#we’ll have my sisters cat

[fandomsfreezeandcreationsburn]

❤️

[finnstansonly]

Gonna make breakfast since I’ve been up since that dream jolted me up and then I’ll make some tea Tylenol in it for my headache and THEN I’ll go back to sleep and hopefully have a dream that doesn’t haunt me for 30 minutes after I wake up.

[rosemaryhoney27]

Gotham's sunshine child part 4

“No One Tells the Sunshine Kid Anything”

Danny Fenton prided himself on being unflappable.

He had died once. Literally. Been half-ghost for years. He could walk through walls, disappear, fly, and fight beings made of fire, rage, or raw existential dread. He had babysat Ellie, his chaos clone-little-sister, through her “I can fly and you can’t stop me” phase.

But nothing—nothing—prepared him for the sight of his own face plastered across the top of an official-looking document on Bruce Wayne’s desk, next to the words:

“Adoption Petition: Daniel James Fenton.”

He stared at it.

Then stared at Bruce.

Then back at it.

Then he panicked.

“You—you can’t just adopt me!” Danny yelped, his voice cracking spectacularly.

Bruce blinked up at him from his desk with the calm of a man who had faced both clowns and demigods before breakfast. “Technically, I can.”

Danny looked like he might faint. “Wh—why would you—? I’m not—You’re a Wayne! I’m not a Wayne! I’m barely a Fenton! I eat cold pizza off library radiators and wear socks that don’t match! I have a hoodie made of duct tape!”

Tim leaned in from the doorway, sipping coffee. “That hoodie has structural integrity, man. Honestly, I’m impressed.”

Danny pointed at him with wide, betrayed eyes. “You knew?!”

Tim shrugged. “I helped with the paperwork.”

“TRAITOR!”

Bruce held up a hand. Calm. Gentle. Fatherly.

“Danny,” he said. “This doesn’t have to be anything more than what you want. You’d have a roof over your head. Legal protection. Access to our resources—”

“I phase through roofs. I don’t need a roof!”

“Then think of it as a...very big ceiling with heating.”

“That’s worse!”

Alfred arrived mid-meltdown with tea and what he claimed were “emotion-calming biscuits.” Danny took three. Out of spite.

“I don’t need to be adopted!” he snapped, halfway through a butter cookie. “I’m fine!”

Jason walked past the study, heard that, and turned on his heel.

“No, you’re not,” he said, stepping into the room. “You fell asleep outside last week because you gave your blanket to a stray dog.”

“The dog was cold!”

“You were shivering in a bush!”

“...It was a warm bush.”

Jason just stared at him.

Dick flopped in through the window upside down.

“We’re not doing this because we think you’re helpless,” he said, casual as a cat. “We’re doing it because Gotham chose you, and so did we.”

Danny looked between all of them. “…You conspired.”

“Yup,” Damian said, finally entering with a folder. “Here are the signed statements from three soup kitchens, a youth center, one angry barista, and a biker gang requesting your formal protection and adoption. The barista threatened to withhold caffeine from Father if he did not comply.”

“I—what?!”

“They also gave me a sticker,” Damian added, pinning a “SUNSHINE CHILD DEFENSE SQUAD” badge to his tunic.

Danny’s eye twitched. “I’m going to implode.”

“Already did once,” Tim muttered.

“YOU’RE NOT HELPING.”

Danny sulked on the couch for two hours with a cat in his lap and five Wayne kids hovering around him like worried bees.

He didn’t leave.

Eventually, Bruce sat beside him with quiet patience and said, “You don’t have to be alone, Danny.”

Danny stared at his mismatched socks.

“…I don’t know how to do any of this.”

“You don’t have to,” Bruce replied. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

Danny opened his mouth, closed it again. Then, voice small:

“Can I still keep my hoodie?”

Jason snorted. “Kid, we’re not monsters.”

The next morning, Gotham woke to news headlines:

“Bruce Wayne Adopts Local Teen Hero ‘Sunshine Kid’” “Gotham’s Favorite Child Now Officially a Wayne — and Somehow Still Humble About It” “Criminals Warned: ‘Touch Him and Face Gotham’s Wrath’”

Danny groaned and buried his face in the mansion couch.

“Why are there stickers with my face on them?”

Barbara, voice chipper: “Because you’re adorable and Gotham is proud.”

[checkeredflagggs]

To Paint a Picture: Patronage

Pairing: max verstappen x webber vettel!reader

summary: y/n webber vettel swore she was done with formula 1 and race drivers forever. max is determined to change her mind

a/n: I’ve had this piece rumbling about in my mind since like November so I’m really excited to actually start posting it!

a/n2: max is finally here!

a/n3: all art used is by anastasia trusova

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Private Messages, the Grid (2010/2011 version)

Private Messages, Sebastian and y/n

Private Messages, Nando and y/n

Private Messages, Sebastian and y/n

Private Messages, the Grid (2010/2011 version)

y/n_vettel🔒

liked by seb5priv, nando, lewis44, and 27 others

tagged: nando, whiskey_5

y/n_vettel: meet whiskey! Thanks again tío nando!

view all comments

nando: enjoy him pequeña

↳y/n_vettel: I absolutely will!

↳hanna_priv: yes thank you Fernando

↳nando: hahaha yes Hanna I hope you enjoy him — he’s very well trained

↳hanna_priv: he better be

lewis44: if I knew you were looking to get a pet darling, I would have offered a puppy!

↳y/n_vettel: next time! And only if it’s one of Roscoe’s!

↳lewis44: oh absolutely — only the best for you

↳seb5priv: let’s ask permission first, shall we?

↳y/n_vettel: oh please vater?? Please?

↳seb5priv: not for a while

↳lewis44: good to know. Good to know

↳seb5priv: watch yourself

seb5priv: I will say he’s very well trained

↳nando: of course he is!

↳seb5priv: he heard #2 on a team call and he growled

↳y/n_vettel: that’s amazing!

↳nando: you’re welcome pequeña

y/n_vettel🔒

liked by valtteri, nico_r, danric and 373 others

tagged: seb5priv, hanna_priv

y/n_vettel: I’ve only been asking for years! But I’m a big sister now!

view all comments

danric: more vettels in the house!!

↳y/n_vettel: woohoo!

valtteri: congratulations! liked by y/n_vettel

lewis44: based on y/n, you’re going to be great parents! Much love to the newest addition

↳y/n_vettel: they’re currently dead asleep but I’m sure they appreciate it!

↳lewis44: well they do say to sleep when the baby does

↳y/n_vettel: oh she’s not sleeping, I’ve just taken her with me into the studio to give them a break

↳y/n_vettel: they look like dead people

↳lewis44: how much for pictures?

↳y/n_vettel: only of vater but call me liked by lewis44

micky: congratulations y/n! I know you’ve wanted a sibling for a while

↳y/n_vettel: it took them forever but they finally caved!

↳micky: you’re gonna be the best big sister

↳gina: umm?

↳micky: I said what I said

whiskey_tequila_5

liked by lewis44, valtteri, danric, jenson_priv, and 2,823,823 others

whiskey_tequila_5: a weekend photo dump + i have a sister now?

view all comments

user1: I would die for these 2

↳user2: whiskey and tequila have my sword

↳user3: and my bow

↳user4: and my axe!

↳whiskey_tequila_5: guess we’re taking the ring to Isengard…although we don’t know the way

↳user5: this is everything…

jenson_priv: awww peanut I thought we agreed a dog was gonna be next?

↳y/n_vettel: no you and Lewis kept bothering me about it and I hummed and nodded to shut you up, old man

↳lewis44: we’ll wear you done eventually…

↳y/n_vettel: uh huh…

seb5priv: another one?

↳y/n_vettel: you’ll love them!

↳seb5priv: …whatever you want blümchen

↳y/n_vettel: 💜💜💜

user6: these are the most spoiled cats ever

↳user7: no joke they for real live better than i do

↳whiskey_tequila_5: we’re worth it 💅👑

nando: Traerás a los dos cuando vengas a visitarme, ¿verdad?You’ll bring both of them when you come to visit me, yes?

↳y/n_vettel: of course!

↳nando: good

danric: some handsome looking pets you got there!

↳y/n_vettel: thanks Dan! Nando got me whiskey a couple of years ago and a friend’s cat just had kittens and they gave me tequila!

y/n_vettel🔒

liked by seb5priv, hanna_priv, nando, nico_r and 382 others

y/n_vettel: As I head into my last show of the year, I wanted to give thanks to everyone who got me here — including all the past versions of me who didn’t think we’d ever be here, the extended family the took me in and believed in me from day one, and Sebastian and Hanna who fought for me even before I knew I needed it. I appreciate it more than I can ever put into words — hopefully my artworks will speak for me

view all comments

nando: Ha sido un placer absoluto verte convertirte en las increíbles jóvenes en las que te has convertido, pequeña. Estoy seguro de que esto es solo el comienzo de tu viaje: te estaré apoyando todo el camino. It has been an absolute pleasure watching you grow into the amazing young woman you’ve become, little one. I’m sure this is just the start of your journey — I’ll be rooting for you the entire way.

↳y/n_vettel: I’m actually gonna cry tío…

seb5priv: Oh blümchen it has been an absolute pleasure becoming your father and watching you grow — even if you like to torture your old man

↳y/n_vettel: you love it!

↳seb5priv: I wouldn’t change a thing

lewis44: it’s been an amazing few years with you and I’m excited to see where you go from here 🖤

↳y/n_vettel: thanks uncle Lew 💜💜

danric: I know we just met recently but you’re a cool kid

↳y/n_vettel: thanks Danny Ric — you’re not bad yourself

↳danric: that’s the best compliment I’ve ever gotten liked by y/n_vettel

jenson_priv: can’t wait to see your show peanut — and to watch you continue to become the best version of yourself

↳y/n_vettel: so cheesy old man…but thanks I guess

hanna_priv: you are absolutely the best daughter I could have asked for — and I know Adeline would have been so proud of who you’ve become

↳y/n_vettel: thanks mutter 💜💜

Private Messages, The Uncles and y/n

Private Messages, Mick and y/n

Private Emails, Y/N’s Inbox

Private Messages: Jenson and y/n, Nando and y/n

Private Messages: Nico and y/n, Lewis and y/n

Private Messages, Kimi and y/n

Private Emails, Y/N’s Inbox

Private Messages, Max and Victoria and Sophie (Post Fundraising Exhibition)

Taglist

If you want to join my taglist, interact with my taglist post. I won’t be adding anyone else

@daniskywalkersolo @thenerdysimp @quinquinquincy @lecfosimaxbull @gr3yhues @armystay89 @simplylovelysworld @mimisweetz @angelluv16 @hamiltonforwdc @alexxavicry @suns3treading @ymrereads @monzipan @stuffyownswrld @kuolonsyoja @ky14-1 @devilacot @justheretoreadthxxs @minrayven @albonoracers @hc-dutch @somerandomf1fan @purplephantomwolf @shadowreader07 @spilled-coffee-cup @galaxygurlll @anamiad00msday @freyathehuntress @widow-cevans @1-of-my-many-obsessions @charlesgirl16 @ihaveitprinteddout @deena-beena-weena @lilyofthevalley-09 @nightrose-18 @kodeelyn @star73807-blog @avengers-assemble123456 @howling-wolf97 @boke-hinata-boke @hannahmotors10 @mountainshuman @daisydaze111 @evie-119 @shadowreader07 @r0nnsblog @1800-love-me @edgyficuselastica

[demonic0angel]

Dani being violently protective of Kon and/or Tim.

She snarled.

“Spirit,” Superman argued as gently as he could. “They need help. We can help. Please let us through so we can get to them.”

“No!” She swiped at them with her claws, drawing blood as Green Lantern had tried to reach for them. He pulled back with a yelp, eying her with alarm. She hissed again, bristling like a cat.

Looking at her, she was practically feral, crouched over the unconscious bodies of Red Robin and Superboy. Her pupils turned into pinpricks as she glared at them in mindless rage, her fangs bared and her wispy hair ablaze like a living fire. If any of the heroes approached them, she was quick to scratch or blast them with her ghost rays.

Superman glanced at Batman in worry, who was similarly stiff. No one could think of a plan to both subdue her and take away the unconscious boys without more injuries.

None of them wanted to hurt Spirit or the two boys, but the latter were bleeding out and desperately needed medical attention. Spirit had been protecting them for hours now until the Justice League had finally arrived, and it looked as though she needed medical assistance herself, bleeding green from various cuts and bruises.

A voice spoke up then. “It’s a wonder how she hasn’t passed out yet. Move, please.”

Everyone stepped aside as Phantom floated over, eying Spirit who was spitting mad, furiously hissing at anyone who approached Superboy and Red Robin.

“Dani,” he said suddenly, “you need to let us see them. They’re going to die if they don’t get medical attention now.”

Spirit shook her head. “No! No!” However, she seemed to recognize Phantom and she faltered, glancing downward at where she was covering Red Robin and Superboy.

Phantom was calm. “No, they will. I can tell. You have to let us help them. Or they’ll die.”

“No! N-No…” Spirit mumbled, her hair flickering.

Phantom reached for her and she didn’t move as he gently touched her face, rubbing the blood away from a scratch. “Sleep. We’ll take care of them, alright? On my honor, little sister.”

Spirit stared at him and then her eyes fluttered shut before she dropped like a stone. There was a bright light and when everyone blinked the spots out of their eyes, Phantom had Spirit wrapped up in his jacket, concealing her underneath. He lifted her into his arms and then said, “You should take the other two. I’ll take care of Spirit.”

As he turned to leave, Batman reached for his shoulder. Phantom paused and turned with a sigh. “Before you ask, yes, we have to have a talk about why my sister is so overprotective over your son. Yes, he will have to fight to the death for her hand. No, you can’t stop it from happening.”

Batman froze in place and then sighed loudly. “No, that wasn’t what I was going to say. Spirit is your sister?”

Phantom rolled his eyes. “Yes. Now go and take care of your son.”

Batman stared after him as Phantom flew off. Superman approached him and then they both looked at each other.

They had a lot to talk about.

[noturlondonboy]

BRUH STOP 😭

[gh0stsp1d3r]

Rafe’s revenge worked

Might make a part 3?

pt 1

Warnings: lying, slight manipulation, mentions of sex

You unlocked the door to the chateau, your heart pounding at the afterthought of what you just did.

You had sex with your brothers enemy.

The 2000 dollars sat heavy in your pocket, you had no clue what type of excuse you would make for having it.

You went to the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with water. You downed the water, and when you turned around John B stood in front of you.

“Where were you?” He asked, leaning against the wall, asking as if he didn’t know the answer.

“Work… it’s Monday.” You said, as if it was obvious.

“What took you so long?”

“I stayed a little longer helping close up. It’s not that serious.” You shrugged, attempting to push past him.

“Don’t bullshit me.” He held his hand out, stopping you from walking away.

“What are you talking about? Are you drunk or something?” You scoffed.

“I know you were with Rafe, and I know you had sex with him.”

Your face dropped and your heart pounded. John B pulled out his phone, opening up the audio and shoving it in your face.

“I- I didn’t! That’s not even me!” You tried to defend yourself.

He then pulled out another picture, of Rafe standing with a giant smile and the apron with your name on it in his hands.

You looked down at your waist, fuck. You must’ve forgotten it.

“John B-“

He scrolled through the messages more, the conversation between the both of them proof.

“I’m sorry, JB, I’m sorry-“ tears started to fall down your face.

He sighed.

“I- I think you should leave for a couple days, y/n.”

“W-what? You’re kicking me out? Over this shit?”

“He- he- he tried to kill me, and my friends! I’m sorry, y/n. Go… pack your stuff and stay with one of your friends. Only for a little. Okay?”

You wordlessly went to your room, grabbing bags and shoving things in there.

“We can talk when you get back. I- I just can’t right now.” He told you as he followed you into your room,

He stuttered your name out when he walked onto the patio behind you, but you didn’t even look at him as you went outside, sobbing and walking. It was dark out, dangerous, and cold. You shivered as you walked through the cut.

“Oh shittt, look what the cat dragged in.” Kelce nudged Rafe. He had shown, and boasted to all his friends about you. Rafe turned his head, looking at your distraught figure.

“No shit.” Rafe scoffed, leaning out his car window and whistling to get your attention from the other side of the road.

You snapped your head over there, your eyes widening. You stormed up to him.

“Oh, shit, someone’s ready for round t-“

You punched him, square in the face. He groaned, and chuckled at it, and before you could do anything else he jumped out the car.

“The fuck was that for?”

“You’re such an asshole! You ruined my fuckin’ life! I got kicked out, and- and now I have to see your stupid fucking face again!” You hit his chest, him just having a smirk on his face the whole time.

“Oh, shit. I’m… sorry. How’d your brother take it?” He asked in faux pity, slowly wrapping his arms around you and looking over to Kelce in the car with a grin.

“He’s pissed!” You sobbed into his chest. “And he’s upset, and he- he-“

“Shh. Shhh. It’s alright. Uh.. if you want, you could hang at mines for a couple of days.”

“No. I’m just gonna-“ you pushed him off of you, realizing who it was again.

“C’mon, it’s cold, you’re literally shivering! I got blankets and shit in the car. You can’t walk all the way there.”

“Rafe, I can’t-“

“Think of it as my apology. Please. I feel.. just so bad. And… I just want you to stay, just for a couple days. Think of it, we’ll have the house to ourselves for days. My dad’s on some trip with my stepmom, Sarah’s hanging out with your brother” he said it with a tinge of bitterness, making you suspicious.

“and my other one is at her friends.”

“Did you-“ you sniffled. “Did you fuck me because your sister got with my brother?” You asked him, catching onto the distaste he had about it.

“What? Course not. What type of crazy shit is that?” He scoffed. Yea, that’s exactly what he did.

“Fine.” You mumbled when you felt another breeze blow past, the cold making you shiver again.

“Poor thing.” Rafe mumbled as he opened the door, motioning for you to get in the back.

“Here.” Rafe threw his jacket at you, you taking it and quickly pulling it over your shoulders.

Kelce looked at him with a knowing look, and Rafe held his hands up in mock defense, turning the car on again.

——

@sublimepenguinpeach-blog @haruvalentine4321 @theoraekenslover @ilovemensomuchagh

[sturniololuvz]

Can you make a story where the triplets sister (18) is like “big chested” and has a good body (trying not to be rude lol) anyways, and men always cat call her. One day they were at the beach and a ton of men where cat calling her and the triplets make sure they protect her (🦌)

“Always Protected”

Sturniolos x sister

TW: catcalling, random guy touches y/n.

The beach was packed, the summer heat making everything feel heavier, but Y/N was used to the attention. It didn’t matter what she wore—tight jeans, an oversized hoodie, or, in this case, a bikini—men always noticed. And not in a respectful way.

She adjusted her bikini top as she walked beside her brothers, trying not to let her discomfort show. She was confident, but the way men looked at her sometimes made her skin crawl.

And today was worse than usual.

“Damn, look at that,” one man murmured loud enough for his group to hear—but it was obvious he wanted her to hear it too.

“Look at those tits, bro. Fucking crazy,” another chuckled.

“She knows exactly what she’s doing in that bikini,” a third one added.

Y/N stiffened, biting the inside of her cheek. She didn’t want to react. She just wanted to get to their spot, sit down, and pretend these creeps didn’t exist.

But her brothers? They were not built like that.

Chris froze in his tracks, his jaw clenching so tight she thought his teeth might crack.

Nick’s entire body stiffened beside her.

Matt’s face darkened, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

But before any of them could say anything, one of the men took it a step further.

“Bet she’d look even better bent over,” the guy smirked, licking his lips as his friends laughed.

And then—one of them reached out.

Y/N barely had time to react before she felt a disgusting hand trail down her exposed lower back, fingers way too close to her bikini bottoms.

That was it.

Chris turned so fast she barely saw it happen before he shoved the guy back, making him stumble into the sand.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Chris seethed, his voice sharp, eyes blazing with fury.

The guy, clearly embarrassed in front of his friends, scoffed as he stood up. “Relax, man. It’s a compliment.”

Matt laughed—but it was a dark, humorless sound. “A compliment?” He stepped forward, and the guy actually backed up a little. “Touch my sister again and see what happens.”

“Damn,” one of the other men muttered. “Didn’t know she came with a security team.”

Nick, who had been silently fuming, finally spoke up. “Yeah? Well, consider this your warning. Look at her, talk about her, breathe in her direction again, and I swear to God, we’ll make sure you regret it.”

Y/N had seen her brothers mad before, but this was different.

The air was thick with tension, the guys shifting uncomfortably now that they realized they weren’t dealing with some scared little girl and her passive brothers.

And when Chris took another step forward—cracking his knuckles—they finally backed off.

“Whatever, man,” the guy muttered. “Not that serious.”

Chris lunged before Matt grabbed his arm, stopping him from actually swinging. “Get the fuck out of here,” Matt warned, his voice dangerously low.

The guys muttered to themselves as they walked away, but they didn’t say another word to Y/N.

She exhaled shakily, trying to calm her racing heart.

Chris turned to her immediately. “You okay?” His voice was softer now, but his body was still buzzing with rage.

Y/N nodded, though she still felt sick to her stomach. “Yeah. Just… I hate when that happens.”

Nick sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t get how guys can be such disgusting pieces of shit.”

Matt wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in. “If this ever happens again, you tell us. You don’t have to deal with this alone.

After cooling off in the sun, they decided to head into the ocean. The water was perfect—warm but refreshing, with small waves rolling in just enough to make it fun. Y/N swam a little farther out, letting the water rise to her shoulders as she tried to enjoy the moment.

That’s when she felt it.

A hand.

A disgusting, unfamiliar hand slipping down her back.

Before she could even react, fingers slid into the waistband of her bikini bottoms.

Y/N gasped, jerking forward, spinning around with wide eyes—only to see some random guy standing way too close, a smug grin on his face.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he drawled. “Just helping you fix ‘em.”

Her stomach dropped.

She felt sick.

Before she could even form words, the man was ripped backward.

Chris grabbed him by the shoulder and threw him into the water, sending him stumbling. “WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST DO?”

Nick was right behind him, his face a storm of pure rage. “Did you just fucking touch my sister?” His voice was low, lethal.

Matt, normally the calmest of the three, was already shoving the guy back again. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

The guy held up his hands, acting innocent. “Dude, chill. It was just a joke.”

“A joke?” Chris snapped, water dripping from his hair as he lunged forward. “You put your hands on my sister. You think that’s fucking funny?”

By now, people were starting to stare. The tension was thick. The guy tried to back up, but Nick wasn’t letting him go anywhere.

“You’re lucky we don’t beat the shit out of you right now,” Matt muttered.

Y/N, still shaken, swallowed hard. She could barely process what had just happened.

Chris turned to her immediately, his voice softer but still filled with fury. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

She shook her head, though she still felt violated. “I just wanna get out of the water.”

That was all they needed to hear.

Chris turned back to the guy, his expression pure disgust. “If I ever see you again, I swear to God—”

Nick shoved him one last time, making him stumble in the water. “Get the fuck out of here.”

The guy, realizing he wasn’t about to win this one, muttered something under his breath before swimming off in the opposite direction.

But it didn’t matter.

The damage was done.

Chris, Nick, and Matt immediately surrounded Y/N, guiding her out of the water, their presence a wall between her and the rest of the world.

Once they were back on the sand, Y/N let out a shaky breath, trying to compose herself.

“You’re okay,” Matt reassured her, rubbing her back. “We got you.”

Chris still looked like he was ready to kill someone. “I fucking hate men.”

Nick exhaled sharply. “Same.”

Y/N managed a small, tired smile, despite the situation. “Good thing I have you guys, then.”

Chris wrapped an arm around her, pulling her into his chest. “Damn right you do. No one’s ever touching you again.”

Nick and Matt nodded, their eyes still scanning the beach, making sure no one else dared to look in her direction.

No matter what happened, Y/N knew one thing for sure—her brothers would always protect her.

[sunsetcupid]

YOUNG LOVE ; UNIVERSITY!AU.

synopsis: They say that high school are the best years of your life. . .But welcome to YUN, where three love interests are waiting in the wings for you. Freshman!Isack Hadjar, who is assigned as your partner for a physics project. Junior!Oscar Piastri, who is the lead manager of your new workplace. And Senior!Max Verstappen, who is your Dutch tutor.

trigger warnings: Use of Y/N; Use of feminine pronouns from the reader’s perspective; Depiction of a love triangle; Descriptions of romantic acts and behaviors; Suggestive remarks

a message from the author: When I tell you, this took me over a week to make. . . Think of this as a Gossip Girl!AU, but set at a University (Your University Name, or YUN for short). There are three love interests, plus some cameos from extra characters (Yes, Lando and Oscar are dating in this). At the end, you will choose which love interest you want. I am so curious to see who you all like the most! Enough of my yapping, I hope you love this just as much as I do. Have fun reading!

yourusername First year at YUN has officially started!

comments 150

user1 Very excited!

user2 Can’t believe we’re already in uni

user3 Time flies 🥹

user4 What are you majoring in again?

user5 Has anyone downloaded the YUN Gossip app?

user6 OMG yes! Heard it was where everything goes down…

yourbffusername Best roomie 😋

yourusername All set up!

yourbffusername replied to the Instagram story

So aesthetic 😍

user7 replied to the Instagram story

Love the layout!

user8 replied to the Instagram story

What dorm are you in? Your room looks awesome!

user9 replied to the Instagram story

Littt ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

user10 replied to the Instagram story

Miss you already!!

comments 3

isackhadjar Hello Y/N, it is nice to see someone who shares the same major. Programming has always been an interest of mine, though coding does give me a headache sometimes.

user11 Hi Y/N, I am also from England, but I’m native to Oxford. You’re so lucky to be born in London! I visited once and it was super interesting. Have you ever taken a tour inside Buckingham Palace?

user12 Hey Y/N, I’m a freshman as well! Are you nervous at all for the next four years? My sister just graduated last year as a Psychology major, but I’m majoring in Chemistry. I’ve heard some things about how tough college is, but I think we’ll both make it through!

|| [NEW EMAIL]

From: Professor Yates (emeyates@yun.org)

To: PHY3009

BCC: Physics Project (DUE 08/30)

Dear Class,

For those who missed today’s lecture, a new project has been assigned for this class. Partners were listed on the whiteboard, and a photo is attached to this email. If there are any concerns with these pairings I have selected, please let me know by 08/17.

Thank you all, and have a great day.

Sincerely.

Professor Emelia Yates

🖇️ phy3009partners.png

yourusername

comments 24

isackhadjar WHY THAT PHOTO?? I feel betrayed

user11 Summer I Turned Pretty mention! 💖

user12 HAHAHA 3rd slide

user13 Slayyy

yourbffusername <3

user14 LOL 😭 😭 😭

|| NEW NOTIF: YUN Gossip [08/19] — Looks like Christmas will be coming to YUN early, because Die Hard will be playing at the Wilson Theater on 08/22. Buy tickets now!

|| NEW NOTIF: YUN Gossip [08/22] — Leaked photos attached between Freshman Isack Hadjar and rumored girlfriend at YUN movie night!

|| [NEW EMAIL]

From: Oscar Piastri (oscpiastri@mayleaf.com)

To: Y/N L/N (ynln@yun.org)

BCC: Interview

Dear Y/N L/N,

Thank you for applying for a position at Mayleaf Books. We appreciate your interest at working at our bookstore. Combined with your previous experience, we would like to offer you a role as sales associate. The starting pay is $12 per hour.

Please respond to this email as soon as possible to ensure that you are accepting this position.

Regards,

Oscar Piastri (Lead Manager)

yourusername Everyone calls him polite cat, but I think he’s really a grumpy cat. Comparison post coming soon.

oscarpiastri replied to the Instagram story

Stop playing around and maybe I’d be nicer to you

user15 replied to the Instagram story

Seeing Oscar Piastri slander on my feed was NOT expected, but I’ll take it!

user16 replied to the Instagram story

I SEE IT 🫢

user17 replied to the Instagram story

Wait because you’re cooking...

yourbffusername replied to the Instagram story

He’s lowkey fineeee 🥵🥵🥵

yourusername God bless Nora Roberts

comments 19

user18 SEND ME BOOK RECS

user19 I love her books too, OMG! 🤯

user20 Cool book haul!

oscarpiastri Looks like those are interesting books. Let me know how they are once you have read them.

user21 Love this 💓💓

|| NEW NOTIF: YUN Gossip [01/02] — Junior Oscar Piastri caught in a passionate makeout session with Junior Lando Norris and unknown girl inside Mayleaf Books!

|| [NEW EMAIL]

From: Fernando Alonso (feralonso@yun.org)

To: Y/N L/N (ynln@yun.org)

BCC: New Classes for the Spring Semester

Dear Students,

New classes will be added to the curriculum starting this spring. A full comprehensive list can be found in the attachment of this email. If there are any concerns, send them forward to jenbutton@yun.org.

Respectfully,

Fernando Alonso (Dean)

🖇️ springclasses.pdf

yourusername Another long day at the library. #I HATE DUTCH.

user22 replied to the Instagram story

Me right now with French 🤝

user23 replied to the Instagram story

Most valid crash out

yourbffusername replied to the Instagram story

Sighh 😥

maxverstappen replied to the Instagram story

Maybe if you listened to me, you would like it more. I’ll be there in ten minutes.

yourusername Guess I have to thank maxverstappen now 😔

user24 replied to the Instagram story

No, his ego will get too big and he will float away 😓

user25 replied to the Instagram story

AWESOME! 🎉

user26 replied to the Instagram story

Yes queen!! Academic weapon 🤓🤓

maxverstappen replied to your Instagram story

See? I knew you could do it. You are very smart when you want to be. Want to celebrate? I know just the spot.

|| NEW NOTIF: YUN Gossip [03/09] — Senior Max Verstappen seen leaving Keeley Bar with mystery woman. Unknown whether it is his girlfriend or not...

Credits: Dividers — @bernardsbendystraws; Graphics — Both Pinterest and self-made

[bartxnhood]

my worst fear | t.o

tyler owens x fem!reader

based on this request: Sooooo, this is my req. You were tyler's past, thought that tyler already forgot about you when he talked to kate and all. However, he stillcare for you when the last tornado struck and he protects you and your little sister form the storm in the theater.

warnings: tornadoes, severe damage to buildings, reader and sister getting injured.

w/c: 1.6k

requests open

not proofread

Copyright © 2024 bartxnhood. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.

✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵

you’ve heard about the infamous ‘tornado wrangler’. your ex, tyler owens. the two of you ended things years ago, you were still living in arkansas at the time.

it was a mutual ending, you couldn’t keep up with his adrenaline-fueled dreams, chasing these nightmarish storms.

you moved states after something happened in the family and took your sister. now you were in oklahoma, where tyler was working. unusual weather patterns causing different storm-chasing crews were roam the state and happen to be in your county.

you did everything you could to keep your distance from tyler. you wanted to avoid him at all costs because you knew if you saw him, you’d realize you didn’t quite stop loving him.

“y/n!” your little sister pulls you out of your daze as she points to a stuffed cat and pulls your arm.

“is this one you want?”

she nods her bright smile could light up the whole planet. you ready for the calico-colored cat, “we’ll take this one”.

the vendor nods as you pay them, and hands you back the change. “have a good one.” they smile.

you hand the cat to your little sister as she hugs it closer to her chest, rambling nonsense. “amelia. hand.” you demand, snapping your fingers to grab her attention.

her small hand finds yours and the two of you continue looking through the vendors set up on the block.

it was a perfect day for a festival, the sun was shining and the sky was blue. you thought after a week-long run of bad storms and tornadoes was over.

so, it came as a surprise when the tornado sirens began to sound. you stop on your tracks, watching the people around you. “sissy, what’s happening?” amelia asks. you look down at her and smile, “i’m not sure, amy. stay close.” the little girl nods, holding your hand tighter.

you study the people walking around town. some of them taking off in their vehicles, others continuing their activities as if it was just another warning.

dark clouds swirled through the skies, growing darker and more ominous as the seconds passed. the winds picked up in speed and force, becoming more powerful as the storm continued to grow. thunder roared and lightning flashed, lighting up the sky in bursts of bright light.

clouds swirled in what soon became a funnel. “oh god..” you breathe, tugging at your sister. “we gotta go!” you holler.

tyler owens caught a glimpse of something familiar in the chaos caused by the storm. squinting, he noticed you and your younger sister struggling through the debris-filled streets. “y/n?!”

the sight of you struggling amid the disaster immediately sent a pang of concern through him. ignoring the past, he knew he had to help you. rushing towards you, “y/n! you need to get inside!” tyler yells over the booming crack of thunder.

“i can’t find her!” you yell back. “who?!”

“amelia! my sister. she was here and then she was just gone!” you feel your chest constricting. your heart was pounding so hard it was getting harder to breathe. you whip your head around searching for the little girl in a pink summer dress.

“you need to go inside!” tyler tries reaching for your arm to guide you to the movie theater where everyone else is. “i can’t!” you step back, “i need to find her! i can’t leave her out here.”

tyler grabs you by your shoulders, making you look at him. “y/n, go inside and get to somewhere safe. you won’t be any help out here looking for her if you get hurt. i’ll find her, go!”

he gives you a little push and you begin towards the movie theater before the storm could sweep you away. you look back, and tyler nods, assuring you that he’d find your sister.

tyler sped through the battered town, his eyes scanning the surroundings for the little girl while telling other survivors to get inside.

his boots stomp against the pavement, dodging debris and other obstacles. until, he spotted a young girl, no older than ten, struggling to make her way through the rubble-strewn streets.

her wide eyes were filled with terror as she stumbled down to her knees, calling out for her sister, you.

he hurried over to her, a mix of concern and determination on his face.

"c'mon! we have to get you somewhere safe," he called over the howling wind, extending a hand to help her up.

as he led her towards the nearby movie theater, thoughts of his past with you filled his mind, but he pushed those thoughts aside, focusing purely on getting her to safety.

inside the theater, you were scanning the room frantically. everyone in the room yelling, asking if they’d seen someone they lost. people yelling at each other to get down and take cover.

the theater shook as a loud growl could be heard outside. you look up towards the ceiling, watching it crumble.

“you need to get down!” a lady reaches for your arm and tries to push you in between the seats.

there’s a moment when it goes silent for you, everything is moving in slow motion as you look towards the exits and hear the familiar wailing of a little girl.

“oh thank god.” you cry, running towards tyler holding the little girl, and scoop her into your arms. the two of you a sobbing mess, you squeeze her tightly and look up at tyler. “thank you, thank you so much.”

he nodded, pressing his lips in a tight smile. “ty!” someone yells, running towards him. “we gotta get these people to the back, this building isn’t built for a storm like this.”

tyler looks at the surroundings and agrees with javier. he begins ushering people towards the back, “y/n, get back and stay low!” he yells her the roaring tornado.

you take amelia and hunker down between the rows of theater chairs, holding each other tightly. “close your eyes!” you hold your hand over her eyes, shielding her from any debris. you hold her close to your chest and grip onto the bottom of the chairs.

once tyler got most people to the back of the theater, tyler approached you and your little sister huddled together in the theater, the building creaking and groaning as the tornado's intensity increased.

suddenly, the wind howled louder, a vortex of air tearing through the room, threatening to rip you all apart.

in a desperate move, tyler lunged towards you, wrapping his arms fiercely around you, anchoring you to him as the winds tried to tear the two of you apart. you clung to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders as they fought against the storm's wrath.

your knuckles grip onto your sister's torso, keeping her pinned to your body.

tyler stood anxiously next to the ambulance, watching as the two sisters were being examined by the paramedics inside. he couldn't shake off the sense of protectiveness he felt towards you, even after all these years.

“sit still, hun.” you coo, rubbing her shoulders as the paramedics take her vitals.

as you glanced out of the back of the ambulance, your eyes locked with his for a brief moment. tyler's heart skipped a beat, and he realized that his old feelings for you had never truly faded away, no matter how much he tried to deny it.

“can you watch her for a second?” you as the woman, tending to amelia.

“where you goin?” amelia asks, reaching for your arm. “i gotta go talk to a friend, amy. i’ll be right back.” you press a kiss into her hair and walk over to the man.

“she’s grown up,” tyler says as you stand next to him.

“yup.” you reply, letting a comfortable silence fill the air.

“how old is she?” he asks.

“seven. she just had a birthday last week”

“wow.” tyler rests his hands on his hips, recalling how little she was when the two of you were dating.

“thank you. sincerely. i don’t know what i would’ve done if..” you trail off, covering your eyes unable to finish the sentence.

“shh.” he pulls you into his side, soothing your worries. “don’t think like that. just glad i was here when i was.”

you wrap an arm around his torso, leaning into his side.

despite the years that had passed since the breakup, the sight of tyler had stirred up a mixture of emotions. seeing him again brought back memories – good and bad – that were tinged with a touch of nostalgia.

what surprised you most, however, was the realization that those old feelings for him hadn't faded as much as you believed.

“thank you, tyler. genuinely” you repeat, wiping your eyes. “of course.” he smiles, looking down at you.

“go get checked. that cut looks bad” he suggests, examining the cut on your forehead. “i will.” you smile, watching as your sister hops down from the ambulance and runs towards you.

you bend down and scoop her into your arms, resting her on your hip. “did you tell mister owens ‘thank you’?” you ask amelia, who tries to hide behind your hair.

“thank you, mister owens” she says, bashfully.

“anytime, darlin.” he gently pats the girls arm. “i’ll catch yall later” he says, taking a few steps back but you stop him.

“tyler, do you want to come over for dinner?” you ask.

tyler stops in his tracks, turning back to face you. a huge grin forming on his face. “i’d love that”

[cressidagrey]

Lightning in a Bottle - Chapter 3

Summary: 

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was actually pretty much useless. The only thing she wanted was to be somebody's first choice for once in her life.

Also known as: Azriel's shadows decide that if he doesn't treat his mate right... they'll just do it for him.

Warnings: 

Stabbing, Azriel unalives somebody that really had it coming, Death by being put on fire

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

*If you keep glaring at Keir like that we are never getting anywhere,* Rhys said into his mind, some amusement bleeding into his voice. 

*I think he’s trying to waste your time on purpose,* Azriel responded with a scowl. 

 The shadows hadn’t picked up anything out of the usual…but that didn’t mean anything…even Keir could manage to hide something if he really wanted to…and he did want to, Azriel thought. 

He wasn’t sure yet what…but there was something. There must be something. 

This meeting was utterly useless, was slowly turning into needless sniping at each other and Azriel didn’t like it…it felt like Keir was just trying to keep them in place for longer. 

The question was just for what? 

It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up like a cat…the feeling that something…something was…not quite right, that he couldn't put his finger on…

He hated that feeling. Azriel much preferred it, when he got all the facts… when he could make plans and plans for his plans…

But he couldn’t…and he was still stuck with being in the Hewn City and not in Velaris.

*Cassian is thinking the same,* Rhys responded with a sigh. *We’ll give it another hour. Don’t worry, we'll be back in Velaris soon enough,* he teased Azriel lightly. Rhys must have caught one of his thoughts. *Give Feyre some time and then you can go get your girl.*

An easy promise given. 

*Not my girl,* Azriel gave back immediately. *Not yet. Not…* Not until she wanted to be. Not until she knew the truth and…

*She won’t turn you down, Az,* Rhys said quietly, sussing out what was really bothering him immediately. 

But what if she did? Eira had every reason in the book to turn him down. Starting with his ill-thought-out pursuit of her actual twin sister to the simple fact of who he was…

She had every reason to tell him to fuck off to the continent because she never wanted to see him again. Granted, he highly doubted she would do that…he had never heard as much as a curse word out of her mouth. 

She had been raised as the daughter of a wealthy merchant, and clearly, that’s how she carried herself, even after everything had happened. 

At least she had clung to that bit of her human life.

*She has every reason to,* Azriel disagreed quietly.  Every reason to turn him down. Regardless of what he wished for…every reason not to be interested. 

What if she wanted to cling to even more of her human life? If the wings that he sprouted from his back were a step too far for her…if the scars that marred his hands were…

Or what if she simply didn’t want him? That would be a valid choice too and he would accept that. 

Of course, he would. 

He never wanted to force her into anything that she didn’t want. 

So what if she hated him? 

*She won't and she doesn't,* Rhys disagreed sharply. *Azriel, Mor was right,” his brother told him pointedly. “Eira has been having a crush on you for years. She’ll probably be ecstatic and immediately start planning your wedding…Maybe Elain can lend her all her wedding binders,” Rhys teased him. 

He bit back a smile at that. Maybe…maybe… He wished for that. He wished that would be…

Whatever she wanted. She wanted a big wedding? He would suffer through that, just for the chance of seeing her happy. Just for her smiling at him…not as painfully polite as she had been last evening but bright and happy and unbridled…He wanted to see that. 

He wanted to see all of that. 

But he pushed that thought away.  

*I am intrigued and terrified by what is actually in these binders,* Azriel admitted drily. *Even you didn’t have that many when you were planning Nesta and Cassian’s mating ceremony.*

*Helion is overcompensating,* Rhys quipped, though they both knew that it probably was the truth. 

After everything had gone down in Autumn, ending with a dead Beron, High Lord Eris and Lucien Vanserra officially becoming Lucien Spell-Cleaver…well.

*I owe you an apology,* Rhys said at that moment, and Azriel stared at his brother, who was listening to Keir with a bored expression on his face. *I did only want…the best for you that solstice but how I went around it…that wasn’t particularly nice to you.*

*Actually I owe you my gratitude,* Azriel said drily. *I didn’t want to hear it then…but I was…I wasn’t in love with Elain. I was…infatuated,* he admitted. *I was jealous of you and Cassian and that…that clouded my judgement. It could have ended very badly if you didn’t intervene.*

Very badly. A Blood Duel would have been their smallest problem then. 

*It could have,* Rhys agreed. *That’s why I interfered in the first place…But I still hurt you in that moment, and I wish I hadn’t.*

*If I keep behaving like an idiot you have my full permission to call me out on it,* Azriel gave back with a sigh. 

*Then stop thinking like you don’t deserve her,* Rhys said with a mental eye roll. 

*Sure, I’ll stop once you stop thinking the same about Feyre,* he shot back. Rhys would have retorted, but he was beaten to it. 

The shadows came suddenly, in a frenzy whispering in his ear, voices hurried and panicking: Master, Master you need to come NOW!

*What’s wrong?* Rhys demanded, just as that dormant bond in his chest was flooded with pure, undiluted terror.  

The Princeling and our Mate! 

*Eira and Nyx,* he choked out. The shadows already grasped him, before Rhys’ mental order could fully reach him.  

*GO!*

They dragged him out of Hewn City, into Velaris.

The ground he hit was scorched. 

That was the first thing he realised. 

Magic crackled in the air, thick and furious, untrained and uncontrolled…that was the second. 

Nyx had one specific playground he loved…one where Azriel knew members of their family often brought him to…with swings that he adored…

It was a place of happiness…of children laughing…of Velaris at its best…

Now…now it was a scorched wasteland. 

The swings? Gone. The smell of burning human flesh in the air, making his stomach twist, eyes tracking over the carnage. 

At least two dead…difficult to say because their bodies were burned…beyond recognition.

One more dead…mouth open in a silent scream…  One…one male held by his shadows, bearing him down onto the ground…and then, right in the middle of that carnage… in a heap on the ground…

The high-pitched crying of Nyx reached his ears, covered by the unmoving body of Eira. 

Azriel had thought that panic had been burned out of him centuries ago. He was taught something better that morning. Because it was panic that flooded his veins. Panic and Terror and…a thousand other things. 

*I need Mor! And Madja!* he snapped along the mental connection to Rhys, already hurling for both of them…sliding onto his knees as he so very carefully touched Eira’s body, feeling the delicate bones underneath his fingertips, a near unseen tremble, the smell of acrid blood clinging to her, layering over her scent. 

She had always smelled like snowdrops to him. Snowdrops and almonds and a crackling hearth. 

Now the blood…the blood…He turned her around, getting no reaction, finding Nyx safe and sound tucked underneath her, crying, his little face red and splotchy as he sobbed. 

*AZRIEL!?* Rhys demanded. 

*Nyx is fine. Not a scratch.* 

All he managed…as he finally saw the scarlet red dripping down onto Nyx…smeared all over him…and then he saw the handle of that dagger protruding from Eira’s limp form. 

Blood. Her blood. 

“Ra! Ra! Ra!” Nyx gargled, just as he finally managed to slap a patch of his killing power around that knife, keeping it steady. He didn’t pull it out, knowing that that could kill her…even when the blood that oozed out around it was starkly black in places…and he could smell the scent of…something burning in the back of his throat. 

Poison. That knife had been poisoned. 

A curse left his mouth at that. 

That wasn't good. That was everything but good. 

*Eira?* Rhys demanded at that moment. 

*Stabbed.*

The connection went silent, just as the booming sound of Morrigan winnowing went in beside him. 

“Az?”

“She needs Madja. Now,” he bit out. “Take them both.”

Safe. Safe. 

He needed her safe. And then he needed…

He leaned down, picking up one limp hand and pressing a kiss against it, her skin clammy and grey…even when he could feel her pulse thrumming underneath the thin skin on the back of her wrist... He breathed in snowdrops and almonds and sweetness...and then let go, because if he didn't...he never would. He would lie right down next to her, waiting for his demise. 

He grasped Truthteller without even thinking about it, as he stalked across the ground towards the one sole survivor. The shadows jerked him up, and Azriel grabbed hold of his throat. 

“What. Did. You. Do?!” he growled. What had they done to Eira?  To his mate?

“I…we…just the Prince…Grab the Prince. No matter the cost,” the male garbled out, the acrid smell of urine hitting his nostrils and only now Azriel took in the black uniform. 

Darkbringer. 

Court of Nightmares. Keir. 

Suddenly… it all made sense. It came together. The secret Keir had been keeping. It was so clear now. 

“Who hired you?!” Azriel spat out, wanting a verbal answer before…before... 

“The Steward!” 

And that’s all he needed to hear, before he drove Truthteller into him, into the exact same place where they had stabbed Eira…not immediately killing him, but seeing his eyes widen, seeing the realisation set in….the pained scream escaping him. 

“She’s mine,” Azriel whispered. “Mine. And you hurt her. You hunted her.” Like a game. Like an animal. 

She was his. His mate. 

And Azriel hadn’t been there to protect her.  He hadn’t been there for any of this…

“Lightning,” the male choked, blood bubbling on his lips. *She…killed…lightning.”

He didn't care what the male told him. It didn't matter. None of this mattered. 

The only thing that mattered was her. 

He watched as the light dimmed in his eyes, feeling a sick sense of satisfaction that he at least had gotten to do this. At least…

*It was Keir,* Rhys said into his mind, his voice deathly quiet.  *He…He ordered…*

*He wanted Nyx,*  Azriel agreed, pulling Truthteller out of the body, letting the male fall to the ground, wiping the blade on his trousers. 

*How many did you kill?* Rhys asked. No judgment. He could have slaughtered three dozen and Rhys wouldn’t have cared at that moment. 

*One.*

He could feel Rhys’ surprise. Then: *He said he sent 4.*

*Two were burned beyond recognition,* Azriel explained. *Another is dead, but still recognisable. I do not know how he died. The whole ground is charred. Scorched.*

A second later…Rhys and Cassian appeared, winnowing in from Hewn City. He imagined that Feyre had gone straight to their son.  Cassian took one look around at the ground, the carnage…the…

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Mor took Nyx and Eira?” he asked and Azriel forced a nod, feeling for that golden thread bound around his rib…wished he would get something, anything from her…

“She shielded him with her body,” he said nearly tonelessly. “He was smeared in her blood because she shielded him.”

Even stabbed, even feeling like she was going to die…Eira had done everything to shield her nephew. Had used her own body to keep him safe. Had protected him with her life. 

Azriel had never doubted that she loved him…but it still…she must not have even hesitated. Just done it.

She was a slip of a girl, with no combat training…and she had faced four of the Court of Nightmare's most elite soldiers and laid down her life if that meant that Nyx would be safe. 

He had seen grown Illyrian Warriors that would have tucked tails and run in this situation. 

Outnumbered…Outpowered. And still, she had stood her ground. 

“What happened here?” Cassian asked as he checked the other recognisable body. 

“They must have surprised her,” Rhys said, his voice shaking. “She thought they were safe. We thought they were safe…”

And they hadn’t been. They hadn’t been safe. 

At all. 

Death had been brought right to their doorstep in Velaris. 

“How did he die?” Rhys demanded from Cassian. 

“He was struck by lightning,” Cassian responded drily. “I have seen this before…on a cow though. It would also explain the scorched ground. If lightning hits the ground, it makes a pattern like that.”

What?

Lightning?

He looked up to the sky. It was a beautiful summer’s day. Not a trace of a storm…anywhere. 

“Do you think it was Nyx?” Cassian asked quietly but Rhys shook his head. 

“I have never seen anybody channel lightning,” Rhys answered, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Never. I…” Neither had Azriel.  “He’s too young to channel magic like that.”

But was he? In a situation like that? When he had just tried to protect Eira? and himself? Maybe even at 1-year-old Nyx had recognised what…what would happen if he didn’t protect himself. Maybe it had been pure instinct on his part…Maybe he had seen Eira fall and that had been…

Eira. 

He reached for that bond again, feeling it tremble and he hung onto it with all his might, clenching his teeth. 

He…

He had failed her, hadn’t he? It should have never come that far. It should have never…It should have never…

Azriel should have been the one taking that knife to the chest, not her. 

“Clearly not,” Cassian disagreed with a snort. “He’s your son,” Cassian pointed out drily. “He’s Feyre’s son…who knows what he has inherited from her.”

Rhys stayed rooted in one spot, blinking once. 

“Rhys?” Cassian asked immediately. 

“Get Nesta,” he ordered Cassian. “We are needed at the River House.” And then after a second that felt like eternity…“It’s not…It’s not looking good.”

And with one sentence…everything crumbled. 

[violentdelightshavevioletends]

Ridoc: Dumbest scar stories, go!

Ridoc: I have two pieces of graphite in my leg from accidental stabbings.

Sawyer: You made that sound way cooler than it actually is, tell them the rest of the story.

Ridoc: Fine! One is from accidentally stabbing myself with a pencil in the world’s worst math class when I was 8. And the other is from scaring Violet in the library and she “accidentally” stabbed me while studying. I’d say Sawyers next but then we’ll never hear the end of it!

Sawyer: I still can’t taste anything on the left side! … I burned my tongue drinking tea because I asked Sliseag to boil it super-fast.

Cat: *shudders* Never “surprise kiss” Xaden in front of Violet.

Jesinia, signing & showing her palms: I paper-burned my fingers from speed-reading too vigorously.

Rhiannon: I was making a cup of noodles out and spilled it on my hand and I got such a bad burn my sister called a medic.

Dain: I once told Cath he needed a breath mint and he proceeded to breath fire until my eyebrows were singed off, there’s still a mark behind my ear.

Violet: I can’t even pick one… my whole life is a walking accidental injury.

Ridoc: Yeah, sure “accidents” …

Violet: — Hey! How about YOU almost get your neck snapped when someone “surprises you” and then see how you fair! … *muttering* and I didn’t say Cat was an accident *dead pan & smirks*.

Bodhi: I once zipped my hand in my riders jacket and took a chunk out of my pinky… *glances to Xaden in question*

Imogen: *fully glares at Xaden* I once kicked Xaden’s girlfriends ass and then mysteriously tripped down a stair I “didn’t see”

Xaden: Well, I once took 107 stab wounds for a bunch of idiots.

Ridoc: Oh, who?

Imogen: It’s us. We’re the idiots.

Sloane: … And now we can add emotional scars to the list.

[ma1dita]

when the curtains close

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader prev -> love me dry | next -> asking for trouble words: 5.3k summary: (post-tlt) The one where you lose two people in the Labyrinth that day. All strings are cut. (Pollux, Annabeth, Percy, and Mr. D find out the biggest difference between you and Luke.) (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader) a/n: yeah to me this fic sounds and feels like that tiktok of the girl humming to her microwave. depictions of the titular battle of the labyrinth at CHB, some blood/gore, death & grief. the usual. you forced me to by lizzy mcalpine. references to cat on a hot tin roof by tennessee williams if you squint (posted 5/14/24)

—

The first time Pollux has a panic attack, time seems to stop and the world keeps moving on without him.

He’s reminded of a time when you rambled on about how anxiety takes possession of the senses like a moment frozen in a snapshot meant for you to identify. In the memory, you had your feet kicked up on the dash flipping through a DSM-5 while he and Castor took turns speeding up and down Farm Road (totally normal older sister behavior from you, and when a cop pulled you over, the three of you narrowly escaped a ticket by talking in riddles and godly smoke that smelled like grapes). Pollux still remembers the sound of laughter in the car blending like three different chords to an archaic melody (or squawking crows in the strawberry fields)— the bond between you three laid out before time knew limits and was always meant to be.

It’s still his favorite song. You’re their favorite (and only) sister, they love to joke. These are facts that will never change.

“You two have each other, and well, I’ve got this,” you had said, the Zippo flicking open and closed against your thumb in the blossoming darkness of the car. Pink and purple rays of waning light blanketed the old hatchback as it steadily made its way back towards Half-Blood Hill, comfortable silence shared in the way only siblings can stand to be quiet—when there are no words needed to get a point across. But you’ve always set yourself apart from the pack, not needing anyone like how they need each other.

Not since Luke left, at least. The growing distance between you three since your untimely resignation from camp was proof enough. Pollux’s eyes met Castor’s in the rearview mirror as they both noticed your sad smile. His brother’s voice broke through the silence then, having always been the one blunt enough to say what was on his mind, “You’ve got us too if you let us see you more often.” Your fidgeting stops.

“It’s not you two, it’s just hard to be back here sometimes. I see things for what they used to be instead of how they really are now. Now it’s just… it has to be all business.”

Pollux cracked a smile, “S’what you get for growing up. Soon we’ll just be annoying voices in your head like you are to us.” Shutting your textbook, you turned to look at them from the passenger seat, eyes that match theirs darting between their blond heads, “All of us have to grow up eventually. Except maybe you two— I prefer you in my nightmares like the kids from The Shining. Whenever you get sick of Dad, come see me. Gods know that camp deserves a break from the two of you too.” Your knuckles knocked against both of their heads affectionately as he put the car in park, “My built-in bodyguards, huh? Always looking out for me.”

All words and meaning escape Pollux now as he stands in the greenery of the North Woods with battle gear ill-fitted to his large frame. It’s the first siege he’s ever taken part in, the first time he’s had to use battle strategies outside of Capture the Flag and the first time he’s slashed his way through monsters and demigods with the intent to try and kill or be killed. Sword and Shield could have never prepared any of them for this—as his eyes meet Castor’s and then yours with all of you thinking the same thing, the three of you join the sea of iridescent orange through mind-numbing black moving like a sharp three-pronged sword.

This type of stuff isn’t typical for him, he thinks. He and Castor are used to being comedic relief— being the source of laughs and juice boxes for pesky little campers instead of facing the real world outside the boundaries of the Mist. Perhaps your father babied them to make up for the time he lost with you, but there’s a moment where he wonders how being kept soft will keep him alive in a world as harsh as this one.

Childlike innocence is ripped away from them in the bubble they’ve inhabited until this moment. Home is now a warzone and like lambs set up for slaughter, the twins both turn to look at you as a shuddering gasp leaves your mouth at the carnage in your surroundings, monster blood and fallen friends and enemies at your feet. Breaking away from formation to take a deep breath, he looks at the sky and wonders where your father is, but smoke and soot fill his lungs and he coughs desperately for a breath of fresh air.

Pollux thinks he must have stopped breathing before Castor took his last breath. It wasn’t supposed to be a competition, but sometimes life was just funny like that.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

Just like you told him.

Castor was always the more manic one while Pollux knew how to endure. Children of Dionysus are forced to befriend insanity before it makes an enemy out of them—twisting the ugly into what’s real and creating something beautiful out of the deranged. You’ve shown the boys how you detach from emotion by recognizing the details—separating fact and fiction, a methodical process only describable by the blood that runs through your veins. Pollux doesn’t know where to start—everything happens so fast but it plays out in front of him like someone put the pieces together to a stop-motion animation.

He sees Castor’s sword fall to the ground when he gets slashed on the forearm and sees him get clubbed over the head with a metal weapon he’s only seen bad renditions forged for theater practices and hanging on the walls of the armory. Castor falls first to his knees, and then into the dirt with a thud. He never knew there could be that much blood coming out of a person, much less a mirror image of himself. Pollux sees your face come into his line of vision, deep maroon splatters on your face glittering with hints of ichor and then you’re moving because he can’t. The enemy is coming back for him now, and for a moment he wonders if Castor will be mad if he lets him. He sees you turn in an instant, swinging your sword down on the neck of the aggressor, a teenager not much older than he and his brother are—were. It’s funny how his brain immediately makes the switch to past tense, and how he can’t stop thinking about how he’ll now and forever be older than his twin. Pollux then sees you catch the body of the boy you just killed as life seeps out of him slower than it did for Castor.

It doesn’t make him feel any better, though.

His knees hit the ground next to his twin, touching the sludge of dirt soft like quicksand and moist with what he hopes is not blood, but Pollux is not quite sure of what else there is to hope for. His fist is wrapped around Castor’s shirtsleeve, touching faded orange and sweat as he holds on for dear life. Maybe if he tries hard enough his soul will still be intertwined with his. Your hand touches his shoulder, five fingers reaching out to brush the back of his neck and the feeling of your skin helps him refocus a bit, even if you’re saying something he can’t make out. Then the metal of your Zippo lighter feels cool to the touch within his palm and he knows what he needs to do.

The battle isn’t over, but for the three of you, everything stops here. There is no going forward without your brother. You were never meant to be children of war.

Pollux hears the sound of his heartbeat thundering through his ears, blood rushing through his veins and can’t help but notice the silence amid the chaos. There are no words fit for this—and even if there were, Castor and you were always the more talkative ones. He hears the spark of the purple flame between his fingers, blowing the smoke over him and his brother’s body, and their father’s powers blanket them like how you used to tuck them into bed, warm and safe. This is what your family is—unconventional and unending even in different realms of existence. And then Grover’s scream of panic echoes through the air and everyone hears that. Hysteria ensues as monsters and demigods alike run amok, and Pollux realizes he’s stopped shaking.

In his father’s domain, he will always find comfort.

You stand above him now directing campers calmly with a free hand—a brewing storm crackling underneath your skin that he now understands. Hidden by the illusion of smoke, Pollux’s tired bones rest alongside his brother’s dead ones— together as they always were meant to be.

The three of you together, his little family—that is a fact he hoped would never change.

The smell of grapes envelops him as he leans his forehead against your muddy leg… when did the battle end? It almost masks the scent of death that rips through the air as your hand brushes through his sandy hair. Pollux stinks of sweat and you stifle a laugh as you see him smell his armpit. You three were always the same type of fucked up. He doesn’t look down at Castor laid across his lap but knows he would’ve found it funny too. Ignorance of reality even for a moment serves as a comfort. Purple meets purple as he looks up at you with a smile that doesn’t fit his face anymore and he croaks, “Wonder what dad would say about our first battle…”

Glory was never meant to be this bittersweet—it tastes like blood in his mouth until he wipes it away from his cheek and realizes it’s Castor’s. In a way, it’s his too, everything about him and within him is exactly the same down to the star stuff the fates wove them from.

“I’ll be the one to tell him. You take care of Castor,” you answer, as if there’s anything else he would want to do and then he realizes you’re crying— and he’s seeing all of the pieces put together in front of him in this photograph in his mind.

Pollux blinks slowly.

Suddenly the image he has of you is more defined— there is new meaning to the sadness you could never shake off all these years, and he is too young to lose his greatest love, which makes him realize then that so were you.

How long does this have to go on? he wonders, grabbing onto your hand with an eagerness only comparable to the feeling he got when you and Luke whisked him and Castor away from Florida all those years ago. This punishment of living while half of his soul does not—what is he supposed to do next? This was supposed to be the safe place. There is nowhere left to run. His thumb rubs circles into the back of your shaking blood-soaked hand, a secret within the smoke.

Pollux thinks there will always be a part of him frozen in time now, a memory of this day hung up in his mind like a portrait as he holds Castor’s cold hand in his warm one.

—

Annabeth finds you in the middle of the strawberry fields before the sun sets. She knows you won’t be sleeping tonight, not if you can fight it— not when there’s so much to do. You’ve long grown out of your ripped-up and tie-dyed camp shirts, and the one slung on your frame is newly pressed and starchy from the storage room of the Big House, still stiff against your freshly washed skin. When she’s close enough to touch you, you’ve been scrubbed clean of today.

She doesn’t have to be a daughter of Athena to know that you know that she’s there even if you can’t see her, but for once she feels like she has to hide. For once, Annabeth Chase doesn’t know what to say. How can she explain the feeling of guilt that coils around her brain like barbed wire—how can she even begin to apologize for the thing wearing her brother’s skin, knowing that it killed yours? For once, her hubris is crushed by the sinking feeling of humiliation.

“Was your first quest all you thought it would be, Annie?”

As she takes her navy cap off, silver braided strands around her face wave in the wind as a reminder of what Luke put her through. Though as she looks at you now with your berry-stained fingers plucking at stems one by one instead of using your powers, she thinks that your mind is elsewhere—anywhere but here, where everything is a painful reminder of your five years as a camper.

Five years with Luke.

Mourning him isn’t a new feeling for either of you, even though he comes in and out of your lives like a poltergeist you want to bash across the head, just always out of reach. But he’s a constant, even when he’s not here and he’s what binds you two together as you huddle hidden away from the rest of camp.

“He did this for you.”

It’s not a question, more so a fact out of Annie’s mouth when you finally meet her eyes and sigh, “Luke’s always had a way going about things. The most stubborn man to ever live.” You toss another strawberry into the crate at your feet. No one’s working right now, trying to tend to the injured and the dead. Everyone’s doing their best to chase away the nightmares that are bound to come, and she knows you’ll be making rounds with her on the night shift to ease everyone’s anxieties. But there’s a thought so strong it makes her head hurt, bursting at the seams until she can’t stop with her last-ditch effort to fix her found family.

“Maybe if we find him, we can save—”

“He’s been out of time for a while now, Annabeth. We both knew that,” you say, voice firm and unwavering. You’ve never sounded so monotone before, and it hits her as her mouth falls agape, “You’re giving up on him? Why… why would you give up on him?” Anger courses through her veins like fire and she’s mad that she’s at the center of this prophecy, of Hermes’s anger for his doomed son who will love you until the ends of the earth.

And what of her?

What of the hope she has in happy endings, how is it that you’re so damn calm? Annabeth kicks at the crate, strawberries rolling out in different directions and your jaw tightens as you let her be petulant, let her scream and yell until her inner child can catch up with the reality of the world around you.

“How could you?”

Your name echoes as she repeats it, grabbing at your shoulders and she’s as desperate as the truth that shakes her when you cup her face in your hands and wipe her tears.

“You’ve carried the weight of the world Annabeth– you know what it feels like to let it go. It’s time to let him go. There’s nothing I can do or say to fix this.”

Then it hits her that you knew of his fate and yet this was still the outcome. There was nothing else to do but watch him be puppeteered by a Titan and have to fight evil while it wears his face.

“He came to you after he saw me, didn’t he? Why didn’t you tell me? Why don’t you love him anymore?”

Because it wouldn’t have changed a thing, your eyes say. Instead, you grimace as you say, “Wouldn’t that be funny if it were true?” You lean down and pick up the fallen berries, some bruised and covered in dirt, and then you look at her again with teary eyes.

“Some prophecy huh? To lose a love to worse than death. What could we have done besides love him until the end?”

“He’s still in there. I know you know that too. Don’t talk about him like he’s not,” Annabeth insists, and a sad smile settles upon your face. It’s as gentle as the kiss of the breeze on your cheeks.

“I lost a brother today, Annie.”

“Me too.”

—

The funny thing about planning funerals is that with all the fuss it takes to organize one, you still find extra time on your hands. Barely getting any sleep and dragging yourself out of your dad’s bed, Pollux snores loudly next to you after hours of working on Castor’s shroud. Sleep wasn’t expected for either of you, but being unconscious was the only way of giving your brains a reprieve. The both of you have been busy doubling down on the preparations, even if it means Mr. D won’t be back in time while he’s out rallying gods for war.

The faster Castor’s earthly body is reconnected with his soul, the easier his trip will be into the Underworld, Nico says, and it’s funny how comforting the little emo pipsqueak can be when it comes to matters of death.

Perhaps this is the solace you bring to others with things you’re able to control—keeping camp afloat is something you were always good at, and helping every traumatized child that comes up to you for a juice box or a lullaby eases the guilt that follows you. Walking around Camp Half-Blood for more than a weekend made you feel like a judge, jury, and executioner. Though most of the campers from almost five years ago have either aged out, defected, or died—the ones that remain still look at you like you’re trouble.

Perhaps you always will be.

You even found yourself with the time to pray to Hermes last night for your brother’s safe passage into the afterlife, though if he’s angry at Annabeth, he must hate you for letting Luke go. Dinner didn’t seem appetizing enough anyway, so your whole plate was tossed into the hearth. You hope he likes chicken and rice.

But if a god can’t fight fate, what did he expect you to do?

The Iris Message to your dad last night was difficult, to say the least. Pollux’s hands shook as he continued to paint grape vines onto the silk cloth and the both of you didn’t say anything when your father started to cry. He out of all of the gods knows what it’s like to be tested to the limits—to endure pain and it’s a gift you and your brother are grateful for in times like these. Watching the god display the human emotion that either of you couldn’t as freely made it more real though.

There was also the interesting predicament of Chris Rodriguez being locked up in the basement of the Big House. Replacing screaming fits with serenity was almost second nature, and your gentle hands were what got Clarisse to truly respect you again for the first time in years. You could hear her sneak downstairs and talk to him while he slept (and the look in her eyes when you’d greet her with a cup of coffee made it known to you that she finally understands what it means to love someone who’s lost—two demigod daughters filled with a lot of rage and hurt were more alike than they think).

So the morning of your little brother’s funeral, you found yourself on the shoreline of Canoe Lake, setting your Redbull against the post of the dock and looking out onto the water.

You needed to do something with your hands. In the past few days, if your fingers were not occupied by pen and paper, a guitar, supply crates, or anything else that was helpful to others and all the more distracting for you, it’s been so easy to pick at any little thing. Perhaps it was your subconscious trying to reflect the damage on the inside, but today, your nail polish was chipped beyond belief. A small price to pay to not lose it without a signature boyish smile to ease your worries and amber eyes that could help you escape from the routine.

Running camp was always easier back then with your runaway boy and his scarred cheek.

How pathetic.

Crouched over in the sand, you plucked stones and filled your pockets with them. They knocked against each other — weighing your pockets down as you walked closer to the dock. Swinging your feet off the side and chucking them into the water, you could barely achieve a ripple.

It’s so quiet that you end up wondering if the rocks in your pockets would weigh you down to the bottom of the lake. It must be nice down there, to exist away from everything.

Bubbles surface slowly in front of you, then Percy’s head bobs in the water as he squints at you through sunlight.

“You chucked a rock at my head!”

A smile tugs at your lips, almost indiscernible but definitely there, “I was trying to skip them. Didn’t know you were doing water tricks in there, kid.” His grin gleams like freshwater pearls, pulling himself up onto the dock as his hand clasps yours. Shaking his sopping hair, Percy’s gangly frame sits next to yours like a wet bag of sand—all wrinkly and misshapen and sprinkling you with lakewater.

“Maybe next time don’t pick rocks the size of your fist. How many have you got in there? Your aim is scarily accurate,” he laughs and you huff and shake your head when his hand sticks into your pocket and takes out a few smooth ones to roll around in his hand. You mirror him, watching him skip a few stones into the water that reach a good distance before sinking into the depths of the lake.

There’s something sad about feeling comfortable to trauma dump on the teenage son of Poseidon, but with the way he grabs your arm at your third unsuccessful toss of a rock, you can’t do anything else but sigh.

“Why didn’t any of you call me, Percy?”

He was waiting for this question—it’s been banging around in his head since the beginning of Annabeth’s quest, and perhaps her talk with you yesterday didn’t go as expected so once again he’s left with the difficult part.

Things happen to turn out pretty difficult for him a lot, he's noticed.

Many things could have been made easier in the past few weeks: Ariadne being your stepmother and her blessing to you would’ve made the Labyrinth easier to navigate, and having another demigod to fight alongside him instead of a mortal girl would’ve been a plus too. But he looks at you with ocean eyes and a smaller smile that reminds you of how he looked at you when you dropped him off in Montauk the summer you met him and quit your head counselor job.

“You’ve already made a lot of difficult decisions. We weren’t sure if…”

The rotten wood beneath you creaks under your shifting weight as you turn to him, tucking your legs underneath your bottom.

“Didn’t think I could handle it?”

He shakes his head, “The opposite, actually. Annabeth has this notion that you’re the only one that can save him. You know, back on my first quest I met Luke’s dad and he told me something…”

You swallow instead of answering. There’s no way Percy is giving you Hermes’s advice right now. Somehow this feels like karmic retribution after years of spiting that asshole, and what he tells you next is more of a sign that it must be true.

“He said, ‘Do you know what that feels like? To be so close to someone you love knowing neither of you has any choice but to keep hurting each other?’ I didn’t get it then, but I do now.”

“With Luke and his mom?” you ask, picking at the remaining slivers of varnish on your thumbnail.

“With you and Luke. I didn’t call you, because… why would I want to see you hurt after everything?” Percy says this like it’s something he would do for everyone.

Perhaps it is, but the knot that forms in your throat feels as heavy as the boulder you almost sunk into his skull. He’s tall enough to lean your head against now, and you don’t mind the water spots that will form along the side of your funeral outfit. The shape of him it leaves will remind you of the little brother you gained through so much loss.

“Plus he has a new girlfriend. Absolute horse of a girl,” he jokes. It slips over your head but you still giggle, “I could’ve taken her.”

“I know, that was Grover’s worry. You’re prettier anyway…” Percy pauses, and then clears his throat, “You’ve always taken care of this place, y’know? Even after….I just think someone ought to take care of you.”

Your shoulder bumps against his as you finally skip a rock. It only bounces across the water twice and you think Percy might have had something to do with it, but you’re not bothered by the help this time around.

—

You wake up in the dark of night to see your dad looming in the doorway to his office. With drool and a post-it stuck to your cheek, he comes over to ruffle your hair in amicable silence.

“Hard at work or hardly working?” he chuckles, leaning over your shoulder to scan over the paperwork sorted into piles for him to sign from his absence.

“Hm. You wish,” you scoff, leaning against your arm as you look at him. He’s not in his usual eyesore of attire, wearing a clean-pressed suit with his hair slightly slicked back.

“You look good. The meeting went okay?”

“Grover will be fine. The Council of Cloven Elders? Not so much. Neither are the gods ready to take sides. Putting out little fires everywhere as we speak.”

The wheels of the office chair roll as you swing your feet, and if you both listen closely enough you can hear Pollux snoring upstairs. Chiron loved the earplugs you gave him.

Your father’s face smooths out a bit at the sight of you and the sound of his son’s breathing upstairs and he asks, “Are you? Good?”

A shrug slides off your shoulders, “How does one be good in a world like this one?”

A startling scream echoes off the walls of the Big House, rattling the floorboards from below as your father grimaces.

The work is never done for you two.

“Don’t look at me like that. It was worse when he first came here.”

“Don’t doubt it,” he mumbles, brushing lint off your shirt before he notices you’re donning neon orange. “Didn’t do laundry, princess?”

“Pollux and I haven’t gone back to our cabin since... I can wake him up if you—”

Mr. D shakes his head and goes to toss his body onto the couch against the window, shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath.

“Dad? Do you think Chris is a bad person?”

A beat passes and you think he may have fallen asleep, but then his voice sounds like gravel scraping up his throat.

“I don’t think anyone can be bad, kid. I think it is more often that people get lost. What Rodriguez needs is someone to take hold of him gently, and hand his life back to him—you…Clarisse… that’s what we’re giving him.”

Now you’re silent, staring at the dust on his name placard at the edge of the desk.

“Do you think otherwise?”

He calls your name again, and you look up like you’re about to lie to him but don’t have the energy to.

“Princess, do you think you’re a bad person?”

He stands up and walks around to your side of the desk, sitting on the edge so you have to look at him.

“I killed someone. During the battle. Didn’t even think twice about it, slashed his neck as soon as Castor went down and…” you sniff. “I kill monsters, Dad, not children. How does that make me any different?”

The last time blood was on your hands like this it was Luke’s in the Garden of Hesperides. All these years later you ended up being right— the only person you vowed to get bloody for is Luke Castellan, and now in a twisted turn of fate, you’ve bloodied your hands because of him.

“Because you did it for your brother. There are no other explanations needed.”

He sees the exhaustion in your eyes, the drop in your shoulders, but your dad also sees the strength in your bones that spans generations and he knows you and Pollux are strong because you are both his.

“Humans believe in life everlasting—glory, as some call it, but they’re too focused on achieving it on earth instead of enjoying what life has to offer,” he scoffs, “Everyone has the guts to die, but no one has the guts to truly live. How sad.”

“His name was Rowan. Son of Hecate. I taught him how to whistle the summer I left. This is all my fault, Dad,” you say shakily as he comes near and pulls you into his side. He shushes you but you relent.

“Luke’s killing all these people to fulfill a promise he made for me. I’m just fucking disgusted with myself for being the cause of it all. What good life can I deserve when wherever I go I leave a trail of blood?”

Love and addiction must be so alike; to know that to be sober you can’t indulge in the vice ever again—not only does it hurt you, but others around you. But through the years you’ve always kept the taste of his name in your mouth, the feeling of his skin under your fingertips, and the knowledge of why he’s destroying the world so he can make you a better one. Insanity stems from fighting for so long that you embrace the pain; feeling something so intensely that when it consumes you you’re able to walk out the other side and wear it as armor.

Not everyone is hardwired to persevere.

There are moments like a night like these where it would be easy to give up. Instead, you pour two glasses of whiskey you’ve conjured and hand one to your dad. You both sip on your drinks slowly, embracing the crawling feeling of the burn.

“Liquor is one way out and death is another,” your dad sighs blissfully. He almost looks rejuvenated by the alcohol he knows he’ll hear about from Zeus later, but perhaps the death of his son is a good enough pardon.

“For some of us, we don’t have to think about the answer.”

Mr. D grabs a pen off the desk and starts signing papers to do something with his hands, and then you speak again, “I think I’d rather die for people I love,” and your dad’s attention whips to your blank face staring at the moon outside the window. “Instead of killing for them. I’ve never been a good soldier, Dad.”

Mr. D looks at you thoughtfully and wonders where all the time has gone that you sit there in front of him with more knowledge than him at your mortal age before saying, “You’re my daughter. You’re a fighter. Death is for chumps anyway.”

He lifts you by the arm to try to usher you up the stairs but you stay in his office chair swatting his hands away.

“Got work to do, you and I. Not getting rid of me until it’s done.”

“When are you going home?” he asks, pulling up a chair next to yours.

“I am home.”

You don’t look up from the papers you were filing, stubbornness leaking through your voice.

“If there is a war coming, I want to be home as much as I can. I’m finishing my last semester and I’ll be here before and after classes. You can’t stop me, dad.”

And he knows that too.

There is no such thing as leaving Camp Half-Blood for you.

Never for too long. Your love for it is scattered everywhere campers can see.

—

In all these years, you never believed I loved you. And I did. I did so much. I did love you. I even loved your hate and your hardness. - Tennessee Williams

[laiiaaa]

MY LOVE, MINE ALL MINE — CARMEN BERZATTO 1. BUTTERSCOTCH — you finally say hello to a familiar face in the city after a little girl bumps into you. (2.7k) masterlist | next | taglist

Carmen keeps track of the running grocery list in his head:

Green onions? Check. Shallots? Check. Rolled oats? Check.

“Alright,” he huffs into the phone, a stupid thing tucked snug between his shoulder and jaw.

“Carm, I’m serious—”

“Nat, I got it, alright? I’ll call the fuckin’ guy.” Strawberries? Check. Eggs? Check. “I’m at the store, ‘n I’ll be back, ‘n then I’ll call him. It’s fine.” Dino nuggets? Check. That way-too-sugary cereal Sofia likes—? Even though he wishes Richie never gave it to her—? Check, check, check, so fuckin’ checked. “Now, do you wanna talk to—”

He looks to his side, where Sofia once stood with chubby little fingers hooked on the cart, that raggedy old stuffed animal always caught in the other fist. Gone. Carmen’s heart stops and catches in his throat. 

Natalie’s voice again, much quieter now that the phone’s not at his ear. “Hello?”

He doesn’t even hear his sister, doesn’t process her words.

He turns around. “Sof?” But she’s not there.

He tries again, facing forward, a little louder. “Sofia?” Nothing. “Fuck,” he mumbles to himself, ending the call without a second thought. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck—” 

He shoves his phone into his pocket, abandons the cart altogether, pokes his head into the aisle over. “Sofia.” Nothing. “Shit—”

He can’t breathe. A closed fist shoots to his chest to try and soothe the droughted ache. The ceiling’s closing in from above, every aisle looks the same, his feet are too heavy to carry him fast enough through the store.

Where’s his fuckin’ kid?

You’re spooked out of a fatigued trance by a clumsy little girl at your feet in the produce section. 

She can’t be older than four, her chubby little face framed by golden brown curls, dressed in a cute little black dress and pink tights, ballet flats to boot. By her hand is a well-loved stuffed animal: an orange tabby cat with lint fuzzies along its body, teetering on the edge of the display about to fall into the lettuce.

“Well, hello,” you start.

She peeks up at you through stray curls with a grin. “Hi.”

You do a quick scan of the immediate area but spot nothing other than a worker stocking bananas twenty feet away, another pushing a cart of mangoes. “Where’d you come from, hm?” You perch down next to her and try to offer a warm smile to keep her calm.

“I’m here with my daddy.”

“Yeah? Where’s he at?”

Her lips, shiny with drool, puff into a pout. “I…” Her little voice wobbles, and you know that fucking wobble, that precursor to something uncontrollable and wretched, and for a split second you consider letting her cry, just on the off chance her dad hears it.

But you come to your senses: it’ll take all but five, no more than ten minutes to cover the entire store ground. You graze your hand by her back and offer her the sorry excuse for a cat. “Hey, don’t worry, it’s alright. I’ll help you.”

“B-But…” Those pretty brown eyes of her turn glassy, ready for tears, and her lip quivers, her cheeks puff out.

“I’ll help you find him, okay? We’ll wait right here, and I promise he’ll find you. We won’t leave this spot til he does.”

She hesitates before she nods, gives you a warbled, “Okay.”

You give her your name—something you read or heard from word of mouth, how putting a name to your face makes you more trustworthy. “What’s yours?”

“...Sofia.”

“Sofia,” you repeat. “That’s a very pretty name.”

The dimples that come through with her smile have you swooning, your chest filling with something sweet. A supercut you’ve long since abandoned flits through one of the best and worst years you’ve endured: kisses at the door for hello and goodbye, chilly Chicago mornings spent in someone else’s sheets, serving coffee in thick handmade mugs and being thanked for it with lips pressed to your cheek. But that was a year ago, and it’s long gone. You’re better off now—occupied with work, and running a business, and trying new things, and finding comfort in the solitude of an apartment that’s filled with nothing but the smell of coffee grounds.

Your pointer finger lifts her toy’s head: “And who’s this?”

“Butterscotch,” she says, Butter sounding a whole lot like Buttah.

“Yeah? Where’d you come up with that name?”

“My daddy’s a chef, he teached it to me.”

A chef, you hum, No wonder he’s here at seven in the morning.

And you do just about everything you’d want someone to do if this were your kid: you keep her right where she is like you promised her, you listen to all her stories she has with Butterscotch, you answer the silly questions she asks while she holds your finger in a squishy hand and bears a gummy smile.

Until—

A man wrought with stress approaches. Fitted white tee, loose denim on his hips, beat up Nikes that’ve probably seen better days. Golden brown curls like the little girl’s, only thicker, darkened with age, and half-straightened, probably from the way he runs his fingers through them like he does as he walks toward you and the girl. Buff arms, built shoulders, and they’re littered with tattoos…

Not what you expected. And he looks so fucking familiar, yet you can’t put your finger on it—

“Sofia,” he huffs, and she scurries over to him in tiny yet quickened steps and jumps into his arms, his eyes closing and brows furrowing with a relief that’s palpable as he tucks his nose into her swirling hair. “What’d I tell you about comin’ to the store w’me, huh?” A veiny hand with the letters S O U inked on the fingers cups the back of her head as he sways her from side to side, failing to give her much of a stern look at all despite his frustration. “You gotta stay by my side, I told you, you’ll get lost.”

“But I wasn’t lost, Daddy,” she pouts, “I was right here, and—and I had to find Butterscotch, and you—you weren’t there—”

“Okay,” he soothes, rubbing his hand along her back before he thumbs away budding tears from her fleshy cheeks. “Okay, hon…” He props her at his hip. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You just scared me ‘s all, alright? Didn’t know where you were, had me lookin’ all over for you.”

“...I’m sorry,” she mumbles, clearly upset, nuzzling into her dad’s shoulder as he presses a sweet kiss to her head.

He looks to you, then, and you lend him a sympathetic smile.

“Sorry about her, she’s, uh…” He peeks at her, so lovingly— “She can be a handful sometimes.”

“No, don’t apologize, she was great.” Your eyes drift to his hands. They’re big, strong, like he knows what to do with them around the house, with a baby girl...with her mother, too, though you wonder where that stands. You try not to. “She’s talkative, makes for a fun conversation. A great storyteller, too.”

He smiles, and it’s hearty, with a twitch of a brow as he draws just a bit closer—it’s slight, so slight you almost think you’re imagining things. “Think so? She doesn’t usually, um…doesn’t usually wanna talk to people, y’know?” He hikes her up again, and she turns so that she’s facing you. “Get all grumpy, don’t ya, Sof? Like with your Uncle Richie?”

“But she’s nice,” she chimes in, lifting her head from his shoulder and leaving the cat’s head peeking through. “Not mean like he is.”

Again with that smile, he looks at her with raised brows, bobs her up and down as he holds her tight, like she’s his entire world. “Yeah?” He shoots you back a look, half-impressed. “You don’t wanna see him today, huh?”

“No,” she grumbles, face smushed into his tee. “Can she come to work with us instead?”

“Sof…” He scoffs, cocking his head to the side, and his eyes dart between you and his girl. “That’s not—we can’t just—”

“Pretty please, Daddy…” She pouts at him, pulls on his neck with her arms looped around it, starts trying to lean back to stir up trouble but his hands hold her firm to his torso. “You said Eva and Vivi can’t play today…”

“I—I know, hon— . . . It’s just— . . .” Kissing his teeth, he contemplates for a moment. “She probably has work to do, y’know? Just like I have to work? And how sometimes you can’t come with me?”

“Where does she work?”

“Uhhh…” In an awkward pause, he seems to realize the dilemma. The expectant glance your way is almost painful. “Shit,” he hisses, holding Sofia with one hand to run fingers through his hair, “I’m sorry, I should’ve—I should introduce myself, right?” The pained look on his face makes you think the question is genuine, and he offers his right hand to you— “I’m Carmen, but, um, most people just call me Carmy.”

It clicks: He’s Carmen Berzatto. Not just some guy or some chef in the grocery store you’ve happened to meet, but the guy. The guy who owns the fine dining joint across the street from your cafe; the guy who showed up to the city a few years ago only to revamp his family-owned sandwich shop in its entirety; the guy you’d heard so much about from the gossip around the block between vendors; the guy who left his roots to be something so much bigger than anyone could’ve imagined; the guy who came back with a reputation with none to rival and a shattered family in its shadow. The prodigal son of Chicago. You heard of him but never met.

“Y-Yeah, right, right,” you nod, stumbling for the right words. “I thought you looked kinda familiar.” You take his hand graciously as you give him your name. His handshake is firm, solid, sure of himself, with a callused palm and dry skin and cracked knuckles, an inked-on hand with a knife through its palm on the back of his hand. “You own The Bear, right?”

“I do.” Sheepish, like it’s embarrassing to be successful.

“Cool, cool, I’ve, um, I’ve heard a lot of good things about it, but I’ve never been.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Something warm in your belly comes to the surface and you try to drown it. “I own the cafe across the street—? Just a, uh, a smaller place—” You shake your head as if to dismiss the thought of him even knowing about it. “I dunno if—”

“No, no, yeah, I know that one, a few doors down—” he nods, fervently— “Etta’s, right?”

You smile. He knew of it so quick, with so little detail you want to think it means something. “Yeah, that’s the one.” For fuck’s sake, the guy probably just likes to support his local businesses. Get a grip.

“My sister loves that place, goes there all the time. But I, uh…” A soft smile at his girl. “I don’t usually have much time to go myself…”

“Yeah, I can imagine you’re pretty busy with her.” Unless her mom is in the picture…?

But he doesn’t take the bait—he only smiles, hums with a subtle nod, gives Sofia a pat on the back to get her attention, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Hey, cub, guess what?”

She comes to only slightly, with pale blonde locks like angel’s hair tickling Carmen’s neck. Grumbles something akin to a Hm?

“You know those chocolate chip muffins you like? The ones your Aunt Natalie gets for you?”

Her curls are already caught in her eyelashes. “With the sparkles on top?”

He gives you a knowing look: sugar, not sparkles. “Yes, with the sparkles. Did you know our new friend here runs that shop?”

Her head perks up with a gasp. “What?” Her excitement is so soft, and she can’t even stave off a smile now, tiny teeth shining through to show the dimples in her cheeks again.

“You heard me.”

From her mouth is only a whisper, a doe-eyed look targeted right at you. “No way.”

You smile at her. “Yes way.”

She puts on those puppy dog eyes, looks at Carmen with a pout as she tugs on him again. “Daddy, can we please—”

 In one fell swoop, his hand whisks her hair out of her face. “Uh-uh. Nice try.”

Oh, but she’s a stubborn one. “But please—”

“Not today, baby, we gotta finish shopping, hm? Then go to work?” His eyes dart to meet yours in a knowing glance, a silent apology and excuse to leave. “Maybe I’ll ask Aunt Natalie to get them for you tomorrow. How’s that sound?”

She huffs and buries herself into his neck again, turning away from you now that she’s in a surly mood.

“Okay,” he sighs, smiling to himself, and you can’t deny the comfort in seeing his little girl so cozy with him, like he’s either the only parent around, or he’s really just that good of a father—and husband, or fiancé, or boyfriend, or whatever he might be. You don’t know if you should feel guilty for wanting to pry.

The conversation lulls to a hesitant stop, like neither one of you is sure how to bid farewell—or whether you want to do so at all.

“Y’know,” he starts, with a finality to his tone, “I’ve still gotta—”

“Yeah, me too—”

“And I left the cart in the other aisle—”

“Right, right, of course—”

“And they need me at the—”

“Same here, I need to, uh—”

“Right, yeah, so um—”

“Yeah—”

“I guess I should—”

“Probably—”

“And, uh—…”

“It was nice to meet you, though,” you finish, maybe a little too enthusiastic for only having just done so minutes ago.

But if it were, Carmen doesn’t show it. “Yeah, it was nice to meet you, too. I’ll, uh…I’ll see you around.”

You offer a softened smile. “Guess so.”

And he leaves you with a curt nod before he turns around with Sofia’s face smushed into his shoulder, her arms loosely wrapped around his neck to leave Butterscotch hugged to the nape of it. That’s all you see, then: just a beaten up stuffed animal and springy golden curls as Carmen rounds the corner of the aisle, your breath gone short and face gone warm by the end of it.

Half of it, you’re sure, is the simple brevity of it all: consoling a lost child, to chatting with her father, to finding out he’s a business neighbor. And against your better judgment, the other half of it is a twinge of attraction to him.  Even though he has a kid, and he may very well be married, or at least in a relationship, and by the looks of it, stressed out of his goddamn mind…

But there’s just something about him.

The way he was worried about his daughter like he’s supposed to be, the way he holds her and dotes on her and rubs her back like it’s nothing but natural to him, the heartwarming smile that reaches his eyes just by looking at his precious girl. The hard-earned strength in his hands and arms, the symbolic imagery of his tattoos that you’ve yet to dwell upon in late night hours, the awkward demeanor about him like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to talk to you—or if he even knows how. And all this, you see in a man working down the street, a man you’ve never spoken to until today, who could be the worst person in the world for all you know.

You don’t, is the thing. You don’t know his middle name, or his favorite color, or favorite food, or where he’s even worked, really, other than here in Chicago. You don’t know if Sofia’s mother is still around, or whatever happened to her if she isn’t, or if it’s a topic he breaches freely or not at all.

You don’t know enough about him yet to judge. You don’t know much at all. You don’t know if you want to, whether it’ll send you head first into a mess of pasts not unlike the one you’ve been trying to crawl out of alone for the past grueling months, if it’d upturn all the good you’ve tried to make stick.

But if there’s one thing you do know, it’s that you want to see him again. 

And that you’ll have to make a batch or two of muffins first.

masterlist | next | taglist

@knight4xmas @ajourneyforjoy @penguin876

[aevallare]

Six months after the end of the world.

I’m tired of writing about you.

Today, I won’t. But even when I won’t, I will.

Yes, fate spins along as it should, whatever—never mind that we’ll never finish that playthrough—it’s been a long while since I worshiped a god and longer still since I’ve thought there was a point to any of this.

There’s no point at all.

Maybe there’s a point. I’m in no place to act like I’ve got a clue about anything.

All I’ve got is everything.

I’ve got:

“I know there’s a heat watch right now, but you haven’t left the house in days.”

D&D dice my sister could never have predicted would make me cry

“It was really good to see you; sorry you had to become homeless for it, but I missed you a lot.”

A festival in two months in a village I never knew existed

“We could egg her house, but the economy is so unforgiving right now.”

A festival in three months in a city I never entertained the idea of visiting

“Watch out for deer.”

A flight in five months to a country I wasn’t sure I’d ever visit

“I sleep better when you’re here.”

I don’t need the residence permit. I don’t want to be Player Two in games I never wanted to play in the first place. I don’t have to worry about how small I can get.

I’ll miss the cat, though.

---

consider my patreon. or don't. love you.

[demonic0angel]

Just saw your phantom family in uniform art (looks as majestic as usual) can we have some wraith x nightwing?? Just them flirting and kicking ass together <33

(Hell yeah >:D Glad you enjoy it!)

Wraith hummed cheerfully as he sat on the edge of the roof overlooking the alley where Nightwing was pummeling some gang members. He seemed to be in a bad mood with how curt his one-liners were, but he was still ridiculously flamboyant as he flipped and somersaulted to beat people up.

Yes, it would be a good day today.

When he noticed Wraith, he paused before calling out in a snappy tone, “Are you going to sit there all night? Or come down and give me a hand?”

Wraith smirked. Their relationship used to be frosty, with Wraith uncharacteristically reaching out over and over to poke at Nightwing’s buttons, but now it seemed amicable. Sometimes, Nightwing stared at him with an unreadable look that Wraith didn’t know how to react to, but over all, he had fun when he was around him.

“Ohh? Well, what are you going to give me in exchange, little hero? My help isn’t cheap.”

That indecipherable look was back on Nightwing’s face before he said, “I’ll buy you dinner at the new restaurant on XXX street.”

“Hmm… deal.” Wraith did not ask for much. If anyone else asked for his help, he would’ve refused or probably extorted every single penny in their bank accounts before even considering the ask, but Nightwing was not just anybody and he was so pleasant to be around that even when he used to try to drive him away in the beginning, he had still stayed.

Wraith dropped down and blasted an opponent with a weak ray to slam them against the wall. Realizing that Nightwing had a helper, the gang members burst into a run and escaped.

Nightwing watched them as he caught his breath and Wraith turned to look at him. “So? Shall we follow them?”

“Yeah. You can sense them right? And lead us to them?”

Wraith nodded with a sharp smile and Nightwing grinned at him. It made him feel pleasant. In this world full of disgusting humans, only Nightwing and his sisters were people who he liked. (The rating on his brother/younger self was still pending.)

They waited for a few moments, tying up the knocked down criminals for the police to find before Nightwing looked at Wraith with an easy smile. “Ready to sniff ‘em out?”

“Hmph. This’ll be easy. You could’ve brought out a nose-blind cat and they’d still be able to find them in an instant,” Wraith said with a sigh, thinking of the smell of the criminals.

Nightwing laughed though, so all was well.

Wraith then went off to find the escapees. The scent of their souls were uninteresting, unappealing, and even disgusting in their blandness. Their general smell was just nasty. Wraith, however, disliked disappointing Nightwing and so he persisted and led them right to the criminal’s hideout.

“No killing,” Nightwing said absentmindedly, as he took out his escrima sticks. They crackled with energy, lighting up the blue that lined Nightwing’s suit.

Wraith huffed. “Fine. You’re boring.”

“Ohh? If I’m so boring, then let’s make a bet. If I defeat more people than you, then you’ll pay for dessert, alright?” Nightwing smirked. “And I get to order double.”

Wraith perked up with the incentive. “You can’t beat me,” he said, but Nightwing was rarely so playful with him. He seemed to be in a good mood now. “I’ll win.”

“We’ll see,” Nightwing said pleasantly, and then they both kicked down the doors, startling the gang members.

“Crap! It’s Nightwing and Wraith!”

Wraith frowned for a moment, wondering why they seemed to fit together too well, but Nightwing threw himself into the fray and Wraith was quick to follow with a feral grin.

Fighting side by side with Nightwing was an amazing experience. Wraith loved it. It felt better than being alone with only Fright Knight by his side, killing whoever he wanted and terrorizing the masses just because he could. With Nightwing, it was easier to remember how he used to be a hero.

Wraith’s eyes caught the bright blue that flashed out of the corner of his vision, and for a moment, he couldn’t help but think that his sisters would’ve been proud of him for finding such a kind, gentle, and powerful soul.

Yes, it would be another good night with Nightwing.