring you into the ambulance. up until the moment the doors close, you and the batman just continue staring. the medicine you’ve been given starts to work as you feel your eyelids get heavy. your last thought before passing out is of bruce.

the tubes in your nose and the cast on your arm are the first things you notice when you awake. your eyes adjust to the light of the hospital room and you look around, your eyes landing on an unexpected face.

tim is there, sitting by the window sleeping. alfred is in a chair next to him. he notices you’re awake and presses the alert for the nurse.

“hello, dear.”

“alfred…”

“i’ve called for the nurse. just relax.”

“…where’s bruce.”

“he… had to go to the police station. to finish up the case.”

“but he’s okay?”

“physically, yes. but i don’t think i’ve ever seen him so distraught. i’ll call him now and tell him you’re awake. he’ll want to see you.” alfred leaves the room and you see him dial his phone.

the nurse comes in and checks your vitals, making sure you’re getting enough medicine. you have a concussion, a broken hand, your shoulder was out of socket, and your nose had to be realigned. apparently it’s been days since the incident.

the joker is in custody at arkham, but that’s doesn’t give you much reassurance since he apparently has broken out of there before.

tim wakes up and walks over to you with tears streaming down his face.

“are you okay?” he asks.

“just peachy.”

he laughs lightly and wipes a tear away.

“i was so scared.”

“me too.”

“but you’re gonna be okay now. you’re okay now.” he reassures himself. you didn’t know you meant so much to him.

“thank you tim.”

he smiles softly.

“i should go call chris and let him know you’re okay.“

“okay.”

tim walks out of the room as alfred comes back in.

“bruce will be here soon.”

“thank you. i’m glad you’re here alfred.”

“of course, love.”

tim comes back in and says that chris sends his regards.

“he’s been worried sick, watching the news while also taking care of the baby.”

“if you need to go tim, go. i understand.”

“im sorry i can’t stay.”

“really tim, it’s okay. thank you for being here.”

tim smiles and holds your good hand.

“i’m just so glad you’re okay.”

“thank you.” you smile back at him and he leaves.

alfred moves the chair to be closer to your bed and he holds your hand as you wait in silence for bruce.

bruce comes rushing in wet from the rain with tears in his eyes. alfred gets up from the chair and gives it to bruce. bruce sits in the chair, holding your hand, and the two of you just sit there together.

you’ve never felt fear like that before. of course you were afraid when your mother died, but you were so young. and your father was sick for a long time before he passed, so this crippling feeling of terror was something you’ve never had to experience before and something you hope you’ll never experience again.

“i’m so sorry.” bruce fights back tears. “i should’ve never left you alone. i should’ve known better. i thought i was protecting you but really i just put you in danger. this is all my fault.”

“no it’s not.”

“it is.”

“no, bruce. it’s not.”

“i was just so… angry. at him. i still am. i really thought i was going to kill him.”

you furrow your brows in confusion.

“you mean… like… if you’d have been there? at the bridge?”

you notice alfred looks up at bruce with a curious look on his face. bruce turns his head to look back at him. alfred just nods.

you look at both of them, perplexed by this silent agreement between them.

“what’s going on?”

“there’s something you need to know… about me.”

“okay…?”

“i… i’ll show you when we get back home.”

“alright.”

bruce and alfred clear you with the doctor and confirm that you’re ready to leave so you get in the car to go home. you just lay in the backseat with your head on bruce’s lap. he runs his hand through your hair as alfred drives you all home.

the press is already there, ready to get a statement from you and bruce about the whole ordeal. of course you and bruce don’t say a word as he carries you inside.

he sets you down on the couch and lights a fire. alfred goes to the kitchen to make you something to eat. you lay on bruce’s chest on the sofa, watching the flames rise and fall. the heat of the fire brings you comfort, but bruce’s warm touch makes you feel at peace for the first time since that day at the park.

hours go by, the fire has become just a few orange embers, and you and bruce have eaten dinner. you suddenly remember what bruce said back at the hospital.

“what is it you wanted to tell me?”

bruce sighs and helps you up off the couch.

“i need to show you something.”

you slowly walk hand in hand to the library down the hall. you don’t come in here much but you know bruce and alfred do.

bruce goes to a wall in the back and pulls a book off the shelf. you hear a click and he pulls the wall out, revealing it’s a door to an elevator.

“what the fuck…”

bruce opens the elevator door and leads you inside.

“what is this?”

“something you need to see.”

the elevator slowly brings you down to a lower level you didn’t even know existed. bruce opens the door and leads you out of the elevator and into a basement. or at least what you think is a basement. inside, you see computers, televisions, and other tech items around. a motorcycle sits there too… along with a familiar-looking car. bruce lets you wander through the area. you try to absorb what this all is.

“what exactly am i looking at here, bruce?”

he walks over to a door and opens it to a closet. what’s inside, sitting on the shelf, makes you gasp. you slowly pick up the mask.

“i’m sorry i didn’t tell you.”

“why… how…”

“i’ve been doing this for years now. i just… this is how im able to try and help. only alfred knows.”

“and you couldn’t tell me? why?”

“everyone who knows about this is in danger. i couldn’t knowingly do that to you. but you deserve to know.”

“i… don’t even know what to say.”

bruce closes the closet door.

“i come down here every night. that’s why i’ve been gone so early in the morning. i’ve known about joker for a while and have been trying to track his whereabouts.”

“but now, he’s locked up. he’s gone.”

“as long as he’s alive, he’s a danger. and it’s not just him. you’ve lived here your whole life. you know what these streets are like.”

you just nod.

“so… this is what you do every night. you go out, after i fall asleep then return before i wake up.”

“i try. but some nights are longer than others.” bruce walks up to you and holds your hand. “but now you know.”

you just nod again, not quite knowing what to say.

“i will never forgive myself for leaving you alone that night, and i will spend the rest of my life trying to make up for it.”

you look up at him. a tear rolls down his cheek and you wipe it away, leaving your hand on his face.

“i was so afraid of losing you.” he speaks barely above a whisper.

“you’re not gonna lose me. i’m here. i’ll always be here.”

he kisses you. in this room, this room that’s been kept a secret from you. this other side of bruce that’s been kept a secret from you. you want to be angry, but all you feel now is peace as he holds you in his arms.

whatever future may come, whatever troubles you will inevitably be forced to face, you know that you’ll now be able to do it together.

…………………………………………………………………………………….

…………………………………………………………………………………….

[paledarklight]

Emily Kinney said Beth was 18 I think by the time the prison fell, that she was about 17 on the farm. She was quite adamant Beth was an adult by this point in all ways. Also Daryl I feel is immature for his age perhaps in relation to having to grow up really fast as a child in order to survive the harsh lifestyle and abuse. Like with the way he lashes out when he's upset like a child who doesn't know how to process their emotions.

I think Beth has an old head on her by season 4 she's not that girl on the farm, she's raising a child etc. it took the prison to fall to really show this properly as she is still percieved as weak/childlike like Carol who asks Daryl if he saved Beth and Maggie just giving up writing Beth off as dead. I think that's what the writers did with Maggie they just had her go Beth went back for Judith, prison fell, she's dead not being because the prison fell but because she is weak. Glenn she thought had got out on the bus then found he hadn't but she kept looking for him cos he's strong/not weak even if it looked like he was at prison. Beth versus Glenn at prison pretty much shows that everyone sees beth as weak and liability - except maybe rick who seemed to care about her platonically and because he loved Hershel too. He carries lot of guilt for Beth. But Daryl truly seen Beth what she was and became

I think season 4 she and Daryl are on the same page maturity wise

I find it odd people seem to be making her younger than she is in season 4 period particularly as if to go ewwww gross like she's not 16

And just random like I'm sad Beth died without knowing Judith was alive and safe even though I'm really sure she had faith that she was. But there must be dark hours where she thought Judith had ended up like the children on the tracks. That's what led to her being separated by going back for Judith and then being told to go by Daryl she's been running around with the gun trying to find the baby and it's gone seemingly so that's why she goes with him cos if not she would have fought Daryl to make sure.

First, agree agree agree. Everything that you say I agree with , 💯💯💯💯

Whew okay now buckle up kids momma is going to get real for a minute, TW: mentioning of grape, sa.

I've said this before but I'm saying it again for the sake of this point..

Beth was sexually mature 👏 when it was convenient 👏

Even if she were 16-17, her being sexually mature was a plot decision that was used , for people to cherry pick if Beth was a adult or not

She was adult enough to baby sit Judith, to wash clothes, to put a weapon in her hand and use it.

She was adult enough to be thought of as conceiving a child (Sasha , prison era)

She was adult enough when she was hit on by Axel

She was adult enough to be shown on TV being sexually molested and potentially graped , on tv

So when it was against her consent, she was exploited

When it was for shock value she was shown in very adult positions.

...

If she's sexually active and wants to be with a man she chooses by her consent, who she feels safe and trusts, suddenly she's a child.

HER FATHER, who even though he has good intentions, tries to control her sexuality. He mentioned to Maggie he chases her and Jimmy around making sure they're not having sex

Regardless of if she was or not, again her sexuality was not her choice.

It was held captive by the men in her life and used against her like a bargaining chip

There was a dropped plot idea where at the prison she was supposed to be graped and murdered by Axel, he was supposed to be a convicted Grapist and Rick finds some papers in the office on him and that's how we as the audience finds out ,but it was dropped.

So the show has no problem showing what they perceived as "children" being sexually taken advantage of (Carl for example)

Remember "real young and real cute"

The show isn't above children or young adults being sexually taken advantage of

Just not when it's their choice and not when it's in a safe sane consensual environment

I'm tagging a few people cause I wanted them to correct me about the Axel thing @twdmusicboxmystery @sasusc

[cinderspots]

UNHOLY

CHAPTER ONE

Lebkuchen is cursed.

-

A LGTS Vampire AU! Brought to you by brainrot! READ THE TAGS!!!!!

[odysseussolar]

I caved.

Writing it right now, the first chapter has zero gore but that will be changing in the next few chapters, trust 🙏🏾

I did link the post by tooncraze on the fic