#yes its the she-ra dip i LOVE it

[jen-iii]

Rosebird commission request by @anthurak! Thank you so much for requesting me!

[deadsetobsessions]

Pt. 3

Again, the timing is icky but pretty much everything about it is icky.

——

Bruce wondered when Talia al Ghul would stop upheaving his life.

He loves Damian, but one surprise child was a lot, considering the cult deprogramming they’d had to do.

A second, older, surprise child? That was a bit overkill.

At least this time, the conception was consensual.

Bruce cradled his head in his hands, still-gloved fingers gripping onto sweat-soaked hair. The glow of the bat computer shone on his lone figure, sat huddled before endless screens of investigations and the unraveling threads of Bruce’s sanity.

How was he to cope with the knowledge that a child- his child, like Dick and Damian and Tim and Jason and- suffered so at the man he thought he had beaten so soundly?

It was his fault, Bruce thought, that Ra’s al Ghul tortured his… Bruce’s… daughter so brutally. It was no doubt, a way to assuage his anger at Bruce’s denial of being his heir.

His mistakes always came back to haunt him, but it never laid its furious eyes and hands on his own person. No, when Bruce made mistakes, his loved ones paid for it.

He tried his best, pushed harder as Batman, in penance. But this… his unknown daughter, trapped in the shadows of the league where it is cold and cruel and brutally painful…

How could he repent for the sin of letting his daughter suffer and chained at the hands of Ra’s al Ghul? How could he show her that the shadows could be kind? That he would rather break his own spine and get lost in the time stream again before he could even fathom hurting her? He found himself stuck in the same loop of thoughts that plagued him when Damian first came into his orbit.

The screens turned black, and Oracle’s call sign flashed onto the dark pixels.

“Oracle. I hadn’t finished looking at the cases.”

“Go to sleep, Bruce.”

“No, there is still work to be-” his voice, dipping into the growl, died a quick death when Barbara cut him off.

“Your daughter is coming tomorrow. So, unless you want to look like a disheveled grease racoon when you meet her, go shower and get some actual sleep.”

Bruce paused, feeling oddly offended. His eye bags weren’t that bad.

Bruce caught sight of his reflection in one of the blacked out monitors.

…Nevermind.

He sighed. “…Thank you, Barbara.”

“Anytime, Bruce. I’m always here to kick your ass into gear.”

Bruce huffed, but obligingly got up to change and shower. Alfred silently appeared at the elevators, polished shoes tapping against the stone floor as he raised an imperious eyebrow at Bruce.

“I see Miss Barbara has managed to persuade you to retire at an hour common to regular man, Master Bruce.”

“Ah, yes, she… did.” Bruce felt the urge to apologize, because if Alfred’s up because of him, it’ll wear down harsher on the older man’s health. If there was one thing he took seriously, it would be the health of his loved ones. “Sorry, Alfred. I’ll head up to bed soon.”

“See to it that you do, Master Bruce. I will warm dinner that you had missed by many hours and bring it to your room.”

Bruce lingered as the butler turned around and began making his way back to the main house.

Alfred paused and turned around once more. “If I may offer you some advice?”

“Please. Always.”

Alfred sniffed delicately, most definitely thinking of the times Bruce decided not to take his very well reasoned and seasoned advice. “You have done well with Young Master Damian.”

“Most of that was Dick,” Bruce interrupted, man enough to admit that he wasn’t a present or a particularly good father figure before his jaunt through time and space. Alfred shot him a chiding look, reprimanding him for interrupting. Bruce rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Perhaps, but you have put in effort towards all of your children in a way that I have yet to see since Master Jason had… gone.”

“I’ll never make that period of time up to Tim.” Bruce whispered. Another thing he was guilty of. Tim still avoided some spaces in the manor, even when Bruce had-

“That is because you sit here, wallowing in your guilt,” Alfred returned. He added a belated “Master Bruce,” and it sounded like ‘you utter buffoon.’

“But…”

“You must take the first step, Master Bruce.”

“What if she hates me? What if I’m not ready- what if I can’t help her?”

“You will try. She deserves that, at the very least. You must try. Even if you are not ready for the day, Master Bruce, it can not always be night.”

“… You’re right.” Bruce straightened his shoulders. Time doesn’t wait. He, of all people, knew that.

“You will find that I am hardly ever wrong.” Alfred primly rested his hands atop each other.

“Thank you, Alfred.”

“Of course. It was also meant literally, Master Bruce, for the sun shall try its best to peek out of Gotham’s smog in approximately three hours and fourteen minutes.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Bruce grouched.

——

Her mother gave her a slow, cautious hug, akin to approaching a wild animal.

She huffed, and pulled her mother into a crushing hug. She allowed herself, for the first time in a long time, to linger and cling onto her mother’s shirt. Another tendency that Ra’s had thought he’d beaten out of her.

“Be careful,” the reincarnation whispered.

“You as well, my beloved daughter.”

‘You do not have to remind me that I am beloved, mother. I know.’

Talia al Ghul tucked a strand of the reincarnation’s curled hair behind her ear. “No, I do not believe that you do. But that is… my own fault. I will tell you and remind you that you are beloved to me as long as I can. I have two decades of it to make up to you, habibti.”

The flight attendant- a League operative- returned from placing her bags onto the private plane.

——

A sleek car made its way up Wayne Manor’s winding driveway. She’d declined the offer to pick her up from the airport. She had wanted a vehicle of her own, and some time before she met every one else. No doubt, knowing what she knew of her brother and Bruce Wayne, not to mention the little photographer, they were most likely tracing her path to Wayne manor obsessively.

She tapped her nails on the wheel as she drove towards her brother. Brothers. And… Bruce Wayne. On one hand, she’s kept them safe. On the other, she’d sacrificed years of getting to know them. It was odd, to feel this intensely awkward and nervous after years of intense hatred or apathy sprinkled by the the occasional love and fondness for Damian and her mother.

“Hmmm.” She hummed, slight smile spreading a bit more as the sound came out without pain. Two weeks, and the novelty of freedom had not worn off. She thinks that it would never wear off. She cherished it.

The gate had opened without needing a code, so they most definitely knew she was here. It’s a good thing she had prepared gifts in advance. Dodging Gothamites as they drove and jaywalked had been a rather unforeseen ordeal that she was not looking forward to repeating.

She rolled to a smooth stop at the front doors, giving the intricately carved oak doors a passing glance. She huffed a laugh as she saw Damian, flanked by Bruce Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth, staring proudly outside at the front door. They’re anticipatory of her arrival. Warmth spread through her heart, and for the first time in a long while, it wasn’t the heat of rage.

She opened the doors with a quiet click and hiss, stepping out onto the heated paved driveway, and closed the door. At the steps, the two older men had frozen but Damian had come walking quickly towards her.

“Damian,” she whispered as he came near her, suffusing as much fondness as she could into his name. Her little brother all but sprinted towards her, screeching to a stop in front of her with excited eyes.

“Welcome to Wayne Manor, ukhti.” He said formally. Her eyes softened and she pulled him into a hug.

(yā waṭawāṭī alṣṣḡīr is the phonetic spelling.) ("وطواطي الصغير" is the actual spelling. I think.)

“I have missed you, ya wat-wat alssgirr,” she whispered. The familiar endearment, “my little bat,” rung warmly like a warm crease ruffling his hair. The silks of her clothes and the ever present warm sand and candle scent wrapped around him like a hug… like the hug she was currently giving him.

(Her clothes were in blues and silvers. It suited her, she who had been forced in green and golds and cuts of black.)

“I still can not believe you all but told me who father was and I still could not figure it out until mother told me.”

She pulled back. ‘Damian, you were five.’

“I have little doubt you were smarter at my age, ukhti, so do not lie to me.” Damian grumbled. Nevertheless, he stepped back.

‘No, you were smarter.’

And to her, he was. It’s not like Damian had the edge she did, and he wasn’t the one trapped for twenty something years. She had foolishly thought that Ra’s wouldn’t dare to harm her too much, seeing as she was his blood, but Damian knew from day 1. She made sure he did. If she was half as smart as Damian, she would have bent her knee and obeyed, no matter how she felt about killing. She would have taken warning Ra’s issued and soaked in the poisonous praise to bide her time to escape. She could not- she did not- do what Damian found effortless, and paid the price for it.

“Unlikely,” Damian said, turning around fully, but she could see the tips of her brother’s ears burning. Ah, perhaps she had been to stingy with compliments if he was shy hearing a mild one, sincere as it might have been. “This is Alfred Pennyworth. He is the butler, and an integral part of the family.”

Damian glanced at her, taking in her suddenly impassive face, and nods. Good. His attitude towards Pennyworth when he first arrived was… mildly shameful. His ukhti was smart enough to know that and therefore he won the argument.

On her part, the reincarnation followed along like she hadn’t mildly stalked this family for decades. It was nice to see excitement rearing on her brother’s face. It was rare in the league and Gotham’s gloom had ironically cheered him up far more than the suns of desserts ever did. She nodded at Alfred Pennyworth, who had admirably recovered from his earlier shock.

“And this is… Bruce Wayne. Our father.”

She tucked a strand of curled hair back, impassive blue eyes meeting her… father’s.

She offered him a short nod.

——

“My word,” Alfred Pennyworth muttered as his charge’s (his son’s) daughter step out of the car. Her steps were silent, graceful, and lighter than a gazelle.

The way she moved, even as she hugged young master Damian, whispered of leashed lethality and treacherous waters. She moved like if grace had a form and Alfred was willing to bet his entire career that not an iota of air got close to her without her knowledge of it, and it reminded the aging man of the young Miss Cassandra. He knew then, that she could have pretended to be unassuming and that he would have had a hard time equating her with danger. That she showed them her potential for death was a sign of trust.

But it was not the way she claimed death as her own name that caught the former spy’s attention.

No.

It was her blue eyes and the way they ever so slightly crinkled fondly as she laid eyes upon her younger brother. It was the way her hair, curled in a nostalgic style, that curtained her face as she spoke to the young Wayne heir, though he could not hear her voice. It was the way that she tucked Damian against her side, protective but encouraging.

It was the way that she, despite Talia al Ghul’s features, resembled his dearest friend, Martha Wayne, in her every movement.

Alfred Pennyworth felt like he was decades younger, standing before Martha as she fondly tucked Bruce against her side and successfully needled Thomas into going to see Bruce’s favorite movie.

It felt like he had his best friend once more, just a little.

From the way Master Bruce stared, it seemed as though he thought the same.

Alfred straightened when young master Damian introduced him. He was the Wayne Family Butler. And she was definitely a Wayne.

Master Bruce stood there like a lout as his daughter greeted him. Alfred shot him a scathing look- he had taught Master Bruce much better manners than to gape, the nerve!- before smoothly directing the attention away. His hands moved as he spoke.

“Welcome to Wayne Manor, Miss-”

She made a sharp motion to cut him off and signed something. Alfred might be a tad rusty in Arabic sign language (like he and the rest of the family hadn’t spent the last two weeks frantically memorizing and brushing up on their sign language) but he knew a name sign when he saw one.

“al Ghul.” Damian recognized. He did not use regular Arabic Sign Language with her often, vastly preferring their own established sign, but that did not mean he slacked. “You may call her al-Ghul.”

‘Or nothing at all,’ Damian’s sister signed. She looked at him like she was waiting. A test, Alfred realized.

Alfred pushed the slight twinge of disheartening disappointment away. He had wanted to call her Miss Wayne, to perhaps indulge in a bit of nostalgia for a while longer. But he shan’t do it at the expense of his charge.

“Miss al Ghul,” he continued, not missing a beat, imitating the name sign with pin point accuracy. She lifted her chin. Alfred sighed in relief. He passed. And now, perhaps he should revive Ra’s al Ghul and have a nice, entirely civil conversation about Miss al Ghul’s expectation that her wishes would go ignored.

Alfred will bring his shotguns and most likely would abandon pretenses as soon as that old goat got into his crosshairs. Old as he might be, he was still a very good shot, and civility was reserved for those with honor.

“Please head inside. I am sure young master Damian would love to guide you on a tour,” Alfred continued like he didn’t think of violent second deaths for Ra’s al Ghul. “Perhaps Master Bruce will join you, if you are amendable, once he has managed to stop imitating the rather life like form of a smooth brained sloth.”

Alfred congratulated himself on the small crinkle of humor that graced Miss al Ghul’s otherwise expressionless face. Well, expressionless to those that did not know where to look. Fortunately, Alfred and the rest of the family were used to stoic caveman micro expressions, courtesy of Bruce, and therefore it would not be much of a problem.

“I will bring your bags up to your room.”

She scrutinized him and then dipped her head.

‘Be careful. There are dangerous things in there.’

“I assure you the utmost privacy in regards to your belongings,” Alfred said.

“Pennyworth will not peruse your belongings, ukhti. He has more honor and respect than that.”

Alfred would like to interrogate Talia al Ghul to see who he must introduce some lead to, that clearly disrespected Miss al Ghul’s privacy like so. But for now, he will bask in the warmth of young master Damian’s implicit trust.

Miss al Ghul nodded. She opened the trunk of the car- the interior of which Alfred could now perceive to be entirely customized and of extremely quality material. She handed the keys and gave him access to her luggage. Then, placing her hand at young master Damian’s shoulder, followed the young master into the halls where she ought to have been raised. Or, at the very least, ought to have taken a step in at least once before today.

Master Bruce lingered at the doorway, torn between following the siblings and helping Alfred with the luggage (read: running away.)

“The daylight is wasting, Master Bruce.”

Master Bruce skittered in behind them like a newborn colt, wobbling and anxious.

Well, it’s time for Alfred to do his job. There was only a single duffle bag.

Hm. He’ll have to tell Master Bruce to take her out for necessities. He hardly doubted that a single bag could last her very long. And Alfred Pennyworth was hellbent on convincing his granddaughter to stay, may the gods have mercy on whichever poor soul that tried to convince her otherwise for he won’t.

——

She followed Damian as he led her deeper within the walls of a home she knew by heart from afar. She was like the little photographer in that way. Bruce Wayne trailed behind them like a particularly awkward ghoul, and she found it amusing to equate this turtle necked man was the illustrious Dark Knight. How dangerous.

“This is the first parlor. It is for guests of the… regular persuasion.”

Ah, for the civilians. She nodded.

“Ah, the silverware was selected by Alfred.” Bruce interjected, gesturing to the display silverware by the door. Their cabinets were intricate without taking away from the paintings upon the delicate ceramic.

She looked at him, wondering why he was following before giving up and nodding. It was his house.

(Bruce, for his part, felt like his daughter had laid judgement upon him… and found him lacking.)

‘It is… adequate.’ She sighed to Damian. Damian tutted.

“It’s fine to say quaint, sister. It could hardly compare to the palace.”

Bruce jolted, plans for converting the manor into a palace already in the making.

No, he couldn’t. Alfred would murder him with his favorite dish.

‘I like it, even if it is smaller.’

“….you do?”

‘You are happy here. It is warm to you. I like it.’ She repeated.

Damian latched onto her sleeve. “I- I shall show you my art. And then introduce you to the rest of the bumbling fools we have for brothers-”

She tilted her head. Bruce paused as well when Damian’s words cut off.

“If… you want them as brothers. It would be… helpful, to integrate.”

She waited.

“But… I am the first. Your blood. And-”

‘I will make room in my heart for them, if you wish it. I already know some of them.’ She allowed a small smile to show. ‘But that does not mean you will ever lose your place, little bat.’

Damian felt extremely thankful that father had not managed to pick up their version of sign language yet.

“Well… as long as you’re aware.” He marched further into the manor. She followed, once more, a look of fond indulgence gleaming in her eyes.

——

She stood in front of a painting her younger brother had done.

‘I made it two weeks ago,’ he’d told her, fingers curled into her palm.

It was green. She hated green. And gold. And ominous. Rage. Harsh, bold strokes and spots where the texture of the canvas were either globbed over or painfully showing through.

Her hands traced the single stroke of blue amidst the turbulence of green.

She tucked Damian against her side and realized that perhaps he understood after all, what it felt like. Perhaps not all of it, but enough.

——

“Here is your room, ukhti.” Damian stood watch as his sister scanned the room. She quickly removed three listening devices as Damian sighed.

‘You’ve gotten better.’ She crossed the room and plucked the listening bug from its place on the door frame.

“Clearly not good enough.” Damian huffed. “But I have beaten your knife game record. What do you think of the room?”

His sister rolled her eyes and handed him a blade she pulled from somewhere on her person.

An implicit challenge.

“No cutting your fingers off, please.” Father interceded.

“Begone, father. We are doing sibling bonding, something I remember you insisting that I participate in.”

Damian shut the door on his stupefied face, matching his sister’s sharp smirk as he splayed his hand on the dresser and raised the blade.

——

Alfred walked in with a covered plate and paused at the sight of the dresser.

Then, he looked on as Damian sat at the desk, rapidly signing to his sister in their own version of the language as said sister pulled out an entire wardrobe and a half to fill in the walk-in closet.

Alfred made a note to study some more magic.

“Miss al-Ghul. I bring you a snack that young master Damian made and to inform you that the others will be arrive en masse, within an hour.” Alfred paused. “Might I interest you in a mat before the two of you decide to… take a gander at furniture redecoration in the future?”

“Of course, Pennyworth. Apologies.”

“I’ll try to make sure they won’t overwhelm you. They can be a lot, at once.” Bruce said from the doorway. Miss al Ghul glanced at him and dipped her head in thanks. Her eyes wandered right back to the dessert.

Alfred made another note.

‘You made this for me?’ She asked, switching to standard.

Damian grumbled. “Do not eat it. I could not get the spice quite right, no matter how many variations…”

‘I am sure it will be good.’ She took the plate from Alfred’s hand and uncovered it.

They all had the fortune of witnessing a true, genuine wide eyed smile from a stoic face.

Alfred inhaled sharply. He had thought Master Bruce and young master Damian had inherited Thomas’ dimples. But she had inherited his entire smile.

‘Bstilla!’ She turned to Damian. ‘My favorite! You made this?’

“I know that. I am not incompetent as to not notice when you snuck three of them from the palace kitchens. You must give me the recipe from the cooks. I could not get it to taste like the spices they used. I even imported spices!”

Miss al-Ghul, like she had forgotten he and Master Bruce were there, stabbed a fork into the pie and put it into her mouth.

“Ukhti! Don’t- do not eat that! Spit it out! The pastry is too thick and-”

She held up her hand. ‘It’s good. I know what it is missing.’

She strode to her magic bag and pulled out a bottle.

She sprinkled flakes on top and offered a forkful of b’stilla to the young master who, shockingly, did not insist on his own utensil.

His expression lightened. “This is it. What is it? You know of the chefs’ methods?”

She sprinkled the mysterious spice on the food. ‘You’ve never eaten anything the chefs have made. I made your food by hand to prevent assassinations and inoculate you against toxins. Also, this is poison.’

Alfred stiffened.

“It’s what?!” Bruce spoke up, rushing into the room, finally to try and look Damian over.

‘It is fine. He has been immune since he was three.’

Miss al Ghul placed a piece of poisoned b’stilla in her mouth and ate. Young master Damian batted his father off, saying that poison inoculation was hardly a surprise. What was a surprise, though, was something else.

“That is- you- you’re the one who made my meals?” Young Master Damian demanded, looking guilty. “But- I- why did you not tell me? I made all of those demands in the middle of the night- what about the time I sent back the knafe fifteen times?”

She nodded.

“Why would you- why did you not tell me?”

‘You knew what grandfather thought of women. And besides, it was the only time I was allowed sweets. He did not want me to ruin my figure as it would lower my marketability.’

Alfred itched for his gun.

“You are not a commodity,” Master Bruce stated, intense as he tended to be. Miss al Ghul blinked at him.

‘… I am aware. But… thank you.’

“Ah. Yes. Of course.” And there went the emotionally intelligent Master Bruce. May he rest in peace until the next time he decides to make an appearance.

“I believe today is a chocolate chip cookie day, do you not, young master Damian?”

“Yes, Pennyworth, I believe it is.”

‘I have never tried it before.’

“You will love it. Pennyworth’s cookies are the best in the world, as is expected.”

Alfred watched as young master Damian tugged his sister out and marveled. The sides of his grandson they rarely get to see was so easily pulled out by his older sister.

——

Y’all I wanted to write her meeting the siblings but Alfred came out of no where and went haha nope feel the angst of a man who lost his best friend and had to raise her vigilante child.

Alfred, seeing Bruce put on the bat cowl for the first time: martha, why have you forsaken me

——

Me: what would baby assassins play as a binding game?

Me, remembering my past as a kid: I Spy, but with trackers and bugs. oh wait… THE KNIFE GOES CHOP CHOP CHOP

——

Also, I think B’stilla was food meant only for royalty and was probably rooted in slavery, so I thought it would be a meaningful nod to her position of privilege and how she are like a king but was treated as a… bed warmer and a slave. Yeah. If anyone knowledgeable on food history wants to school me on b’stilla, feel free to do so. I did like, a cursory research at best.

[spacedace]

Fuck whatever DC is doing with the al Ghul's characterizations and story lines, I've decided that from now on the al Ghul's are gonna be DC's version of the Addams Family instead.

Now I don't mean just give the various al Ghul's the exact personalities of the various Addams and call it a day. That's boring, that erases all the interesting parts of the al Ghuls, that's just using "find & replace" and not actually adding anything. I mean give them the vibes of the Addams Family.

Keep the al Ghul's as the al Ghul's with all their scheming and machinations and world domination attempts but give them all the unhinged energy, the casually insane view of the world, the deranged levels of love and devotion for family. Make them that group where objectively they are batshit insane but also you cannot argue with the fact that they are indisputably the most stable and functional family in the entire universe.

They're creepy, they're kooky, they're mysterious and spooky. Ra's many opulent homes and impenetrable fortresses are a museum and the al Ghul's really are a screa-um whenever people come to see-um (or when they lay waste upon their enemies in a surprise attack that has been planned for months and is just the first domino in a series that will ultimately lead to achieving a far greater goal).

They all love each other and want each other to be happy, they express this primarily with stabbing and murder attempts (its fine, death is a thing that happens to other people).

And forget the League of Assassins being a cult. Just make the whole vast globe spanning organization a collection of cousins/aunts/uncles/dear old friends ect. No one (not even the al Ghuls, if they cared to keep track of such things) is sure who is actually related to them and who just got absorbed into the ever expanding family tree based on their vibes being right.

(Is Sensei Ra's father you ask? Well he's certainly someone's father - probably.

Anyway have you heard about Cousin Cheshire? Despicable poisoner of a young woman, capable of the most horrific things imaginable - yes she is the sweetest dear. Like I was saying though, she just had a baby!

Everyone in the family is just so excited to throw a baby shower to celebrate! Ubu has really gone all out with the spike traps, he does so love getting to welcome a new addition to the family.

Talia of course has cultivated a brand new strain of the most toxic plants imaginable to make a brand new kind of necrotizing poison. You know, as a nice little romantic gift for Cousin Cheshire and that young man of hers. It really is so important to make sure you take time for you and your partner to go on dates and have a few pitched battles to the death on dark rooftops in the pounding rain when you have children.

Now there is some to-do about it all of course, you know how family get together can be. Everyone is arguing over who should get to give little Lian her first weapon and what it should be. Nyssa is pushing for grenades but Ra's is insisting on a sword - he's traditional like that you know - but Dusan has the vote so far on throwing knives. You know the kind that have the little divots along the edges of the blades them to make it easier to get the poison you dip them in to stick.)

I'm just saying that the al Ghuls should be a delightful cross between the Bond Villains they were originally conceived as and the lovingly unhinged Addams Family. It just feels correct in my heart.

(Again keep the interesting aspects of the characters and the nuances of who each of them are like their drive to save the world through destroying humanity and their strong environmentalist leanings and their constantly playing 5D chess and everything, but like, take away the racism and the cartoonishly evil for no reason bullshit and give them some fun feral energy to go along with it).

[meowww-ffxiv]

That Mordred was so nearsighted the world beyond seven yalms around him was a blur was, and always would be, an amusing shock to people who just found out.

Theodore once thought Mordred's refusal to wear corrective eyeglasses outside of delicate crafting was along the same vein of stubbornness that prevented him from telling people he had asthma unless he thought it would become a physical liability. Maybe it was. Mordred's mulishness zigzagged some...strange lines Theodore could not always understand, keen though they were to each other's feelings thanks to their Echoes. But really, by this point? He knew the cat kept the "I can't see" card in his sleeve for comedic effect.

And because he always produced those binoculars-on-a-stick with which he used to espy far-off things clearly with such a flourish so as to constitute an arcane gesture, Theodore knew for a second fact that he enjoyed settling into a mood of nosiness.

"You are so dramatic," Theodore said, not looking up from his book. Behind him, the couple having the loudest breakup in the Northern Empty, right there on the far end of the Last Stand, had kicked it up a notch. "You know they are only twenty steps away and could very well take their business over here and fling you into the ocean?"

Mordred lifted the binoculars from his eyes for a moment to give Theodore a look. "They're not going to," he said with certainty. "Not when they're getting that heated. What's a thesis defense? Why does it matter that the fellow failed his?"

Theodore shrugged. He had only two weeks to finish this Hingan martial arts novel before he needed to return it to Hancock, but it was becoming impossible to concentrate.

"You're just like all the other boys!" the young hyur woman screamed, her voice cracking with passion.

A table over, a gleaner leaned over and told Mordred, "A thesis defense is like a final, presentation-style quiz from a chosen committee to make sure the scholar who wrote the thesis they were defending was actually knowledgeable in their field. It is a formality, really. The thesis would have been approved before then."

"That's a good way to verify their expertise," Mordred replied.

"A tropical storm must be on its way to Old Sharlayan if you are complimenting anything this country does," Theodore said.

"Yes, well, you're just like all the other girls!" the Au Ra boyfriend who failed the pre-described formality shouted back. "Shallow and clout-chasing and--"

"Don't you dare!" his soon-to-be-ex shrieked.

Mordred put the binoculars back over his eyes. With the other hand, he fumbled around the table.

Theodore looked up from his novel long enough to pull the cup of hollandaise sauce away from the danger of dirty fingers dipping into them, then pushed the plate of cashews under Mordred's questing reach. He popped two of them into his mouth with a grunt of thanks.

"Poor fellow," the gleaner sighed. "Risch is a brilliant young man. It's well known to everyone that he is a terrible speaker, though. The lad probably lost his nerves during his thesis defense and bombed it that way."

"That's a shame," Mordred said with real sympathy.

And then, in a truly gender-roles-defying moment, the Auri young man named Risch started bawling.

"Oh pumpkin," said his almost-ex-but-apparently-not almost immediately. "Oh, sweet love. Come now."

Theodore closed the book and set it aside, then turned sideways in his chair to very surreptitiously look at the couple. There was no denying this unfolding drama was more fun than his novel, at this point.

The hyuran young woman had circled around the table and had her arms around her boyfriend, who was still sobbing hysterically with his hands over his face. She must be saying something because Theodore saw his horns bob up and down as he nodded, but could not make out the words.

The tables around them, naturally all occupied because this was the Last Stand, seemed to relax. One girl dressed in red scholarly robe two seats over started clapping, only for her blue-robed friend to quickly punch her in the arm.

"Ah, young love," the gleaner sighed. "Hopefully, that will be their last fight in awhile."

"I--" Mordred was interrupted by a fit of coughing, because of course he would, he just ate cashews, he coughed when eating most nuts, but did he order a plate of it? Yes. Theodore sighed and poured him a glass of lemonade from their pitcher and handed it to him.

Then he picked his novel back up.

"You're not the least bit stirred by that?" Mordred asked him, squinting over the lip of the glass. "Pretty cold."

"We used to see that weekly in the Scholasticate," Theodore replied as he flipped to the last page he was on. Depressingly closer to the beginning than to the middle, let alone the end. Maybe he should just have sex with Hancock and slip in an extension to this book-borrowing in the afterglow, at this rate; make it two treats for the hassle of one trip to Kugane. "The youngsters here have nothing on the youngsters from prestigious Halonic backgrounds. Our grudges resulted in girls ripping out their rivals' fingernails."

Mordred said to the gleaner, "I heard there was a study about the effect of prolonged lack of exposure to sunlight resulting in clinical insanity. D'you know anything about that?"

Theodore sighed.

[amesstm]

haikyuu boys and girls as roommates

Characters: hopefully as many as I could get lol

A/N: this is kind of in a college setting since I’m in a dorm rn lol

Hinata: a genuine sweetheart who tries his best to be quiet if he returns late from practice but will accidentally trip on something and cause a ruckus anyway. He brings a lot of random snacks to the room and demands that you join him at house parties with his friends because you “need to get outside more and not just study!”

Kageyama: he fights you over how a bed should properly be made. To use the bed sheets or not to use the bed sheets. He only uses the fridge for one thing: milk. A lot of milk. When he starts developing lactose intolerance, you’re the first one to know 😬

Tsukkishima: this boy loves his books. He will probably have a whole bookshelf of them (with many that he hasn’t even read) but still buys more, which kind of gets onto your side. Otherwise, he studies in a coffee shop or the library, so you don’t see him often.

Yamaguchi: he’s nice to you, but is generally quiet, especially if you’ve done something wrong. Non-confrontational and only brings one guest: Tsukki. Tsukki will probably be the messenger pigeon for you two if Yamaguchi wants something - which is probably as simple as just wanting you to vacuum this week because he can’t.

Daichi: this dad will literally ask where you are at all times if you’ve been gone for over an hour (if he knows that you’re not in class). Perhaps it’s the fatherly instincts kicking in but he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you. Once you’ve agreed to take self-defense classes with him, he lays off a bit

Sugawara: the first time you met him, he had a dish full of cookies. He’s an A+ student in the honors college and already doing research. He’s the official mom friend and therapist of the whole floor. Someone please just make him the RA 🥺

Asahi: the first time you met him in person, you immediately thought that you hit the jackpot of having a body guard for a roomie. Nope. He can’t even go to the bathroom by himself at night without trembling in fear. He also had a hard time meeting new people.

Ennoshita: he’s a pretty good roommate and tries to help you when you’re having trouble. Super reliable, got you medicine when you were sick. If you two have the same classes, he takes notes for you if you’re not there 😩

Tanaka: he’s crazy. He will probably keep you up with his gaming - because this boy screams a lot. Will also have posters of girls everywhere. I see him joining a frat just to see what it’s like before dipping out because he didn’t like their stupid rules.

Nishinoya: The same as Tanaka but I don’t see him joining a frat - would probably do a lot of study abroad so you don’t see him a lot. He brings back weird trinkets though - like one time he brought back an old sword that he found off the coast of some island?? Like how did you get it back without it being taken away by the airport security???

Kiyoko: the best roommate. She’s very tidy and offers the best advice. You two have a spa day after exams because it’s your guys’ time to relax and socialize once again after being stuck to notes and textbooks weeks prior 🧖🏻‍♀️

Yachi: will probably cry if you ask her to do more of her chores along with you. She feels so bad every time that she forgets something. This girl is super sweet otherwise but you might live by yourself next year

Kuroo: sometimes you’re studying peacefully and then you hear a loud laugh behind you that makes you super concerned. No, it’s just this idiot laughing at a meme. Or he’s terrorizing Kenma. Yes, there is an in-between.

Kenma: he’s quiet while he games, so that’s respectable in its own right. You do worry when he doesn’t wake up for exams, though. Honestly, he is your personal cat - always sleeping or not paying much attention to literally anything

Lev: he’s the resident ladder of the floor. He’s the one people go to when they need help reaching for something. Unfortunately, the RA has found him on the bathroom floor after he hit his head on the shower head 😳

Alisa: she will dress you up like her personal doll. She probably pulls you out of your comfort zone - encourages you to wear that shirt or skirt that you were always scared to wear. She’s the big sister everyone wishes for

Oikawa: bruh - he’s so dramatic that he’ll just talk about all of the floor gossip and drama to you. Like sir, we are in college, get it together. His grades will also be just above the requirement to be on the volleyball team

Iwaizumi: he’s a good roommate, probably wouldn’t interact with you unless he had to tbh. I imagine that he’s out of the room a lot to practice. He will do yoga in the middle of the room, though

Aone: you low key wanted to transfer to a different room entirely when you first met him. So scary??? “-_-“But he’s actually super nice and a good roomie. He just seems like the type of person to stock up on mochi tbh

Futakuchi: please omg he’s so competitive. He will ask you about your grades if you’re in the same major. “What do you mean you got 5% more than me?!” Please chill out we are all struggling here 😭

Bokuto: luckily, this loud boy is usually with Kuroo. Otherwise, when he’s in the room, he will ask you questions about homework all of the time. Seriously, how did he get into college? 🤔

Akaashi: he spends most of his time in the dorm. He joins the college’s newsletter to write and when he’s reporting, that’s the only time he leaves… unless it’s to save Bokuto from doing something stupid

Ushijima: he’s usually gone. Early morning run, practice volleyball, go to classes somewhere in between, and then do another run sometime in the afternoon. The only time you’ve ever seen this man rest is in the night when he’s about to sleep

Semi: when he thinks that he’s alone, he likes to sing. You see him with his AirPods in most of the time when he studies. He’ll always want to share his Spotify playlists with you. You discover that he loves Indie, lofi, and underground artists

Tendo: this boy joined the chocolate club and gives you whatever he can take. Some people might think that he’s weird, but you love him. You two would fight for each other if necessary 😤

Shirabu: not afraid to call you out if you didn’t do your chores. If you ever ask him for help on homework, be prepared to have the same treatment from your dad when you asked the old man for help with math

Goshiki: he’s so innocent but if he thinks that you’re cool, he’ll try to copy you. You’ll probably need to help him find himself and his style. You also tell him to change his hair style

Terushima: you forgot he was your roommate. He’s usually found at the biggest party on campus. He’s also probably been initiated into a frat - and has probably taken control of said frat. Terushima is a PIKE and I won’t accept any other frat 🥳

Daisho: a whole snake. Periodt. Don’t tell him anything. 🐍

Sakusa: clean freak - obviously. He won’t let you even do chores because he doesn’t trust you to “do it right.” You’re not really complaining but he also won’t let you eat in there. If you shed hair a lot, be prepared to hear vacuuming 24/7

Kita: he’s perfect. It’s actually so annoying because you’ve tried to see him slip up. Never cursed. Doesn’t snore or toss in his sleep. Keeps everything clean. Mostly studies his botany and horticulture major and aces his classes. 🧑🏻‍🌾

Aran: he’s more scared of you because he hopes that you’re not problematic. Once he knows that you don’t bring drama into his life, he’ll definitely warm up to you. Tries to avoid you interacting with the twins because they’re embarrassing

Atsumu: bruh he is so loud for no reason. You’ve actually bought noise-canceling headphones. God forbid he brings his twin over. He’s definitely gone through the bandaids in your first aid kit after all of the fights with his twin. The cameraman is cute though 🤭

Osamu: you two cook together all of the time. He’s not problematic unless he brings his twin over. So, you had a rule: tell you before he brings his twin over. If he does, you evacuate. They know not to get anywhere close to your stuff otherwise they’ll both get clapped

Suna: he doesn’t even go here. Just kidding. But he’s always sleeping??? You don’t think that you’ve ever seen him actually get up for class before - only to take the exams. How does this man live…

Hoshiumi: pretty aggressive lol. He’ll challenge you to say anything about his height when it comes to him playing volleyball. Otherwise, the only time you interact is to talk about the chores - he’s out playing volleyball a LOT.

[avaritia-apotheosis]

Phantom Children Pt. 5

Hey guys, it's been really busy for me at university so I have no idea when I'll have free time to write this month. Chapter 5 is actually still unfinished, but I didn't want to leave you guys hanging, so here's the first half of chapter 5.

In Which: Another deal is struck upon the ice

AO3 | Prologue | 4 | [ 5 ] | 6

THE PIT SINGS. A low, groaning thing. Muffled like how sounds distort underwater. It reminded Danny of the sounds of Jupiter he would listen to when he really needed to study; the sounds heavily mixed to be more ambient yet still echoing traces of the original, haunting melody of the universe.

The Pit calls for him. No, not the pit—the ectoplasm in the pit is what calls him. Pulls the waves toward him as if he were the moon, bright and full, whispering with garbled voices hello-hello-hello. His core whispers back the same words every time he is near it. Hello-hello-hello. The Pit lingers in the back of his mind and sings in familiar words he does not understand.

Talia calls it a fascination. Ra’s calls it a connection.

A visceral link. Like calls to like. Strange ectoplasmic middle fingers to the laws of the universe—to the great equalizer that is death.

(Danny thinks Ra’s is wrong. Not completely wrong, but not right either.)

When his ghost form is no longer trying to cannibalize his human self, Talia dials up his training. Before, she was merely an observer. Now, she fights him in the ring, teaching him how to dodge with bruised ribs and broken bones. Brutally correcting his stances with harsh jabs and quick strikes. Sweeps him off the floor with a twist of her leg when he forgets how to use his feet. Each day left him with such bone-deep fatigue that mor more once he fell asleep during his sixty minutes in front of the monitor.

They know, now, that the Pit has no adverse effect on him. That he can use the pit more than once.

Bruises and fractures, cuts and scrapes; injuries mean nothing when a dip in green waters will wash everything away.

Even the possibility of insanity starts to feel far-fetched.

Danny should hate this. He should really hate this.

He loved it.

Phantom had always been a fighter. A protector. An underdog matched up against bigger and stronger foes but always somehow coming up on top. He was popular. Liked by the citizens of Amity Park despite his dumpster fire of a reputation near the beginning. Somehow in the year and a half since Phantom’s conception, he went from town menace to this larger-than-life figure. (Ha!) The hero of Amity Park with all of the expectations and responsibilities that came with it.

But Danny—plain, ol’ Danny Fenton—wasn’t any of that. Wasn’t allowed to be any of that. Because Danny Fenton was a wimpy kid who tripped over air and regularly got shoved inside lockers. He was the ghost hunters’ son who was deathly afraid of the paranormal. A C-average student in a family of geniuses.

A persona unwillingly crafted and carefully maintained, because at least this way no one other than Jazz or Wes will be able to connect Fenton to Phantom. Who would believe it?

But here, in Nanda Parbat, he was neither Fenton nor Phantom— he was something more. He had no secret identity to keep from the people who have vigorously researched him. He had no need to hold back.

Here, Danny was free to be Danny.

“Daniel.”

Even if he was called by the wrong-right name.*

Danny floated up from the pit, his transformation seamless as he stepped onto the edge on quiet feet. Tahlia threw him a knapsack. “Ready yourself, we have places to be.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I get my sixty-minutes after the Pit, remember?”

“I did not forget.” She smiled, resting her hand on her hip. “I simply thought that by beloved child might relish a change in scenery.”

Danny perked up, hands tightening around the straps of the knapsack. “We’re going outside?” Tahlia nodded. “Like—outside-outside. With the sky and trees and—and the stars?”

Amusement softened her sharp features, jade eyes sparkling with mirth. “The very same. Though the place we are going to is quite fickle in nature, and I am unsure if we will get another chance to go. But if you really insist on it then—”

“Wait!” He snapped his mouth shut, clutching the bag closer to his chest.

(Family, his core whispered. Family-safe-safe-protect-need-see-confirm-family-home)

The sixty minutes he gets to see his family was…precious. One of the few times the restlessness in his core would draw back; melt away like frost in the spring, leaving some sense of contentment behind. It was his refuge. Sanctuary. Physical proof that what he was doing here—(staying away-away-why-go back-back-return-home-family-home-protect)—meant something.

But.

Outside.

The Pit might have increased his training regiment, but it also allowed him to leave (escorted) the walls of his rooms. And this—

Danny could go outside.

He could go outside.

If he didn’t accept this now, then who knows when the opportunity would arise again? His family wouldn’t mind, right? Jazz did say something about how spending time outdoors is good for one’s health.

He swallowed a lump in his throat. “My…my family will be alright, yes?”

Tahlia cocked her head. “Why wouldn’t they be? You have done nothing wrong that goes against our agreement, and you have progressed wonderfully in your training. I am quite proud.” At Danny’s disquieted expression, she sighed. She raised her hand. “I swear on the blood of the demon—on our blood—that I will honor our agreement and do no harm to the Fentons and your friends during our trip.”

She lowered her hand. “Are you satisfied, habeebi?”

Reluctantly, Danny nods. An agreement from Tahlia is probably the best he could do at this point. “How much time do I have to prepare?” “Everything you will need is in that back. Though, it might do you good to dress very warmly.”

----------

Danny’s first breath of fresh air was biting. It filled the lungs crisp and clean, chilled him to the bones though he could feel no cold. Each warm exhale expressed itself in swirling mists, disappearing into the slate gray clouds above. A facsimile of his own ghost sense.

Fenton did not think much of breathing; Phantom did not need it.

Danny had never realized how wonderous it was to breathe.

“We head northeast,” Tahlia called out. Like him, she is bundled in thick black layers with long leather gauntlets strapped at the end of the sleeves. Her bag secured tightly, and a sword strapped to her back. Her long black hair is bound in a tight braid beneath her fur-lined hood.

The path is covered with snow, deep enough that his first few steps past Nanda Parbat’s gates sinks his leg midway up his calf with a loud crunch. It was hardly as deep as some parts in the Far Frozen, but over there Danny had the choice to simple float over. Tahlia trudged through the snow with a preternatural grace. The path ahead was marked only by the faint traces of footprints almost—but not quite—covered with fresh snow.

Among the many things the League had taught him, this was one: the devil is in the details.

They speak little on their trek. Not that Danny particularly minds, absorbed that he was with world around him. Nanda Parbat, he learned, was built high in the mountains. Cocooned from the rest of the world by the snow-capped mountain ranges that surrounded it. A fortress of wood and stone that seemed distinct yet so carefully hidden. The high walls protected the buildings within from view. Its roofs—elongated and curved—and tall towers modelled after east Asian architecture. Though which country, Danny does not know.

Their destination—past a large protrusion of stone that covered the fortress from view once crossed—was a lake. Frozen a pale blue with ice, surrounded by more mountain walls and the opening of a cave off to the side.

Perplexed, he said “What, are we gonna go ice fishing? Just so you kno, I’m not that big of a fan. The last time I went with my dad I was nearly eaten by a sea monster.”

“We should have enough food for this exercise, Daniel. And you need have no fear of sea monsters, this lake is devoid of any such creatures.” Once they reached the mouth of the cave, she unstrapped her bag, setting it against the stone wall. Danny mimicked the motion. “We are here to train.”

“With…?”

She gestures to the katana strapped to his back.

“With swords.”

A nod.

“On the ice?”

She smiled, leading him to the edge of the frozen lake. “It has become something of a family tradition of the al Ghuls, to cross blades upon the ice.” She plants a steady foot on the lake, walking towards the center with long strides.

Danny followed behind her with some trepidation. He wouldn’t die from frostbite, he was sure, and if he fell he could always fly himself out. But that didn’t stop him from flinching at the rumbling sounds the ice made beneath his feet.

“My father trained both your father and I on this lake.” Tahlia unsheathed her sword as she took her place across from Danny. “And as your father no doubt trained Damian on his own lake, I have the pleasure of training you.” She slipped into a stance. “On your mark.”

Danny slipped into his own stance, feet apart, both hands on the hilt. Then, something nudged at the back of his mind. “Who’s Damian?”

Tahlia tilted her blade, the polished sword gleaming and sharp. “Your brother. Now—begin!”

“Wait, wha—” Danny barely managed to parry the blow.

Sparks flew as blades crossed and Danny twisted off to the side.

He slipped. Head meeting the ice, the deep crackling sound of the lake making him tense.

Tahlia points the tip of her blade against his chest. A single elegant brow arched high in dissatisfaction. Danny glared at her, brushing the fringes of his hair away from his face. “To be fair, you shouldn’t say stuff like that right before a fight. You caught me off guard.”

“If you find yourself in a fair fight, you have failed to prepare enough.” She sheathed her sword before extending an arm to help Danny to his feet. “The goal of a fight is to end it—no matter the cost. Now, take you place.”

Danny picked up his sword, then, hesitates. He looked up at Tahlia. “Did you mean what you said?” Do I have a brother?

Tahlia smiled, drawing her blade once more. “Impress me and you’ll find out.”

Danny narrowed his eyes.

“Now—”

He adjusted his stance. You’re on.

“Begin!”

Danny lunged.

[mothmoira]

a thing I wrote when I watched She-Ra for the first time

She-Ra, first watch: The Princess Prom

Bow and Glimmer are dorks and I love them

Holy shit if I ever got an invitation that long I would have a panic attack

Damn Bow really landed Persephone as a date huh

Adora’s battle plan for the Ball is literally me going to any event with humans

OH MY GOD. CATRA IN TUX. CATRA IN TUX. I AM IN LOVE. AND GAY.

“Um, I’m 11 so shut the fuck up.”

-Princess Frosta

Yay Entrapta!!!!

Entrapta is so much like Leo Valdez lol

Oh my, Glimmer is having a ✨Ron at the Yule Ball✨ moment

I can’t tell if Frosta is an absolute queen or one of those girls that bullied me in elementary school

Pretty sure that Adora had a gay panic moment as soon as Catra walked in the room

Ok Frosta is cool

catrahotcatrahotcatrahotcatrahot

I actually love Scorpia lol

Oh dear god its romione all over again, just with slightly more communication

Of course you’re cold Bow, you’re wearing a crop top in an ice palace what did you think was gonna happen

HOLY SHIT SO MANY THINGS JUST HAPPENED IN THE SPAN OF TWO SECONDS HOW

Ok Catra and Adora better dance so I can get that classic “I despise you, but you’re also kinda cute and the situation we’re in requires us to act cool with each other” trope

YESSSSSSSSS

Mmmmmmm sexual tension

Glimmer nooooooooooo

NOT THE DIP YES CATRA

Aaaand now they’re fighting

Uh oh Frosta’s pissed

Of course there’s a disaster now.

maybe I don’t like Scorpia

Frosta do be kinda badass doe

Catra with her hands her pockets hfhiegfikqgwef

Oh my god just kiss already y’all are too gay to function

The way they just stared into each other’s eyes I-

Adora’s look of betrayal just broke my heart

HOW IS THAT THE END OF THE EPISODE

[theloneliestshipper]

would love to see boba & leia in an apocalypse or dystopia!AU... there are so many to choose from like zombie au, natural disaster destroys the world au, government goes batshit à la handmaid’s tale, hunger games au. mostly this prompt is just an excuse to see leia save boba in some capacity because i’m soft for that and have them comfort each other emotionally and physically in dire circumstances because i’m also soft for that. okay i’ll stop now

AO3 Link

They caught another one. Leia’s stomach knotted as the sentry guards dragged the human into sight.

“Humans in armor,” RA-7 sniffed. “Will they never learn?”

Leia took a closer look. He was bleeding and barely able to stand, but his armor was unmistakable. A Mandalorian. Legendary warriors, according to the Archive. Their people were notorious for surviving extinction. “What will happen to him?”

“The same thing that happens to every human who tries to escape.” RA-7 lowered her head. “It’s a great comfort to me, Le-a, that you know better than to attempt such foolishness.”

The sentries were trying to remove the Mandalorian’s armor, with limited success. Their protocol said that escapees should be executed with a single shot to the head, but the scorch marks on their prisoner’s helmet suggested that this had already been attempted.

“Honestly,” RA-7 huffed. “If these old separatist units can’t learn to adapt, they’ll never evolve past their rank. You there! Just remove the head, and then complete your task.”

The Mandalorian held up his hands. “Wait.” He removed the helmet himself. He was older than Leia, maybe old enough to have fought against the first droid rebellion. He was handsome, even bloody and injured, with sweat-soaked black curls and tan skin.

“Can I have him?” Leia asked before she could stop herself.

RA-7 turned her head towards Leia, the lights in her photoreceptors blinking a little quicker than normal. “For what purpose?”

“For company.” Leia’s mind raced. What would make sense to a droid? “And for warmth. The Archive is cold at night.”

“I have observed that your body temperature is often lower than it should be for optimal health.”

One of the sentries shoved the man to his knees and placed the barrel of its blasting arm against the man’s forehead. Droids didn’t like to be rushed, but time was running out. “Please, your excellency.”

“Oh, very well. Stop!” RA-7 moved towards the prisoner and Leia quickly followed. “I will be taking the human. Here is my authorization code.”

The sentry scanned her code and then beeped once in approval. “Governor of the Archive. Acknowledged. All praise to our savior, L3-37.”

“All praise to L3-37.” RA-7 responded. “Please remove the rest of his armor.”

“I’ll do it,” the man muttered, leaning out of their reach. When his armor was in a pile on the ground, RA-7 gestured at his blood-soaked undersuit. “The cloth garments as well. You cannot bring such unsanitary items into the Archive.”

With a resigned sigh, he continued to strip until he stood naked in front of them.

“You will wash him,” RA-7 told Leia.

“Of course, your excellency.”

“And see to it that he has proper food and exercise. There’s nothing more pitiful than a sick human.”

“I will.”

“Unfortunately he appears to be breeding compatible. Shall I have that taken care of?”

Leia kept her attention on the droid so she wouldn’t have to dwell on her own embarrassment or the prisoner’s horror. “It might not be wise in his current condition, your excellency.”

“He does not look well,” RA-7 agreed. “But he does appear to be working. Your body temperature has risen considerably. Take him to your rooms and clean him up.”

“Thank you.” Leia gave her a respectful bow and turned to the man she had just rescued. “Come with me.” She forced herself to keep a sedate pace because it was clear that he was too injured to move quickly. As they walked she let her shawl drop from her shoulders and handed it to him. He tied it around his waist but said nothing until they reached Leia’s small room in the cellar of the Archive.

“Can you get my armor back?”

His words stunned her so much she froze. “Your armor ? You should be glad you still have your head. And-” she waved at his midsection. “that.”

“I am, but I need my armor.”

“Sit down,” she ordered, pointing stiff-armed at her bed. “You can worry about your armor when the bleeding stops.”

“I’ve never seen a human with so much influence here.”

“Don’t confuse strategy for power,” she returned sharply as she knelt to remove her medkit from under the bed. So many of these items were a rarity now.  Most of the droid governors didn’t see the point in “repairing” humans who would grow old and die anyway. RA-7 was the exception, but she couldn’t control supply and demand.

“How long have you been here at the Archive?”

“Since I was eleven years old.” She laid out her kit on the floor as she spoke. “I was traveling with my father when the droids attacked the core. Their protocol said not to harm children, so I was brought here and RA-7 took me on as her assistant. I provide human interpretation for oral histories of the galaxy.”

“You’ve been here twelve years.”

“Yes.” She injected him in the thigh with one of her last stims and dipped a sterile pad in bacta. “I spent a year on the oral history of the True Mandalorians. I recognized the clan markings on your armor.”

“It was my father’s.”

“Did you fight in the rebellion?”

“No.” He hissed as she began to clean the deep cut on his forearm. “I was a bounty hunter. I didn’t want to get involved.”

Her hand stilled. “How could you think you had a choice?” He didn’t answer. After a few seconds she resumed tending to his wound. “I’ll try to help you get your armor back,” she said. “But you have to do as I say. Be polite to the droids. Stay close to me.”

"I will." Two fingers brushed her chin, warm, human fingers and her body flushed with heat as she raised her eyes to his. “Thank you.” His mouth pulled up in a quick, tired smile. “I’m Boba, by the way.”

“Leia.”

His fingers withdrew and his gaze sharpened. “Leia. Organa?”

She felt dizzy with shock. “How do you know my name?”

“I know your mother. Breha Organa.”

“My...my mother. She’s alive?”

“Plenty of humans are, outside the core.” He leaned closer. “I wasn’t trying to escape when I was caught. Your mother pays me to get humans out of droid occupied territory.”

Leia could barely hear him over the roar in her ears. “You...have you done it before?”

“I’m on my twenty-sixth run.” He leaned back against the wall, confident in spite of his battered state. “Help me get my armor back and I'll get you back to your family."

[jt-artsandfics]

Hey, could I request a bad batch match-up? I've read your other fics and they are incredible! Keep up the good work :)

So, I'm English, 5'3 tall with a pale complexion, brown hair, and brown eyes. I have ADHD and anxiety, I use She/her pronouns, and I'm an INFJ. I am also asexual biromantic if that helps at all. I have basically no friends, but I try to be kind to everyone even so. I guess there's nothing wrong with that, because it makes others feel good and therefore, makes me feel the same. In class, I kind of takes the mantle of the 'therapist'. I read a lot, a bit of everything really. But it has to be up to me because I can't focus when someone else tells me to read something. Speaking of focus, I fidget all the time (thanks to the ADHD) and tend to pace when I'm nervous. Which, lucky me, happens a lot. In public, I hold the appearance of a 'goody-two shoes' and I'm pretty quiet (which is for the best. I am painfully awkward at times), but around those, I'm close with, I'm anything but that, im louder, more chaotic and shockingly clumsy. My sense of humor is dry and sarcastic, but I always love a pun. I also love learning things, like anything at all, as long as it's not related to maths, which I suck at. I also have a pretty impressive music taste, ranging from film scores to rick Astley to Taylor swift to queen, basically anything. I’m also a theatre kid, I love performing, singing and acting (and dancing too, but I’m terrible at it. Though I can do ra-ra rasputin pretty well).I also love to write and draw, so I think you get the picture that im pretty creative. One other thing is that I love birds, owls especially, and know loads about them (like did you know that pygmy owls actually skewer their prey to hold it in place?) But yeah, I’m pretty enthusiastic about ornithology, but no one really cares.

Ok, Im so sorry, this was longer than I anticipated. If you do get the time to write something that would be great, but if not I completely understand, and I wish you all the best.

xxxx

I match you with.... Wrecker

You like many others are shorter then Wrecker. This man is tall but more so just meaty.

You are at quite to his noise, he lives just talking with you. You sitting up on his shoudlers as he explains how to set explosives up on the wall.

He loves holding your hand in public it's his way of showing you that he's dedicated to you. He also loves that he can just lift you up into his arms by pulling you up by your arm.

Read him books about how to set a thermals and he will just smile as he listens to you read. Like hell read anything you would like he just loves hearing you talk.

He also tends to pace when he's nervous or he rambles it's something he doesn't even realize to begin with.

God's when you two become really close your both unstoppable. You and wrecker will trip over each other it's inevitable on the Havoc Marauder. You have landed on him multiple times and he always seems to catch himself on time so he doesn't squish you.

He loves your jokes!, he wants to hear all of them so that at some point he can use it on some unsuspecting person.

Both you and Wrecker can talk about how much you hate math. Tech has tried teaching you both the basics for the things he needs help with but in the end it just leaves him frustrated with thw both of you.

Wrecker is really good at dancing but doesn't do it often. He learn back as a Cadet from holos before he picked up his love for explosives. Please, please just dance slowly with him!!

He knows how to do alot of slow dances but is also used to the fast beat music at 79's.

Tech happens to be your best friend loves listening about birds while Wrecker now has a slight fear on them from what you have told him.

"Your doing great, don't put yourself down" Wrecker says while slowly leading you in the dance.

"Wrecker I've stepped on your feet three times already" you grumble as he spins you and pulls you back to him.

"Its going to happen, don't worry about it. I'd be more worried if I stepped on you Tiny" he laughs making you smile up at him.

"That's it, wide steps and just follow" he reassures. "Where did you learn to dance?, it doesn't really seem like a hobby you would just pick up" you say which make him smile again.

"Back on Kamino when we weren't being trained or pushed to study most of the Regs in spare time found small hobbies. At the time I didn't know the rest of the Batch so... I watched holos, it's where I first learn what dancing was." He anwsers.

He dips you down and pulls you back up into his chest. " So every night after training I'd retreat to my little area and Dance. It was kinda hard not having a partner until I met crosshair. He snuck our of his area becuase he wanted to be alone and Well.. that how we met. He became my dance partner late at night it's reason he is so quick and stealthy" he chuckles while reliving the memory.

"That sounds lovely Wrecker. So you didn't know the Batch back as Cadets?" You as with a tilted head eyes focused on him.

"Most of us didn't know that others existed. It was only after Nala Se caught Cross disapreaing and getting up with me did she slowly let use meet others. All use boys didn't get along to wrll with our Original Batch so we ended dup forming our own little family" he states as you both continue to slow dance with Wrecker.

"I still can't believe you and crosshair were dancing partners, but it is quite fitting" you say while resting your head against his shoudler. "Hahaha don't yell him I told you, he will have my head" he says learning down to press a light kiss to your forehead.

"So... any other interesting Hobbies other then dancing?" You ask trying to tease him which makes his smile widen.

"Yes, Nala Se taught me how to sew becuase she made Lula For me back as Cadet but at the time she couldn't keep fixing her so, Nala taught me to sew so I could fix her. And well I became the one to go to for patching clothes" he states very proudly as you both spin around again.

"You truly are a big teddy bear wreck, the boys are lucky to have you." You state back to him leaning up to kiss him on the lips.

He hums lightly as he looks down to you with his mismatched eyes. "Don't go aroudn telling anyone I have an appearance to keep up" he says seriously before breaking into a laughter which makes you follow.

"Love you Wrecker and your crazy Shenanigans"

"Love you to Tiny and your two left feet" he jokes back at you.

[ardenssolis]

@swordrisen ​​said (inbox):

❛❛ I wonder what it would be like to be the sun , the stars , the moon or sky. ❜❜ Beneath the sun glow ; the light peering betwixt leaves ( dappling 'pon the dew , the little lights blinding the eye. ) Geta left behind by her frame , knees tugged toward heart ; she peers into the villages from where they are settled ( people already at work , gathering food for dishes , plowing , struggling , laughing. ) ❛❛ To see how the world shapes itself. It'd be sad , wouldn't it ? ❜❜ Warmth weaves into features , a soft sorrow ; a endless happiness. ❛❛ Because as those things , you'd see so much but , you'd also come to love so many people & watch them go on , into another world. Though , you'd get to see them be reborn too. That small comfort would be worth it all , I think. Really though , how could the stars , the sun , the moon , the sky keep from loving people ? When they smile , when they laugh , when they cry & they struggle to stay alive against it all. People are beautiful. ❜❜ 

She pauses , turning her eyes to the sky. ❛❛ Oz - mochi , when we're finally reborn as people , I'll make sure we meet again. I won't forget you because I'm not gonna let anything control my memories. I think I'll try being a kendo teacher ! It'd be fun ! What do you want to be ? ❜❜ Frame nearing , leaning all the more close ; now settled 'pon knees as features dip into a warmer kind of smile. ❛❛ I hope you'll be happy. Truly , deeply happy. When we meet again , let's be friends. ❜❜ A presented pinky finger , laughter soft from tonality. ❛❛ Promise me , please. ❜❜

     ❝HAH, I AM THE sun, Koto. Did you forget?❞ He couldn't help but tease in that instance, smirk tugging at the edge of his lips as if often always did. He laughed, shaking his head a little before his gaze returned to the gleaming stars above. ❝Yes, the stars, the sun, the moon, and the sky bear witness to many things. The moon, the sun... They see the beauty of this world, as well as its darkness too. If such things were sentient, I wonder what they would say to us.❞ Gods held connection to these things throughout many cultures, yet Ra was not the literal sun itself. He simply had control of it. And Khonsu was not the moon, but a being who ensured the moon rose and fell each night. They could not see every little thing that transpired among mortals at all times like these celestial bodies could.

     'People are beautiful.'

     There was something about Koto that always fascinated him, and it was perhaps statements like this one. She was not a hero known throughout the world like some. In actuality, only those who had been saved by her in the past perhaps might have known her name -- repeating it to their children until, as time went by, such things were long since forgotten. Even still, she had done a lot to protect others, still did, even. Not once did she ever lament her short life in this world. That was what Ozymandias found beautiful. Tragic, and beautiful. Her words that followed caught his full focus, eyes shifting back to her pensively. She said she wouldn't forget him, stubbornly proclaimed it, yet he was not certain about that. Even now, it was a miracle he could recall his time in both Singularity and in another reality.

     This was not what was important enough to linger on, though. The rest of what was stated, was. ❝What...do I want to be? That...is not something I have given much thought. I have only ever been a king; born and raised with this singular purpose until that is the only thing there is to me. So, trying to imagine otherwise is...odd.❞ If not a king, then what else? What else could a proud pharaoh be in a world like this? There were so many possibilities that it was almost overwhelming to think about. ❝Maybe I will become a crime boss. Now that would be unexpected!❞ He laughed once more at his own jest, head tilted back and the sound ringing around him until control was wrested back into place. ❝Anyway, that is something I will have to ponder. Perhaps next we speak I might have an answer.❞ Koto, this strange woman, this vicious and yet kind warrior...

     She was one who had layers upon layers, each one peeled back revealing different facets of who she was. How complex, how simple -- she was all this in one. Lifting his hand, he huffed, quietly amused as he wrapped his pinky finger around hers. ❝If by some chance fate is kind and we are reborn somehow in another future, another place, then be kind to me as I commit crimes, Miss Kendo Teacher.❞

[nozomijoestar]

I’m still on Season 1 of She-Ra but listen, my lesbian ass was not missing a chance to channel all the joy I feel at spoiling myself on the ending. Thanks for the food and tears Noelle Stevenson, absolute legend

Set after Horde Prime gets ganked and Catra and Adora are finally free to figure out what life means- short compared to my normal writing but no less good I feel, congratu-fuckin-lations to my fav pair of clowns in the She-Ra circus

Now on Ao3 / FF.net

She woke. She came to one slow blink at a time and for each, Adora was there. The feel of her breathing tickles Catra's neck; she remembers. Adora had said yes. A journey of a million steps returned to her as the dawn rose. When she dared to squeeze her hand the warmth was at once familiar and like nothing she'd ever known. Adora had said yes. Her pride no longer held back her tears. Catra chuckles; it'd been stupid to ever have resisted them.

She takes a deep breath and rises to stretch. Immediately she feels the stir beside her and hears a groan. Adora trembles and paws at the opened space. Catra shakes her head; her chuckle evolves into a gentle laugh. Then all at once she freezes. Gentle is a sensation not meant for her. No, that wasn't the right thinking. It was rusty and unloved sure but foreign?

Her hand moves to brush Adora's loose hair. No, gentle has always been waiting inside her. She closes her eyes. Now is the time to embrace it; to uncover its shapes. The first one is already by her side. Another shape comes in the glide of her thumb along Adora's jaw. That one gets her another reward as their eyes meet. Catra's breath hitches.

Laughter greets her before she can say anything. She looks down only to gasp then squeal. The duvet covers her faster than a blink. It's an easier grab than it should be. It hits her then, her claws are sheathed.

"Hey you. Enjoying the air huh?"

"N-No I wasn't! Shut up and quit staring. Y-You saw enough..."

Hiding her face in her hands brings her bare chest closer despite her effort. She groaned and flopped back into bed. Without hesitation she gave her back. It took Adora seconds to cuddle again. This time Catra smiles when she turns to find a grin (always that obnoxious yet inviting look Adora blamed her for starting) that refuses to leave.

When she sees a brow rise she smushes Adora's face; the counterattack finds her surrendering to an embrace as Adora pounces. Their laughter rang all the while and she knew this too soothes her; the once impossible now made reality.

"You're too nosey for your own good. That gets people where they don't want y'know."

"Oh you're one to talk Catra. Being nosey is your favorite thing to do."

"It is not!"

"It is."

"No way."

"Yeah."

"Shut up dummy."

She gave Adora a playful shove that went nowhere; it'd been worth a shot, at least. Her love was far too strong in every way she could be. Their eyes met again guided by Catra's hand on her cheek. How'd it taken Adora so long to realize her worth? To see that others needed her- Catra needed her?

It's too late to hide when worry flashes on Adora's expression. She's seen not for the last time the slip in the mask. Reflex makes her put a finger on Adora's lips; to stop the flood of 'Whats wrong? Where does it hurt?' in its tracks. The answer was everywhere, yet nowhere. The solution? She was working on one.

Instead she kisses her and tangles her fingers in her hair. When it's over their foreheads meet surrounded by a silence that's said enough, but longs for more anyway.

"He's gone Catra. Shadoweaver too. It's alright."

A purr is what she manages for a response. It rumbles from deep within as she pulls her closer, her tail curling around Adora's ankle.

"Promise me this is real."

Adora's gasp is so soft Catra nearly cries.

"It's real, all of it. I'm here and so is everyone else. Our friends."

"No your friends. I...I'm still not sure how I fit."

The frown and furrowed brow Adora gave forced poisonous doubt to arise. It was always Catra's nail in a self made coffin of confinement. She should know better. She should know better as Adora shakes her head. Another purr slips out at the tightening of their embrace. She fights the comfort of looking away; to do so meant running.

Gentleness. Catra had to focus. There could never be a cowardly retreat again. So she lays there feeling the counts of their heartbeats. Adora fills the gaps the way she has since they were children. She speaks; Catra listens.

"It's ok. I know for you this is all so sudden and...and it's not gonna be easy. You deserve that time to figure everything out, y'know? How you feel, what you want...they'll be waiting."

She can't help the words as they leap from her tongue.

"You'll be waiting too?"

She hears the smile before she sees it.

"Yeah. Always."

Their kiss then is unlike anything Catra has known before; and likely will know after.

"You coming?"

Five years is forever and faster than sand between fingers in equal measure. She watches Adora regard her outstretched hand like it's another start; another promise of infinite number. She watches her smile soft enough to put clouds to shame. There's no hesitation in how gently yet firmly their hands meet.

The folds of Adora's white dress twirl and Catra imagines a flower blooming. She circles her arms around Adora, her wife's neck- purrs when she's held in a dip. Surprise flickers and dies for warmth on Adora's face. They've done this dance before. They'd been other people then, entangled only by fate and dreams. They've been cracked, rearranged, reforged in the way that awaits all things. For one, it's her turn to be held.

"Bow and Glimmer are gonna look for us."

"Let them. We've got plenty of time."

They chuckled together. Together, strange how that word remained as fresh as when it became their normal. Adora grinned.

"Care to dance kitten?"

Catra cradles her cheek in a hand.

"What do you think, dummy?"

[dilfdoctordoom]

your head canons are just perfect. What are some random ones you have for Dinah Lance and Bette

Uhhhh gonna be going off the top of my head here (& under the cut because guess who wrote a load whooo) but

Dinah

Dinah is trans!!! I liked it Bombshells, I’ve decided its canon across all universes because you know what? It’s amazing

Dinah’s metagene got activated because Alan the JSA accidentally irradiated her throughout her childhood. Barry got lightning, Dinah got a weird family. It’s equality

She adopts Mia!!! Her & Ollie do, since I don’t think that officially happened in comics even though we all know it should have

Hal/Dinah/Ollie is absolutely a thing that I need. They’re in love, there’s nothing you can do to disprove it

Though, like, personal headcanon for Dinah’s relationship is that her & Ollie are in an open relationship, Hal’s their third & Dinah is dating Babs but Ollie is not because. Could you imagine. Oliver Queen. Dating a bat. The thing nightmares are made of, I tell you

When Hal dies, his ring goes to Dinah. I’m sorry, I don’t make the rules, this is just how it is

Ollie & Dinah have a third wedding since their other two were, uh, messy & technically not legal in the new timeline. No supervillains attack & it doesn’t take place in a hospital, so she considers it a win

By the time she dies, she’s in the top five fighters on the planet

Dinah (with the help of Ollie) once attempted to assinate the Guardians of the Universe

She & Zatanna dated

Babs brings up the Ra’s Al Ghul incident whenever she wants to win a dumb fight. Tragically, Zinda & Helena have picked it up too. Will Dinah ever escape her shameful past? Probably not, the Birds refuse to let her live it down

Thanks to her dip in the Lazarus Pit, Dinah’s eyes like... glow in the dark. It’s not very noticeable, but when it’s pitch black, her eyes are a really faint green

She can’t cook. At all. In the Arrowfamily, your options for food are Ollie’s chili (a safety hazard, 50/50 chance you burn to death) or Dinah’s unspeakable, ungodly creations that are probably an insult to the Presence himself. Or you can beg Connor to make you some delicious vegan thing

She’s got a little coffee addiction. It was really bad when she was on tour, a lot better now, but yeah, if you approach this woman before she’s had her first cup, she’ll scream in your face

This woman is bi & there’s nothing you can do about it

Dinah runs Sherwood Florists in Star City & all of the fam help out

Look, not technically a headcanon, but I want to make one thing abundantly clear: while Dinah Laurel Lance will always be a metahuman to me, I like Dinah Drake-Lance to be cursed by a wizard. I just think it’s fun

Bette

Okay, again, she’s bi. Like, we all know it, it’s not a secret, no cishet is working her original Flamebird costume

Bette loves glitter but even she knows that’s a little unsafe & never incorperates it into her costume. One day, though, one day...

She goes back to Flamebird around the same time Steph becomes Nightwing which is definitely inspired by @dykegreenlantern‘s death, but, yeah, she works as Flamebird again for a little while

When Kate retires, she suits up as Batwoman. It’s an awkward transition, but she makes it work

Oh, you think Tim has a caffeine addiction? He has nothing on Bette. Bette’s been in beauty paegents, winning tennis tourements, maintaining a 4.0 GPA & running around in a costume. Do you honestly believe she achieved that without caffeine? No. This girl is wired 24/7, there’s nothing that can be done about it

She came out to Bruce first. It would’ve been Kate, but Kate was in the army at the time & they hadn’t talked in years, so. Bruce

Bette’s one of the most forgiving members of the Batfam. Just look at how many of her friends turned into supervillains. She’s, like, yeah, okay, you’re evil now, are we still on for movie night? No? You have an evil scheme planned? Well, cancel it, we’re watching Mean Girls

I know Bette didn’t show up at Zero Hour, but she should have. Exclusively to judge Hank. He’s trying to destroy time but it’s very hard, she’s pulling the ultimate ‘I am disappointed in you and you have brought shame upon this team’ face & they haven’t even been a team in years. It’s not fair how does she even do this the Bats are weird. And then Parallax just. teleports her away. She’s too distracting to Extant, goddamn

I maintain that her & Terra II would’ve eventually become friends. Maybe even enemies to friends to lovers, since Terra II is a lesbian

She isn’t as huge on the whole no-kill thing as Bruce. Like, she’s never killed anyone herself, nor does she plan to (people like the Joker excluded), but she also doesn’t mind if her teammates cross that line

Her fights with Slade are always petty. She took Addie’s side in the divorce, okay, she’s gonna go in for the (emotional) kill when they’re fighting

She makes a lot of quips & is one of the best people at getting Batman to smile. Like, specifically Batman, and not Bruce. She’s seen him crack a grin at one of her puns, she swears

Artemis Crock is her ex girlfriend

Jesse Chambers is still, like, iffy on Bette after she... accused Jesse’s mother of murder. What a fun team up that was

I don’t know how or why it would happen, but Bat-Girl absolutely worked with the original Green Lantern at least once. Got no reasoning behind this, they’re just two of my favourite characters. I don’t think they’d get along (see: anything with Alan in it ever) but... it’d be an interesting team up, that’s for sure

She also knows Jason Blood but instead of being a fun adventure, that was more ‘okay yes I understand that Hank’s gone a little insane, he’s gonna be a future dictator, he’s committed mass murder, etc, but maybe you have some magic to undo all that? Pretty please?’

Her endgame relationship... I honestly change this all the time, but right now I’m on Bettenelli. Strong arguments have been made for Holly Robinson & we cannot ignore the possibility for a Bat/Cat next gen relationship, we simply can’t

Bette Kane deserves to be a doctor, screw what the N52/Rebirth said. Military Bette is gross & we do not support that in this house

[howrry]

when you need me pt.2

a/n: its 4 am, i just got back from a SUPER lit house party, i'm lowkey dying, here’s part 2 of wynm. part 1 here. don't think i can write anymore of this because it just makes me hate y/n more. also this is my 10th piece yaaay! enjoy <3

w/c: 3.4k

warnings: smuuut, mild dub con

***

Lit homework had to be one of the biggest wastes of time Harry’s ever partaken in.

He’s a psychology major, for crying out loud! Why does blocking and typecasting and the use of the Stanislavsky system matter to him? It doesn’t! But his uni required him to take the class, and if nothing else, he could appreciate it for being a GPA booster.

The only sound in his dorm was the squeaking of his mechanical pencil on the homework and his roommate Ashton’s music softly beating out of his Alexa. He was playing some soft XXXtentacion, which repulsed Harry. Just because his songs were good doesn’t mean it excused the rapper’s behavior—but he digressed.

God, Harry and Ashton were so different, it’s insane how his school’s roommate matching algorithm put them together. At this point, he wonders if he’s even enrolled in the university—he’s never seen him study or go to a class. It’s not like Harry’s a purist or anything; he loves a party and a good beer like any other college student, but Ashton was just buck wild. He even tried to hit on Gemma when she visited for a weekend, but that was shut down when H threatened to castrate him.

"I'm going out," Ashton announced on his way to the door, checking in the hall mirror to see if his hair was up to snuff and fluffing out the collar of his coat.

Shocker. This didn’t even warrant a glance up from the homework. "Where?" Harry didn't really care, but it wouldn't hurt to pretend he did.

"Y'know Meghan from Kappa?" Ashton asked, twirling his keyring around his fingers.

"Yeah?"

"I'll be at her place," he explained simply.

This got Harry’s attention. "But isn't she dating that rugby player? Matthew, or whatever?"

Ashton laughed and clicked his tongue. "So naive! Cheat or be cheated on, Styles. What's that phrase about not hating the player?" He shot finger guns at his roommate and bounced, slamming the door behind him without turning off the music.

Gross.

“Alexa, turn that shit off,” H mumbled, and the robot obeyed, not bothered by the profanity.

So that's how Harry ended up in his dorm alone for the night. Once he was finished up with his lit homework, the raw boredom really kicked in. He supposed he could go out, but he wasn't really the solo type and finding someone to go with him was more trouble than it was worth. At one point he even eyed the Tijuana cigar box Ashton kept under its bed, thinking that he could probably raid its contents for a night and Ash wouldn't notice, but the risk of an RA busting him wasn't super appealing.

He accepted defeat, and decided to simply call it an early night. He changed into flannel pants to sleep in and was brushing his teeth when his phone started buzzing. It was Y/N.

Questions started flying through his brain. Why was she calling him? And at this hour? His anxious side flared up as a million nightmare scenarios flooded his thoughts. Once he’d rinsed the toothpaste out of his mouth, Harry scrambled to swipe his finger across the screen and brought the phone to his ear.

"Y/N?" he tried to hide the urgency in his voice.

"Harry!" she blurted.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, not waiting for her to explain herself.

"Fuck, Harry I'm sorry," she started, "this is so weird to ask of you but I need your help."

A pit formed in his stomach. "What's wrong?"

"I'm in your city right now and my car broke down. Triple A is on their way and they're gonna fix it up tomorrow, but I totally don't have a place to stay. Can I crash at your place?"

Relief washed over him. Yeah, this wasn't exactly an ideal situation for her, but it was better than the kidnapping and murder scenarios he'd already painted in his head. "Of course. Y'know how to get to campus?"

"I've got a phone, don't I?"

Harry's eyebrow shot up involuntarily. Okay, bold. "Settle down, pet. I live in Taylor Hall, room 208."

"Taylor, 208," Y/N echoed. "Thank you so much, H. You're a lifesaver. I'll be there in 15 or so." She hung up without waiting for his goodbye, and Harry was left in his now-uncomfortably quiet room.

He scrambled around the dorm trying to hide any evidence that two boys lived there. Ashton was a bit of a disaster, but fortunately had an aversion to mold and other gross things so it was more about tidyingthe room than it was cleaning. Harry shoved dirty laundry into Ashton's closet and struggled to close the door on it before making both of their beds. He figured he could muss up the sheets after she left in the morning to avoid any taunting from his roommate. He practically broke a sweat struggling to make the room presentable, and managed to finish just in time before two solid knocks landed on his door.

"Harry! Long time no see!" She wasted no time stepping up and throwing her arms around his neck. He was taken aback by her affection, and paused for a minute before snaking his hands around her waist. "You sure look a lot better than the last time I saw you," she cheekily noted once she pulled back.

"Probably because m’not runnin’ around getting my arse kicked anymore," he bantered nervously. She looked great as well. Her face was a bit pink from the weather, and she seemed so much older despite it only being a year since he'd last seen her. Her black trench coat cinched gracefully at her waist and her jeans were tucked into also-black heeled boots. In all the years he'd known her, he couldn't think of one time she wore heels before now. What's changed?

Fortunately, she laughed at his awkwardness. (Since when did he feel so apprehensive around her?) "That's probably it." Y/N shrugged off her coat and hung it on one of the hooks by the door, leaving her in a plain red t-shirt. She fluffed her hair out and turned to him. "I thought ahead and grabbed some pajama shorts out of my car before the insurance people took it to the mechanic. Now I don't have to sleep in jeans." Sure enough, she pulled thin pair of shorts out of one of the coat pockets.

"Yeh just keep pajama shorts in your car?" he asked dubiously, sitting on his desk chair and rubbing his cold hands on his thighs.

"Yes! I keep plenty of spare clothes in my car for a situation just like this one!" she defended. "I'm gonna change real quick." She dipped into the bathroom and emerged shortly after wearing the shorts. Judging by the ball of clothing she haphazardly tossed in the corner, she'd taken off her bra, too.

Harry eyed her from his spot at the desk as she comfortably moved around the room, like she’d been there a hundred times. "Why are you here?" he asked suddenly, making her jump a little.

Her arms lifted to tie her hair up. "Have you already forgotten? You're a real nut, H. Car troubles? Ringing any bells?"

"No, no," he rubbed a hand down his face. "Why are yeh not at your own uni? Why are yeh in my city?"

"Oh." She hesitated before answering, climbing into his bed. "I'll be honest, it was a booty call. I called the other guy first when my car started acting up, but another girl answered. Figured he must have accidentally overbooked his evening and I remembered you go here, so here I am." Y/N sat cross legged and rested her chin in her palm, dazedly staring at Harry.

"Oh, wow. Sorry to hear that," he awkwardly mumbled.

She snorted. "I'll be okay. S'not like I had feelings for him."

This made something twist in Harry's stomach for some reason. Quiet, sweet Y/N that he'd known for years was just looking to get fucked and didn't care about feelings. This was a totally different person from the girl he grew up next door to. Who was she?!

"Either way, I really owe you one. I'll buy you a meal in the morning, but for right now, I'm exhausted." Y/N stood up and stretched an arm over her head. "Do you want me to take that bed?" She pointed towards Ashton's only recently made bed.

"No!" Harry barked suddenly and her eyes widened. "God only knows what's livin' in those sheets. I worry about what m’roommate does there when I'm not layin' in the same room next t'him."

"Gross," she responded around a laugh.

"My thoughts exactly. You can have my bed, and I'll just sleep on the floor," he decided, going to look for another blanket to lay on the ground.

Y/N scoffed. "You'd rather sleep on the ground than get in your roommate's bed?" Harry simply raised an eyebrow at her as an answer. "Again, gross. I wouldn't feel right kicking you to the floor. Are you trying to avoid sleeping with me?"

The wording threw Harry off, and he unfortunately stammered over his response. “I—no! I just—”

“Then we can share a bed.” She was matter-of-fact and didn't seem like she'd take no for an answer. It's not like he would've declined anyways, but she didn't even give him a chance before making herself right at home in his bed and patting the space next to her for him to join. He chortled and shut off the lamp, making his way in between his sheets by the light of the moon.

"Oh, and I'm a bit of a cuddler. Warning you now," she whispered with a wink before nuzzling into the pillow and falling fast asleep.

He couldn't complain.

***

Harry woke up in the middle of the night from the discomfort of not being alone.

It wasn't that Y/N was a bad person to sleep with, of course. He just was used to having the whole bed to himself and having a second human in his space made it hard to totally expand and take over the whole surface. Once he remembered specifically whowas with him, though, he didn't feel as bothered about not being asleep.

Y/N was tucked up closely to him, clearly having no problem making herself comfortable. He laid on his back, and she was on her stomach halfway on top of him. Her cheek was comfortably nestled on his chest, and her hand softly rested a few inches from her face. One of her legs was thrown over his own, and her mouth was popped open just a bit, breath fanning across his body. The two were laid up like they’d done it a million times. He smiled a little at how cute she was when she was sleeping; he couldn't help but gently rub a hand up and down her back. He was so cozy, he probably could've slipped right back into his doze if it weren't for her starting to talk.

Yes. Sleep talk.

"Harry," she drawled, almost whispering the name.

In his sleepy state it took a few seconds to make the connection that she was actuallydreamingabout Harry. In her defense, she was in his bed and called him for help after a mildly stressful situation, so it wasn’t totally weird that he’d be paying her a visit in her REM cycle. Regardless, a strange feeling swirled in his stomach at the mere thought of what was happening.

His ears were pricked up on full alert and his eyes snapped open to stare at the ceiling fan. He was too afraid to reply, and thus waited for her to say something else before he even dared breathing. "Let's... go," she finally finished.

He chuckled, chest rising a bit but not letting his gaze move from the fan. "Go where?" he whispered, humoring her sleep talk.

"I... I don't know. Wanna..." followed by a deep exhale.

Harry found this quite endearing. He allowed her to continue softly babbling little snippets of sentences, trying and failing to piece them together into coherent thoughts. Again, he almost let himself drift off again until one of her words had much more conviction than before.

"Please."

He could feel her lips ghosting across his body where her head lay. This felt different than her previous mumbling-- she knew what she was trying to say in her dream.

"Yes, Y/N?" Harry got out softly, eyes fixed steadily on the ceiling.

"I need--" She's still not super great at finishing her sentences while sleeping, apparently. "Harry, please."

Then talking just wasn't enough for her- she started to move. First her fingers dug into his chest a bit, nails intending to grip him but not quite enough to be felt through the cotton of his shirt. Then her lower body shifted where the apex of her legs was pressed against his hip, moving up and down ever so slightly without ever losing contact. Her breathing became heavier until it turned into an unabashed, shameless moan. A moan!

That's when it clicked. She was grinding on him, and the spot where the two of them were connected sent sparks through his entire body. "I-- Y/N, are you having a dirty dream about me?" he asked dumbfounded, even though he already knew the answer.

She let out a whine at the sound of his voice. "I need you," she said, dragging her nails down into his skin even harder than before. Her pathetic hip movements sped up as well. "Please touch me."

What the fuck? Is… Does… Would this even be ethical? She’s asleep! Can she even give consent? Does it matter if she’d already started grinding on him? Was this something she really wanted or was it just a snippet of her dream making its way into reality?

"I-I can't," he confessed. What the hell was he supposed to do? Not only did their relationship go too far back for this to not be weird, but his mum once told him something about not waking someone while they sleep walk or talk or it might give them sleep paralysis. He chose to stay stone fucking still, simply lying there and watching one of his childhood friends using his hip to make herself cum.

It was sloppy and desperate, her hips rocking against him. She stopped scratching to brush her hands against the swell of his chest muscles, separated only by the thin t-shirt. "P-pull my hair," she begged.

And he was fucking torn. Of coursehe wanted to give into her request, but what if he woke her up? How could he explain what he was doing, or the hard-on he was sporting? His lip was trapped between his teeth, gnawing away as he thought it over.

Screw it-- he could pretend to be asleep if she stirred. Harry creeped his hand up and threaded his hand into her hair, tugging at the roots and almost lifting her head. "Like that, baby?" he cooed. A porn star moan slipped from her lips and her movements faltered for a second. He feared he'd pulled too hard and stayed completely still, leaving his fingers bunched up until she slowly got back into the swing of her pitiful thrusts.

"Fuck… me harder," she whimpered, and Harry thought he was going to fucking die.

Honestly, he was a little pissed. Where the hell did she get off thinking she could kick him out of her home after kissing her, only to show up at his doorstep a year later and dry fuck his leg in her sleep? The audacity!

His thoughts were interrupted by her choking out a "g'na cum," and he pulled at her hair again. Oh right, this is where she got off.

"Yeah pet? G'na make a mess for me?" he spurred on. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this, and he’d probably feel like garbage about it in the morning, but that sounded like a problem for morning Harry. He had to see what she looked like when she finally got her release.

She lost her smooth rhythm again and was now scrambling to hit her high—all he could do was watch. When she finally did cum, it was mesmerizing. She cried out his name before cutting herself off and freezing for a moment. Once the peak hit, her legs trembled as she continued dry humping him until she'd fully ridden out everything.

It was, without a doubt, one of the hottest fucking things Harry had ever seen. Her nails dug into him once more as she let her heart rate settle down. Eventually, she sighed and nuzzled her cheek into his body.

As if all of that wasn't torturous enough, she had to top that entire performance by mumbling out a soft, "Thank you... daddy," and Harry almost let out a fucking groan. Her breathing soon evened out as she drifted back into a dreamless sleep, and he guessed there wouldn't be any more speaking for the night.

So much for falling back asleep.

***

The next morning, Harry was perfectly content with pretending that the events from previous night had never happened.

By the time he’d woken up, Y/N had retreated to her side (well, not really her side—it was a twin sized bed, so more like her “corner”) and was facing the wall. She wasn’t asleep for much longer than that, as she soon stirred and moved to climb over Harry.

When she was fully straddling him, he froze and made awkward eye contact with her. “Settle down, tiger, I’m just getting up.” He almost laughed at the irony. If only she had any idea what she put him through the night before.

Y/N changed back into her jeans in the bathroom and swished some of Ashton’s mouthwash. Harry watched her fluff her hair in the mirror with his arm tucked behind his head.

“I want pancakes, thoughts?” she suggested, coming back in the room and plopping down on his desk chair.

Oh right. She’d offered to buy him breakfast last night. Harry wasn’t sure he could be around her any longer without things become suffocatingly awkward. “Oh, yeh don’t have to do tha’ for me,” he countered, shaking his head and getting out of bed.

She watched him scramble about the room, focusing on everything except her. Her eyebrows shot up when he shamelessly dropped his flannel pants to the ground and shoved on some dark jeans from his drawers. He couldn’t care less, though; the events from the night before had erased any modesty he may have felt in her presence. “Really? You’re gonna give up free breakfast just to kick me out?”

“I’m not kicking you out!” he protested, though she had no room to talk. Their last encounter ended with her literally slamming a door in his face. Before he could even argue with her, he was interrupted by keys in the lock. Fuck.

Ashton sauntered in with the confidence of a king, hair mussed and shirt obviously on backwards. “Hello, London, how are we doing this fine mor—” he stopped his weird greeting (a la Harry’s accent) when he realized his room had more occupants than just his roommate.

Harry wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Ash’s eyes drifted from Y/N in the chair, to Harry untimely zipping up his pants, to his own made-up bed, and everything clicked in his mind. The pieces didn’t go together but they made a puzzle nonetheless. A slow smile curled up on his face as he made a beeline for her and stuck out his hand. “Well hello, I’m Ashton, Harry’s roommate.”

“Y/N, charmed,” she deadpanned, extending out her own hand and grinning at Harry when Ashton kissed it. “I’ve heard plenty about you.”

“All bad, I hope,” he returned, making Harry snort.

Y/N stood up and retrieved her coat from the hooks near the door. She shrugged it on and tossed the hair that got stuck under the collar. “I’ll catch up with you later, H. It was nice meeting you, Ash.” She politely nodded to the boys and was out before Ashton could say a “likewise”.

The second the door slammed, the onslaught started. “I didn’t think you had it in you, Styles. I was almost starting to think you were a eunuch or something, but apparently not! She’s cute too, is she blind? Or did you pay her to come here?” Ashton poked and prodded at H as he undressed and went to take a shower.

Harry’s phone buzzed, and the text he received made his roommate’s taunts sound like rushing water in his ears. It was from Y/N.

Next time, don’t pull so hard.

[just-a-little-bit-of-sugar]

for the pride ask thing! 2, 5, 8

2. Favourite canonically queer character?

Oo okay. In TV shows its gotta be Grizz from The Society or Catra from She-Ra, and my current favourite canonically queer character from literature is Jesper from Six of Crows, but Baz from Carry On is a long-standing most loved queer character of mine

5. Favourite song that isn’t explicitly gay but has gay energy?

Turning Page by Sleeping at Last!! (Yes I know it was in twilight,,, but listen to it,,,, look up the lyrics,,,, tell me that isnt some gay shit)

8. Ideal date?

Okay, for first-ish dates: go to a cafe mid afternoon/mid morning, get some drinks n maybe smth small to eat, talk for a bit while you consume ur stuff. If that goes well, go for a walk. Hopefully the cafe is somewhere around downtown or some shops, so you can walk and talk and window shop. If not, a park or a river, or a walking trail. Potential for hand holding but also potential to dip if it goes bad, and lots of time to get to know them.

If it's not a first-ish date, give me watching a movie together, maybe making dinner with & for each other before. Not a scary movie because I'm a wimp (not the kind where it's cute when I'm scared, the kind where I cry and have to leave the room halfway through the movie) but something cute or funny or in a fantasy land or with SUPERHEROS, cus fuck yeah.

ANYWAYS. That's a lot of information. Sorry. Thank you sm for the ask!!

[saadiestuff]

This is Going to Hurt (prompt - Malex)

Here’s my first answer to the prompts I received last week after putting out the call! Thank you all for the lovely prompts - I’m working on them, but work is annoying and busy so it takes some time. Also this turned out longer than I intended for these prompty things!

Prompt #22 “This is going to hurt” - from anon

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, mentions of alien torture, happy ending

“This is going to hurt,” Kyle warns Michael, like he's not already been writhing in intermittent pain the last half hour, though Kyle's only been present for the last five minutes.

“Just hurry up!” Michael groans at him, “I could have had this out--”

“I told you,” Kyle starts repeating what he’d said on the phone when Michael and Liz had called him for help, “If you move the bullet out with your mind and don’t follow the exact same path it went in, you could do more damage; damage I may not be able to fix without a proper O-R and team of doctors!"

Michael can only whimper in protest, his eyes going wide as Kyle nears with sharp, shiny, medical instruments.

“It’s going to hurt,” Kyle says again, “but not nearly as much as that bullet seems to be hurting you when you use your powers, okay?”

“You’re going to be alright Mikey,” Liz says soothingly, rubbing his shoulder, “Try to stay calm and still,” she continues, stating the obvious, but feeling it needs to be said for how sweaty Michael is getting, and the frequency with which he’s quivering under the palm of her hand. She glances nervously at Kyle.

Kyle gets the hint. “Rosa, maybe you could help us out over here for a minute… How’s Isobel doing?”

“Still breathing the way you said she should be, pulse the same - still out cold,” Rosa says from across the bunker.

“Okay, good, come over here, help Liz…” hold him down, “...keep Michael distracted…”

It does not go well.

The second Kyle’s instruments touch Michael, he feels his barely-there grip on his powers begin to slip away, and at the first hint of pain Kyle causes, he loses it. Liz, Rosa, and Kyle end up tossed on the ground.

And that only causes Michael more pain.

It’s blinding, worse than the last hit - he's screaming so loud he can’t hear himself. As that pain triggers his powers again , something shatters across the room. Michael scrambles desperately to get a hold of himself before it snowballs too far - before he’s lost forever in this vicious cycle until put out of his misery.

But he can’t breathe for how much it hurts, pain radiating from the bullet to the tips of his fingers, toes, ears - for the feeling of his world closing in on him, his powers causing such anguish - a deep betrayal. It’s different than all the times they’d made him feel like death and puke. No, this, this is forming new pathways, new connections in his brain that make him feel sick with loss in way he doesn’t have the strength to examine now. Powers equal pain.

“NO!” Michael shouts at the invisible enemy, wracking his whole body with the effort.

“Michael, you need to breathe!” Liz calls out, having gotten up off the floor and taken a step towards him.

“Don’t!” Michael whines to keep her away as he curls in on himself. Under the fog of pain and his tenuous hold on control, he subconsciously contemplates rolling off the table, because much as that would hurt, he really doesn’t want to be splayed out on a fucking table right now, especially with Kyle’s shiny tools aimed at him.

Kyle groans on the ground, having been thrown the hardest. Rosa offers him a hand up.

Kyle shakes his head, “I need a minute,” he says a little hoarsely, “but bring me a phone.”

Liz knows who Kyle is calling. There is only one other person on their side who knows about aliens and who isn’t currently present in the bunker or dead in a pod.

“Are you sure?” Liz asks quietly, turning away from Michael, “He’s still pretty upset at Michael I think…”

“I know. Who do you think he vented to,” cried to, at least twice, “while Michael and Maria were together?”

“But then... is Alex going to make him calm, or worse?” Rosa asks, handing him her phone she'd retrieved.

“They have a connection, Alex was always babbling about it,” Kyle explains. He's only flippant to diminish the weight of what isn't his to tell.

“He’ll calm him,” Liz says knowingly in answer to Rosa’s question, while feeling a sharp pang of loss for Max.

“Manes, pick up your damn phone,” Kyle hisses as the line rings, then, “Alex! Listen, Liz, Isobel, and Michael were doing some investigating of their own and got into some trouble with a recon. Michael got shot with a-- yes he’s-- the bunker-- Michael’s bunker. We need--” Click.

"Did he hang up on you?" Rosa asks.

"He’s coming,” Liz and Kyle say together.

Alex opens the lid of the bunker to Michael’s choked-off yelling. He half falls down the ladder in his rush to get in, close the lid, and get down.

"I gotta! I can't take it! I'm doing it myself!"

"No! Guerin-- Michael, listen to me! You have to let me do it!” Kyle pleads from several feet away, afraid to set Michael off again.

“What the hell is going on?” Alex shouts as he turns into the room, spotting Michael, blood pooling at his side on the table, gripping the edge of it, puke on the ground below.

“Alex?” Michael croaks out questioningly between panting breaths.

Alex is at his side in seconds. He finds Liz smoothly tucking a chair under him as he crouches to Michael’s eye level.

“Hey, hey,” Alex says softly, one hand going to stroke Michael’s hair, the other taking a white-knuckled hand from the table’s edge into its grasp, “I’m here. You’re okay.”

“Alex--” Michael starts.

“Shh,” Alex hums, and dips to kiss Michael’s forehead, “Someone else can fill me in, huh? Just breathe. You’re going to be fine. Right?” he quickly looks over his shoulder to Kyle for reassurance. He's scared. Michael looks really bad, can't seem to stop shaking, and Alex gets the impression Michael is about ready to crawl out of his skin.

“I haven’t been able to get a great look, but if he’ll let me take that bullet out - the way it came in - and stop the blood loss soon, I think he’ll be fine even without a hospital.”

“Good, that’s good,” Alex says, really to himself, but his concern only grows, “Then what are you waiting for?” Surely they hadn’t been waiting for him to arrive. Alex knows Michael can take some pain, and Alex hadn’t been around to see him through most of it. Michael certainly doesn’t need Alex to hold his hand to get a bullet taken out of his side.

“We tried already, just before calling you. He threw us all onto the floor,” Liz explains.

“Okay… well, did you give him some acetone? Help with the control and the pain?” Alex suggests.

“Of course, but it’s not that simple,” Kyle explains, shaking his head, “He’s freaking out, Alex - the bullet is some kind of smart bullet? Like a shock collar for alien powers.”

“What?” Alex says, eyes wide.

“It seems to cause him pain every time he uses his powers. Then the pain - it's intense enough to trigger him to lash out with his powers again - an involuntary survival instinct I guess?”

Alex shudders, swallowing hard. He has to wonder if Michael wants him anywhere near him, even though Michael is clinging to him like the last port in a storm, because no doubt this fancy bullet torturing him is something his father cooked up - his brothers even. Alex feels ill at the thought, but he buries it - the last thing they need is another one of them throwing up. Rosa is looking a little green over the blood as it is.

“He's gotten caught in it three times already. First when he used his powers to move Isobel and get us into the bunker. Then when Kyle tried to get the bullet out,” Liz explains.

"And just before Kyle got here he lost it out of nowhere," Rosa adds.

“Alex," Kyle says, gulping, "I don't know if he has it in him to pull out of the cycle another time… If he gets trapped in it..."

“We should-- We should take him to a pod while we--” Alex’s mind reels for solutions, and finally, frustrated, he snaps, “Why didn’t you take him straight into a pod until we could figure this out?”

“He was fine until-- well, shot and bleeding a little, but fine, until we got here and he went to move Isobel and the airstream,” Liz tells him, “But I don’t know if we can move him now without setting him off.”

“Not an option. We need to do this now. The blood loss is getting too bad and we can only transfuse so much from Isobel. You said she’s a match Liz?”

“If my alien blood typing is right?”

“And what’s wrong with Isobel?” Alex asks, realizing he hasn’t even been brought fully up to speed, “What were you even doing?”

“We were trying to get our hands on some research, hoping it would help Isobel and Michael figure out how heal like Max, so they could bring him back,” Liz looks ashamed, feeling it’s her fault, though in truth she knows Isobel and Michael would have done it with or without her, “And Isobel, she had to mess with a lot of people’s mind to get us out safely when it went wrong. After a lot of vomiting she passed out cold.”

Alex shakes his head, because none of that information helps Michael right now. He turns his attention back to him, stroking over his face, then back into his hair.

"Michael, Michael, look at me, you're going to let Kyle take it out. You're going to take a deep breath and hold it, and you're going to squeeze my hand, and focus on my voice, and not use your powers.”

“I can’t-- I don’t-- have-- control--” Michael sobs out.

“You can. You just have hang on for two minutes while he takes it out, okay?" Alex promises him.

"I might need more--" Kyle starts, but, Alex shoots him a look over his shoulder that shuts him up.

“And it's going to feel so much better when it's out. Then it’s just a regular old flesh wound needing some stitches, right?" Alex soothes.

Michael shakes his head. “Knock me out," he whimpers, “Please.”

"I don’t know if the sedative I have would work. And between the blood loss and your alien biology it could be dangerous without monitoring--"

"Hit me-- over the head,” Michael rasps out.

"No!" Alex and Kyle say in unison.

Michael groans, resigned, and pulls Alex’s hand closer to his chest.

“Valenti, do it,” Alex orders.

“Alex... you need to keep him from--”

“I’ve got it,” Alex assures him, though he’s not so sure himself. Michael is strong, but he must feel so trapped, and there's only so much Alex can do to help him through.

“Should we help?” Liz asks.

“No, I think-- I think give us space,” Alex says.

“Roll back on your stomach Guerin,” Kyle instructs.

Michael moves gingerly - Alex helps him. They arrange themselves so Michael is gripping Alex’s left hand in his, while Alex’s right hand dances from Michael’s shoulder blades, over his neck, then dragging into his hair, over and over, with his face hovering close to Michael’s.

"I can't take more," Michael sniffles out quietly, so only Alex can hear.

"I know, I know," Alex whispers back, "But you've gotta keep holding on for me, alright? You're doing so good."

They succeed, but just barely. In the end, Michael has done more damage to the bunker, he’s screamed enough to wake Isobel, Alex is in tears, and Kyle ends up knocked on his ass again - but with the bullet safely in hand.

After getting through the stitches, they all head to Alex’s cabin for much needed rest, and to monitor Isobel and Michael closely.

“Presumptuous of Kyle to put me in your room,” Michael says from Alex’s bed when Alex appears in the doorway, Michael's blood freshly showered off him.

Alex huffs a nervous laugh, “Yeah. Um, do you want me to stay or…”

“Stay,” Michael stays without hesitation, then adds, “I mean, if you want…”

Alex bites his lip as he steps into the room and turns to close the door. Michael beats him to it.

Tears burn in Michael’s eyes to find that using his powers doesn’t cause him excruciating pain. Though logically he’d known the bullet was gone, he’d been waiting to screw up his courage to test it out. He’d been waiting for Alex to be near, just in case.

Alex gives Michael space to settle into his relief, which is palpable from across the room. Alex makes his way around the bedroom slowly, in silence, as he changes into pajamas and takes off his prosthetic. Only then does he lie down next to Michael.

“I hope these aren’t your favourite PJs,” Michael says, gesturing to the borrowed garments he’s wearing, “I may bleed on them.”

“It’s fine,” Alex says, taking a deep breath and letting it out as he rolls closer, onto his side, “I want to kiss you, but I understand if--”

Michael puts a finger to Alex’s lips to hush him. “You didn’t make those bullets. You didn’t torture my family.”

Alex takes Michael’s hand and moves it away. “Maybe I would have, if my father didn’t hate me. If he’d brought me into his work, told me aliens were dangerous--”

“No--”

“I’m capable of things Michael,” Alex admits, flopping onto his back and staring at the ceiling, “Things that--”

“Alex, stop,” Michael pleads, turning his head to the side to watch Alex, wanting to move off his back, to close the distance between them, real and imagined, but it hurts to shift. The best he can manage is to sling his arm out for his knuckles to brush up and down over Alex’s chest.

“I can’t ever make it right,” Alex says softly, a tear rolling down his cheek as he catches Michael’s hand in his and holds it against his heart.

“Listen to me. You are not your father. And I'm saying that even while I can still feel the ache from that bullet in every inch of my body, knowing that it’s hardly a fraction of what your father probably put my mother through, for years. No, you’re the man who held me, who talked me through something I thought was impossible, who cried because I was in pain. And did all of that even though you’re probably still pissed at me and have every right to be.”

It feels wrong for Michael to be the one comforting him in this moment. Alex wipes his hand over his face, and sniffling, pulls it together, managing to meet Michael with a smile when he rolls over and into him, claiming his lips in a softly desperate kiss. It’s been many long months.

“Is this--” Michael stutters out between kisses.

Alex stops and pulls back an inch.

“Is this just…” Michael gulps, “I-almost-died and you-were-scared sex?”

“Yes... and a lot more...” Alex says tenderly, “But we’re not having sex.”

“Oh,” Michael says, sounding disappointed. Everything hurts, and he wouldn’t mind feeling something else.

“Not that I don’t want to,” Alex clarifies, because he would, in fact, love to get as close to Michael as possible, “But you need to sleep. Plus... if we rip your stitches, I’ll have to call Valenti in here and neither of us will ever hear the end of it.”

“I can handle Valenti,” Michael smirks, and trails his fingers over Alex’s jaw.

Alex grins and strokes Michael’s face in return, then looks away, “Yeah, but I don’t know if I can handle watching you in pain again while he sews you back up.”

“Oh,” Michael says again, “Maybe something less vigorous then…” He leaves the joke hanging there, waiting for Alex to decide what to do with it.

Alex responds by kissing him, slow and deep and gentle, in a way that’s been all too rare for them in the past. He pauses. “You sure?”

Michael nods, “I want...” he kisses Alex mid sentence, “...you to touch me. I want--” he gasps, words and aches forgotten as Alex sees to answering his request.

[get-your-fics]

Violent Delights - Chapter Six

The Path the Blade Follows

Summary: Bruce Wayne is addicted to a lot of things to distract from his dark urges, but his addiction to you might only increase them.

Pairing: dark!Bruce Wayne x reader

Series warnings: Violence, language, smut, rape/non-con, stalking, kidnapping, underage drinking, drug use, torture, abuse

CHAPTER FIVE

When I came to, I was laying on a hard, cold, stone slab. I sat up, my whole body aching. I slowly blinked, clearing my blurry vision to take in my surroundings. I was in a dark, damp network of underground caves lit up by candles lining the walls. Water ran down the side of wrought iron gates sealing off some of the archways and trickled to the ground.

“Bruce...”

My head snapped to identify the source of the voice. Ra’s al Ghul turned the corner and stood at the edge of a hallway. He stalked towards me with a curved dagger in his hand, the silver steel edge glinting in the dim light. I hopped off of the slab and readied myself to fight. “Where am I?”

“Beneath Blackgate Penitentiary. Alfred Pennyworth and Jim Gordon are upstairs.” He glanced at the ceiling for a second before focusing his attention back on me. “In the company, unbeknownst to them, of my men.”

I drew my thick brows together. “Let them go. They have nothing to do with this.”

“Still playing the white knight, Bruce?” He smirked at me like a crocodile barring its teeth before eating a meal.

My eyes widened as realization hit me. “You replaced the guards before I got here.”

“I’m sure your friends can fend for themselves.” His tone was patronizing.

“You applied for diplomatic immunity, knowing I’d hear about it and come for you.”

“I wanted the knife, but nor for the reason you think.” He looked down at the blade in his hand with admiration. “It’s been ages since I first held this dagger. It was given to me moments after I was bathed in the Lazarus Pit.” He turned away from me and held his hand out under a stream of water dripping from the ceiling. “Submerged in the waters, suspended between life and death.” He stared at the dirty water filling his palm, mesmerized. “I saw a vision of you, my heir.”

“You’re insane,” I spat. “I’m not your heir. I don’t even understand what that means.”

He faced me, and before I knew what was happening, he grabbed my clenched fist. “It means that you are the only one who can end my suffering.” He forced the handle of the blade into my hand. He stared at me with desperation in his eyes. “Please.”

I furrowed my thick brows. “You want me to kill you?”

He let go of my hands, leaving me to hold the blade. “Set me free.” I lowered my gaze to inspect the dagger in my grip. It felt heavy, like it was weighing me down and dragging me to the center of the Earth. “This may be hard for you to understand, but I have walked this Earth for centuries waiting for you, Bruce. Only you can kill me, and only with that dagger. That is my curse. That is the meaning of my vision.”

I lifted my head to glare at him. “I don’t believe you.”

He walked closer to me. “Believe me.”

“This is just another manipulation.” I clenched my jaw.

He drew his brows together, and my skin crawled under his intense gaze. He looked like a predator stalking its prey, and I wasn’t sure if he was about to devour me or not. “See. Look.”

He gestured down to a dip in the stone floor where a puddle of grimy water was gathering. On the surface, I could see his reflection, but it wasn't him. He still had all the same features, but ashy, gray skin was pulled taut over his bones. His face was creased with deep wrinkles and lined with purple veins. His hair stuck up in gray, wiry tufts on his head. His eyes were dull with deep, shadowed circles around the sockets. He looked like a ghastly wraith, but instead of being intimidated, I couldn’t feel anything but pity for him. He looked tired and sorrowful, like he just wanted to lie down, fall asleep, and never wake up.

“My true form,” he mused. “Every moment of my life is agony.” He looked back up at me. “End my suffering.”

I let out a shaky breath. “Whatever your curse is, you deserve it for what you’ve done,” I seethed through gritted teeth.

“You’re angry, Bruce. I understand.” His tone was almost placating. “But unless you strike me down with that blade, you will never be free.”

“No!” I cut him off, shaking my head. “I won’t.” I turned my back on him and walked away. An uncomfortable silence settled over the room, and I could feel the pressure mounting.

“Then allow me to tell you what will happen if you don’t kill me.” His voice sliced through the tension like the blade in my hand. “I will disappear and let you live your life. You will follow the path of light, grow into a fine man, become a husband, a father. There may be a day when you forget I ever existed.”

I felt a single tear leak out of the corner of my eye and roll down my cheek. It dripped off my chin and landed on the floor with a satisfying drop.

“But then, I will return.” His tone darkened and turned sinister. He crept closer to me, and I could hear the sound of his footsteps click against the floor. “And I will kill everyone you love. Just as you watched your parents die, just as you watched me slice your friend’s throat, I will slaughter your wife and children before your very eyes, and there will be nothing you can do about it,” he hissed directly into my ear.

Rage surged within me, and I spun around. I stabbed the blade firmly in his chest; the feeling as it sunk into his flesh was unforgettable. His eyes bulged, nearly popping out of his skull, and he let out an airy groan. “Die!” I growled and shoved the blade in deeper. His painful howls increased in volume and echoed off of the stone walls, piercing my ears.

I finally pulled the blade out. Its silver surface was stained with his dark, inky blood, but his shirt was spotless. He ripped open his shirt and revealed the concavity where I had stabbed him, but there was no blood. Instead, there was a fiery, burning ember exploding in the hole in his chest. His skin paled, and black liquid ran through his protruding veins, making them look like bolts of lightning. A wave of ash stemmed from the wound and ate up his flesh, singeing it until it resembled char.

He collapsed and leaned back against the stone slab in the middle. “Yes,” he sighed.

My whole body trembled as I watched his eyes sink into his sockets and glaze over with lifelessness. His skin shriveled until he was merely a sack of bones. He was completely unrecognizable from the man he had been a few moments before. He looked like he had been a dead, decaying corpse for centuries.

I heard footsteps behind me, and I whirled around to see Alfred and Jim Gordon standing in the archway, guns drawn. They lowered their guns when they saw me. Their gazes drifted down to Ra’s, and their eyes widened when they saw him, or what was left of him. My cheeks felt wet; I hadn’t even realized I had been crying. The blade slipped from my grip and fell to the ground with a reverberating clang.

I wonder what it would be like, if I hadn’t have killed him. I wonder what would’ve happened if I had met you and didn’t have blood staining my hands. Maybe I wouldn’t have hurt you; maybe he would’ve instead. Alfred always thought that the reason I turned to the partying and the drugs and the drinks and the girls was because I felt guilty for killing Ra’s, but that wasn’t true.

It was because I had enjoyed it.

-

“Bruce! Bruce, wake up!”

I jolted awake in my bed. My body was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, the white sheets and my mess of dark curls sticking to me. My chest heaved up and down at a rapid pace, and I turned my head to see Grace sitting up in bed next to me. She held the sheets close around her bare body.

“Are you all right?” She leaned forward and caressed my cheek. “You were screaming in your sleep. Did you have a nightmare?”

“I’m fine,” I wheezed, swatting her hand away. I was shaking, and I hugged my knees to my chest. “You’re still here.”

She furrowed her brow. “Yeah, of course.” She tilted her head to the side. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

My breathing started to slow. “I don’t know. I thought you would be mad at me for last night or something,” I mumbled.

Her gaze lowered to the covers. “Oh, yeah. That.” She scratched her arm nervously. “Well, I know you’re going through a tough time right now. I want you to know I’m here for you.” She smiled and rested a gentle hand on my shoulder.

I ran my hands down my face. “God, I don’t want your pity.” I shrugged her hand off of me. “You’re not Mother Teresa, Grace. You’re just some horny chick who thinks she can chain me to her. You can’t help me, or fix me, or whatever the fuck you think you’re trying to do.”

Her expression contorted. “What?”

“I mean, how desperate can you be?” I laughed. “Did you really think I was gonna want to take you out to dinner and a movie just because I fucked you a few times?”

Her jaw hung so low, I thought it would hit the floor. “God, you are such an asshole, Bruce.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “You push away anyone who gives a single fuck about you.”

“Yeah, whatever. Just get the fuck out before I have to drag you out.” I gestured vaguely to the door before swinging my legs over the side of the bed away from her.

I held onto the edge of the bed, my shoulders square and my back tense. She didn’t say anything else, just gathered her clothes and cursed under her breath. I heard the door swing open and slam shut with a resounding bang. Then, I was all alone.

Now I was having night terrors even with someone else in bed with me. The darkness was growing stronger. None of my usual behaviors could quell this insatiable hunger inside of me anymore. I needed to do something, something to stop the consumption before it ate me alive and transformed me into a hollow shell of the person I once was.

I needed to make a sacrifice, and I knew just the perfect candidate.

-

I followed Brant Jones from his townhouse uptown all over Gotham City. Unlike you, he didn't do much. He went to a few lunches or to the mall here or there, but besides that, he mainly stayed at his home. He didn’t do anything interesting until one night, his town car pulled up in front of an old bar. I parked down the street in my classic, black Cadillac. In this instance, I didn’t think I could pay my chauffeur enough to keep his mouth shut.

I followed Brant into the bar, the hood of my leather jacket pulled up so it cast shadows over my face. However, it was so dark, it was hard to see anything anyway. The main staple was a giant, oak bar along one side of the room with a glittery neon sign above it. On the other wall were stuffy, tufted booths made out of red leather. The bar was packed. All of the stools were taken by people waiting to get their drinks, leaving everyone else to stand, and a large crowd occupied the booth in the back corner.

Brant headed straight for that booth, tugging on the lapels of his navy blazer and running a hand over his slicked back, brown hair. “Hey, guys!” He beamed, revealing two rows of bleached white teeth.

He was greeted with a series of “Hey, Brant”s in return. Several people in the group came over and hugged him. One of the stools opened up, and I immediately slid into it. I had a perfect view of everything that was going on at the booth, but it was hard to hear what they were saying over the chatter and the jazz music drifting out of the speakers.

“Happy birthday, man!” Brant shouted and wrapped his arms around a rather tall boy that I didn’t know. He patted him on the back, and when they pulled away, he produced a small box wrapped in paper out of his blazer. I assumed this was a birthday celebration of some kind.

The group sat down in the booth, and he took his place next to a girl I recognized as Emma Hsueh. She also used to attend Anders Prep with me, Tommy, and Grace. She and Brant smiled at each other before he slung an arm around her. It was done so casually, but I raised an eyebrow nonetheless.

They drank and talked for a while before they started opening presents. Brant got the birthday boy an expensive-looking Rolex, of course. Then, they drank and talked some more until the birthday boy footed the bill. I followed them as they spilled out of the booth and onto the sidewalk, mostly in pairs. I observed Brant as he walked out of the bar, his fingers covertly intertwined with Emma’s. Everyone departed from one other, each town car that pulled up to the curb a carbon copy of the other.

When no one was looking, Brant tugged on Emma’s hand and pulled her into a nearby alley. I chased after them and pressed myself against the brick wall of the bar. I leaned back and kicked one foot up on the wall so that if anyone walked by me, it wouldn’t look like I was eavesdropping on their conversation.

“Are you sure you can’t come over tonight?” I heard Emma ask in her whiny, high-pitched voice.

“No, I have something I gotta do,” came Brant’s reply. “But I’ll see you tomorrow, ‘kay, babe?”

“Okay.”

They went quiet, and I leaned in a little closer, my ears straining to hear what they were doing. Then, I heard it: the small, telltale sound of lips against lips.

He was cheating on you.

As if he wasn’t already bad enough, he had the audacity to cheat on you, and why? Because you had been a little busy lately? Because you couldn’t spend every waking second by his side since you were raising money for people in need? How selfish could he possibly be? I would never do something like that to you. Hell, I could hardly bring myself to touch Grace, and you weren’t even mine yet. You would be more than enough to satisfy me.

Emma walked out of the alley, and I lowered my head as she passed me. I pushed myself off of the wall and turned into the alley just as Brant was walking out. My chest bumped into his, and I stumbled back slightly. He lifted his head to make direct eye contact with me, his eyes widening.

“Brant?” I pulled my hood down and forced a smile on my face. “I thought that was you in there, but I didn’t want to interrupt whatever you guys were doing.”

“Oh, hey, Bruce.” He avoided my gaze. “Yeah, we were just celebrating a friend’s birthday.”

“Nice.” I nodded and shoved my hands in the pockets of my jacket. “What are you up to these days?”

“Nothing much.” He cleared his throat. “Bruce, I just want to clear the air. I know I was a total jerk to you the last time we spoke, and I’m not that person anymore. So, I just want to say I’m sorry. No hard feelings?”

Not the same person? Right, ‘cause you weren’t a total jerk for cheating on your girlfriend just now with someone completely inferior. “Of course. No hard feelings.” The frozen smile on my face didn’t reach my eyes.

His smile was genuine. “Great.” He looked over my shoulder. “Well, it’s getting late. I should probably go.”

He tried to sidestep me, but I blocked his path. “Why not stay a little while? We can catch up.” I tilted my head to the side. “We can talk about how you’re cheating on (Y/N) (Y/L/N) with Emma Hsueh.”

His eyes widened to the size of saucers. “Cheating on (Y/N)?” He shook his head, a slight laugh escaping his lips. “Bruce, it’s not what you think.”

“Oh, save it.” I moved forward, forcing him to back up further into the alley. “I was watching you two in there, being all lovey dovey under everyone’s noses. You thought no one would see you, but I saw you. I saw everything.”

“You were watching me?” He furrowed his brows. “Have you been stalking me?”

“Don’t try to turn this on me.” I jabbed a finger into his chest. “You’re the one cheating on your girlfriend when not too long ago you told her you love her.” My whole body was shaking. Adrenaline pumped through my veins, and my heart was beating so hard in my chest, I felt like it was going to burst. “You don’t love her like I do, and you’re never going to love her. Never again.” “Bruce, what... what are you doing?” he stammered. “You’re scaring me.” His pupils were blown out with fear, his irises mere rims around them. I smiled, for real this time. “Good.”

I took the switch knife out of my pocket and flicked it open. Before he could react, I clamped a gloved hand over his mouth and sunk it into his gut. He screamed into my hand, and I pulled the knife out only to shove it back in. I gritted my teeth as I stabbed him a few more times. I saw red as I plunged the blade into him, relishing in the noise the knife made as it sliced through his flesh.

I finally pulled it out, and vibrant, red blood dripped off of the edge and dotted the concrete ground. I looked down at his stomach; the fabric of his shirt was completely soaked in dark blood. I removed my hand from his mouth. His lips parted, but he was in so much pain that no sound came out. His knees buckled, and he crumpled to the ground in a pool of his own blood. His skin paled, and I watched the life fade from his eyes as red liquid bubbled from his lips. I would’ve spat on his corpse if it didn’t mean the cops could tie me to the crime.

I flipped the blade back in and tucked it into my pocket. I bent down and took his wallet out of his blazer. I would toss it in a dumpster a couple of blocks away. I didn’t bother to move the body; I just left it there. I pulled my hood back up and walked out of the alley. Someone would probably discover it in the morning, and by then, it would be too late to connect me to anything.

My only regret is that I didn’t made him suffer longer.

CHAPTER SEVEN