#who i want to call and stay up and talk to but it is 4 in the morning and he needs the rest

[pieflavorpie]

My unpopular opinion is that i dont enjoy bards Lament. At all. It is objectively good, well performed with appropriate buildup. However, I am a child with an absentee father, and i have had similar thoughts to him before, and i used to have a friend that went down his path. I have seen and experienced every point of view. And what that was isnt justice. Its not calling people out, or making them realise how they have hurt him.

Its a very broken, depressed man who finally snaps and burns down the bridges with his friends. No, VM never asked for Scanlan's mum's name because that's not something they do. If you can list me 5 times where the team ask questions about peoples backstory [before Bards Lament] BEFORE it became relevant, then you have successfully proved me wrong. Anything revealed is either probed out of them as part of recon, or willfully offered as a piece of friendship.

[E.g: Keyleth talking about her aramente, Pike's history with Grog vs Percy's backstory being revealed after they get invited to dinner with the Briarwoods and Grog talking about his pack when its revealed his uncle has the vestige.]

And he never offered any of this information. There have been several times where VM have shown concern and actively asked how hes doing just for him to lie and shrug them off. They prank him while he was asleep because they think hes a fairly centred person who will enjoy an attempt to bring things back to normal and they were drunk.

And yes, they are mean to him sometimes, because they are a group of assholes. They never disguise themselves as anything else. Vax and Percy's friendship post-briarwoods for a good while is based in distrust and self loathing, respectively. Everyone has moments where they say mean shit to Grog [except Pike] because he cant understand it.

And the "without his songs hes just a guy" comment or however it was phrased was a tactical comment. Because he would be. He doesn't have any sort of weapon beyond Mythcarver which he refuses to use, and he doesn't have anything else he can use to support or fight. The same applies to Keyleth without her nature magic, it applies to Percy without his guns, it applies to Grog when people are out of range.

And no, I don't blame him for snapping when he woke up. I doubt taking a -4 to any rolls made would translate to a Happy Peachy character in-story. And all of his internalised misery finally coalesces in his tiredness. But what happens isn't good. It isn't progress. It is showing everyone a wound that has been tearing open over months, and then promptly storming out.

And his whole "I didn't want my daughter to see me like this." Isn't some Grand Show of how much he cares, it shows him as fucking selfish. My dad being weak is what drove him away, his insecurity stopping him from getting help from my family. That line of thinking is what makes him a sad, lonely man rotting in a flat after abandoning many families like my own.

That man in real life was strong, a brilliant teacher of martial arts. A true marvel to see and train with. He had a certain charisma to him, but he had his shortcomings. And when his partner got too close to them, he'd hold them tight to his chest and scurry away, only coming back for the drunk sex and eventually leaving entirely. Having enough distrust in his heart to claim any unwanted children to be illegitimate.

Now, Scanlan is nowhere near as bad as him, but there are similarities. And enough that I feel my word has weight when I say, if I were Kaylie, I would not want to travel with him. If he truly wanted to be closer to her and do good for her, he'd get better first. And to get better, you need people. Plural. You cannot depend on one person. And that person can absolutely not be your own fucking child. I'm not saying he should've stayed with vox machina, but he should've stayed with a group. A group of adults that could support him. And honestly I feel like so far from my watching of CR, his epilogue with kaylie is the most unrealistic character development possible. I know she's supposed to be rough and hardy, but I refuse to believe that girl would not be breaking under her father's bleeding desperation for validation. And I definitely refuse to believe that she could actually help him to the point he'd gladly leave her on another continent while he talked to the people he'd snapped at.

Anyway, fuck dickhead dads who don't get actual help. Especially fuck them when they start depending on their children for them to be a good person.

For those who do not know. Scanlan's departure from the party in the stream wasn't as... friendly. It was kind of an ugly break-up. It came from Sam wanting to do some unexpected twist with Scanlan's character and it led to a very emotional moment. That he did not feel validated, that he did not feel appreciated and that he was considered a joke by the group.

And it came down to one phrase from Scanlan to the group: "What is my mother's name?" and when nobody was able to answer the question. Scanlan left.

However, interesting little tid-bit that might help understand this change. which comes from one of the Q&A. which is no longer up because... uhm... a whole other Drama I am not here to explain.

And what Sam said in that Q&A is that there WAS one way in which Scanlan would have stayed.

And it was Pike. who wasn't there at the time (technically was as an NPC, but since Ashley wasn't there, it's the same thing), but which Sam said was the only person who could change his decision.

And what has Pike done the entire season? BE that person who supported Scanlan in his darkest moment, and who deflated the situation probably without meaning to. And so he is able to leave the party in much better terms.

A shame because the emotional rollercoaster that it involved will be missed, but hey, it's cool to see what Sam meant by saying Pike was the one person who could stop Scanlan walking out of the party like he did

[mechaknight-98]

Double D Dungeon Crawl (NSFW) FT Eunbi, Sejeong, Mina Kang, Somi

Operator’s Notes: I had a lot of ground to cover and tried to do capatilize as much as possible.

Disclaimer: I know none of these girls have double Ds

"Awe fuck Somi your tits are spectacular as always," Ivan says as his girlfriend casually strokes his cock with her tits.

"Are you close?" Somi asks with bright eyes hoping to get him to explode more than ever. However, their little tryst was interrupted when Ivan's alarm went off for DND.

“Oh shit, Somi, stop. I need to focus,” Ivan said, laughing as he lightly pushed her off, trying to keep his composure.

Somi pouted dramatically. “Focus? On what? Am I not enough of a distraction for you?” As she spoke she seductively juggled her tits hoping to entice Ivan to stay.

Ivan grinned, eyes still on his girlfriend. “Babe, it's Dungeons and Dragons night. Do you want to come? You’ll round out the party.”

Somi crossed her arms, tilting her head with mock suspicion. “Wait, who’s going?”

Ivan blinked, recollecting. “Uh… it’s Orion, Flint, Mina, Eunbi, and me.”

“Eunbi? Who’s that?” Somi asked, her curiosity piqued.

“Oh, that’s Orion’s girlfriend,” Ivan said casually. “She’s… interesting.”

“Interesting how?” Somi leaned closer, eyes narrowing playfully.

Ivan chuckled. “Well, Orion met her at this screening for the new season of Ultraman, right? They stayed up ‘til like 4 a.m. talking about all things tokusatsu—like the whole deep dive into its impact on anime and… their lives.”

Somi raised an eyebrow, picturing a total nerd duo. “Oh, so she’s a nerd too, huh? She’s probably super frumpy and wears those huge anime shirts.”

“Actually, no,” Ivan said, shaking his head, a smirk playing on his lips. “She’s kinda… hot.”

Somi’s eyebrows shot up, not believing him for a second. “Hot? Really? Prove it.”

Ivan shrugged, pulling out his phone and scrolling for a photo. He handed it to her, and she blinked at the image of Orion standing with a curvy, stylish woman.

“Oh shit, good for him!” Somi said, genuinely impressed. “I was expecting glasses and an Evangelion hoodie, but damn.”

Ivan laughed. “Yeah, right? Orion kinda hit the jackpot.”

Somi handed his phone back with a smirk. “So what you’re telling me is, nerds are pulling hot people now. Is that your subtle way of telling me I’m too good for you?”

Ivan grinned, wrapping his arm around her waist. “Nah, it’s more like I’m Orion in this situation.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And I’m Eunbi?”

“Obviously. You’re way out of my league, but somehow here you are,” he said, pulling her closer.

“Hmm, nice save.” Somi leaned into him. “Okay, fine, I’ll go. But you’re gonna have to do all the math for me, because that’s not happening.”

Ivan kissed her cheek. “Of course, babe. I got you.”

“Good. Now, when we win, I’m taking all the credit.”

Ivan chuckled, but then his face shifted as he realized something. “Oh crap, I gotta tell the group you’re coming.” He grabbed his phone and quickly started typing a message. “Sejeong and her boyfriend are gonna want to tweak the setup now.”

Somi rolled her eyes playfully. “You make it sound like they’re running a whole operation.”

Ivan grinned. “They are. You know how serious they get about this stuff.”

Somi nodded knowingly. “True, they’re like the eldest siblings of the group. Always organizing everything.”

A few moments later, Sejeong’s phone buzzed. She picked it up and smiled when she saw Ivan’s text about Somi joining the game. “Oh, this is gonna be fun,” she said to herself before turning to her boyfriend, who was focused on something at the other end of the couch.

“Hey, babe,” she called over. “Can you help me with making another player character?”

He looked up, intrigued. “Who’s it for?”

“Somi.”

A grin spread across his face. “Nice. That’ll shake things up.” He thought for a second, then narrowed his brow as he began mentally drafting character ideas. “How about… three levels in Bard and three levels in Sorcerer? That way we’ve got a solid caster, and she can throw in some chaotic fun. We’ll still have enough balance with the fighters.”

Sejeong’s eyes lit up. “Ooh, I like that! College of Eloquence for her Bard side and Wild Magic for Sorcerer. It’s totally her vibe.”

“Definitely,” he agreed, already imagining the wild, charismatic chaos Somi would bring to the table.

As they started refining the character, they began chatting about their friends, as they often did when planning game sessions. It was their way of making sure everyone had a good time. Sejeong had a knack for knowing just the right balance between engaging stories and letting her friends express their personalities through their characters. While her boyfriend excelled at gameplay and mechanical design.

“Orion and Flint are gonna love this,” Sejeong said, scrolling through the character stats on her tablet. “You know how they love when things get crazy.”

“Especially Flint. He thrives on unpredictability,” her boyfriend added, tweaking some numbers. “Mina’s gonna roll her eyes, though. She’s all about the strategy.”

“True,” Sejeong laughed. “But that’s why she and Eunbi will probably end up teaming up—perfect balance. Mina’s tactical, Eunbi all about the story.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, plus, Orion’s probably gonna get distracted with Eunbi half the time anyway. They’re still in that honeymoon phase.”

Sejeong smiled warmly. “It’s cute, though. Let them have their fun.”

They both exchanged a glance, the kind of shared understanding that came from years of knowing their friends’ quirks. Sejeong and her boyfriend had always been the steady presence in the group, the ones everyone could rely on. Whether it was organizing game nights, offering advice, or helping to smooth over conflicts, they were the glue holding everyone together. And for this D&D session, it was no different.

With Somi joining, they knew it was going to be a more chaotic—but fun—night, and they were ready to embrace it.

“Okay,” Sejeong said, standing up and stretching. “Let’s send this to Ivan. Somi’s about to have a blast.”

Sejeong’s boyfriend nodded then said, “Oh we gotta tell everyone Somi is coming. I'll send the info to Flint and you can send it to Orion," Sejeong nodded and watched him reach out to Flint and Mina.

A few seconds before they got the call, Mina and Flint were enjoying a quiet evening together. The warm glow from the kitchen light gave the room a soft, comfortable ambiance. Flint had just finished cooking a steak dinner, and the smell of garlic butter and rosemary filled the air.

Mina took a bite, savoring the flavors, then smiled contentedly. “This is really nice, babe,” she said, her voice full of appreciation.

Flint grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Glad you like it. Worked pretty hard on that steak, you know.”

“I can tell. It’s perfect,” Mina replied, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand.

Flint rubbed the back of his neck, his expression softening. “Well, it’s the least I can do after making you deal with Ori and Bunny all the time.”

Mina raised an eyebrow, giving him a teasing look. “What do you mean by that? I love Orion and Eunbi.”

“I know, I know,” Flint said with a chuckle. “It’s just… they can be a bit much sometimes. And it doesn’t help that Sejeong and Nicky egg them on. Ori’s got this chip on his shoulder the size of a whole Pringles can, and they just… they encourage him to do crazier and crazier stuff to prove himself.”

Mina leaned back, taking another bite before responding. “Let them have their fun. Besides, that chip on Ori’s shoulder has done a lot for us. He’s helped get us out of some tight spots these last two years.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?” Flint asked, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

Mina gave him a knowing smile. “Like when you got detained by the police, and Orion showed up with all the paperwork and got you out within an hour.”

Flint scratched his head, chuckling sheepishly. “Oh, right. I guess he’s not all that bad, then. But you gotta admit, the guy’s always desperate for a win. Any challenge that comes his way, he’s gotta take it. And now with Bunny egging him on, it’s like they’re in some competition 24/7.”

Mina shrugged, her tone soft and understanding. “But that’s why they work so well together, don’t you think? They believe in each other so much, they think they can do anything. And look at them—they’ve made it happen. He pushes her, and she pushes him. He helped her win with her acting, and she helped him land that great job.”

Flint let out a sigh, leaning his head back against the chair. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. I just wish they could turn it off sometimes, you know? Not everything’s a game to be won.”

Mina smiled fondly. “True, but then they wouldn’t be the Ori and Bunny we love.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the soft clink of cutlery the only sound between them as they enjoyed their dinner. The evening felt peaceful, warm—a quiet moment that reminded them why they worked so well as a couple. Flint’s thoughtfulness, Mina’s easygoing nature—it all blended perfectly, creating a relaxed space where they could just be themselves.

As they were finishing up, Mina’s phone buzzed on the table. She glanced at it and squealed, her face lighting up with excitement.

Flint glanced up, amused by her reaction. “What is it, babe?”

Mina grinned, looking up from her phone. “Somi’s joining us for D&D tonight!”

“Oh, word? That’s great,” Flint said, leaning back with a smile. “It’ll be like a mini I.O.I reunion.”

“Yessir,” Mina said, still buzzing with excitement. “This is gonna be fun.”

Flint chuckled, seeing how happy she was. He loved these moments—just the two of them, enjoying a quiet evening, sharing excitement about something as simple as a game. It was in these little moments that he felt most connected to her.

Moving back to Sejeong and Nicky they are getting ready with the last few touches to Somi's character sheet, when they remembered they forgot to tell Orion and Bunny. Nicky makes the call.

The sound of rapid button-mashing filled the room as Orion and Eunbi faced off in their latest match of Persona 4 Arena Ultimax. Both were completely focused, their faces illuminated by the glow of the screen.

“C’mon, you really think you can take me down?” Orion teased, not looking away from the action. his hands dances around the top of his hitbox like a delicate dancers or the practiced measure of a trained pianist.

Eunbi shot him a sidelong glance, fingers moving furiously across the controller. “Please, I’m about to wipe the floor with you. You just wait.”

The match was close, each of them going through their block strings trying to crack the other's defensive options and abilities. The tension between them was palpable, but it was playful, electric—both a challenge and an invitation.

Just as Eunbi’s character moved in for what she thought was a finishing blow, Orion grinned. “Too slow.”

He executed a perfect counter, watching as her health bar dropped to zero. The words K.O. flashed across the screen.

“What the hell!” Eunbi shouted, throwing her hands up as Orion burst into laughter.

“Victory is mine!” Orion crowed, leaning back against the couch with a smug grin. he cracked his knuckles with a relaxed ease.

Eunbi narrowed her eyes, not at all fazed by the loss. “Alright, big shot, that was pure luck. Rematch. You’re going down this time.”

“Oh, you think so?” Orion shifted closer, his voice dropping as he playfully taunted her. “You really think you can handle me, babe?”

Eunbi raised an eyebrow, leaning in to match his energy. “Please, I think I can do more than handle you. Just watch.”

For a second, their eyes locked, and the air between them sparked. Their teasing was more than just competition—it was the way they communicated, the way they challenged and pushed each other, both in games and in life. Every match was a test of will, but also a way to get closer. In this heat, they kissed, as their passion melted shifted from the game to just the love of each other.

But just as the heat was beginning to light, Orion’s phone buzzed on the coffee table.

Eunbi groaned as Orion broke the kiss, rolling her eyes. “You better not answer that.”

Orion glanced at the caller ID and sighed. “It’s Nicky. I gotta pick up—could be about the D&D game tonight.”

She sighed, leaning back into the couch. “Fine. But you owe me a rematch after this.”

“Deal,” Orion said, giving her a quick peck on the cheek before answering the phone. “Yo, Nicky, what’s up?”

Nicky’s excited voice crackled through the speaker. “Hey, just wanted to update you. Somi’s joining us tonight for the session. Sejeong and I just finished her character sheet a few minutes ago.”

Orion glanced at Eunbi, already imagining the chaos that Somi would bring to the game. “Oh man, Somi, huh? This is gonna be… interesting.”

“Yeah, buckle up, because we are doing a mega dungeon crawl tonight. See you tonight,” Nick added before hanging up.

Orion set the phone down and grinned at Eunbi. “Looks like we’ve got a wild card tonight. You ready for some chaos?”

Eunbi smirked, grabbing her controller again. “Oh, I was born ready. But first, I’m kicking your ass in this rematch.”

Orion laughed, already leaning in for round two. “Let’s see if you can back up that talk, Eunbi.”

And with that, they dove back into the game, the competitive energy between them as strong as ever, their passion fueled by every challenge thrown their way. After finishing up another set their alarm to leave went off, and they decided to finally get ready to go to Sejeong, and Nicky's home. On the way the grabbed pizza for everyone.  

the couple neared the door and Ori turned to Eunbi"you ready?" Orion asks Eunbi as he carries the pizzas inside.

"Always. New Campaign new me." Eunbi replies confident. Orion nods and follows her in as she holds the door open for them as he sets the pizzas down.

"Yay you brought food." Somi said excitedly before going up to Ori and giving him a kiss on the cheek. Eunbi glared subtly at the gesture before moving between the two "So you must be Somi. Ivan's girlfriend." she said coldly

Somi nodded before tilting her head noticing Eunbi’s Evangelion hoodie.

It did little to hide her figure but it brought Hyewob more in line with Somi's mental picture of her.

"Yep that's me Ivan's best girl," Somi said happily. Ivan has told me a little bit about you but I am curious. How did you get into this kind of stuff,"

Eunbi still dealing with her surging jealousy, gripped Orion tight, "Well Ori invited me a few weeks ago and Sejeong and Nicky have been super kind. so I stayed."

Somi smiled, "Yeah that's our leader, always so kind."

after that, everyone gets their character sheets and settles in.

"You all awake in a tavern," Sejeong says but is interrupted by a knock on the door. Sejeong gestures for Ori to open it and is surprised to see Mordenkainen.

As Orion got up to open the door, the atmosphere shifted, and everyone looked on with curiosity. He swung the door open, expecting maybe one of their friends to arrive late—but instead, a figure in long, flowing robes with a shock of white hair stood there, eyes gleaming with an intensity that sent a chill through the room. It was Mordenkainen himself, looming in the doorway with an expression of absolute outrage.

“Oh…wow,” Orion stammered, trying to hold onto his usual bravado. “Uh…can we help you?”

Mordenkainen's gaze swept across the room, his intense eyes narrowing. "You… you have the audacity to play a game based on the lives of my friends and family? This is no laughing matter!"

The group exchanged confused glances. Nicky, who was co-DMing with Sejeong, took a deep breath, trying to regain some control. “Um, sir, we’re just… we’re playing a friendly game. This is just D&D, you know?”

Mordenkainen stepped inside, his robes swishing as he approached the center of the room, his voice resonant and thunderous. “A game? This… trivialization of my world—of the worlds beyond yours—is disgraceful! You mock battles that tore through realms, people who fought for their lives, stories bound by sacrifice. And you reduce it to dice and… pizza?”

Eunbi snorted, half amused, trying to hold back a laugh, but a sharp glance from Mordenkainen silenced her. Even Orion, usually the bold one, shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

“Listen,” Flint began, trying to reason with the imposing figure, “we’re not trying to insult anyone. We’re just… inspired by your world. It’s kind of a compliment?”

“Compliment?” Mordenkainen bellowed. He raised a hand, and with a snap of his fingers, the lights flickered, the walls trembled, and a portal swirled into existence, casting an eerie blue light across the room.

Sejeong, who’d been completely silent, finally found her voice, “Okay, hold on. No need for drastic measures. We’ll… uh… stop playing? We don’t want any trouble.”

“Oh, you’ll stop playing,” Mordenkainen said, a dangerous glint in his eye, “because you’ll be living it.”

With a wave of his hand, a flash of blinding light filled the room. Everyone felt a rush of wind and a strange tingling sensation as if they were being pulled apart and reassembled at the same time.

When the light faded, they found themselves sprawled on the ground, groggy and disoriented, their clothing now replaced with fantastical garb. Orion glanced down at his attire, light armor with a scary-looking axe strapped to his back. Eunbi stood beside him, equally stunned, decked out in flowing robes adorned with ancient symbols.

“Wait… are we… are we in the game?” Somi asked, staring in awe at her new mage’s robes, a staff clutched in her hand.

Ivan, looking down at the armor that replaced his jeans and T-shirt, could only stammer, “This… this can’t be real. This… has to be a prank, right?”

Sejeong checked herself over, now clad in the resplendent armor she’d always envisioned for her character, a high-ranking cleric. She looked at Nicky, who was equally stunned, holding a bard’s lute.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, realization dawning. “This is real. We’re actually in the game.”

Mordenkainen’s voice echoed in their minds, seemingly coming from the sky itself, “Perhaps now, you’ll understand the gravity of the worlds you toy with. Prove yourselves worthy, and maybe—maybe—you’ll find a way home. Fail, and you’ll be trapped here as characters in this world forever.”

The group exchanged a mix of terrified and exhilarated glances, the reality of their situation beginning to sink in. Flint and Mina stood close together while Ori held his head as a headache started ringing in his ears. Eunbi approached him concerned. He winced when she touched his head as visions of gods and monsters swam through his head.

Taking charge he said firmly, “We should probably find the nearest town and find lodging before the night comes. The party nodded as they headed in the direction of smoke. That smoke led them to a town being overrun by skeletons resurrected by the evil Lich Nevinyrral. The group was first attacked but a quick reaction from Sejeong she took out a holy symbol and the skeletons turned away expeditiously… or they would if it weren't for the radiant glowing Orion who slammed into another one and crushed another with his mighty great axe. He was able to clean up the rest as he turned the skeletons to dust. They noticed a dual inscription on it but none of them (except Ori) spoke or read the language.

After the battle, the remaining townspeople praised the heroes. They stood wary of Ori however due to his scarred face and body until the rest pushed him to the front.

"You saved us Why?" the mayor asked wary of the Scourge Aasimar with Dark red spots covering his body.

"Well we needed lodging and food for the night before we continue our journey. that's kinda hard when everyone is dead." Ori said.

The mayor laughed and said, "Well at least you all are practical. If you're not to opposed the church house can serve as your base of operations. if you so chose, since our god has abandoned us. We will bring food for you as well." The group noded then headed to the house of the Jade Seraph. the approach the church house solemnly, but as soon As Ori enters. He sees visions of more gods and battles causing him to collapse.

As their characters' memories merge with theirs Eunbi speaks up, "He's getting worse. What do we do?" Sejeong sighs and does another calm emotion spell on Ori hopefully stopping the progress of his ailment at least a little bit.

"We better find that Mage fast!" Flint asserts. Mina, Somi and Ivan nod before all finding places in the monastery. Ori finds a quiet corner to sleep in away from the group.

After settling in at the Jade Seraph’s monastery, Mina and Flint exchanged a glance, silently agreeing that they needed to get out for a bit. Flint leaned in close, whispering, “Let’s take a walk around the town. Maybe we can find out more about this world we’re stuck in—and get some alone time too.”

Mina smiled and nodded. She grabbed his hand as they slipped quietly out of the church house, leaving the others to recover and set up.

Outside, the town was still tense but slowly beginning to relax after the recent skeleton attack. Torches lined the cobblestone streets, and a few market stalls were cautiously reopening, their owners eyeing the streets warily, but there was a hopeful buzz in the air after the group’s intervention. The cool evening air and the faint smell of wood smoke brought a sense of calm to Flint and Mina as they wandered hand in hand.

They stopped at a small food stall run by an elderly woman selling what looked like hot skewers of spiced meat. Flint bought a couple, handing one to Mina with a warm smile. She took a bite, eyes lighting up as the taste hit her. “Wow, this is… actually really good,” she said, savoring the smoky, peppery flavors.

Flint laughed. “Gotta say, I didn’t expect food to taste this good here either. But I’ll take it. Now, if only we could figure out how long we’re going to be here…”

Just then, a tall, cloaked figure approached the stall, catching their attention. Flint subtly pulled Mina a bit closer as the figure ordered in a low, gravelly voice. Curious and cautiously friendly, Mina leaned toward him. “Excuse me, sir. We’re… new in town. Could you tell us what’s been going on here?”

The figure turned, revealing the face of a battle-worn man with a weary expression. He looked them up and down, nodding. “You’re not from these parts, are you? I can tell by your garb.” He cleared his throat and continued, “This town has been plagued by the dark magic of Nevinyrral. He’s a lich who’s been terrorizing the villages on the outskirts for years now, resurrecting the dead to do his bidding. Every few months, he sends his skeletons to wreak havoc and remind us of his power.”

Mina’s eyes widened. “And… the gods? We heard the people talking about a god abandoning the town.”

The man spat on the ground bitterly. “The Jade Seraph, our patron godess, hasn’t answered our prayers for years. Some say she’s left us for good, while others whisper she’s been captured by Nevinyrral himself, his powers drained for dark purposes.”

Flint’s hand tightened around Mina’s. “Do you know of anyone in town who might be able to help us? Someone with knowledge of the gods, or perhaps even magic?”

The man glanced around cautiously, then nodded. “Seek out Elara, the town’s herbalist and a follower of the Old Ways. She has knowledge of magic—more than she lets on. You’ll find her on the edge of the forest, near the willow grove. But be careful. She doesn’t trust strangers.”

“Thank you,” Mina said, dipping her head in gratitude. She exchanged a look with Flint, excitement and apprehension in her eyes. “We’ve got a lead now,” she murmured as they continued walking.

As they made their way to the forest’s edge, the town’s rustic charm was replaced by an eerie quiet. Shadows danced beneath the trees as they approached a small, ivy-covered cottage with lanterns lighting a narrow path. Inside, Elara was mixing herbs when she noticed them standing hesitantly at her door.

“Strangers,” she said, her tone wary but intrigued. “You seek answers. Why?”

Flint stepped forward. “We’re not from here. We were… brought to this world by magic, and now we’re looking for a way to go back. But it seems there’s more going on here than we realized. We want to understand this place, to help where we can.”

Elara’s gaze softened. “If you wish to learn, then enter. But understand that knowledge here often comes with a price.” She motioned them inside, and they followed her, exchanging a brief, reassuring look.

The air inside the cottage was thick with the scent of herbs and old parchment. Elara gestured for them to sit, and as she began to tell them more about the lich, the town’s lost god, and the ancient magic that bound their world, Mina and Flint listened intently, feeling as if the pieces of a larger puzzle were finally beginning to fall into place.

For the first time since they’d arrived, they felt a glimmer of hope—not only that they might find a way home, but that they could make a difference here, maybe even defeat Nevinyrral himself.

As Mina and Flint slipped out, the remaining group settled into the dimly lit corners of the monastery. Ori sat by one of the worn pews, his back against the cold stone wall, looking drained and uneasy. Eunbi noticed him from across the room, a thoughtful look on her face. After a few quiet moments, she made her way over to him, sitting down beside him and resting her hand on his.

“Hey,” she said softly, breaking the silence. “How’s the head?”

Ori exhaled, his gaze fixed on the dusty wooden floor. “Feels like I’ve been caught in a storm I can’t see. Visions, memories that aren’t mine… They just keep flooding in.” He looked at her, his eyes clouded with confusion and something else—fear. “Bunny, I don’t even know what’s real anymore.”

She reached out, gently cupping his face, brushing her thumb across his cheek. “We’re here, Ori. Right here, together. That’s real.”

He leaned into her touch, a small measure of comfort slipping through the tension he was holding onto. “It’s not just the visions,” he murmured, voice barely audible. “I feel… different. Stronger, but also… angry. Like there’s something in me I can’t control.” He clenched his fists, and for a second, they glowed with a faint, radiant energy before dimming again. “It’s like I’m becoming something else.”

Eunbi laced her fingers with his, squeezing his hand firmly. “I get it. I don’t have whatever this new power is like you do, but I feel like… part of me is changing here, too.” She paused, her own vulnerability showing. “Being here, seeing you go through this… It makes me think about what we have. What if we don’t get back home? What if this is all we’ve got?”

Ori looked at her, eyes softening. “Then… we’ll make this place ours. If this is where we’re meant to be, we’ll find a way to live and be happy, no matter what.” He brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear, his hand lingering. “But if we get back, I want to make sure I don’t leave anything unsaid. I don’t want to waste time, not with you.”

Eunbi’s breath hitched, and she held his gaze. “Me neither,” she whispered, her hand sliding up to his shoulder as she leaned in. “I don’t want to hold back anymore, Ori. Not in here, and not out there.”

They shared a kiss, soft and lingering, a grounding force in the whirlwind of uncertainty. For that brief moment, the world around them faded away, leaving only the warmth between them, a promise that even in this strange, unfamiliar place, they had each other.

When they pulled back, Ori sighed, a bit of the tension easing from his shoulders. “Whatever happens, Bunny… you and me, we’ll face it together. I promise.”

She nodded, her expression resolute. “Together.” Ori nodded as Eunbi brought him in for a kiss. her hands cupped his face gently as they kissed again. Eunbi smiled.

"You smell so nice. Like Oranges Vanilla ice cream" she said. Ori smiled as they kissed, again. his hands found purchase on her chest.

"No matter the world you still drive me crazy, and I love you," Ori said.

Eunbi smiled as she undid her armor and dress before saying, "prove it."

Sejeong and Nicky settled by a low fire in the monastery’s quietest corner, their voices hushed. Nicky leaned in close, his expression tense. “We really need to talk about Ori’s backstory. If we’re actually in this world, then… well, his 'Creator' might actually exist out here, and he could be looking for him.” Sejeong looked over at Ori, who was resting uneasily in a far corner, shrouded in shadows. “You mean the necroalchemist,” she whispered. “The one obsessed with ascension? With turning one of his creations into a god?” “Yeah,” Nicky nodded, his voice barely audible. “Remember, Ori was his closest success. He wasn’t just made; he was made to be perfect, to force a kind of unnatural divine evolution.” Nicky’s voice grew even lower. “If the Creator is here, he’ll be hell-bent on finishing what he started.” Sejeong shivered, the weight of the situation sinking in. “So if Ori’s backstory holds true here, it’s not just a dangerous world—it’s a hostile one. One that might see him as either a target or as a prized possession. We’re going to have to protect him, and… well, he’s going to have to face things he never signed up for.” Nicky nodded slowly, his eyes on Ori, the weight of their shared responsibility settling on them both. “We’ll watch his back. But we need to prepare him too… there are things even he doesn’t know about his origin, and if we don’t tell him soon, the truth might catch up with him before he’s ready.” Sejeong clenched her jaw, steeling herself. “Alright. When the time comes, we’ll make sure he knows.”

[mer-acle]

Okay it's that time. I just kinda wanna talk about the nightmare sequence in this chapter of Fighting to be Loved, specifically what's real/ what actually happened bc I love to yap about what i wrote whoops

1. The athletics festival where Pallas got killed did take place in the courtyard, and Zeus, Hera and Poseidon were all there for it.

2. Someone pointed out that it's implied that Athena rewatched the moment of Pallas's death with time dives many times, and that person is correct, that's exactly what happened. Like the goddess of strategy wouldn't try to analyze her own mistake in that moment, trying to understand what went wrong.

3. Athena doesn't really speak or cry as she tries to staunch the bleeding, both of which she originally very much did. The nightmare is kinda meant to take her voice away bc she feels very powerless right now.

4. Pallas did call Athena "Thena" in reality. Nobody is surprised.

5. The whole scene with Triton is unfortunately pretty accurate to reality as well, he was very rough with her in that moment both verbally and physically. So yeah. That slap did happen.

6. Also her kinda flashing back to learning to dive is in reference to what I laid out in this post. I'm kinda just sighing at Triton in tired exasperation.

7. When Triton demands Zeus to take his daughter back, that's pretty much where we leave reality and enter the fucked up world of Athena's guilt-ridden mind. Bc in reality Zeus yielded pretty quickly (Poseidon was like 'you cannot ask them to keep her, not under these circumstances')

8. So yeah actually Zeus said exactly nothing of what he does in the dream. Surprising, I know. The thing is, he wouldn't even taunt Athena with her love for others bc he just expects her to be cold, so if anything she'd be scolded for it. Which still sucks. He made a big fuss about the whole "Pallas Athena" situation so he actually never acknowledges that title of hers, not even in anger, bc he is personally offended that she insisted on it despite him not wanting her to.

9. Also the most obvious, literally nobody in the family made any prayer even close to this one.

10. Zeus definitely makes comments along the lines of "I shouldn't have let you out of my head." when he's angry at Athena. Very much the "be grateful I birthed you" route. So yeah. Athena has like all the reasons to feel unwanted in general bc honestly the only parental figure who unconditionally loved her is literally the immortal equivalent of dead. Poor owl

So yeah that was that fucked up scene I wrote, stay tuned for more LOL.

[nicksversion]

⚠️!PSA FOR EVERYONE!⚠️

I know we are all terrified, upset, and angry right now but DON’T PANIC YET! They are recounting the votes on Friday November 8th. The electoral college isn’t done voting and the true results could take till as late as December. We also have till January 19th to come up with a plan. Now with that being said below I have tips on how to get through this if things take a turn for the worst.

How to survive the next four years:

1. Stay alive:

As much as you will be feeling, validly so, keep going. It’s okay to grieve and feel what you need to but they want you to give up/be stagnant. Live out of spite if you have to but don’t let them win.

Inclusivetherapists.com/crisis gives you resources to call if you are struggling and you don’t have to be in crisis to reach out. Police are not involved with the hotlines and won’t be notified.

2. Play dumb:

You now know nothing about anyone.

For example:

Your friend who’s trans or a part of the LGBTQIA+ community, you have no idea. Same goes for your neurodivergent friends.

Your immigrant friend, they were born here

3. Stay strapped:

Get firearm training, purchase a firearm, and take self defense classes. It’s better to be prepared to fight than be blindsided by it. Additionally, don’t let your guard down in public ever and stay inside as much as humanly possible.

4. Hold your tongue:

Be careful what you say/ post. You never know who’s listening with malicious intent. Don’t talk about anything that doesn’t align with the MAGA point of view and if you are asked about it you tell them you don’t talk about politics.

5. Remember the dress code:

You want to dress as conformative and conservative as possible. I know it will suck but if you are dressed any other way you make yourself a target. Look up how to do your makeup to pass as fem/mas if you need to.

Additional information and tips:

Everything will not fall apart overnight, these things take time but you should still be prepared for it.

Propaganda will be everywhere, make sure you are getting your information from reliable sources.

They will be doing everything possible to change your beliefs to align with them, DO NOT FALL FOR IT!

Do your own research about how Hitler came to power and went through with the genocide. If you know the signs, you can help deinfluence the lies that will be spread (safely of course)

If you are planning to participate in the 4b movement be prepared for violent reactions. Men will not react well to not getting their way so make sure you can protect yourself if things go south.

Plan b has a shelf life of four years when stored in a cool dry place. It is purchasable on Amazon for less than $10 when you search levonorgestrel pill (it’s the name of what’s in plan b)

If you’re looking for doctors to give you long term birth control look up Reddit child free doctors list (it’s a list of international doctors who will let you have it and is updated by patients)

Delete your period tracking apps and use a physical calendar to track them. The government has access to them.

Freethepill.org gives you a bunch of resources to get the pill, if you are able stock up as you see fit.

If you have children in school, buy books that teach about evolution, black history, and all other things America has done to other countries.

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTF3444aD/ - recommendations of places to go to get out of the US

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTF3VPUQc/ - how to get a passport

Project 2025 seeks to ban porn so start saving your favorite books/fanfics on external hardrives.

I will update this post as I research more ways to get through this. It is important that you take time for yourself and make sure you’re okay before trying to help others. Stay safe, stay alert, and stay informed. I wish you all the best.

[smilesatdawnmain]

ETERNAL LMK AU (Part 4) (Interactive Story)

Had some close ties last part :3 But we have gone with "STAND YOUR GROUND AND FIGHT!"

Lets continue this tragic story, shall we~?

The rules are simple.: I will give the written passage, and then at the bottom there will be a vote on how the characters act next!

Story: Eternal

Ships: Shadowpeach

Angst: You betcha

Fluff: With enough choices, maybe we'll get there.

Macaque smacked their hands away from.

“No! I’m not going anywhere with you!” he shouted, adrenaline choking his words into a hoarse rasp. He tried to call upon his power, to manifest his staff from nothingness, but all that greeted him was a suffocating void where his shadow should have been. He never had a time in his life where he didn’t have his very essence beside him. More than just an ally in combat, it was a piece of himself. To no longer have it to draw from was bone chilling.

Still, he was not going to the Diyu. Not today, not anytime soon. With no other option, he rolled his hands into fists and held them up. He wasn’t completely defenseless without a weapon. He would fight in any means he needed to, teeth and claws included.

“Desperation doesn’t suit you, Liu’er,” the first figure replied, tilting their head with feigned pity. “You’re merely prolonging the inevitable. Denial only deepens the pit that cling to your soul.”

Macaque’s heart twisted painfully in his chest—if it still beat, he wondered. “You don’t understand! I have to—”

“Have to what?” the second figure interrupted, their voice smooth as silk yet laced with a chilling edge. “Have to stay connected to that which caused you so much pain? What are you, Liu’er? A martyr? A ghost bound by grief?”

“I’m not a ghost!” he yelled back, fury igniting within him against the encroaching cold and despair. He did not have to explain himself to these two. He did not have to make justification for his actions. His reasonings were his own. To be denied life simply because he wanted to bring his Mate home- it was unfair. It was nothing but an injustice! And he wanted to be sure his Mate knew that.

“No, I am not a martyr,” Macaque spat, trembling as the weight of his fragmented memories pressed down on him. “I’m a warrior. My fate is not up for anyone but myself to decide.”

The figures exchanged glances, their expressions shifting from mockery to something resembling interest. “Ah,” the first remarked, voice dripping with mock delight. Many had attempted and failed such similar feats. Too many tried to cheat or deny death, and all were quick to realize that there was no parting from it. Dragging another soul down by force was any typical Monday for them.

“Listen, fella,” one drawled, “I’d rather not play this game. You’ll fight us, we’ll overpower you, yada yada-but in the end, I'm afraid you’ll still lose.” The figure’s amusement made Macaque’s eyebrow twitch.

He squared his jaw and prepared himself for whatever they might conjure next. “You think you know my fate? You think you know me?” he retorted, a fierce gleam in his eyes.

The second figure, taller and clad in shadow that flickered like flames, took a step forward, a smirk playing on their lips. “Lets get this over with, hmm? It’ll be the talk of the Diyu when we bring you in. One of the four demon Stone Monkeys, the Six Eared Macaque, the mate of Sun Wukong. The man who avoids death like a plague- yet sent his own beloved there with his own two hands.”

Macaque’s skin prickled, his eyes widening in fury as he lunged.

His fingers clawed through the emptiness, aiming for the smirk that enflamed his rage further. The first figure merely sidestepped, maneuvering with a grace that belied their insidious nature. Mocking, teasing, then standing with utter stillness. Goading Macaque to even try to take a swing.

When Macaque did, his fist connected with the man’s jaw. Expecting the man to recoil, to react- his stomach dropped when the man only smirk. The attack hadn’t even jerked the man’s head back, as if Macaque's punch were a gentle breeze ruffling through his hair. “Is that all you have?” he taunted, rubbing the corner of his mouth with a deliberate slowness. “Such power wasted on a hallow spirit.”

With a flick of his wrist, the figure conjured a dark mist that wrapped around Macaque's limbs like serpents, constricting him, pinning him to the spot. The icy grasp snaked up to his neck, squeezing just enough to steal away his breath. Panic set in, and he thrashed against the bonds.

What power did a spirit have. Nothing without a form. Nothing without a body to command.

“No!” Macaque gasped, fighting against the shadows coiling tighter, each breath a battle. Desperation clawed at his chest like a wild animal seeking freedom, making him writhe. It couldn’t end like this—not here, not now. He needed to- he wanted- there was so much he hadn’t done. So much he hadn’t said.

As he twisted, his gaze caught Wukong. Only but a few steps away, legs crossed and back straight as he meditated. Unaware, uncaring- even if he could see him now, would he even help him? “I-!” he choked up. He was home. He didn't want to be taken from it. He didn't want to continue to be forced to leave his home due to the will of another.

He was scared. Terrified. Perhaps it was just a natural thing to fear death. To fear what you did not know. He feared the cold, the pain he might experience down there.

The isolation and the inevitable punishment they were bound to give him for attacking the Great Monk Tripitaka. He had accepted this fact at the time, so he supposed had no one but himself to blame but... but still...

And more than anything- Wukong.

Did he want to yell at Wukong? Stay with him? End things? Reconcile? He didn't know! But he at least wanted the time to figure it out!

So close. Right there... He was right there...

Previous

next;

[izudeeilo]

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You can study me

Sero hanta smau

volley-ball player sero x art student fem!reader, no quirks au, college au.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Senior year is finally here! You thought that this time, the teachers would be more lenient with you and your classmates, but not at all. In fact, they even got stricter... They assigned you a half year-long work, which would be worth 30% of your final grade. What does the work consist of, you ask? Making a complete study of the life of a student you need to pick and paint it.

But... you can't pick a friend.

Part .3 • Part .5 (soon)

Part 4

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You had been in the car for 30 minutes before you finally arrived at his mysterious destination. Hanta didn’t let anything slip the entire drive, but the whole ride had been really enjoyable.

Listening to the radio with the windows slightly open, wind blowing in your hair, you couldn’t stop your eyes from drifting from time to time to his face and his hands gripping the wheel.

When you stepped out of the car you were greeted by a beautiful orange flower field in the middle of nowhere. A bit further away you could see another car parked right in front of the field.

”Hanta…that’s— that looks heavenly oh my” you mumble, shock visible on your face. You felt his hand in your back guiding you to the car who had its trunk wide open. There, you were surprised by a blanket covering the floor of the trunk, small lights taped on the inside and a basket filled with snacks.

”I like coming here to watch the sunset when I feel a little down. I figured you might want to see it” he runs his hand in the back of his neck with a small smile.

”Thank you Hanta, that’s lovely. I love this” you smile at him and his eyes get lost in yours as he sees the excitement fill your eyes. He feels stupid for not having the courage to ask you out. When he heard your voice through the phone, all he had memorized a few minutes before disappeared from his mind in a single second.

He cleared his throat and offered you his hand. “Shall we?”

You grin “We shall” you say as you take his hand and he helps you climb inside. You find a comfortable position and Hanta settles himself next to you.

You never would’ve thought that time could run by so fast with someone. You’ve been talking for hours about anything that crossed your minds. Not getting bored a single second. How haven't you noticed him all this time? How did Izuku never mention him and his other friends before?

Perhaps it wasn’t yet time for you to meet and you were made to crossways in a specific way or place, like this assignment.

When you think about it, it’s all thanks to that teacher for giving you that assignment. You wouldn’t have met Hanta without it, or maybe you would’ve but later on? but how long after, that’s the question.

You snap out of your thoughts when you hear Hanta calling out to you.

”Earth to y/n, you’re here bonita?” he chuckles at your surprised face.

”Yes! Sorry I um— got lost in my thoughts " you chuckle and turn to him more attentively.

”I was saying the sun is beginning to set” he points to the horizon with his lips and you straighten yourself up to crawl closer to the scenery. You cross your legs and feel Hanta doing the same thing as your shoulders lightly brush against each other.

Hanta let his eyes fall on your form as you sit here admiring the sky. He could smell your perfume, a sweet, warm and fruity scent he had grown to love and crave. It hadn’t been long since you guys first met but god did you drive him crazy.

To the point of his whole family knowing almost everything about you from how much he rambled about you when he went to visit them. Leaving him embarrassed anytime, they mention when he’ll bring you home and how they wish to meet the girl that had their boy so infatuated.

But what if you didn’t feel the same? What if he confessed, and it ruined everything you two had going on. He wouldn’t risk that. He would rather stay friends forever than not have you in his life.

So for now, he was just going to admire you from afar and enjoy the moments you already share.

As you watch the sun set, you take out the small camera you always had on yourself and take a picture. You turn to Hanta and take a quick picture of him as well when you thought he wasn't looking.

”Did you just—“ he grins.

”Nope!” You say as you try to hide the camera from him when he attempts to snatch it from your hands.

”I should be allowed to take a picture of you as well then, lend me that camera would you” he chuckles as he leans closer and begins tickling your sides.

“Hanta— stop that—“ you can’t help the loud laugh that espaces your mouth as you try to get his hands away from your sides. He keeps tickling you until tears begin to form in your eyes and you give up.

”O-OK! here” you hand him the camera with one hand and wipe the small tear drops that threaten to fall from your eyes as you continue to let out small giggles.

He takes the camera from your hands and snaps a picture the moment you turn your head at him.

”Wait, let me at least pose or something!” You protest.

”No, it’s perfect the way it is” he laughs as you cross your arms and attempt to look mad at him.

“Come on, I know you can’t stay mad at me for long” he nudged your arm teasingly.

You sigh and roll your eyes. “You’re right I can’t”

A comfortable silence falls between the two of you before Hanta speaks again.

”You’ll send me the picture I took of you?”

”Yeah, of course” You give him a closed eye smile.

a/n im having so much fun writing this, i can't stop skjsks ughh i love sero sm

[gguk-n]

Chapter 3- Caught in the Act

A+ in Pretend Love (Lando Norris x Reader)

Series Masterlist

Summary- If you asked Zak Brown, he would advice never to store confidential contracts on the cloud. If you asked Lando, he would tell you to not fall in love with your fake fiance. If you asked Y/N, she would tell you to never date a famous person even if it's not real.

While Lando was being coached by his best friend to confess his love to his fake fiance; Zak's cloud was being hacked in hopes of finding some dirt on McLaren or their CEO ad black mail but they didn't expect to hit the jackpot. Their contract was valid for 3-4 more months and the plan was to slowly ease Y/N out of Lando's life and say that things didn't work out because of their busy schedule.

What no one anticipated was they would wake up on Saturday morning to both their face plastered all over the news with the contract they had signed. The media was calling them all sorts of things from trying to fool them to trying to fool an entire country. There were people who had tracked her down and were not waiting outside Y/N's house in hopes of talking to her or at her work. She had to take leave from work since her professors were speaking ill of her. She couldn't imagine having to go back for her PHD programme. The worst were the fans; the name calling, the hate; it was all directed towards her as if McLaren were saint's in all of this. Lando also bore the brunt of a major chunk of the hate.

Zak just texted them telling them not to talk to anyone and to stay hidden till it all died out. Y/N wouldn't even talk to Lando at this point because she was so angry and hurt and didn't want to direct her anger towards him when it wasn't even his fault. She was sat bawling her eyes out at all the mean things the people were saying about her. It made her life extremely difficult, something she hadn't imagined happening.

Lando was a mess; McLaren told the media that Lando wouldn't be answering any question other than the race and if they asked any personal questions, he just walked away; adding fuel to the fire. The drivers were also gossiping among themselves. "No wonder she suddenly showed up. It was all a rouse" George whispered. "I mean I get why McLaren would do that, with Lando's antics" Alex reasoned. But as soon as they would spot Lando, they would stop whispering. "If you guys are gonna talk about my relationship" he said in animated quotation marks, "do it in front of me. I'll answer all your questions" he huffed and walked away, clearly hurt by his friends. Racing while it felt like his world was falling apart was proving to be very difficult. All his calls and messages to Y/N would fall on deaf ears and it was messing with him even more. He just needed to know that she was okay. He didn't give a rat's ass about how he was.

"Lando, I think, soon the media will get something else to talk about. You should just focus on your racing" Zak reasoned with Lando who wanted to put out a statement saying it was all their idea. "None of this would've happened had you not saved the damn contract on your cloud" Lando sighed angrily. "I don't understand how could you let something like that happen" he shouted walking away. The environment in the McLaren garage was tense to say the least.

Lando had hoped that things would quite down by now. The original timeline for his contract was also up but there was no shutting up about the fake relationship. Lando won his maiden win and yet the only thing they could talk about was Y/N. Part of Lando missed her, he had really hope to be able to share this moment with her. When he got out of the car, a big part of him wished she was there so he could run to her, hold her and maybe celebrate this win with her.

So, later that night, he did call her and she answered, her voice hoarse. "Congratulations Lando" she crocked. "Were you crying?" Lando asked worried. "Yeah, I'm just so happy you won" she said clearing her throat. Lando found himself smiling for the first time in a long time. "How have you been?" he asked her softly. "Same old same old. I thought things would quite down by now but they haven't." Y/N mumbled. "I'm sorry" Lando apologised. "It's a good thing I'm busy with research for my PHD. I have no clue how I would deal with people in my class" she sighed. "I'm so sorry Y/N. It's all my fault" Lando began before Y/N cut him off. "It's no one's fault. Things like this happen. I'm just glad they didn't rebuke my visa for this" she laughed trying to lighten the mood. 'I miss you' was stuck in both their throats as they continued to talk for a couple more minutes. "I think we should cut the call" Y/N suggested. "Oh" Lando replied. "I think it would be easier for the both of us if we stopped contacting each other. It was a hassle explaining the whole thing to my parents and my relatives. I just don't have it in me honestly" Y/N breathed out shakily. "I'll fix this" Lando tried to reason. "Don't Lando. I think this was it for us. I wish you the best. Take care" Y/N said it like it was their last time talking. "Please" Lando begged but Y/N cut the call; "But I love you" Lando whispered into his phone.

As the time went on and as the championship picked up, Lando's heart was in unrest. He felt like he had wronged the person who he loved and he couldn't live knowing that. So, he decided to sit down one day and film a video. He had seen the stuff people were saying about him and Y/N and he felt like it had been months; people should've moved on by now but if they couldn't he would make sure that they wouldn't be able to say shit about Y/N anymore.

The video began with Lando in his Monaco apartment; "Hi guys. Lando here" he began. He took a deep breath before speaking; "I would like to address my whole relationship with Y/N in his video. Part of me had hoped that it wouldn't come to his but here we are. Y/N and I did begin this relationship in a contract but it was the team's and my decision to do so. She was just a random person we ran into who ended up helping us. So, the whole gold digger narrative you all are spinning is a load of bull. I know I shouldn't've done that but I had no other option to clear up my image because that's what the team and sponsors wanted. Part of me had hoped that after the championship had started picking up steam you guys would have something better to talk about but hating on us for the decisions we made is too much. If you would like to hate on me or send me a ton of hate, be my guest but please leave Y/N out of this. She is innocent and doesn't deserve this. I would appreciate it if you would stop sending hate to the woman I actually loved. And to Y/N, if you're even watching, had we met in a different situation, I would've actually married you since I really do love you" Lando finished the video and after he was happy with it he uploaded it to his channel. He knew his PR team would give him shit but he didn't give a fuck. He just wanted Y/N to be safe.

The internet was in an uproar after Lando's public declaration of love. Some were calling it cliche and the others were swooning over Lando for taking a stand. People weren't very happy with McLaren and how they had handled the whole situation. Lando was being bombarded by calls from McLaren and they were angry at him for what he did. "Lando are you crazy? The sponsors won't stop calling. Why would you say that?" Zak shouted. "Because lying was what got us here. So, I cleared the air" Lando stated. "You are unbelievable and so difficult. I don't know why I tried so hard to keep you" Zak mumbled which Lando heard and it stung.

Y/N was on vacation with Becky who had taken her away since all she did was stay coup-ed up at home since the whole incident. Y/N woke up to a text from her mum; 'you'll want to see this. It's Lando' it read. Y/N quickly loaded the video and before she knew it, she was crying. She couldn't believe that Lando loved her. The craziest part of the video was the love confession honestly. She quickly called him and a groggy voice answered. "Y/N, is everything okay?" Lando asked worried. "Yes. Do you mean it?" she asked. "Mean what?" Lando asked confused. "What you said in the video about being in love with me?" she pleaded. "Yes. Every word. I've been in love with you for months and I couldn't tell you and it was killing me. It's fine if you don't feel the same. I just needed to let it out" Lando rambled. "I love you too you muppet" she laughed as tears were rolling down her face. "You mean it?" Lando asked pinching himself. "Yes. I love you so much Lando Norris" she said, by now Becky was also up due to all the commotion. "Are you free tonight?" Lando asked. "Ahh, I'm on vacation right now" she said slowly. "Let me know when you're back, I'll pick you up at the airport" Lando said, "I love you Y/N Y/L/N" Lando stated. "I love you too" Y/N replied before ending the call to explain everything to Becky.

True to his words Lando had come to the airport to pick her up, As soon as he spotted her, he ran to her at full speed almost knocking her down as he wrapped his arms around her waist raising her in the process to spin around for a while. "I missed you" he whispered putting her down with his head nuzzled in her neck. "I missed you too" she whispered running a hand through the back of his hair. "You made me dizzy" she whined as he pulled away to look at her. "Sorry" Lando smiled sheepishly. "About that date?" he asked. "Give me some time to shower and than I'm all yours" she beamed.

The two of them headed home. They went on that much needed date; at home with pizza and shitty rom-coms. They giggled as the pair on the screen kissed. When Lando turned to look at her and held her face like it was the most precious thing. "Can I kiss you?" he mumbled, eyes flickering to her lips. She nodded and Lando closed the distance between them, the kiss was sweet and needy; they had so many emotions running through them and some how this kiss was exactly what they needed.

"What about McLaren?" she asked a couple days later. "I'll tell them we're really dating but now I really wanna just protect you. I won't let anything happen to you." he stated. "I know" she hummed in agreement kissing his lips.

After spending the whole of summer break together, Lando came out to announce that him and Y/N were actually dating. The team took it as well as you expect them to. The fans were going wild since this was truly out of a book. The other drivers were quite supportive and even apologised for their previous discretion.

With Y/N on his side, Lando felt like he could take on the world; good or bad. And Y/N was happy she agreed to fake date Lando since she got a real boyfriend out of this.

Tag list- @gamesetmatch-me @seonghwaexile @yootvi @hadesnumber1daughter @khaylin27 @abq654 @plotpal @charlesgirl16 @inarabee @a-beaverhausen @hwalllllllelujah

[hauntingblue]

NAMI NEEDS TO GO UP THERE AND FIGHT BIG MOM I AM SO SERIOUS!!! THIS IS A BATTLE FOR THE ROMANCE DOWN TRIO!! SANJI DO NOT DARE TAKE HER SPOT!!!

[graham--folger]

*through gritted teeth* what the fuck do people want from a resume

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[jikigo]

you ever just see a post and just

. 😭

.⬅️🫀⬅️

[evandorepart2]

ok anyway im leaving in. the day after tomorrow at like 2am so im just saying its tomorrow cause im literally just gonna stay up till then theres no point in sleeping. BUT two things. one i need to finish packing. my clothes are dry so i just have to bring them upstairs and pack. sort of stressed out bc like. i like my outfit i dont want to change it but everyones telling me its too hot for a leather jacket like i know!!!! but its my jacket :(

anyway i just have to do that so ill do it now and then…on top of that i wanted to get the draft for my ghost story done but i havent been working on it at all >_< ive just been reading comics the past couple days. so tomorrow. for sure. i will definitely work in getting the draft done totally.

but ugh im kind of nervous i havent seen these people in so long and im not great socially. also i dont go on trips in general so like. i hope i have energy for a full month yknow. i have a tendency of isolating myself when im stressed out but i dont have any space to do that…not that i should but whatever you know

[mithomite]

there’s a moment on the phone where we both pause. it hangs in the air somewhere between “i care so much about your happiness” and “sleep well”. a moment where it gets so quiet you can almost hear it.

i think i mouth the words. my face is wet; i’ve been crying for an hour because im sorry, im so sorry. “i forgive you”. the way he says it is thick like molasses and just as sweet.

and then it’s back to silence. “i need you go know that i.” he says finally. “i” is what he ends with. it’s another few seconds before he says the rest. “i care about you. so much.”

the way he says “care” is slow, muffled, almost with distain. i’m certain it’s true; i’m certain it’s a lie of omission. care. i care about my sweater not getting snagged on the door. he cares whether the gas station has his favorite frozen coffee drink. i think i am more than a sweater or a coffee.

he almost says it again. “i… have feelings for you” is what comes out. the real words strain at their comfinements like my heart in my ribs. we both know we can’t say it; not here, not now. there’s an order. there’s a plot progression.

the issue with two romantics together that we think you have to wait for the perfect time to say it. i think he would like if there were fireworks. i was hoping for on the beach, under the stars. i live landlocked. fireworks aren’t allowed near my building.

i think, though, we’ve said it before. i have. when he asks to ramble i say “always”. when he tells me that my eyes are his favorite color. when i use my whole work break to text him. when he asks me to hum as he’s falling asleep.

i dont know if he heard it. that moment, one of many, where we both said “i love you”.

[nomairuins]

i wish there was a way for me to likeee. semi change this one thingin this one mod. but 1 im not a modder 2 i feel like thats disrespectful. i just want sort of an inbetween between the game and this mod but that is not a thing that exist... sigh

[notanotherblorbo]

The problem with having friends is that I want to hang out all the time and do things for 1 million years but I am also. Tired. And having a job. And having a family that has a bunch of shit going on all the times.

[acid-ixx]

ch.4: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four

read until the end for an author's note.

tw: self-esteem issues, alcohol abuse, allusions to self-harm.

"baby bird, i know i haven't been talking to you much as of lately. but i just want to let you know that we miss you alright?"

not delivered.

"i really regret ignoring you, we all do. i'm-"

he hesitates, then deletes the last word of his message.

"—we're the ones in the wrong for everything, alright? you blocked me, i'm sure you did for everyone else too, i get that, but we care for you now and that won't change anytime soon. please remember that."

not delivered.

"and it pains me seeing that you're not replying to my messages at all, baby bird. but i promise i'll-"

dick bites his lips at the mistake of addressing himself only rather than that of the family, but a greedy part of him wants you to read the messages and to see only him in spite of everything rather than them, feeling a sense of... need to be the first and only one you see when you think about accepting their apologies, even if he's writing to you whilst simultaneously trying to get his family in your good graces.

dick doesn't know it. why he's suddenly obsessed with you. you? yes you, his stupidly precious sibling, the one who looked up to him, frail and wronged by the world, with so much drive behind that stare. third child of bruce, yet second youngest in the family. the one that got away, the one he has never once saw outside that one memory of glinting, awe-inspired eyes that told more stories than poets, drew more emotions than artists.

nobody saw you outside of your status as the manor's ghost— but compared to your other siblings, he knew you the most. he wants to be the only man good enough to be considered your brother, your oldest brother; an obligation he's willing to uptake just for you. he wants to be the only one with the authority to call you his baby bird. he doesn't know why, despite the thirteen and a half years, it's him wanting, no, needing to see you again.

you, just you.

every bits and pieces of you.

in his mind, it's just him and you. in your tiny little bedroom, with your dozens of sketchbooks and diaries, with only your brother, dick, to accompany you. in your own little world, as you speak to him of your dreams and passions with nothing else in your mind. you'd look up at him with sparkling eyes, look at him like he means everything in the world to you, and he'd see you as his world.

when he thinks of that, the more he hopes of the possibility of you reading his messages; his declaration of never leaving you alone anymore. and with hope comes along this dread that you'd reply with a nasty reply, or that... you'll never bat an eye him anymore.

dick doesn't take a second glance to correct his mistake again this time.

"i promise i'll be better for you baby bird. my little hatchling, my little one. i discarded you, someone so precious. you must've felt hurt, no? i get that, i'm so sorry you have to go through that because of me. but look! you have me now, we have each other now! and that might not be enough yet to mend the bridge i left to fall, but if you just, please reply to me, or anyone else, then we can fix this. i promise, baby bird."

not delivered.

"you won't ever feel hurt anymore, or sad or lonely. hell, even bruce is getting you a new bedroom fixed up, isn't that great!? i'll even convince the old man to make sure your room is close to my old one so you can visit me anytime. i'll even stay over at gotham for even longer, just for you! and i'll spend my time with you, with just the two of us, okay? nobody else can disturb us. i'm sure you'd like that too."

not delivered.

"and we can hang out anytime you want, no? sleepovers, movie nights, journalling— all the cool stuff you wanted to do with me in the past, we can do now! and it'll be fun with you, i can see it happening alrrady, i just know it. you can't convince me otherwise, baby bird."

not delivered.

"that's why i'm begging you to unblock me, little one, or to at least read all my previous messages, please? :( i'm still so sorry over how i treated you in the past. i've nothing to defend myself over how i acted towards you. i was so delusional, ignoring you when all you clearly wanted was to spend time with me, with the family."

not delivered.

"we can even have that dinner together, remember?! at that fancy restaurant you talked about, yeah? my treat, of course. you can order the entire damn menu and i'll leave you room for seconds and desserts. i can even make arrangements to get bruce to rent out the entire restaurant so it would just be the two of us plus the family, but mostly just us— that would be good! then you can sleep at my room after we get home to the manor since we're turning your old one into an atelier just for you! i'll even carry your cute little figure up any flight of stairs whenever you get tired."

not delivered.

"i promise i'll really make it up to you baby bird!!! <3"

not delivered.

"for all the times we neglected you, left you thinking you didn't deserve a spot in the manor (which you truly do, it's us to blame for never seeing it that way), made you feel negative emotions towards us— i'll take your pain and turn that into joy, i promise."

not delivered.

"and if you do manage to read through all this, please remember..."

not delivered.

"i love you so much, alright? we'll find you soon, and you'll be happier with us, i'm sure of it. i love, love, love you so much my baby bird."

not delivered.

he sighs, resigning his thoughts all to himself as he checks his phone every minute for a simple ring of notifications just from you. he prefers to leave his phone in silent mode from the multitude of other contacts bothering him, but god forbade if that means he'd scroll past to a single reply of yours, then he'd rather burn in hell.

and anything is better than the pain inflicted on him when it comes to the thought of you ignoring him.

because after all, he does mean it when he says he loves you, his baby bird, his adorable little sibling.

he'd rather hell than you seeing him any less of an older brother.

what takes longer? is it a seed growing into a bud, a bud into a bloom, or a flower to fully shrivel and die?

how long does it take for it to be considered worthy? deserving of attention and the rightful spotlight to attain its needs for life?

what takes its time? what other variable does it need for it to survive in such harsh conditions? if it's forcefully pried open as a seedling, as a bud growing in a field full of weeds sapping, draining it of its nutrition, or in a scorching, desolate desert, or pestilent lands; would it still be considered a flower?

what does a seed need to grow into a flower? beautiful, treasured, with vibrant colors reflecting off the surface of each petal, growing pollen for every pollinator to spread its bountiful success you call development?

what does it require?

everyone knows the answer, some could only be ignorant enough to turn the other way and reject the idea altogether.

it needs care, nourishment — healthy soil building a strong foundation, its home with roots carefully embedded in the ground, then it also requires water, a source of life given to it in specific times with just the right dose, and sunlight kissing its stems and petals warmly — and finally, love.

lots of love, attention, and patience from mother nature herself and its caretakers we call humans.

but how could a flower receive any, if not, all it needs, if it's raised under a marshy, overgrowth rainforest that speaks of death and cruel poachers that could step on the bloom of any moment?

how could a flower live, let alone survive, if its careless caretakers who took it away from its fertile lands neglect it of its requirements to grow and bloom into its rightful imagery?

just how?

you are a flower.

and you will wilt soon the longer you live in what you once thought was your home.

growing in cracked, dry soil, with no water nor sunlight aiding your growth.

you are a flower.

who had been loved by your creator, mother nature herself; your mother. but you've never once felt the care nor love of your cruel humans you call family, your father had never once saw your budding petals, kissed it, patiently watered or spent time outside in the sunlight with you. your brothers don't notice your dehydrated pets, shriveled leaves and bent stems, nor do they tend to it. your sisters don't decorate the pot you reside it, they don't talk to you every time you sag down in loneliness and isolation as you are forced to stay in the same place and witness the same scenarios over and over again.

not much knows it, but flowers, much like any plant, can communicate, they can feel. and when they do, they do deeply.

and you are a flower. a flower worthy of being pressed into books, storing your beauty forever. a flower worthy of being situated into a stunning arrangements of bouquets, worshipped through birthdays, dates, weddings, and even funerals.

you're a flower, and you're beautiful and deserving of praise and honor from your stages in life as a seed, from a bud, to a blooming flower. yet you're neglected the same way ignorant trespassers would step on growing blooms, uncaring for sabotaging their life completely, and oh-so easily.

you're a flower, a symbol of nature's fertility, resilience, and tranquility.

you symbolize your mother's long standing determination to care for a child whose father looked other ways but her. who raised her seedling with care, watered them with stories of fairytales: fantasies about prince charmings who take their flowers away from barren lands to spoil them with rich soil and neverending sunlight, about princesses who stop by flower shops to awe at the arrangements of bouquets, eyes glazing with fervor as they recount each and every symbolism every unique flower shares.

your mother places you in your favorite, decorated pot: your shared bedroom with her, and she kisses your cheeks, your forehead, your chubby little fingers, the same way the illuminating sunlight kisses at your flushed body whenever you two would go out for your walks.

she was your mother nature, and you were her precious flower.

you were once a blooming bud then, and you wished you would still bloom now.

how could you grow into what you're worth, when even you couldn't grow without the love that was taken from you?

what about the care, the patience, the determination she once held in her warm gaze, now cold and fading with life the last time you saw her; would it all be a waste?

how could you grow now?

and yet you don't even need to ponder for solutions. the answers were clear, clear as the water your petals used to bathe in, clear as the rain that pitters against alfred's car windows the same day you were taken away from your mother's hold—

you simply wilt.

8:31PM.

your friend said she'd pick you up quarter to nine, so you'd at least have the time to prepare and make yourself look good. but right now...

god, right now, you don't feel anything good, not even a wee bit of it at all. ever since he texted you, you feel like shit, utterly repulsed. vile, like the image of you vomiting every contents of your stomach— and now you're going out drinking with an empty one. you can already feel the bitter taste of heavy alcohol mixing in with the acids of your stomach.

you can already feel the breakdown you're having right now as you remember how fucking broke and useless you are for having to ask your friends to treat you to drinking because you have nothing left to offer beyond the fucking taxes you have to pay and the nearly due rent and bills.

you have nothing to offer. you're so shitty. you deserve to die.

the more you stare at the mirror, the more your eyebags seem to deepen, your lips began to dry, and the pit in your chest sunken.

and that makes you exhale even deeper, ignoring the way your throat constricts on itself in instinct.

your eyes flitter to your fingers, nails bitten, skin ripped at the seems with dry blood staining chipped cuticles.

when you looked back at your reflection, you want to cry even more, seeing an image of a moving pile of flesh. all puffy skin and sagging eyes.

you don't remember the last time you felt pretty about yourself.

whether it was in the manor, or back when your mother was the only one raising you— it seems like your memories are in shambles right now.

you don't remember the last time you looked in a mirror, looking healthy, fresh, and proud of yourself for dressing up in your style. in the back of your mind, there will always be hatred, resentment for how you look. and right now, you hate how you every bit of your appearance because...

because you look exactly just like an image of your mother and bruce wayne. a reminder, your punishment for your parents' beautifully tragic affair with one another. a billionaire who courted the lowly dirt-class slut of gotham.

yet you're uglier because you're not them, you couldn't be them. you're not picture-perfect brucie with slick-black hair and a face like fine-aged wine, or the image of your sultry, "man-eater" mother in her lingerie. you're just, you— you've inherited all the stupid flaws you wished you could shave off your damn body.

you remember seeing your father's face in television with your mother beside you by the couch, combing your hair and giggling when your eyes had lit up at the sight of the rich man. you haven't once took your eyes off the news channel whenever he appeared, looking at bruce, always enamored with his aesthetics, only to never notice your mother's tired eyes, or how shaky her fingers would sometimes become.

"momma, that's daddy, right?!" you asked her whilst the side of your body was pressed against hers, with all the enthusiasm a child could muster. your grin was wide, eyes peeled to the screen, enough to ignore the flinch in your mother as you had once thought it was her igniting with the same excitement as yours.

she simply leans down and kisses your cheeks, her eyes, a beautiful shade of your eyes color, albeit lighter in hue, never once left the crown of your small head, ignoring the headline for the news about 'brucie's new fling caught on camera!'.

your mother was so glad you were still illiterate at your age. she wish she could never break off the illusion that it was her who simply birthed to you, with no face for a father. maybe you would've never ask her about why he had never once came to visit your small family, why you could never meet your other siblings, or why he's seen with multiple other women by his side every time you open the television.

you ask at frequent intervals; it makes her wish to strip away the past in which she chose to tell you who your father was. you would've experienced less heartbreak, she would've never seen the way your eyes would dim at her every excuse, or the way she felt your heart crack at the seams, only further breaking hers.

yet after a while, she replies and buries her thoughts, ignoring the tears that lid her eyes. with not so much enthusiasm in her light voice, with the undertones of guilt and sorrow digging deep throat her throat, but it was enough for young, little you to jump on your springy couch with her response.

"... oh, yes, that's your papa...! isn't he so nice looking—?"

"and handsome! i'm so lucky to have such beautiful parents! i wish i was as pretty as you, momma, and daddy too!"

when you had looked up with haste, glinting eyes staring up at her with a wide grin, some baby teeth still present, others absent from your gums, yet you displayed admiration no less; your mother just as quickly wipes her red eyes and sniffling nose with the worn sleeves of her sweater and reciprocates your beaming energy with a small smile.

she wishes you'd dismiss her previous melancholic expression, replacing it with the same fond, yet tired gaze she always offers you, wishing you'd be as oblivious to the pain it brings her to see your hopes and dreams of meeting a father you could only admire through a screen or article. yet you're always so perceptive, so interlinked with her reactions that she's sure that one of the few positive traits your father had given you. she should've expected your words, yet her broken heart finds a path to heal whenever you sense her pain and soft a bandage to the cracks of her bleeding scars with your kindness.

you would always be her little flower. the one she'd nurture in a garden filled with rosy bushes and scarring thorns.

"—you're so beautiful, momma, even if you cry because daddy isn't here with us, or you're too tired taking care of me. you're beautiful because you're my mother, and i'll take you over everything in the world..."

and you tell her, an inaudible whisper to your voice, with eyes that were once wide, beaming with joy, now gazing at her with softness like the wind kissing blades of grass in a gentle dance. you look at her, and she stares back, eyeing your chubby cheeks and lips the same shape of hers, the ends of your lashes curves the same way as hers, and your voice matches her like a lullaby when you speak every vowel in a soothing lilt.

you calm the hurt in her chest, replacing it with a mellow warmth. she even forgot the tears that slowly dripped her eyes, all replaced with the comfortable softness of her precious child's palms, smooth and cozy, resting on both of her cheeks as you pepper her crying face with kisses.

she holds both your palms caging her, and allows the your hold to linger for longer. the silence ensues, yet you both embrace the unsaid assurances.

it's times like these where she realizes you encapsulate the beauty of both worlds.

it's moments like this, she sees herself in you, and maybe she could lead herself to believe that she is beautiful, because she sees her beauty through her child, her grace.

the memory only further deepens the guilt in your heart.

if there's one word to describe you now. it would be disgrace. to your father's honor, and your mother's legacy. for easily letting yourself go, for being so weak, for being the line that jumps between two polar opposites of one another; trying to traverse their path of belonging.

you're a disgrace, a mistake, and you deserve to be treated as such.

it was why you never find yourself beautiful. a person such as yourself would always find allure, worth in all things chaotic - you live in gotham after all - but never find that same value in yourself as you look at your reflection that distorts your image even more, making you uglier and uglier the longer you look.

split ends everywhere, hand tangled, reddish eyes from nearly crying again.

even if you beat at yourself, erratic and impulsive, even if your skin is colored an ashen blue and purple, rotten shades of yellow and red, you think of yourself ugly and repulsive.

no matter how much color you try to bring into your bleak, repulsive life, at the cost of hurting yourself to become pretty— every part of you will always be that ugly, little duckling in comparison of your siblings who always outshone you.

dick with his playboy body, jason and his towering one, tim with soft boyish features, damian's silky tan and smooth skin, and duke's baby face.

you couldn't even have your hair frame you as perfectly as steph's light blonde hair does, or share barbara's proportionate face, or look as gracious yet deadly like cassandra.

you're nowhere near as special, you're not like them. you have features too unique, yet out of place, and you couldn't bring yourself to be conventionally good-looking.

you hate yourself so much. you hate every little mole, every little pimple, every damn imperfection that litter your body, making you even lesser than what you already are.

your family; mother, father, brothers and sisters, god, even your fucking friends! every time you sit by them side-by-side, you'd feel insecure, imperfect, an eyesore and you just want to strip away every part of your limbs one by one if that meant replacing it with even better ones; all for the sake of at least feeling pretty.

you remember the first time you tried to find a sense of style, and damian's comment and– god fucking damn it—!

your hands found its way to your brushed hair, tangling itself through already fragile strands to rip at the seams. you don't care, you don't fucking care, you pray to any god out there to get them out of your head, pleas unheard, you're always left to hurt.

"what are you trying to achieve with that, huh? what even are you trying to think with that horrendous color combination? what are you, a clown? even that damned joker has more coordination than you think you could achieve."

in front of his friend, jon kent, with a scowl on his ever-so angry face and his hand already making a way to grip his sword; an absolute threat to dice you up shall you ever bother being in the same room as him.

he said that to you... you're older, you could've been stronger, could've at least found a semblance of fight in your bones. but no! god, no. your life was ruled with fear with damian wayne being the demon haunting you in the manor, always making living harder, making breathing a heavy task.

how could you ever fight back? not when you've conditioned yourself to tear up at the slightest bit of noise, feel goosebumps prick your skin when you hear someone raise their voice at you, and your heart rate hasten at the slide of a knife against any surface?

you! you who's so fucking weak to even make a comeback. you, who ran away with wide, traumatized eyes. because you're scared, so fucking fearful of an even bigger cut to your skin marked by damian— even if you're accustomed to cutting yourself with even deeper gashes.

because it's him that you fear, not the pain, not anymore. just him and his contempt at you for ruining his pure bloodline just by you being his half-sibling.

you don't want a repeat of your first meeting, or any meeting with him at all. not when you'd drown even deeper in a pit of fear every time you stare at his glaring, emerald eyes. one that tells you he chose to merely not kill you out of the goodness of his heart. but he will, god he will if he feels you've been too comfortable in his presence.

every damn time, everytime you feel fear, you see green. you hate green, any literal meaning of it, every implication of itx even seeing it, and fuck! your outfit has green embellishments.

you feel even uglier, yet the twinge of fear immediately overpowers any concern your had with your appearance. it's as if eyes were suddenly on you, and it's not only yours staring at you in the mirror.

your lips wobble, snot began blocking through the passage of your nose.

fuck, fuck, fuck.

why?! why can't you just forget about them all. why, why, why?!

you bite your lips harshly to conceal the pained whimpers from the back of your throat, but it doesn't work. it only makes the fear worse.

tears rim at your eyes, you merely wipe them away. your heart attempts to beat out of its gilded cage, yet you swallow your quivering chokes and proceed to continue staring at yourself in the mirror, dressed in a rush, with nothing to conceal your ghastly eyebags and sunken skin.

and green. you'll see it everywhere now. fuck, would dick send out damian to kill you now? you don't know, you're scared but you can't chicken out, not when your friend is already near to your apartment. god you wish you had beer in your cabinets instead, but you're broke and unprepared for life and your hair's all in a tangle and you just fucking want to die.

your hands grip at the edge of your sink, you look at your mirror and see the blood on your already bitten lips.

not even concealer can cover the damn scars all over your face all through the neck.

calm down.

you stare even deeper at yourself and ignore the green, trying to think of something else—

something less emotionally scarring, like your appearance. even if it brings you great pain, too, you'd rather that than your family. no more of them, fuck, no more. even if you stare at your eyes and see that familiar mix of colors of your mother and bruce's eyes. the shape of your face, even the curve of your brows all resembled your late mother— and you miss her, her captivating beauty that you never saw aged like fine way before she was taken away from you. you see bruce in the strands of your hair and the way it sometimes fray when too stressed. you see them in every image you wish to erase of yourself.

yet your genetics are nothing to them, not when you can't even care for your tangled hair or ashen skin.

even the dead looked more lively than you ever could.

with a pale complexion, with scars that litter all over your shoulders, wrists, and hidden parts of your body, one you're too ashamed to show anybody— it was no doubt that you looked pathetic and erased the beauty that both your parent's cultivated. and it makes you wonder; would it really be worth it?

would it be worth it if the people around you see you?

you with your melancholic eyes, trying to find an escape in a maze you call your mind? you can picture yourself drinking alcohol until you reach the domain of death, sitting in a stool, alone, as you nearly empty the contents of your stomach remembering the sole reason why you're there in the first place.

would it be worth it if all eyes suddenly were on you? they turn to you to gaze at the ugly bruises on your body, they mock your appearance, call you names, look at your sniveling, red nose and warm cheeks intoxicated from all the heavy liquor you'd down, and whisper. they'll whisper insults, slurs, and every known jab until it's all their words that pierces through your eyes, until the loud bass becomes mere background chatter for all the gossips that ensue.

are you actually going to do this right now?

you don't know, you don't know and you wish never cared as much.

all you could really focus on was your eminent goal of getting out of your stuffy apartment, to rid of the paranoia that somehow, you're being watched over in the confines of your four walls and that the familiar image of green will come attack you. the more you think, the more the hairs on your skin start to raise with every known intention to signal you of your anxiety.

eyes, they may be everywhere.

eyes, eyes, eyes. as you stare at your eyes, you try to ignore emerald eyes, they dilute even further. you gulp, yet your focus remains distorted. images flash at the mirror, and suddenly they're here, with you, with their eyes. bright blue for some, dark green for another, and they all gaze at you with contempt. one's hand claws at your throat, the other pins your wrist down on the edge of the sink. the eyes glare, and they never soften. yours merely shook, unblinking as your breathing becomes heavier; trapped in the cages of their wanton staring.

you yelp, then blink. when you did, they're gone. and you're back to looking at the same image of yourself. you grimace slowly.

ugly, with dry skin and falling hairs. the worst version of you, the normal version of yourself— there was never a best version for you.

as long as it's you, you'll never be enough.

all you wanted was to drink with your friends at a club; some working nightshifts at the location you're going to— yet you want to back down. want to take your phone by the corner of your vision and cancel your sudden plans.

but you're scared, you're so fucking scared of any new messages.

hell, even finding the contacts for your friends was a task in itself you wish to never repeat. with jittery fingers trying to type of messages and blurry eyes navigating through the screen of your slippery, glass screen protector.

you're scared, rightfully so.

you're scared to find his message once more suddenly popping up, your fingers accidentally pressing on it like the clumsy swine you are, and rereading that damn heart over and over again.

you slam your dominant hand against the tiled sink, hard and uncaring for the pain it induced all throughout your body. the tremors of the impact shook you to your core, yet you seethe in your breath and don't allow yourself respite to let the tears flow freely from your already red eyes. you feel your heart beating erratically through your chest, the shivers controlling your body, the shrieks that you contained within you— and you enchain them all with no respect for yourself.

you deserve this. you deserve to be hurt, to be punished for your actions, for your mistakes, for your sins.

even if your hand became swollen, splotched with varying shades of disgusting purples and yellows, you won't treat it with medicine. even if the sharp edges of the sink broke the fragile layer of your already scarred palm, and bled profusely with that familiar shade of red; you won't rush to wrap it with gauze or even spare a droplet of betadine. even if by the next day you'd have to write out your overdue assignments with that specific hand, then you'll force yourself to learn through the other and punish yourself again if you fail once more.

you deserve this.

and as your phone pings, lighting up to show you a notification of one of your friend's messages about being ready to pick you up by the lobby of your apartment's ground floor, you ignore your injured hand and the bruises on your knees from falling so abruptly on tiled floors just moment's ago. you dismiss the ache of your head, the soreness of your eyes and the disgusting beat of your heart.

you ignore the pain that wrecks at your entire body, in favor of destroying it even more, just as you deserve.

you don't recall how many shots you had before you're nearly passed out by the bar, sitting on its stool with your head leaning on one both your arms crossed, drool close to slipping out of the corners of your mouth and heavy eyes lidded, about to fall into the depths of sleep.

you're sure you looked wasted, absolutely drop-dead drunk with no thoughts circulating in your head other than the pleasant buzz in your ears and the flash of colors in the disco balls blanketing the entire room with its neon lights. your face must've been an unearthly shade of red, and you can already feel just how blazen it is, and how your fingertips are ice-cold to the touch (probably colder than the marble you lay your arms upon). in other words, you're actually wasted.

and it's so worth it if it means it gets you to forget. and forget you did, because you can't even dig deep into your head to even remember a single memory of whatever grief you went through earlier in your apartment. not even the throb of your head from when you pulled your hair from its roots, all to the way you slammed your dominant hand on your bathroom sink, bruising it with unnatural shades of purples and yellow.

it makes you omit every type of pain, both physically, mentally, and emotionally. it doesn't cure you of your ails, but god forbid you if you just want to savor moments where nothing but a mind numbing headache is the only feeling present in your current state.

the remix of songs were long forgotten in your mind, they all become an amalgamation of miscellaneous sounds. your body is so inclined towards the flat, rectangular cool surface of the marble glass of the bar that you can guarantee you could sleep here, especially since black behan to cloud both your vision and your mind.

everything feels so hazy, and pleasant, and straight-out peaceful that the screaming tandems of equally drunk clubbers and the occasional sobers holding up their friends who sang along with whatever remix the dj comes up with, or the forming crowd as people began to rock and dance to the bass that shakes up the entire floor to the point you can feel vibrations run along your spine— didn't register within the crevices in your mind.

all you can focus on, is the gratifying pleasure ll alcohol induces in your body. gone is the feeling of fear that emanates off of every inch within your body. your bones don't feel as if it's locking up everytime you feel eyes on you, and your throat doesn't certainly feel constricted with the lack of flow of blood anymore.

god, this is why you've never once regret drinking right after the moment you turned eighteen— not when it's positive effects outweighs all the negative emotions that rule over your body.

you couldn't even notice a man with shades (seriously, who wears that to party? isn't the club dark enough?) sitting beside your drunken form in the corner of your eyes, raptured in the thin line between focusing on reality and drifting off to dream world. you don't even bat an eye to his muffled giggles and the way he twisted his stool just to admire the view: you.

you're oblivious to the entire commotion happening within the depths of his mind because you couldn't feel any aptitude to danger right now— thanks to the effects of the hard liquor overtaking whatever fear you've felt being watched long ago.

or maybe you just felt safe beside the stranger. or, you're merely drunk. you don't know.

fuck, you're so close to passing out.

you don't know where your friends are, where they came running off to but you know you won't be getting out her sooner or later and you definitely don't have a ride home. so your only way back without getting ambushed as a completely vulnerable citizen of gotham, is by a safer, more convenient means of a ride— but that certainly wouldn't be safe if your friends are as equally drunk, or even more so, as you. but does your hazy mind care? no. not when you flip your head to rest on the other side once the other side became hotter that you notice a conveniently attractive man staring right back at you with an entertained grin.

as if your existence alone makes him happy. as much as your mind keeps blanking out, that mere implication made your heart pang just a teensy bit. of pain, or pleasure, or mere joy, you don't know. but you do know that it triggered some unknown feelings and you don't want to feel.

you want to drink some more, feeling solemn all of a sudden just from staring at him. you're sure the obvious frown on your quivering lips and the heavy, hot sigh

and it doesn't help that his face seems similar. the longer you stare, the more his grin seems to sharpen. confidently? or shyly? you can't seem to gain a clear image of him; what when rainbow lights are blazing out through the holes of the disco ball and your eyes recently just opened to your near journey to traverse through sleep.

all you can make out to be is his jet-black hair, side bangs framing the left side of his face, a faint outline of an eyebrow piercing

you also took note of his spiky jacket— yet what draws you the most to him are his sunglasses that he chose to wear conspicuously in a damn club of all places.

he's attractive, to say the least, but he triggers a set of emotions deep into the cages of your imprisoned heart that sets itself free. he gives you a sense of nostalgia, of familiarity that you can't pinpoint but feel; like you've seen him before but don't know when. your eyebrows furrow in and your eyes squint at him, unknowing to the judgement you're subjecting him in. your lips wobble, though, because his presence just makes your heart feel something, akin to pain but not quite, and makes your head buzz that you just want to cry as a reaction.

he, the stranger, don't know it, but he makes you all sad, primal emotions overtaking any drunkenness you feel as deep tremors buzzed into the confines of your chest, until all you're doing is staring at him with pouting, downturned lips and sad, puppy eyes; rimming with salty tears.

you don't know why you feel sad all of the sudden, and you can faintly see through blurry, watery vision how his face shifted from entertained to worry, eyebrows raised and eyes wide open at your sudden mood shift.

maybe you or him could've spoken up, you more so, but you're just so emotionally drained and overwhelmed today that you began sobbing silently without breaking eye contact with the man.

despite you wanting to say anything: an introduction, a question opening up as to why he's staring at you, or even a mere phrase telling him to "back off"; the only words that came out from your parched throat, all from trying to reason in your head on what a proper sentence should be, were:

"you're hot," and if you were sober enough, you would've felt sheer embarrassment and shame from eyeing the boy, but you're not— and because you're not sober, or any bit sane, the next few sentences you spewed out were all coherent, yet wonkily pronounced utterances paired with teary eyes and sniffling nose, as you can't seem to control the feelings of melancholy in your heart and the sudden emotional burst from your ramblings.

"thank you, you too, actually— but are you alright-"

"you're so hot, god, please. i don't know..." you gave him no time to speak as you hiccupped, lips wobbling even more than you can imagine. and you're trying your damn best to rid of the urge to punch at your chest as a coping mechanism through the multitude of emotions eating you up and away. but you never realized you were trying for an absolute stranger, palms fisting into itself as he stares at you worriedly all of a sudden.

"like... you're familiarly attractive, i—" the next few sentences were incoherent as your words bubbled around you like detergent soap. your fingers found itself into your face as you try to wipe off both tears and nearly dripping snot as you continued rambling drunkly.

"you just! you're hot, for me, i don't know... i'm just, we all—eughh... i don't know, i'm so sad..." and you truly are, for no reason at all other than seeing the man. poor him, must've felt so ashamed that he's the reason you're crying but at the same time... nothing can really stop you from ceasing your tears.

at least, that's what you've convinced yourself to believe in. that you're truly incurable of the ailment of being constantly depressed with nobody to aid you with your troubles. not even your friends, nor past therapists that you've consulted.

you've nothing to comfort you, and that makes you even more solemn than ever.

the simplest of emotions felt, the deeper and complex you take it out to be. sadness, or moreover depression, the horseman of apocalypse that destroys any hope you've tried to kindle with your life.

it makes you all the more burst into a wave of even more tears.

"... okay, okay, wait here for me, alright?" he suddenly stood up, hurriedly, probably unsure, or disgusted by you. you're unsure about what he's saying, too caught up crying that you simply nod to whatever he said and continued on with your episode.

as you're left alone, you allow your tears to dry only cry once more. when he left you, you weren't aware but you just felt even more lonely. at pushing away the only company you had after your friends left you in the dust, you feel depressed and regretful and all emotions related to grief and you just want to drink some more but you don't know if you can take it anymore!

god, it all returns to pain. pain you thought you could bury deep once you took multiple swigs of alcohol.

pain that makes you want to bang your head against the marble of the bar—

and you're so close to doing so, but only stopped when your blurry vision sets itself on the man returning with a handkerchief and a cold glass of ice water. at his kind gesture, you simply teared up even more, pouting when he walked your way and looked at you with a sheeping grin.

when he sat right back up on the stool seated to your right, he hesitated with his hold on the handkerchief near your face. but the moment he gathered up his pride and pressed it against the unnatural blaze of your cheeks, you merely leaned closer to his palms, eyes closing as you can feel the tears cease itself finally at the blind comfort he's unknowingly providing you.

"there, there... be careful, 'kay stranger?"

he mutters, a light chuckle accompanying him. it's only now you can finally focus on the cool churn of his voice and the , with your eyes close and the haze of your thoughts washing away, leaving you breathless in your respite— not restrictive, nor lonely, but still short of breath.

this reminds you of the times alfred had to hold you in his arms everytime you threw a tantrum at the manor.

it made you realize that the months, a near year even, after leaving the manor, made you crave physical affection. making you feel like a husk of yourself when not given. you feed off of the scraps of physical lovez to the point that even this man who's wiping away the tears from your cheeks makes your heart beat faster, in a comfortable manner.

sensations. he once told you that if you feel too deeply within, then to ground yourself you must feel beyond interior ranges of emotions.

and that's the technique you've been willing away from your head for so long. because it always requires another person in the room to comfort you, to simply touch you softly, gently like you're porcelain the same way the stranger is pressing damp fabric against your tearstained cheeks and hollowed out eyes.

the pain you've felt was because you're merely touch starved. alone, in a space where everyone has someone, and a no one can't have anyone.

but now that you do have a someone, no matter how dangerous he could've been outside of your impression of him, you feel the pain lessen, the heavy burdens become featherlight at his kind gestures of wiping all the salty tears from your face, the runny snot from your nose with no rush whatsoever.

"feel better now, hon?"

"mhm..." a long, drawled out yawn emits from your mouth, yet you're too comfortable with him to even care, suddenly feeling a wave of drowsiness after your emotional episode.

after he finished wiping your face, and felt it considerably cool down from the damp fabric, he placed it on the bar, one hand on your face keeping you stable. yet his other hand promptly went back to your cheeks.

he chose to do this of his own volitions, even leaning closer as your head finds itself slowly dropping to his clavicle (careful to avoid the spikes from his peculiar designed jacket), looking up at him and staring at his gray eyes.

the man looks down at you as you now realize he's cupping your face. at the implication of your entire ordeal with him, you might've felt flustered sober, but you're just so drunk that any spacial awareness for the proximity between your bodies just disappeared and left you with the need to sleep within the confines of the safety this man left you with.

you don't know it, but yet again the man smiles down at your adorable antics, finding the way you're absolutely trusting of a stranger both stupid, yet endearing. because he's no more stranger, and heaven bless him because he's so glad he's the person who approached you rather than anyone else because you looked so cute, and his crush on you may have lead him to stalk you occasionally just to ensure you're safe— that doesn't erase the gesture that he did it purely because gotham is too dangerous for your own good. and he's glad he trusted his human side of intuition, rationalizing with himself that today just seems to be the day you'd bump into danger if he's not there.

you're so stunning up close... how come tim never once found interest in someone as admirable as you is a mystery. but you trusting a stranger in your vulnerable state is much more.

and he's grateful he's that stranger.

because he may be a stranger to you, but a familiar one. and you feel safe, a feeling you haven't felt in so long that you simply just melt against him like clear putty; because you're transparent with what you feel right now.

and right now you feel warmth. not the uncomfortable one that blazes through your (now) cool face when you were drunk, nor the burning one whenever you thought of your family— but a pleasant one. like sitting near a fireplace as you watch the embers crackle, drinking hot cocoa whilst a quilt covers your body from the cold of the winter. you feel this way at his kindness, at his efforts to help you contain your emotions to a reasonable degree.

"what's your name, kind stranger?" you mutter on his chest (how come your head is laying on it, actually?) hearing the soft thumps of his heart. it's warm, he's warm and every bit of comfortable, as he does his best to move slightly back to remove his jacket and drape it over your body before he could reply to you, chuckling whilst doing so because you looked up at him with your eyes conveying every damn emotion that made you feel soft.

"it's conner, conner kent. call me kon, though. or yours if it's you." he purrs. it took you a minute to register his obvious flirting but what comes after is an absolute flush on your body and you recoiling from his hold as you look back at him, mouth agape. the tips of your ears were warm, and every bit of

an overexaggeration to his flirting, sure. it makes you look less appealing in your eyes, extra sure! but it's been so long since someone last attempted to flirt with you; but most were under the guise of when you were still a wayne and... and not as yourself. you! you who sports so many imperfections that—

"haha! is it strange to say that you look so cute whenever you look at me with wide eyes in the short span of time we just met?"

he slides in through your train of thoughts before you could delve even deeper through self-deprecation. and you're glad that he did because... god, he makes you want to shamelessly gloat as a reply. you've never had someone complement your eyes before, actually...

"i'm..." you look back at him after you stared down at your palms, heat overtaking your entire body. yet again it wasn't uncomfortable, and just the right temperature. you stutter your name afterwards, making sure it's your mother's last name that you highlighted implicitly and not bruce's.

he seems to grin even wider when you introduce yourself. that's when his next reply generally warranted you to nearly burst off your seat out of sheer diffidence.

"well," he says your name, tasting every syllable in his pierced tongue. "your name tastes sweet, dove. but i think your face is even sweeter now that you're not crying — not saying that isn't cute too but you're so stunning now that i look closer at you without any barriers. your eyes, especially, they're like some mix doe and siren eyes, or whatever my other friends talk about in social media. point given, you're drop-dead gorgeous in my eyes."

it all comes naturally from him that your brain merely shortcircuited and fried itself comprehending his message, forgetting you were drunk in the first place replacing it with a flush in your heart, the pit of grief and despair replaced with the lighthearted need to banter or reply meekly at his shameless flirting right after he comforted you.

this is the first time you felt something for someone's romantic gestures, instead of that wave of nausea that accompanies you.

he makes you feel... pretty about yourself. in a good way, in a way you don't feel the need to hide your insecurities for once and instead allow his eyes to flitter around your entire face, analyzing your features because... because he simply makes you feel pretty the more he stares at you.

yet all you did was take his hand on your own, a sudden burst of confidence even you couldn't explain, and played with it, as you pouted in reply before thinking— using his hand-now-turned-fidget-toy — of a good enough response.

you simply said, coughing before continuing, "i don't take back what i said moment's ago. you're hot too, even if my vision was obstructed by my tears."

"oh, really?" he smiled gently and allowed your hands autonomy to play with his. it's like telepathy, he knows it's automatic that you crave physical affection and attention and he's willing to provide you that solace.

"now that you're not crying— you think i'm even more handsome?"

you snort at his question, then took a step back with your thoughts to properly study him. neat, yet messy hair, piercing on the eyebrows and on his tongue (hot), sunglasses and spiky jacket draped upon your shoulders— goddamnit, of course he's hot! and you made it efficiently clear that he is, with your hands fiddling pattern against his soft, yet calloused hands, by squeezing it.

"yes, you are even more handsome, kon..." brief and concise, just how you like it. even if he gave you an entire essay describing you in his eyes, for you, you prefer actions; and you did so by simply being affectionate with the stranger, now acquaintance you have a slight crush on.

you'd never expected this turn of events, but it was a pleasant one and one you'd never really want to trade with anything else now that you've met kon.

so when he opened his mouth to spew something else, your ears perked up to listen and your mind, albeit slowly sobering up, prepared itself to reply to whatever flirting, conversation topics, and anything random it is that he wishes to talk about to you.

you smiled at him whilst he talked, he reciprocates as always.

yet this time, you weren't afraid to hide just how joyous you feel, for once, having a person interested in you not only physically but with your interests, too, as your conversations kept shifting to things about you.

it made inclined to learn about yourself, too. and that makes you happy, and fuzzy in the insides the more he asks you questions beyond your favorites. like in movies, he didn't simply just ask your favorites and you replied with an answer and moved on, no! you both discussed the emotional depth it impacted you with, why symbolism matters so much, and why in the near future you'd both inevitably meet up, you'll both watch it together.

that makes you feel excited.

you even forgot the main reason why you're here in the first place; to drink. now, though, it seems like you just wanted to talk to kon all night long.

fortunately for you, that's how the rest of your night went. with a pleasant buzz in the background, the sounds of remixes all drowned out in your ears as you favor the chatters of the man beside you, with the tremor of his voice a comfortable volume and his tone laced with freshly made honey.

when your friends finally ran back to the bar where you all collectively agreed to meet up at once everyone's shenanigans were finished, they giggled drunkenly whilst some sober ones whistled at seeing your hand unknowingly massaging his palms like a stresstoy and the jacket draped upon your shoulders.

the moment you returned it to him, he joked about wearing it every second now since it reminds him of you, and how it's his favorite piece of attire now beyond all his other clothing. you merely blushed and ignored the cooing of your friends behind you.

you didn't feel concerned over not seeing him anymore, as he had given you a slip of paper with his number on it in through a tissue with paracetamol pills wrapped around it (like the thoughtful gentleman he made himself out to be when he excused himself a second time to get those items, since you'd left your phone with one of your friends; you swore you felt a blush creep into your cheeks and heating the tip of your ears), you instead felt a pang of longing and furrowed your brows, looking at him as if asking if you'll see him around anytime soon as he reciprocates with a sure grin that makes you feel a wave of feather like affection.

he left shortly after, striding to you as your group recollects all your stuff and whispering a, "text you later, dove. stay safe for me, alright? don't let any other strangers get to you."

you're glad this night would end on a good note, willing away any prior doubts towards spending the night in a completely foreign street and expecting fir criminals and thugs to break in but no! you can't help but admit that your new... interest, conner, made your night a thousand times better.

and his little nickname for you... haha, you're so flustered thinking about texting him tonight. you'd neglect your assignments for now if it meant messenging him right after you get home, safely, for his sake.

when your group all came outside though, that's when things shifted.

time is a construct. it's complicated and structured like that as well. it can either be too fast, or too slow. when your friends had taken their sweet time to spend the night dancing about the dancefloor, when you'd taken the precious time to flirt and talk to kon; that's when you all collectively realized that their damn cars were stolen.

the air suddenly shifted to this thick atmosphere when you all stepped out, one that can be sliced through with a sword, and you swore—

god, you swore this night couldn't have been any better with the turn of things, but now. right after you got out the club, it all took a turn for the worse.

this is it.

you're going to die today.

you're going to die, in some dirty ditch, your friends nowhere to be found, with nobody to save you.

nasty bruises already began to form on your skin, one with harsher colors of purple, blue, and yellow on your wrists and other patches of skin; way harsher

the man in front of you was gnarly, but you've no time to judge as he kicks you in the guts.

matted brown hair lay atop his head like a bird's attempt at a near, he has an odor that reeks of sewer rats, piss, and feces, and an unruly beard that houses bits of his leftover.

he holds a weapon whose shape you couldn't make out with your hazy vision, body nearly cramping in on itself once he kicked you again.

straight in the abdomen, with brute strenght accompanied by his worn leather boots decorated with glinting spikes that sparkle under the moonlight's glow.

in the abdomen, spikes.

blood first, then curdling pain next.

no noise rips through your ears, only wringing ever present, but your mouth opens, and you can feel its tender chords crack as a scream erupts from your throat, shrill and resounding from the deepest depths of the cockpit your mouth has to offer you; uncaring for the man in front of who who suddenly covers his ears and grits his teeth, who looks at you like you're mad, yet unlike same way his two other lackeys from behind look at your like you're the creation of carnage itself.

pain shot throughout your body, most especially at the core of the holes that pierced through your clothes and right inside your skin. and as your bulging, teary eyes try to look down with an agape, whimpering mouth, his shoes still connected to your body; you could only hold off so much of that familiar taste of acidic bile paired with that lingering scent of cheap booze.

tears were a byproduct of the misery, as it began to escape from your already puffy eyes. when the man released his legs fron pinning you down, your sobs only worsened as your unpinned, shivering arm try its damned best to cover the already leaking blood.

six holes, the diameter of the more than half of your finger, was what you could make out in your line of sight. the blood that leaked from them looked black, you couldn't find where the gradient of black and red connects, your only certainty in this situation was that you'd bleed to death before help could come to you.

the spikes were as long as a toothpick, a crimson puddle lay dripping on the floor.

your legs were shaking against your will, your eyes frantically search around you yet your pinned once more, his larger body framing against your own, providing no room nor qualms for an escape.

but the only escape you wanted was one from the pain of his pressing against your injury, even more blood spilling out of its confines. your tears only hastened its descent from your shaky eyes.

when your mouth opened for the nth time to wail out, he seethed in a breathe and threatened you, with his breath as vile as his entire being, that smells like every mix of synthetic chemicals from cigarette flavors, all expired, with teeth rotting and sporting yellow and black wallpaper.

gross, so gross. you want to die when the stench hits your nose. you shrivel in yourself, you couldn't breath.

"listen here, little bitch, you quiet down or i kill you. and 'ya either give me everythin' you own in your damn possession, or i'll kick you even more until a thousand little holes will fuckin' make you bleed to death, hear me?"

hearing his statement only made the adrenaline pump even more fight of flight into your heart. but you can't do either, you can't, not when you're still hazy from the fucking alcohol and the self defense tools in your tiny pouch were thrown a few feet away from you.

you've nothing to defend yourself.

oh god, oh shit, fuck.

you want to die, you want to so fucking die than go through the same pain of nearly being abducted or held hostage again.

yet your eyes could only close, your teeth kissing your bottom lips, biting hard to drown out another pained scream. whimpers, god, they're so loud yet you can't help the whimpers and the broken faucet from your eyes. even if you beg your own body to stop, it doesn't listen to the pleas of your mind.

the only thing it can focus on is the pain. recreant, volatile pain.

a moan escapes you, shaky and prolonged. the only other emotion that you could experience after is sorrow.

you didn't expect your pleasant night to end off in such a tragic note, but as your attacker held you by your throat with one hand, a knife pointed against your face, the next that happened was your head slammed roughly against the wall; a dull, beating ache lulling the back of your head after the momentary spark of pain— you're reminded that this is reality, and you're close to losing consciousness quick.

you're going to die.

bloody, a sobbing, dissociating mess, with your thoughts spinning around the same way the stranger and his lackeys laugh — bared yellow teeth, with the smell of ichor prevalent in their clothes, predatory eyes leering at you like you're prey — at your drunken moans of pain.

you're going to die.

"well, you gonna answer me or what, bitch? you wanna die!?"

he shouts you with spit that sprays all over your face, flashing you a grin and by extension flashing you his ugly, bared teeth. some missing were in his gums, others were artificial, most rotten like him.

you're going to die.

alone, in a ditch. bloody, laying in a pool of your own crimson the same way you saw your mother drowns in a puddle of hers.

you'll die like her—

what an honor.

the more you think about the situation, the more you're led to believe that the only way to solve this was through death alone, with no restrictions, no buts or ifs. you've no fight left in your body, or any weapon to fight. you're drunk, defenseless and if you actually managed to escape, you'd still bleed to death in some unknown alleyway. if you're lucky, a stray police may find you and give you a proper burial. but you remember you're in the living incarnate of hell in america, you'll never have a proper death.

this was night in gotham. your death alone only adds to the already astounding high percentages of all the other lives lost to the same twisted fate. you were no different. and to die early than to suffer from torture is better.

i mean, who would give a shit if you die tonight, right? your family— wrong! alfred would panic at your disappearance, but he'll forget about you like he did others, you're sure of it. that's why he still chose to fucking serve the wayne's instead of fully taking your side. if he had to choose between saving you or the people he swore his loyalty onto, he wouldn't hesitate. you're sure. even if the thoughts made the doom in your heart heavier. even if you know your story would never be covered nor acknowledged, you still year

but life is unfair, everything is. that's why you're here now, in a dark fucking alleyway with men who'll more than take advantage of your dying body and leave your corpse in the dump after. life is unfair, yet it's even more cruel in gotham. you should've expected this, should've known that a turn of events could be possible. you'll feel regret in the afterlife, only for a life that could've been well-lived, but never for the choice of living through the torture you call being a wayne.

so you came to the conclusion; confident for once after living for thirteen and a half years walking on eggshells around a manor.

this is not as bad as their neglect.

you smile in response to the guy, genuine and filled with grace as your heart that once pounds against your chest now slows down to a calm pace, finally at peace. with no other intention than to rattle him even more, to the point of choosing you to kill with his own hands as brutally as he likes— so you finally take a well deserved rest from life.

you gather saliva at the center of your tongue, ignore the taste of blood that swirls, nor the soreness of your throat and the crimson dripping down your nose.

when he looks down at you, disoriented at what you're doing, you spit at him, all the beating in your heart hastened, yet slowed down as quickly as you heave in a final breath.

... you're finally going to die.

"FUCKING HELL, YOU DAMN CUNT—!"

you close your eyes, bracing yourself for the knife that would hopefully stab you in the face, or the chest, and think of your last thoughts. you thank alfred for caring for you for those thirteen years, you hope you win your mother's graces in the afterlife even if she discovered your deliberate choices for killing yourself in the spur of a moment, and you wish your old family a happy life living without you, even if they already did so for so long.

all you needed was seconds to conclude your prayers.

but they weren't answered as you wanted them to be, not when you open your wide eyes to what was supposed to be a glint of silver piercing through the middle of your face was replaced by a bullet, quick and precise, shooting through his cranium without mercy, body immediately laying limp within those seconds.

the other two behind him were good as dead, too, your savior not wasting any moment to end their lives then and there.

and as you stumbled from the grip released from your body, your torso nearly crumpling in on itself, a flash of familiar, metallic red enters your vision when you'd look up from your savior who's huge form now meticulously acts as your shield from the brutal carnage that lays upon your line of sight and a pillar of protection trying to help you stand from the pain that shot through your lower abdomen.

but you don't want to stand, you want to drop dead right now. you don't want this, you didn't want this to happen.

instead of gratitude, dread fills your lungs with water and your fingers were left to tremor.

he looks down at you, you couldn't make out his expression, but you could feel the anger coursing through his body, the same as the day you first met him when he was still newly rebirthed, like it's telling you of his unadulterated rage at witnessing the scene before him. his body shakes, heavily, and his grip on your hands tighten, a mechanical groan drawling deep from his automated voice banks that changes his voice.

yet all you feel was fear overtaking your entire body prior to the comfort at the prospect of death.

you'd rather die than this.

even you couldn't believe the whimper of his name from your wobbling lips, as your body, out of instinct despite the pain, tried to push itself against the wall, away from him.

he only moves to hold your waste protectively, like a... brother suffocating his younger sibling with blankets when they complain it's cold. overbearing, disgustingly affectionate; you don't want it.

you feel cold.

this day could've been any worse— and it took a turn to the all worse scenarios you could imagine.

"jason...?"

"angel..."

a single familiar name was spoken, yet a new nickname was introduced. angel: the same way jason swore what you looked like when he sped through his motorcycle after hearing a shriek from all across the streets, finding you, bleeding and beaten to a pulp, with your attacker almost stabbing you.

of course, who wouldn't hesitate pulling a gun against someone trying to kill your precious? jason doesn't even need to choose.

and whether he did it in the name of justice and respect to his moral code, or because finding someone with a familiar face, sharing the same hopeless, yet death-accepting expression as he did back when he died— it all doesn't matter in the heat of the moment now.

what matters is that his angel is hurt and the madness in him festers the longer you bleed out in his arms, defiant and fearful all the same.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 11,000+ words. AND I LITERALLY HATE THIS CHAPTER (new least favorite fr) 😭 this decision is so impulsive i gonna regret it soon. chapter 5 will be released after a few days and i promise it has more action than this I SWEAR. first parts are always boring. anyways, there're so many song references in this chapter and for the next chapter. if any of you could guess what they are, i'll be rewarding all of you with something special. otherwise, please leave comments for this chapter! what motivated me to write was reading everybody's comments and inputs, about the love they have for this series as much as i do. interactions, asks, comments, they're all important and dear to me and i heavily appreciate it. so more interaction = more content. after all, i'd rather a post with little likes but with no interaction than a post with no interaction but all likes.

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