#hint: he has pit rage

[roses-and-revolutions]

DC x DP Prompt

To the delight of Gotham's citizens, and the dismay of her criminal underbelly, the GCPD has a new specialized unit that ACTUALLY apprehends criminals and brings them to justice!

It's a relatively small squad of mostly young adults, who looked fresh out of their teens. But age didn't matter once they got the work done. And they did, as they've already got criminals like Penguin, Riddler, and Bane behind bars for what looks to be 'for good'.

No one besides Commissioner Gordan knows anything about the squad as they operate as a mostly separate entity from GCPD. It was rare to see any of them, and any photos taken were unusually blurry. They are also extremely secretive; if you exclude their social media which are usually just shit posts, memes, and thirst edits of the Wayne family.

They were a total mystery. Almost as mysterious as Batman.

But those who have seen/worked with the squad before all had the same thing to say about them. They were cool. They had an unusually effective method. And their leader is a menace. With his sharp teeth and pointed smile. And bright blue eyes that spoke to your soul. It was a pleasure to see/ work with him, it really was. But they weren't planning on doing so again for a long time.

That being said, Gotham had been quiet for a while. A bit too quiet if you ask anyone, especially the Bats. Strangely, it didn't feel like the usual calm before the shit storm. The instinctual pit in their guts that usually formed just wasn't there. This was different. This wasn't the calm before the storm. This was the ocean receding. But no one seemed to realize it yet.

Not until the tsunami came crashing down on them.

The GCPD special unit accounts that had been inactive for the last three months suddenly pinged to life. Everyone who followed them clicked the notification almost immediately. With this unnerving calm surrounding them, who the hell didn't want to see what batshit crazy statement they would make after three months of radio silence.

What they didn't expect, was to see a crystal-clear picture of justice finally being served.

The picture was a selfie, taken in an abandoned warehouse. In the middle of the dirty floor was the Joker. He was tied up and his head hung low. You could see how beaten he was, his clothes torn and bloody. His face paint was also coming off, revealing pale blotchy skin. Reminding everyone that, he was still human, just like the rest of them.

Behind him, all lined up with smiles on their faces, was Team Phantom. They were a bit bloody and bruised as well but overall in much better condition. They weren't wearing the normal GCPD navy blue uniform, but black and white ones. All stylized to fit the wearers taste. They all looked so young, but their eyes looked like old tired eyes, finally getting some relief.

From in the corner was their leader. Only part of his face was in the picture. One glowing blue eye, and part of his Cheshire smile. His hand making a peace sign next to the Joker. Even with only part of his being shown, everyone could tell he was relived as well.

And while the picture itself was shocking, the caption was what really got them. The top was what you would usually expect from the team. A big bold 'GOT EM' ' at the top. But at the bottom in small, almost unnoticeable text was:

"He will face his punishment. We will get our retribution. May we finally rest in peace."

[dolldefaced]

[parfaitblogs]

never grow up ❀ s. reid x reader

in which you are at the age you never thought you'd live to. 

genre: hurt/comfort + fluff! tags: established relationship. (very brief) mentions of r not eating. depression. non sexual nudity. mention of a past suicide attempt. reader is codependent on spencer #anxiousattachment!! mini argument not really because he loves you a lot!!! please know your triggers ♡  word count: 2.2k a/n: this was a vent write. LOL! i think i switch tenses a lot in this? i tried to fix it. this is why we don't write fanfiction while we're crying!!! i love u i love u i love u and i am so so glad you are the age that you are!! continue to grow please!! life will become beautiful!!!

Depression is a funny thing.

Sometimes you are forgetting there has ever been a version of you out there that fantasised about death and longed for an escape from this world you deemed so cruel, so invasive. Other times, you are sat naked on the cold floor of your bathroom rocking back and forth, clawing at your skin and ripping hair out of your scalp because you are sobbing so ferociously. The world spinning around you and your cries, so violent, are making you lightheaded and you wonder if you pass out here if anyone will ever find you. 

Clearly, tonight, you are the latter.

It started as a small pit in your stomach that morning, that you braved through and ignored to the best of your ability, even as you said gentle 'no thank you's' to food offered by your co-workers and forced your brain to focus on work and not the never-ending abyss of dread in your abdomen. Then, it became a tear or two on your way home, that you vehemently wiped away and pretended was never there because it couldn't be. 

Then you were showering to get your mind off things — a stupid decision, really. For your brain was latching on to every awful emotion it had felt thus far today, and you were stepping out of the shower with an even heavier heart, and your hands were wrapping around your now goosebump riddled body, as you were sinking to the floor in a ball.

And maybe hours passed by you. Maybe days — it certainly felt that way. Maybe it was only a mere five minutes. But your loud sobs felt like they took an achingly long time to slow and quiet down, until they were falling into ugly sniffles of the snot on your face, and a raging headache behind your eyes. 

Loud sobs — scream sobs, really — had a lot of disadvantages. The aftermath feeling of embarrassment of screaming at your brain that refused to simply shut up, the scratch at your throat from every sound you ripped from it. The audio block it gave you from the rest of the world. For you truly were in your own universe when you were howling alone in the comfort of your bathroom walls.

So much so, that the familiar sound of a door opening and closing, and a bag being placed down by the side of it, went entirely unnoticed to you. Footsteps against your apartment's wooden flooring weren't picked up, nor were the first two knocks on your bathroom door. By the third, you were blubbering through saliva and snot, and you had heard it. Followed by a very gentle calling of your name, that had your heart clenching within your chest for a new reason. 

He had said he was coming home tomorrow. Which almost always meant he wouldn't be home for another three days, and so, in your mind, you thought bawling that night could be a secret kept between you and your tiles. 

Apparently not. 

He called your name again when you didn't reply, an added hint of desperation in his voice. Trembling, you stood, your limbs feeling as though they were creaking while you straightened them out. And you didn't bother about the towel sitting in a crumpled heap on the floor, nor the pile of your clean clothes sitting on the countertop. In fact, you didn't bother about anything as a shaking hand twisted the doorknob and pulled it open.

In an instant, his worried frown deepened, and eyes that might usually drink in the sight of your naked body beautifully, now didn't wander further than the scarlet scratch marks along your neck — blood vessels risen to the surface from how fragile that part of you was. He exhaled, and took a hesitating step towards you. One you welcomed by remaining planted in your spot — you didn't know if you could move, though. 

"Can I ask what's wrong, or do you simply want a hug?" 

Both, you wanted to say. Both, but also neither. 

You didn’t say that. Instead, you said, "Hug."

He hardly took a second to register what you'd said before his arms were wrapping around you. If he found the slightly damp state of your skin annoying, he didn't comment on it. He didn't say much at all, as he enveloped you into his body, a hand securing itself on the back of your head, and his chin resting atop your head. 

Water dripped uncomfortably to the floor, splattering on the tiles and his shoes, being the only sound aside from your irregular hiccups and sniffles. His button-up was wet from your tears and your body, and you could almost hear his complaints about it, if this were any other day. 

Minutes passed, and even though you didn't want to, you pulled back, feeling his hands slip around to your waist and hold you benevolently. Your own hands reached up to your face to wipe away tears, an embarrassed laugh escaping your lips. 

"This is pathetic," you said, fingers digging into the corners of your stinging eyes. 

"How?" he asked you.

"I didn't think you'd be home to see me having a mental breakdown."

A smile that didn't quite reach his eyes appeared on his lips. "Well, I am." Fingers squeezed your waist reassuringly. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

You shrugged, wordlessly, your eyes dropping from his face to the damp spot on his chest from where your face had once been, heart stuttering. 

"We don't have to, honey," he said. "But it might help."

"I know it might," you muttered. 

He was silent, as were you. A few more beats passed between you two, before you were turning around to pick up clothes you had left for yourself on the counter. You didn't really feel any different under his watchful gaze as you dressed yourself. Accustomed to the act, or simply too overwhelmed with another emotion, you didn't know. 

He followed you into the living room when you walked out there, and he sat down next to you on the couch you curled up on. You opened and closed your mouth a few times, and he lifted his head on each intake of breath you had, as if about to say something. But you never did. 

So, he took over.

"Did something happen today?" You shook your head, and he nodded his own. "Okay. This past week?" You shook your head again, because other than missing him while he had been stuck in Texas for a case, nothing had actually happened. 

You wished it had. Truly, you wished you had experienced a murder on your way to work, or a distant family member had passed away so you could blame this feeling on something other than memories simply resurfacing. 

You sniffled again. "You know," you began, voice thick and wobbly from the lump lodged in your throat. "When I was fourteen, I didn't think I'd ever be this old."

Your gaze lifted from your lap to look at him, and you let a helpless tear fall from one of your eyes when you locked eyes with him. He was confused, unsurprisingly so.

So, you continued. "I tried to kill myself. When I was fourteen."

He readjusted his posture, eyebrows falling into a more concerned state, and he was silent for so long you wondered if this was when he decided you were too much and too complicated for him to deal with. 

He didn't. "I didn't know," he said, instead. 

"I don't exactly advertise it," you replied, and even if it was an attempt at being light hearted, it fell flat. "I just realised I never thought I'd be this age," you continued when he hardly reacted, "and I've been really anxious and down all week, so I think that realisation kind of sent me over the edge."

"Are you happy you're at this age?" 

Hesitantly, but surely, you nodded your head. "I got to meet you."

His lips twitched, but a smile never crossed his face. "You should be happy for reasons more than just me."

"You are my reason for being happy," you argued. 

"And I'm glad to hear I make you happy, but I cannot be your only reason."

"Why not?"

"Because that's dependency." 

You short-circuited, and he sighed upon realising the way you were taking his words — maybe not the smartest thing he could've said to his still tear-stricken-faced girlfriend. 

"What I mean is you should have other areas in your life that make you happy. Not just me."

"I like my job," you mumbled, gaze relocating to your lap. "And my friends."

"Great," he said, and you could feel his weight shifting on the couch as he nudged closer to you. "As long as I'm not your reason for living."

Your eyebrows furrowed. "You've been my reason for living since we started dating. Why is it different now?"

"I didn't know I was your reason for living until now."

"So if you are, then what? You leave me?" 

"No," his response was so immediate you were sure you could feel the whiplash, and he ran a hand down his face with an exasperated sigh. "I don't want to fight with you when you're like this."

"I don't want to fight with you either," you agreed, fidgeting with your fingers in your lap. "I'm sorry I'm co-dependent."

He didn't respond for a while, mulling everything you two had shared and now, your apology, over in his head. You sat, anxiously, as minutes ticked by until he was puffing his cheeks to let out air, and standing up from the couch. 

He turned to you. "I love you, you know that," he began, and even before he had a chance to finish, you were already drowning him out, world crumbling around you as tears welled back up in your eyes. Maybe if you weren't as emotional as you were that night, your vision wouldn't have already gone blurry, and your heart wouldn't be shattering in your chest already. 

"But?" you countered, a sob escaping you at the end of the word.

He froze at the sound of it, his eyebrows turning in to each other, "Sorry?"

"You love me, but?"

"I don't understand."

"I'm sitting here, sobbing really violently and I look hideous, and you've just discovered I'm co-dependent, and you don't like that about me, so now you're telling me that you love me, but this isn't going to work out, and I need to work on myself before I get into another relationship, and you hope I can find happiness, and—"

"—What are you talking about?" he cut your ranting off, blinking a few times, confused. 

"Is that not what's happening?" 

"No?"

"Oh."

You stared at him, and he stared at you, and you felt your heart slowly pick itself back up from the pits of your stomach, each piece mending itself back together. He wasn't breaking up with you.

"I wasn't going to say that at all. Please don't put words in my mouth."

"Sorry," you said, though it wasn't very sincere. He crouched down in front of you, hands finding your fidgeting ones to hold them.

"Can I finish what I'm going to say before you cut me off this time?" Wordlessly, you nodded your head, and so he continued. "I love you, and you know that, and I don't want you to think I'm upset or mad at you for being codependent. You're allowed to not know how to navigate a relationship. But—"

"—There it is—" he glared with no real heat at you, and your lips twitched "—Sorry."

"But I need you to communicate with me. I'm going to inevitably do things that upset you, because you're co-dependent. We need to figure those things out, because a lot of the time you will respond unhealthily, and knowing what I know now, I don't want to be a trigger in any way."

"You won't be a trigger," you mumbled, and he shot you a pointed look, and your shoulders deflated. "I just feel stupid communicating things like that. Like, oh, I'm sad because my boyfriend is out of state for work and he's super busy and not responding to my messages so I think he might hate me."

"That isn't stupid."

"Yes it is!"

He said your name, eyebrows risen, and he shook his head. "You're upset about something. That isn't a stupid thing at all."

"It feels stupid."

"Okay, well, how about the next time I'm away on a case and not replying and you miss me, which is what that crazy, sad, completely reasonable phenomenon is called, by the way, you communicate that with me, and you see how I respond?"

"What if you tell me to go fuck myself?" 

He didn't even need to verbally deny your words for you to know that that response was completely out of character for him. All it took was one simple look, and you were diffidently smiling and averting your gaze, mumbling a quiet, "Okay."

And yes, the next time he was out of the state and you missed him, as he so kindly put it, you told him. And he spent three hours on the phone that night with you, reassuringly expressing how much he loved you, and how little he hated you.

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[that-weird-thing-in-the-woods]

:) you all know what time it isssss

Danny Al-ghul

But not in the way you would think. So the Fentons find out about Danny being phantom (catching him changing or something) and {this is a Bad Fenton Au so we gonna traumatizing the fuck out of this boy} and they experiment and torture him for a few weeks to a month in this time frame Jazz, Sam and Tucker have died and have not come back as ghost due to dying by a ghost blaster ( hint hint )

And Danny eventually die (fully this time) due to torture and starvation (They didn’t think ‘Ghost’ needed to eat) and when Danny died he gets yeeted into a part of the Zone no one goes to and when I say no one I mean NO ONE and eventually crashes into it

And now into a bit into this part of The Zone it is actually The Home of the dead Al-ghuls and their assassins + some pit demons but they aren’t really that conscious…I guess I mean they move around and sometimes talk or well scream because they are infected by The Madness (Pit Rage) and kinda act like obsessiveness ghost…oh I never explained what that was well I do it in the next post or something but for the time it just means feral and more animalistic than a normal ghost would be

So basically Danny crash landed into a feral Pit {you see what I did there} and after some shenanigans and shit the dead and Feral Al-ghuls kinda just accepted into the family I mean the past tense assassins and the younger dead Al-ghuls listen to them so he’s a part of them now

And if you were to ask one of the Al-ghuls ( If they were sane enough for that ) they would basically say

=====================================

“Yeah that Danny we don’t know who’s kid he is and he’s not really into the hole assassin thing and he’s far to soft to be an Al-ghul but he heals us and takes care of the younger ones so he’s part of the family and no one’s going to take him away” * proceeds to rip out the core of the ghost who asks and eats it or brings it to Danny because he eats less than everyone else ( he doesn’t he just doesn’t eat fucking CORES)*

=====================================

What I mean about healing them is that Danny constantly carries around a never ending black marble bowl { like in my Snake Empress Au } of the purest ecto you can have ( Clockwork gave it to him for helping the Ferals and the LOLS by the misunderstandings from the future you’ll give it in a sec ) and when ghost are feral instead of cuts and stuff they break and crack like a porcelain doll or something else that cracks that like that and pours a bit into the crack/break

——————————————————————————

Now onto the DC part of this! So while Tim was looking for Bruce in the timestream {like in my Void and Prism Au} and somehow ends up in front of a giant temple like building that is surrounded by multiple lagoons and lakes of Lazarus pits ( and that a bit concerning in itself ) and as Tim walks in he hears footsteps and the pulling of fabric on the ground so he turns around not really knowing what to expect but he was most definitely not expecting the most beautiful boy he’s ever seen but what caught his attention is the black marble bowl that has the purest Lazarus water he’s ever seen and a few shenanigans and a get together later Tim is now dating this ethereal, beautiful, kind he should probably stop while he’s ahead before he goes on for hours {So basically Tim is down bad for our little ghost boy} who so happens to an Al-ghul and Danny helps Tim find Bruce but Danny makes Tim promise to keep in contact ( which Tim was going to do anyway and not to mention Danny’s literal Amy of Feral Al-ghuls/assassins/pit demons who will kill him and than hunt him in death for his core to give to Danny as a trophy and just for the LOLS let’s have everyone misunderstand that Danny is an Al-ghul )

So a few years later Tim and Danny are still in contact and Tim is still down bad but he still hasn’t told everybody about it until one day the Batfam fucks up and Tim fucks off to The Ghost Zone back to his boyfriend ( possible fiancé but still hasn’t told anyone)

=====================================

The JL-JLD: running around like headless chickens

The Batfam: Much angst

Tim and Danny: chilling out and being in love and shit

====================================

And now on to the details of this!

For Danny’s outfit I’m thinking something like this

And he’s wearing some jewelry like this

And for hair

also here is a pic of the black marble bowl ( it is the same in my Snake empress au and in this )

=====================================

nd that’s about it about this au and I hope you guys like it tell me if you want to see more of this byeeeee

[watchyourbuck]

The thing about Tommy is that he’s very pretty. Everything about him is intoxicatingly attractive, and no matter where they go, people follow. Men, particularly.

Buck isn’t necessarily the jealous type. He’s had his fair share of protecting ex girlfriends from creeps and dudes who won’t back off, but this is different. This feels like a constant, extremely symptomatic migraine.

Of course girls throw themselves at him, but the mere fact that they have no chance makes it less angering. It’s the studs, and the twinks, and the huge men who put their hands on his man. That cup his ass almost as a greeting gesture. That play with his hair, and whisper in his ear.

And Tommy isn’t stupid. He knows he’s being flirted with, but since he could never have eyes for anyone who isn’t Buck, he doesn’t see the need to be rude. So he keeps it at ‘No, thank you’’s, and polite, refusing smiles. And yes, that’s yet another one of the qualities Buck loves about him. Because he doesn’t like violence. But then again, it fires up the unwavering possessiveness brewing in the pit of his stomach.

So Buck’s gotten creative. Now that they’re officially a couple, and go out on dates every weekend — to different places, if he might add —, he’s had to get handy with the way he lets people know Tommy’s his.

He orders with him at the bar, makes sure to say ‘my boyfriend’ and strategically places his hands on parts of Tommy’s body that would get him punched if they weren’t together. It works, for the most part.

But there’s always that one guy who can’t take a hint.

“You’re like a Greek god,” he whispers and Buck rolls his eyes. “Greek gods shouldn’t be alone.”

It’s a twenty-something year old dude that looks like he’s missing a college class. He’s wearing a tank top and eyeliner and he’s about a second away from earning himself all of Buck’s un-contained rage.

“I’m not alone,” Tommy says, pointing at him, and god bless his heart. “This is my partner.”

Buck bends forward a bit to wave enthusiastically, but it comes out bitchy. He’s almost sorry but then the guy barely acknowledges him, putting his hand on Tommy’s shoulder and rubbing circles on the exposed skin. Tommy’s hand tightens on his hip, keeping him still.

“You know, I’m very flexible,” the guy says and Buck is currently making a deal with god to grant him patience. “I could show you just how much.”

“Oh, you’re not showing him anything,” Buck barks, right from over Tommy’s head. If he has to get on his tippy toes to do that, well, the other guy doesn’t have to know.

“Evan,” Tommy warns, but it’s endearing, it carries no threat. He turns his head to the kid and tilts it. “You should find a guy who’s interested. I’m not.”

Buck absolutely preens, a cocky smirk settling on his face. He’s about to claim victory when he notices the guy’s demeanor doesn’t change, and he actually steps closer. “That’s because you don’t know what you’re missing, daddy.”

Nope. A surge of something primal and almost maniac courses through his body, and before Tommy can do anything about it, Buck’s rounding him and taking the guy’s wrist and squeezing it. He’s shorter than Tommy but significantly bigger than this kid, so he towers over him easily. “Take your hands off him if you want to keep them.”

The kid’s face contorts in fear. “What’s your problem, dude!”

Buck laughs, his only point of connection to reality being Tommy’s hand on his belt loops, holding him in place. “My problem,” he says, his voice deeper, “is that you can’t seem to take no for an answer. He’s told you he’s not alone. So, back off before I make you.”

His eyes shift from Buck’s to Tommy’s, who Buck can only guess has a soft but unreadable expression on his face. When the kid isn’t defended by Tommy, he snags his hand back, scoffs and takes off.

Buck watches him until he loses him to the crowd, then lets out a big breath, closing his eyes momentarily. He turns to Tommy, expecting to find judgy or at least annoyed eyes. He doesn’t.

“Not that I wanna encourage you,” Tommy says, sitting on a stool to pull Buck closer, right between his legs. “But that was really hot.”

Buck huffs out a laugh but it’s vaguely one. “I’m just— he wouldn’t stop touching you. You’re, ugh, you’re—!”

Tommy tilts his head, chasing after Buck’s gaze when he looks to the side. “You can say it.”

Buck bites his lip and stares. How could he not, after all. “You’re mine,” de declares, definitive and on the verge of angry. “And I don’t like men touching what’s mine.”

And he knows. There’s a fine line between sexy possessive and psychopathically controlling, and he’s walking it like a rope between two buildings, but the look on Tommy’s face and the unmistakable sight of the front of his pants growing tighter doesn’t help him get off the high horse. “We can always make a scene,” Tommy shrugs, getting up again and cornering Buck against the bar.

Buck’s eyes darken, even through the pain on his tailbone. His arms surge forward to wrap around Tommy’s neck and bring him down. And if they do make a scene, if they do make out messily and desperately for everyone to see, then it’s truly not his problem what they think. As long as they know who Tommy belongs to.

[yandereunsolved]

🐉 Yandere Aemond Targaryen w/ platonic yandere Alicent Hightower (part 2—requested) 🐉

↝ (part 1) ᝰ.ᐟ

cw(s): manipulation & misogyny

You had left to do your daily duties after he pulled you aside and confessed his true intentions. You seemed so frightened of him in that moment. You simply asked to be excused and continue your work. Aemond would say it broke his heart, but it did not. It only strengthened his will and resolve to make you his. 

He would have to face his mother and ensure your hand in marriage to him. Aemond once said that he would have gladly married Halaena; only now does he see the foolishness in those words. Hopefully, his mother will see the foolishness as well. His heart yearns for no other, and he will slay as many as needed if denied you.

His hand nearly slipped from the knob of her chambers. His heart had nearly halted to a stop. He cannot say he has ever felt a fear quite like this, not even when he was disfigured. His hand absent-mindedly touched his eye patch. A lovelorn grimace appeared on his pale face. He opened the door with another new sense of vigor. 

His single step within his mother's chambers commanded great respect, like that of the dragons the Targaryens pridefully ride. The maids looked up in panic at his intrusion. They were fixing the queen's auburn strands and her emerald gown. Even at the cost of a possible scolding or death at the hands of the queen, they quickly left her chambers without so much of an indication of Queen Alicent allowing them.

"Mother," the words hung on his tongue loosely, his expression blank but betraying a hint of anxiety. "I have an urgent matter I wish to speak to you about."

"Yes." Alicent answered quickly, with a wistful warmth evident in her tone.

"Yes?"

"The maid," jealously and vitriolic animosity clear in her curt wording.

The queen stood up and glared at her son. Her steps were quick, and her single action fierce. It took him a moment to register the stinging ache on the edge of his face. His mother had just struck him, as she often did to Aegon. 

"Idiot boy. You want to marry that maid, correct? You have gone about it all the wrong way." 

His ability to speak left him, and with it was a pit of shame that only grew with the impact of the hit.

"Aemond, speak. Use your words if you want them so badly."

"I—how did you know?" He manages to croak out. He tries to maintain his crumbling visage of indifference.

"They are special. They may have been born among the common, but they are destined for nobility." Alicent hissed. She had to refrain from slapping him again because of such an asinine inquiry.

"That does not answer—"

She cut him off. "Hush, son. I am the queen. I am entitled to know everything that goes on within these walls. I know you have fancied the maid for a long time. You have gone about it all wrong. Still, I will give you their hand under one circumstance. You must woo them and treat them with the care they deserve. If I see you raise your voice or your hand to them, even in a moment of rage, I will make sure they are taken from you."

Aemond's head spins with her agreement, his thoughts scattered around his mind like the bones of Vhagar's victims. He had to clutch onto the side of the wall. His one violet eye narrowed at his mother. He somewhat feared the silly little woman, but he had to regain his ground. Through dawn and dusk, he is a man that has come of age. Asking for your hand through his mother was nothing more than a formality.

"They are mine, regardless. I do not intend them any harm; abuse would be the antithesis of my love for them."

Alicent seemed to stare into his soul and see the truth. Her shoulders relaxed, and she returned to her proper, queenly persona.

"Good boy. Listen to my words, and they shall be yours. I will not hesitate to order your brother to strike you down if you disobey."

"You have made that abundantly clear." He has to restrain himself from rolling his eye. His sapphire one nearly rolled in his socket.

"I will keep an eye on them, which means they will end up visiting my chambers once a week. I am sure I can get them more smitten with you." Alicent chuckles, but it is more like a court member's snarky laugh than that of a proud mother. "That confession of yours, just when the sun rose, was absolutely disastrous." 

"Mhm." His lips tightly pursed.

"Is that all you have to say?"

"We are on the same side. There is no need to fruitlessly argue. I am far more clever when it comes to my words anyway."

The queen was already tired from her earlier meetings. Her son had already agreed to her wishes. There was no more need to chastise his prideful words. Such is the way of men.

"You two will make a perfect coupling." She brings her hands up and cradles his face. Her left hand nurses the red mark that she left. The traces of her previous rancor are gone. "I love you, my son."

"As do I."

Aemond nursed his mental and physical wounds that night. He caressed his body and imagined it was your own hands that replaced his. Tears, both delighted and sorrowful, escaped him as the hour of the ghosts approached. His impatience and sexual frustration were at their peak. He needed you to belong to him. He needs you now. He can no longer appease his internal beast with mere glances at your tantalizing skin and fleeting touches.

Queen Alicent convinced you to marry Aemond that night. She invited you to a private dinner and spoke to you with saccharine-coated phrases. You fancied him; you were simply skittish due to the fact he revealed his obsessive tendencies. She assured you that his proclamations were hyperbolic; he was simply ecstatic and impulsive, losing the true meaning of his pure and healthy love.

She's much smarter than Aemond in that aspect. You will never know how deep her motherly love runs for you. You are like the child she always wished she had bore. You did not drink your nights away or fuck whores; you were not the runt of the litter fighting tooth and nail to be considered strong. You were grounded; you may lose yourself in your mind sometimes, but you still had a grasp on reality. 

You are perfection, quintessential to the both of them.

[hoiststowline]

Could we get a jealous Prowl? Or Maybe hurt/comfort?

🩷🥺

_prowl x reader

in my opinion, contrary to his character, I think Prowl is most certainly a jealous type, but I think he’s very quiet about it. it’s one of the few things he can’t be confronted with, unable or unwilling to admit that yes, he’s about shoulders deep in a pit of envy he can’t climb out of. he opts to mope in utter silence, surveying how friendly and cordial you are with co-workers or other mechs that are so undeserving of your attention. yet, he hasn’t quite deciphered yet if interfering will drive a wedge within your relationship, so internally decides he’s better off just keeping this one to himself.

while Prowl may think that others are unjustified to claim your attention, subconsciously, he thinks it the most of himself. he’s excellent at reading your body language, proud that he’s able to decode your unspoken words with the simple twitch of your shoulders. on the other hand, he’s a stoic and sometimes emotionally unavailable mech who isn’t so easily read. with some time, you begin to pick up on things, but jealousy remains a silent killer. he suffers with it alone, and finds that he’s powerless to articulate his envy in legitimate words. it might be very later on into your relationship that you even receive a hint that he’s feeling some sort of building covetousness.

the only time he may interfere in a fit of rage is if your safety is threatened or you’re looking around, searching for quick means of escape. while one of his emotions may be jealousy initially, it’s not the accelerant that fuels an already unsteady flame. it’s always an unyielding and restless feeling that has him unnecessarily overprotective of you. surely, he must know that some times he overreacts, but in his mind, who cares what others think. he successfully solved the problem, didn’t he? it’s just his nature. albeit, unconventional, Prowl is a master of whisking you away from any conversation that you may begin to feel uncomfortable in.

[fastcardotmp3]

athena + maddie; 1k words

"Did Bobby ever tell you much about my brother Daniel?"

Athena looks up, a flicker of a thing, before her gaze trains back on the pot of coffee she pours out into two matching mugs.

"I know he passed when you were young," Athena says, sliding one of the mugs across the island to where Maddie sits on a stool, but staying standing on her side as she lifts her own to her lips. "I know Buck didn't know about him until a few years ago."

Maddie wraps her hands around her mug and watches the steam, nods as though centering herself, and offers a melancholy smile as she lifts her eyes.

"My parents didn't want to talk about him after he died," she says. "They didn't want me to bring him up."

"That must have been very difficult."

Athena has known Maddie Buckley for quite some time, now. She has seen her through terrible things and Maddie's voice has been the guiding force to see Athena through the same.

She's a tough woman, but a woman whose toughness presents much differently than Athena's own. Maddie is unapologetically emotional in ways Athena has always been terrified of being, worried for the sort of weakness with which it would mark her.

They are both resourceful women, Athena knows this, but the resources into which they dip when they need to support themselves through the pull of a vitriolic gravity are simply different.

A For Sale sign sits in the front yard of this house built from ash and Maddie Buckley sits at the counter because she just felt like stopping by but Athena isn't sure she's ready for Maddie's version of strength. Not sure if she's ready to abandon her own.

"It was difficult," Maddie admits like a simpler thing than Athena knows it to be. "I wasn't allowed to grieve my brother. They would get-- If I even hinted at trying to talk about him, they would get so upset and I would feel so guilty for it."

"It's a lot for a child to carry," Athena breathes, because she has known Maddie for many years, and even the version of this woman she knew still on the run feels nearly childlike compared to the one she looks at before her now.

"It's a lot for anyone to carry," Maddie tells her: pointed, but gentle.

If nothing else, it drags a dry chuckle out of Athena's lungs.

If nothing else, it creates the illusion of laughter.

"I knew you weren't just stopping by for my coffee," she smiles at Maddie with a sidelong look over the lip of her mug.

Maddie shrugs. "It's good coffee either way," she says. "But you're right. I do have a point."

A faux sheepishness to it that Athena can see right through, that Maddie doesn't seem bothered by the transparency of. She's not ashamed to be here, poking at Athena's grief.

There's something refreshing about that, in spite of the rest which her presence brings to the front.

"Go on ahead," Athena motions broadly with a sweep of her hand and Maddie leans further into the counter, closing some of the distance between them.

"I know that I can't begin to understand what you're going through and I know I'm probably the last person you ever want to try and relate to with how everything played out," Maddie speaks aloud that which has been crumbling away bit by bit, with each passing day that a group photo--family photo-- has sat on the side table in an empty, echoing living room.

She is Chimney's wife, this woman. She, perhaps, was served more than anyone in Bobby's sacrifice.

Athena has been angry at Chimney. She has looked at him and seen everything she lost. She has resented him for living when Bobby didn't.

But Maddie?

Maddie has been a source of something Athena hasn't known much of in her life. Jealousy.

Her partner came home to her. She gets to go home to her partner, still.

She's right, really, that Athena does not care to relate to her, even as she's finding her stumbling way out of that pit of despair and rage which this blossoming young family instills within her.

"But I also know..." Maddie continues, all that emotion right on her face, "I know that no one wants to speak his name around you right now. I know it probably feels like playing a game of taboo, that if you talk about him, you'll only make them all feel guilty. But, Athena, what if that's the trick? I already feel guilty."

A burst of something wet and hurting bubbles out of Athena, teary like a sob but sharp like a laugh. Maddie pushes onwards with the kind of pull at her lips which somehow encompasses all the complexity of feeling in the kitchen with them. Big, brown eyes like reflections of the unspoken parts of this conversation.

"I didn't start healing from losing Daniel until I was an adult because I wasn't given the space to. My parents still haven't, I don't think, because they don't want that space," she says hoarsely. "And I don't want that for you. I want you to have the chance to feel it out loud without feeling like a burden. I don't want you to feel like you have to hide from it for our sake."

"So you'd rather I make it your burden, then?" Athena asks, coffee long forgotten and something about the tension, the release of it, making the room feel warmer than it has since that last morning when it held him. Not in an entirely pleasant way, but not the opposite either.

And Maddie Buckley is tough. She has been through the wringer.

She takes it all on board differently that Athena does, but she takes it.

"Athena," she breathes, "Whether you let me help you or not, I already am. At least make it worth something."

Tears claw their way down Athena's cheeks.

Perhaps they can share in this show of strength.

[tideoverwater]

im baaaaaack! also please feel free to send requests, i'd love some more inspo. let me know what you guys think!!!! <3

The tension in the air was suffocating. The pristine dining room, filled with candlelight and polished silverware, had long since emptied, leaving Y/N alone at the grand oak table, staring at her untouched glass of wine. Her parents had left first, exchanging tight-lipped glances and murmuring their disapproval under their breath. Her brother and his girlfriend followed soon after, their expressions a mixture of pity and amusement. By the time the last guest excused themselves with a polite but knowing smile, Y/N felt her heart sink into the pit of her stomach.

Rafe never showed.

The dinner had been important—so important. Her family wasn’t the kind to welcome just anyone into their exclusive circles, and after weeks of convincing, they had finally agreed to let Rafe join them for a formal dinner at her family estate. It had been a chance for him to prove himself, to show them that he was more than just the reckless, wild Cameron boy with a reputation for trouble.

But he hadn’t come. No call. No text. Nothing.

By the time she got home, she was fuming.

The moment she stepped through the front door of Tannyhill, she tossed her purse onto the table with more force than necessary, the loud thud breaking the unbearable silence. She barely had time to slip off her heels before she heard the front door swing open.

"Y/N—"

Rafe’s voice was breathless as he stumbled inside, his hair a disheveled mess, his dress shirt untucked and wrinkled as if he had rushed over. His blue eyes were wide with panic the second they landed on her.

"Where the hell were you?" Y/N’s voice was sharp, edged with anger and something dangerously close to heartbreak.

Rafe shut the door behind him, running a shaky hand through his hair. "Baby, I’m so sorry—"

"Sorry?" she repeated, letting out a bitter laugh. "Sorry?" Her hands curled into fists at her sides as she took a deep breath, trying to steady the storm raging inside her. "You were supposed to be there, Rafe. You promised me."

"I know," he breathed, stepping toward her. "I know, I fucked up. I—"

"Do you have any idea how humiliating that was for me?" she cut him off, her voice cracking as she met his gaze. "I sat there for two hours making excuses for you while my family—my entire family—judged me for even thinking you could handle something this important."

Rafe flinched at the pain in her voice, guilt clawing at his chest. He had let her down—again. He had never seen her like this before. Sure, they had fought before, but this was different. This was real. This was breaking her, and it meant so much for him to meet her family and he knew this. 

"I was on my way," he insisted desperately. "I swear, I was on my way, but Ward called, and I had to handle something for him. I thought I had time, and then everything got out of control, and before I knew it—"

"Do you even hear yourself right now?" Y/N snapped, her arms crossing tightly over her chest as her nails dug into her skin to hold back the burning tears she could feel forming. "You thought you had time? You thought I’d just sit there and wait for you while you handled business for your dad? This is bullshit Rafe, and you know it."

Rafe clenched his jaw, frustration evident on his face, but it wasn’t at her—it was at himself. "I didn’t mean for this to happen."

"But it did happen, Rafe!" Her voice wavered as her emotions surged forward, overwhelming her completely. "And now my parents think I’m just some stupid girl wasting my time on a guy who can’t even be bothered to show up for me when it fucking matters." Rafe’s heart clenched at the sight of tears pooling in her eyes. His breath hitched, and before she could step away from him, he was in front of her, his hands grasping her arms gently.

"Hey, no, don’t say that," he pleaded with a hint of anger in his tone. "You are not stupid. You are the best damn thing that has ever happened to me."

Y/N shook her head, blinking rapidly as she pulled out of his grasp. "Then prove it to me, Rafe. Because right now, I don’t feel like I matter to you at all."

Rafe felt the panic in his chest turn into something worse—fear.

Without thinking, he dropped to his knees in front of her, his hands reaching out to grip her waist as he pressed his forehead against her stomach.

"Baby, please," he begged, his voice raw. "Please don’t say that. I swear to god, you mean everything to me."

Y/N let out a breath softly, her hands instinctively going to his hair as she looked down at him with tears streaming down her cheeks.

"I don’t care about anything else," Rafe continued, his grip tightening as if he were afraid she’d disappear. "Not my dad’s business, not my reputation, not these stupid Kooks, nothing—I just care about you." He exhaled shakily, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I can’t lose you, Y/N."

Her resolve wavered as she felt his desperation seep into her bones. Rafe Cameron—the Rafe Cameron who never begged for anything—was on his knees in front of her, pleading for forgiveness like a man who had lost everything. Her heart ached. She wanted to stay angry, to keep yelling, to make him feel the full weight of what he had done. But the sight of him—his head bowed, his body trembling slightly—made it impossible.

She swallowed hard, her fingers threading through his hair as she let out a shaky breath. "Rafe..."

He looked up at her then, his blue eyes glassy with unshed tears. "Fuck—Please, baby," he whispered. "Tell me how to fix this. Tell me what I have to do."

Y/N closed her eyes for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts. She was still hurt. Still furious. But she also knew Rafe, knew how deeply he felt things even when he didn’t know how to express them properly.

"You can’t just say you care, Rafe," she said softly, opening her eyes. "You have to show me. I need to know that when I need you, you’ll be there. That I can count on you."

Rafe nodded quickly, his hands gripping her tighter. "You can. I swear to you, you can. I won’t let this happen again." Y/N searched his face, looking for any hint of dishonesty. But all she saw was sincerity, guilt, and a desperate need to make things right.

She sighed, finally lowering herself to the ground with him. Rafe immediately pulled her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her as he buried his face in her neck.

"I love you," he murmured against her skin, his voice thick with emotion. "So fucking much."

Y/N closed her eyes, letting herself melt into his embrace. She wasn’t ready to forget, but she knew that she loved him too much to walk away.

"I love you too," she whispered. "But Rafe... don’t make me regret it."

Rafe pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, his hands cupping her face with a gentleness that made her chest ache.

"I won’t," he promised, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. "I swear, I won’t."

The fight had drained them both, leaving behind nothing but the quiet hum of exhaustion and lingering emotion. Rafe had helped Y/N up from the floor, his hands never leaving her as if he was afraid she might slip through his fingers if he let go.

"Come on, baby," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Let’s get you ready for bed."

Y/N nodded, her body still tense, but the warmth of his hands on her skin soothed her more than she was willing to admit. Rafe led her to their bedroom, his touch featherlight as he guided her inside.

The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting shadows along the walls. Rafe turned to her, his fingers trailing down her arms before he reached for the zipper of her dress.

"Can I?" he asked gently, searching her eyes for permission.

Y/N swallowed, nodding slowly. She could feel his breath against her shoulder as he pulled the zipper down with deliberate care, his knuckles grazing her skin. When the fabric pooled at her feet, Rafe didn’t let his hands wander. Instead, he pressed a slow, reverent kiss to her bare shoulder.

"You’re so beautiful," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I don’t tell you enough."

Her heart clenched at the sincerity in his tone. She turned to face him, lifting shaky hands to undo the buttons of his shirt. He let her, watching her with those piercing blue eyes, letting her take control of the moment.

When his shirt finally slipped from his shoulders, he reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers before bringing them to his lips. "I love you," he murmured against her skin. "More than anything. More than I know how to say."

Tears welled in Y/N’s eyes again, but this time, they weren’t from anger. She stepped closer, resting her forehead against his. "Then show me," she whispered.

Rafe exhaled shakily, his arms wrapping around her waist as he pulled her against him. He pressed soft, lingering kisses to her temple, her cheek, the corner of her lips—everywhere but where she wanted him most. He was worshipping her, letting his love seep through every touch, every breath.

"Let’s get in bed," he finally said, his voice low and tender.

He pulled back just enough to help her into one of his T-shirts, the fabric swallowing her frame in a way that made something warm settle deep in his chest. Then, he led her to the bed, pulling back the covers before guiding her underneath. The moment they settled in, Rafe pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her as if shielding her from the world. His hand traced lazy patterns along her back, his lips pressed against the top of her head.

"You still mad at me?" he asked after a moment, his voice quiet in the stillness of the room.

Y/N sighed, tucking herself deeper into his warmth. "A little," she admitted.

Rafe let out a soft chuckle, kissing her forehead. "I deserve that."

"You do," she agreed, tilting her head up to look at him. "But I also love you. And I believe you when you say you won’t let this happen again."

His jaw tensed, and he nodded, brushing his fingers along her cheek. "I won’t. I swear to you, Y/N. I’ll always put you first."

She sighed, relaxing into him. "Good."

For a while, they just lay there, wrapped in each other, the steady rise and fall of their breathing in sync. Rafe continued to whisper soft reassurances, his lips brushing against her skin between each promise.

"You’re everything to me," he murmured. "My whole world."

Y/N tightened her arms around him, pressing her face against his chest, letting the steady beat of his heart lull her into peace. And as sleep finally pulled them under, she knew—despite everything—they would always find their way back to each other.

[inkmonster21]

I Don’t Play Anymore

Series Masterlist

Hwang In-Ho / The Frontman x Fem!Reader

Warnings: neglectful parental relationship, USA player deaths via reader)

.04 Once A Winner

Your father looked up from his computer as you entered, his attention shifting from the screen. "Good afternoon, daughter," he replied, closing the computer and setting it aside. His attention turned to the Frontman, who stood a step behind you.

“Has she been respectful?” The Frontman nodded, maintaining his formal and professional demeanor. "Yes," he responded calmly. "She has observed and understood the operations here." His words were carefully chosen, ensuring that he conveyed the information.

Your father's surprise was evident in his tone as he addressed you, a mix of disbelief and reluctant praise in his words. "Well, that's pleasant to hear," he commented, a hint of sarcasm lacing his words. "You're following directions, for once." The Frontman stood quietly in the background, observing the exchange between father and daughter, noting the underlying tension in the room.

Your father looked up at the Frontman and gestured for him to come closer. With a serious tone, he announced, "Come watch this." The Frontman swiftly approached, taking a position beside your father.

Your father pressed the play button, and the unmistakable sound of screaming and panic filled the room. The screams echoed in the space, the sounds of chaos and terror unfolding. The Frontman watched with focused attention, his eyes glued to the screen, absorbing the scene that was unfolding before them.

As the video continued, the sound of your voice echoed, shouting frantically, "You have to go! If you don't we're all going to die!" Your words carried urgency and desperation, the chaos and panic in your tone evident. The Frontman listened with a mix of surprise and recognition, realizing that the voice belonged to you.

As the video played, the scene of the games unfolded, with the floor being an open 10-foot pit of fire. The players were required to make their way from point A to point B across the fiery lava pit, facing the intense challenge of the flaming obstacle course.

The scene on the screen showed you, fourth in line from the ending platform, desperately urging the woman in front not to stop moving forward. Sweat dripped down your face, the intense heat from the fire causing your body to perspire heavily. The Frontman watched in silence as the flames rose with each passing minute, the fiery obstacle course becoming more hazardous.

The sound of the woman's voice echoed, her words filled with desperation and fear. "I can't. I can't," she cried out, a mix of panic and despair in her voice. The Frontman's gaze remained fixed on the video, taking in every detail of the scene, and the woman's hesitation to move forward.

You couldn't help but recall the overwhelming emotions you felt at that moment. The panic, the rage, and the all-consuming fear that enveloped you. The Frontman observed your reaction, his gaze shifting between the screen and you, noting the flicker of emotion in your eyes.

Your voice rang out on the recording, an ultimatum given to the woman standing in front of you. "You go, or I will!" Your words carried a mix of frustration, desperation, and determination. The Frontman's attention shifted back to the screen, watching as the tension in the scene intensified.

As the recording continued, it became evident that the woman in front of you didn't move. The Frontman watched with a mix of tension and anticipation, witnessing the standoff between you and the frozen woman. The scene conveyed the intensity and uncertainty in that moment, the consequences of the woman's hesitance evident in the flames rising higher.

As the scene of your panicked rage took center stage, the recording showed you jumping onto her pillar, pushing her into the fire. The sound of screaming echoed in the room as the woman fell into the fire.

The Frontman watched as you sternly commanded, "Go." Your words were filled with urgency and panic, adding to the tension of the scene. The man in front of you listened to your command and began to hurriedly move forward, aware of the imminent danger.

As the recording advanced, the Frontman witnessed the tense scene unfold. The man in front of you hesitated, on the next pillar and the fire was rapidly rising. With a sense of desperation, you made a calculated choice, leaping onto the man's pillar and pushing him off, sending him plummeting into the fiery pit. The Frontman watched with a mix of shock and concern, observing the toll the games were taking on you.

The scene on the screen showed you staring at the last player, a young girl, who trembled with fear. Without hesitating, you made your move and jumped onto her pillar, pushing her off into the fire. The Frontman watched with a mix of horror and sympathy, seeing the innocent youth lost in the game's cruel twists. The flames claimed the girl's life as you completed the game

On the screen, you leaped onto the ledge just as the timer reached zero, becoming the sole survivor of the game. The Frontman witnessed the devastating sight as the remaining players fell into the fire and their pillars dropped into the flames. The scene conveyed a sense of both triumph and loss, with the stark reality of the others' fate looming in the background.

You walk toward the bar, your steps carrying the weight of the events witnessed. You turn to your father, your voice firm and unwavering, "Please turn that off." The words echoed in the room, a mixture of exhaustion and frustration tinging your tone as you requested the halt of the recording.

"You should be proud!" Your father's words echoed in your ears, the message clear in his tone. However, you feel a mix of emotions, uncertainty, and exhaustion mingling with frustration. Your eyes narrow, and a hint of irritation flickers in your expression. "Pride is not what I feel when I have to relive that," you retort, your voice tinged with a blend of sarcasm and disappointment.

Your father's disappointment is palpable as he shakes his head, his words carrying a hint of annoyance. "And here I was going to offer you that night out you wanted," he says, his tone dripping with a mix of disbelief and irritation. The offer, seemingly a reward for your participation earlier, only adds to your exhaustion and frustration. You meet his gaze with a mix of resentment and defiance.

“No, please,” With a mix of forced smile and hesitation, you respond, "I am sorry. I am just... intimidated here. I do not want to mess up," you say, trying to appease your father's disappointment. Your words carry an underlying sense of fatigue and tension, your efforts to maintain a facade of obedience obvious.

The Frontman observes the tense exchange between you and your father, his eyes darting between the two of you, taking in the complexity of the relationship and the strained atmosphere. The weight of the situation is palpable in the room, the tension between you and your father simmering just beneath the surface.

The Frontman steps forward, addressing your father with a calm and authoritative tone. "She has shown much interest and been very helpful during the duration in the control room," he states, defending you. His words carry a mix of respect and recognition, acknowledging your efforts and adding a touch of support to the tense conversation.

The Frontman pushes his point, addressing your father, "Surely, she deserves something," he emphasizes, reiterating the idea of recognition for your contributions. His words carry a hint of determination, as he advocates for you to receive a form of reward or acknowledgment for your role and performance.

Your father's demeanor softens as the Frontman speaks up in your defense, a small grin forming on his face. "Well, if you think she's been a help, that's saying something," he concedes, acknowledging the Frontman's support. The conversation seems to gradually shift in your favor, your father's initial irritation slowly fading.

As if on cue, the elevator doors slide open, their metallic groans breaking the momentary pause in conversation. The sound catches your attention, diverting your gaze towards the elevator, wondering who or what was behind the doors.

The room falls silent and tense as the slow footsteps approach the lounge, the soft sound of shoes connecting with the marble floor echoing through the space. The tension in the room becomes almost palpable, as everyone awaits the arrival of the unseen guest.

The elderly man enters the lounge, his attire impeccable, dressed in a finely tailored suit with an elaborate mask on his face. It's a golden jeweled mask, adding a touch of extravagance and mystery to his presence. The mask conceals his true identity, adding to the enigma surrounding him.

The Frontman addresses the elderly man with a respectful tone, introducing you and your father. "Sir, this is the US Frontman and his daughter," he states, the words carrying an air of formality and introduction. The elderly man nods,

The elderly man responds to the Frontman's introduction with a polite and formal greeting. "A pleasure to host you," he says, the tone of his voice suggesting a level of authority and sophistication. Despite his mask, the elegance in his demeanor is evident, adding a mysterious and refined touch to his presence.

As you look at the elderly man, a sense of familiarity tugs at your mind, though you cannot quite place where or when you've seen him before. The feeling of recognition lingers in the back of your mind, leaving you somewhat puzzled and intrigued. The man seems to carry himself with a certain stature and importance.

The Frontman turns his attention to the elderly man, introducing him to you, "This is our Game Maker," his words carrying a sense of respect and admiration. The title itself holds a sense of intrigue and authority, suggesting that this man is directly responsible for the games and their design. Your heart skips a beat as you realize the gravity of the person standing before you, his connection to the complex and sinister games now apparent.

Your father, with a hint of admiration, compliments the elderly man's work, acknowledging the lasting impact and legacy of the games. His words carry a sense of respect and appreciation for the games and their global influence, a hint of awe creeping into his tone as he speaks.

The Game Maker smiles warmly, appreciating your father's compliments. "That is kind," he replies, his voice filled with gratitude. "I am grateful to be able to meet you," he says, emphasizing the importance of the encounter. His words are tinged with a touch of reverence, acknowledging the enduring vision that extends beyond the boundaries of their land. The elderly man's voice holds a mix of respect and admiration, conveying a sense of shared purpose.

The Game Maker's attention shifts to you, his voice carrying a hint of admiration. "I witnessed the 2016 USA Games, and you were quite the spectacle," he says with a slight, knowing smile. His words echo with a mix of praise and intrigue as if he had been captivated by your performance and the impact you made in the games.

The Game Maker's smile widens at your polite response, appreciative of your acknowledgment of his praise. "Thank you, sir. That is a grand compliment, especially coming from you," you reply, your words holding a blend of gratitude and respect. The tension in the room seems to subtly shift as if the presence of such a figure adds a layer of weight and importance to the conversation.

As your father and the Game Maker engage in a seamless conversation, you notice the Frontman excusing himself from the room. He moves towards the elevator with a sense of purpose, quietly retreating from the gathering. The elevator doors open, and the Frontman steps inside, disappearing, the sound of the elevator retreating.

Your father, engrossed in the conversation with the other two men, glances at you. "You may go," he responds, waving his hand dismissively, his attention still focused on engaging with the Game Maker. With a sense of liberation, you take this opportunity to make your exit, stepping away from the ongoing conversation and heading towards the elevator to catch up with the Frontman.

As you approach the elevator, you hurry to catch up before the doors close, and manage to slip inside just in time, “mind if I catch a ride?” The Frontman, who stands inside, meets your inquiring gaze, a subtle glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "Of course," he replies, the corners of his lips curling into a subtle smile. He steps back, making room for you as the elevator begins its ascent.

You enter the Frontman's private suite, specifically heading to the master bedroom where your suitcase awaits. With purpose, you open it and settle onto the floor, carefully examining each outfit that has been neatly packed. The act of assessing each garment provides a moment of respite, allowing you to briefly escape the chaos and tension of the ongoing events.

As you place your mask on the bed, a sense of relief washes over you as its weight is lifted from your head. "God that thing is heavy," you murmur, the tension easing, and a small smile plays at the corners of your lips. The room is momentarily still, and the weight of the games seems to lift, if only briefly, from your shoulders.

“Do you wear that thing all the time?” The Frontman's gaze remains fixated on you as you speak, his eyes studying you for a moment. He hesitates for a fleeting moment before responding, "Majority of the time." His voice is calm and measured.

As you search through your suitcase, you find a stunning long dress, its sleek and elegant design catching your eye. You pull it out, holding it up, envisioning how it will look on you. The dress is striking, its backless design adding an element of sophistication and allure.

As you hold the dress, preparing for the night ahead, the Frontman's question cuts through the silence in the room, his voice carrying a mix of curiosity and concern. "Where will you be going?" he inquired, his eyes watching you as you examine the garment. The silence hangs in the air, awaiting your response.

“I’m meeting a friend at a bar.”

The Frontman raises an eyebrow, a subtle flicker of concern evident in his expression. His mask hides his true emotions, but there's a sense of hidden anticipation and curiosity. "A friend..?" he repeats, his tone slightly skeptical, as if trying to extract more information to assess the situation.

You turn to face the Frontman, a hint of a smile playing on your lips, slightly amused by his question. "Why do you say it like that?" you respond, a subtle challenge in the tone of your voice. "Is it surprising that I have friends?" Your reply carries a mix of playful curiosity.

The Frontman's phone rings abruptly, cutting through the tension in the room, effectively preventing him from answering your question. The sound of the ringer echoes in the air, momentarily interrupting your discussion. The Frontman swiftly reaches for the device, “This is the Frontman speaking.”

With practiced efficiency, you swiftly change into the dress, each movement fluid and precise. The fabric glides over your skin, the backless design adding a touch of elegance and allure to your figure. As you look in the mirror, the transformation is almost complete, and you take a moment to adjust the dress and ensure it fits perfectly.

You pick up your phone, searching through it for the address of the club Anderson sent you. Your fingers swiftly navigate the screen, scrolling through your contacts and messages until you finally find the location. As you make your way toward the elevator, you spot the Frontman hanging up the landline phone, concluding his conversation.

The Frontman's gaze follows you as you step onto the elevator, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. Your words echo in the air, and you can't help but smirk as you meet his gaze. "It's good to know I can make the most mysterious men speechless," you utter with a mix of sass and playful confidence. The Frontman doesn't respond immediately, his gaze holding your own for a moment before the elevator doors close, creating a physical barrier between the two of you.

Your presence and boldness are catching him off guard, leaving him momentarily speechless. There's a silent appreciation for your ability to hold your own and even get the better of him, and it seems to be a side of him that few have seen before.

Tagged:

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[hysteria-things]

✿ PROMISE? ✿ PART EIGHT.

ʚ♡ɞ 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 | 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 ʚ♡ɞ

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: chris x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: when matt brings you to his house after the pits, chris butts in to take good care of you throughout the night.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: swearing, intoxication, being hungover

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,930

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i know this series is kind of a flop but i don’t care because i love it😜

however i want to try and get a fic out every day PLUS a part of this so i can have it finished since it’s mostly finished in my notes already. can’t promise anything though since i’m a busy gal but that’s the plan i got!

𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌 while chris sits on the couch scrolling on his phone. matt left in a hurry before and didn't explain to him why. then, the front door opens. he hears matt’s voice which is in a low tone. “chris!” he whisper-yells. chris looks up to see his brother carefully walking over to him with you ragdoll-like in his arms. chris’s eyes widen in disbelief. “what the fuck did you do?”

matt rolls his eyes. “i didn't do anything. she went to that stupid rage tonight that’s been the talk of the town. she’s lucky she was able to call me to pick her up.”

“jesus,” chris whispers, shaking his head. “i got her from here.”

he holds out his arms as matt helps her walk to him. you smile at chris with lust in your eyes before they fall heavy. matt sighs, placing his hands on his hips. “thank you, matt,” chris says.

“yes. thank you.” you laugh, giving him a weak wave.

“let’s get you upstairs.” chris groans, carefully making his way to the staircase.

matt follows you up the stairs which took longer than they had anticipated. you felt his hand rest on your back for extra support. their parents are sleeping, so you guys have to be extra careful. on the flip side, the boys have to shush you from your giggles. “are you sure you don't need help?” matt asks as he stops in front of his bedroom door.

chris shakes his head. “no, i got it.”

matt opens his door at the same time nick opens his. he stops abruptly, staring at you and then chris repeatedly before speaking. “how long was i in there?” he points over his shoulder into his room.

“oh my god, nick!” you shout. “hi!”

the three of them shush you, nick shaking his head with a sigh. “i need to piss,” he says, walking to the bathroom.

both you and chris get into his room and he plops you onto the bed. you groan, bringing your hands up to your face. he hears you mumble words he can’t make out, observing that you switch moods fast when drunk. he marches over to his closet to pull out a fresh love hoodie, making sure to pull out a 2XL so it can cover you enough to make you feel comfortable. “okay, y/n,” he starts, placing the hoodie neatly next to you. you remove your hands from your face and stare at him. that hint of lust is still in your eyes, but he doesn’t know if it is from the weed and alcohol or not.

mentally taking a note, chris notices that you reek of drugs, too.

“change into this and i’ll throw your clothes in the wash to have ready for tomorrow. you can't sleep in that.”

you sit up and nod. “okay.”

with the little strength you have, you stand on your feet and grab the hoodie. “i’ll step out.” he exits the room, screeching at the sight of nick standing inches from the doorway. “christ, nick. what do you want?”

“what i want is an explanation.”

“It's nothing, nick. she’s just hammered. she can't go home looking like that.”

“being hammered isn’t nothing,” he says, tapping his foot. his face changes to panic. “oh no, what if she has alcohol poisoning or something? what if she dies and we're witnesses? i cannot tolerate that.”

“shut up, you're being dramatic. she’s fine. she needs rest.”

nick brings his hand up to his chest and exhales. “good. i’m going to bed now. thank you for your time.”

sighing, chris faces the door and knocks on it. “you can come in.” he hears a muffle from the other side. he opens the door and sees you sitting on the bed, staring at the wall. the clothes you were previously wearing are bunched up on the floor. he picks them up and you stare at him. “i’ll throw these in the washing machine. are you okay? do you need anything?”

you shake your head weakly. “no.”

after starting the washing machine, chris went back upstairs to get himself ready to sleep. he did a quick change in the bathroom and headed back to the room. this time, you’re under the covers, zoning out as you stare at the ceiling. you don’t acknowledge him until he stands next to you. you blink and look at him with a soft smile.

“you’re cute,” you say as you take your hands to squish both of his cheeks. then, you turn on your side and close your eyes. chris shakes his head, plugging in both of your phones and opening up yours.

your password is 2-4-6-8-1-0. he remembers that ever since you got your phone in middle school, the reason being that you were oddly never good at the two-times tables. he always found that pretty amusing. right now, he has to put on his best y/n impression and tell your mom that you’re okay. kind of.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ✿ ⋆⁺₊⋆

“𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄.” 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐆𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐄, 𝐑𝐔𝐁𝐁𝐈𝐍𝐆 your eyes as the sun blinds you awake. your head is fucking pounding. you flutter your eyelids before fully opening them, examining the room that you’re in. it sure isn’t yours. nor are you in your bed.

you think back to the bits and pieces of last night. calling matt, picking you up, bringing you back to his place, chris—

chris.

this is chris’ room. a room you’ve been in hundreds of times because of sleepover weekends back in elementary. you look at the huge hoodie you’re in — which is insanely comfortable — with your clothes neatly folded on the nightstand. you then glance at the floor and see a pillow with a blanket messily placed on top of it. the door slowly opens and chris peeks his head in. he smiles when he sees you, fully stepping into the room and closing the door. “good morning.”

“hi.” you rasp.

“i got you some water and a fuckton of ibuprofen. i’m sure you need it.” he holds up the drink and painkillers that are in his hands. “how’d you sleep?”

“like the dead.”

“that’s good at least.” he shrugs, putting the water and ibuprofen on the surface next to your clothes. you dart your eyes back down at the ground and up at him. “did you seriously sleep on the floor? you could've told me to move.”

he shrugs. “i didn’t have a reason to. you needed the rest more than i did.”

“stop being so fucking nice,” you say, rubbing the crust from the corner of your eyes once more.

he laughs before speaking. “i texted your mom from your phone, by the way. i had to put my y/n face on to do it, which i think i nailed. said you were staying at your friend’s house. that isn't a lie technically now that i think of it. it’s just that if i told her you were sleeping over here in my bed, i’m scared she'll come after me then you.” he brings his finger up to his chin as he rambles about.

your eyes widen at the mention of your mom. “oh shit, i didn't even think about my mom. you saved my life.”

“speaking of moms, mine made breakfast. it’s…” he pauses to look at his phone. “10:30. better get some before it gets cold. there are also some pajama pants in my closet you can throw on to come downstairs.”

“okay.”

that’s all you can say, severely overwhelmed by the hospitality. as much as you hate being abandoned by your friends at a place you aren’t familiar with, the triplets are too nice to do this. you would’ve left your ass there if you were them.

throwing on red plaid pajama pants that are way too big for you; the strings are the tightest they can be, and it is still a little loose. you take the ibuprofen chris gave you and approach the door.

walking out of the room, you see a glimpse of people in the kitchen. marylou spots you first, beaming when she realizes it’s you after a few seconds. “y/n! i didn’t know you slept over. are you going back to the tradition?”

shrugging sheepishly, you laugh. “we’ll see how it goes.”

“go sit down with the boys at the table. i’ll make a plate for you,” she says, starting to immediately prep an extra dish.

“oh, you don’t have—”

“i insist.” she lifts her hand to cut you off.

“you better listen to the lady.” jimmy starts. “don’t. poke. the bear.”

she slaps his arm. “don’t listen to him. go sit, I'll bring your plate to you shortly.”

you follow chris into the dining room that is attached to the living room. nick and matt are next to each other, and you and chris sit on the opposite side of them. the three of them already finished half of their food. “y/n, y/n, y/n,” nick sighs, shaking his head. “you are a wild one.”

you roll your eyes. “it was only a few drinks.”

“i’m surprised you didn’t throw up on me.” matt chimes in. “anyway, how are you feeling this morning?”

“my head is pounding. i practically inhaled all of the ibuprofen upstairs.”

“the pits are bad news. don’t do it again.” matt scolds, pointing his finger at you like a mad parent.

“it’s not worth it, honestly.” nick agrees, chewing on his food. “the parties here can get too intense, sometimes. especially if it's in the middle of nowhere. i’d piss my pants.”

“here’s your plate, hun,” marylou says, placing the waffles and bacon on the placement. she already has the waffles cut up for you and even brought you some apple juice. too nice is not enough words to describe this family.

you’re playing with the food when chris nudges you with his knee. you face him, not realizing how close you are to each other, shoulders touching and all. “do you like… remember anything from last night?” he asks hesitantly.

you sigh. “i remember matt bringing me back here and passing out on your bed.”

chris nods, glancing away for a moment. he looks a little upset when you say that. “why? did i do something wrong?” you ask with a hint of panic.

“no, no, of course not. i was just curious.” the side of his mouth lifts slightly.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ✿ ⋆⁺₊⋆

𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓 is, he drops you off at home. he’s the only one with a license, so he's the designated driver. chris lets you keep the hoodie and pajama pants, the clothes you were wearing wrapped over your arm. your mom comes sprinting from the kitchen when she hears the front door open. “i was worried about you.” she says, hugging you. good thing you didn't smell as bad, or you would be in huge trouble.

“i texted you, didn't i?” you ask.

god bless chris.

“yes, but it was just really late. you know how i get.”

“i know, but i’m fine.”

“whose clothes are those?” she asks, eyeing you from head to toe.

“jaiden’s.” you lie. “she lent them to me since i didn't have anything to sleep over in.”

“alright. next time text me earlier, okay?”

you nod, walking into your room to get things for your everything shower. you place your robe and fresh clothes on the sides of the sink. while undressing, your phone lights up. glancing down at it, you blush at the name that appears.

butlerkevin started following you.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @moncherriis @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @raysmayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @tworosesblackthorn @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hearrtsturns @stars4matt @freshsturns @etershine @tpvmz @sukiipjs @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @ivyyyyyysposts @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @mbsbaby @mattsdollie @thesturniolos @nononopenono1 @bitchydragonparadise @gdsvhtwa @hrt-attack @dwntwn-strnlo @venusbabysblog @meerkatzthings @bernardsbendystraws @hoes4matthew

[aaa-totodile]

Jason Todd Headcanons (in no particular order)

1. Mainly blue eyes with hints of green but not a lot, though he has amber around his irises to signify the all-blades

2. 6’2, and subsequently taller than Bruce. I know I said 6’5 in my height post but that’s just personal preference. Canonically I think he’s 6’2

3. Perpetually looks 30-40 years old but if someone manages to get him to laugh or smile he looks all of the early 20-something years old he actually is

4. Doesn’t really listen to music after his death but before he was a fan of early 2000s hip hop/rap and 90s rock (might make a post with examples, or even a playlist) because of Catherine listening to that kind of music

5. Kinda weird but I like the whole “cat like eye-shine” headcanon, but I don’t think he’d get it from the pit. I think he’d get it from being catonic (think the fictional literal out of body look)

6. On his bad days he wishes he still had his scars to have proof of what he’s been through, to have proof that the psychological trauma that causes a physical ache in his bones is real

7. He’ll eat anything, he’s a cook and he likes good food but his time on the streets and before forced him to like anything and everything, even burnt food. Also on his bad mental days he’ll take time to go grocery shopping and make himself a good meal to feel something

8. He doesn’t mind the whole crowbar thing, it’s not what killed him. His triggers were mainly explosion (as well as loud noises) and closed spaces. He was able to essentially “get rid of” the explosion & loud noise trigger by giving himself exposure therapy (see him setting off explosions and having a bomb in his helmet and using guns which are loud and-). I still think he’s extremely claustrophobic which is why I love when fic authors mention it. He also doesn’t like constant noises like ticking/tapping/clicking/etc but it’s not as bad because he was able to drown out the timer clicking down cause he was focused on saving Sh*lia.

9. Despite his claustrophobia when he’s having a bad time either spiraling himself or he’s been dosed by fear toxin or whatever, he’ll close in on himself as much as possible. Pushing himself in a corner, curling into a ball, trying to fit in places he no longer fits cause his size (and isn’t that something, it’s another thing that bothers him)

10. He can’t die, or at least can’t die till “his time”. The universe made an error and therefore he cant die. He’s died at least two other times in my mind (once coming out of the coffin in the dirt and a second time after the batarang) and he hasn’t realized.

Common headcanons I don’t like:

1. The autopsy scar. It makes no sense for him to have one as the cause of death is obvious and they don’t typically perform them on corpses as deformed as he likely was. I also don’t think Bruce took him to anyone that would do it. It also doesn’t make sense for him to have it, if he’d gotten one, once he came out the pit. If you want a good plot device for angst: use the batarang scar idea that’s backed by a canon event!

2. The lazarus pit rage. It’s not canon and it’s used to make Jason’s own actions seem like they’re not his. They are his. It’s not his fault some of his “fans” can’t handle his authentic charming personality, ideology, and actions; and therefore make an excuse for it. I don’t mind when it’s used as a plot device in a fic, as long as it’s used well (which I’ve barely seen)

There’s more but they’re more random. Like his hobbies and habits, degrees he could have, books he likes (how he organizes his books (Dewey decimal system)), how he interacts with different people, his red hood operation, pets he’s had/has, metabolism/healing speed post pit, how he’s seen the after life, how I think he’s catholic (or at least was) and the Catholic guilt that goes with it, etc.

There’s also headcanons that I don’t really love but I think are interesting or cool like him being able to see/communicate with the dead or ghosts.

[hai7ani]

엄마 — haitani rindou, haitani ran

a rewrite of her favourite son | wc. 3.5k

prequels: brownies (Rindou's, part 1) | mooncakes (Ran's, part 2)

It takes a week for Rindou to decide that he is ready to see his mother again; an hour in the car from his place to Hiro-o where his brother currently resides, a nice, quiet neighbourhood in the city. It does not take him this long to reach, usually — twenty minutes at most, thirty at peak hours. During the entire ride he was well aware that they were running late for dinner — dull, violet eyes constantly flickering to the time written on the dashboard that only grows later and later, a huge pit sitting on the bottom of his stomach, heavy thoughts trapped in a constant, never-ending loop in his mind while he drove — but he had been adamant on taking the longer route to get there, deliberately slowing down before neon green lights to delay his dreadful arrival.

Lately he has been finding it hard to fall asleep at night for reasons unbeknownst to him. An answer he knows deep down can never truly be figured out by himself, not even the stars would give him any hints on what to do. The moon wanes and the weight of his heart grows heavier — Rindou has always wondered if it kept his mother awake at night too; if reconnecting had tormented her as much as it did to him.

The sword against his chest sinks deeper with every step he takes to reach his brother’s home. It almost felt humiliating for him to ring on the bell with a handful of gifts, signalling his arrival after what seemed to be a millenia — all to see a person he has resented for a majority of his life. The weight of his past only presses down on him when the heavy thump of footsteps behind the door grows louder and louder.

His sister-in-law gets the door. She is smiley and she is welcoming, as always. Like routine, he guides his partner through the door first and kicks his shoes off by the foyer. Then, he places his gifts on the counter before taking off his coat. They exchange a few smiles, he asks about Ran’s whereabouts when he does not spot his brother’s presence in the house, and he pulls out three chairs for them by the dining table. It is neat and set with dishes that look cold, but he spots a few which happened to be his favourites — a quiet pang of nostalgia mixed with something darker looms over the air as he takes it all in.

He pretends it isn’t bothering him at all. He acts as though he is fine.

Until his mother comes up behind him like a ghost in the wind. A chilling breeze that cuts through the air, a sudden flutter of nerves through his body instinctively.

For that moment — and just that quick moment alone — he resists the urge to shiver like a timid, spineless boy. Thick saliva pools in his mouth while he holds his breath, watching in pin-dropping silence when she walks past him to the kitchen. She does not spare anyone a glance, slippers scuffing against the floor loudly in a way that demands a load of attention.

“You’re late,” she starts, “I thought you weren’t gonna come.” Her voice has turned rough and raspier with tobacco and time, words curt and clipped, but it was nothing new. They slice through his flesh cruelly without fail, yet they do not wound.

Not this time, he tells himself — the walls of his heart have thickened with years of pain and resentment from his youth. He has built himself into something unbreakable, and yet, despite his best efforts, it still hurts him like a bitch. A dull knife cutting into his chest much deeper than before.

There was truly something about seeing her in person that ignited a certain flame in his chest, a raging anger that he’s buried under thick layers of time — the many unresolved issues as a family, a pair of mother and son. Memories that he tried so hard to push behind him returns in a flash, a gallery of past sorrows crashing against his ribs like waves.

His knuckles tighten any more, blunt nails digging into his skin, nose flaring with silent anger as he drops onto his chair, defeated. A bitter taste lingers on his tongue, there is a venom he cannot swallow fast enough. He’s growing defensive over nothing, really — though he bites back on them and swallows it all down for the sake of his poor partner, who is squeezing his hand tight beneath the table.

A snob. A hypocrite.

She just had to be his goddamn mother.

An invisible shadow falls over the room — the silence thick and heavy — and it doesn’t shift away even when his brother returns from the pharmacy, sitting down across from him without a word. Neither of them look at each other, Ran does not seem to speak to her either.

And it felt clear to Rindou then when she turned to scoop rice from the cooker.

The void in all three of their hearts — a mother and her two sons — was as deep as the ocean.

[They tried swimming themselves out of the dark, heads emerging through the water for air, but they could never fully escape the grappling, haunting hands of the sea.]

—

Dinner is nothing short of uncomfortable.

The quiet clinking of metal spoons and chopsticks against porcelain bowls fills the air as they eat, each sound seemingly deepening the tension in the room. His poor sister-in-law makes an attempt at small talk every now and then, commenting on how fragrant the food tastes and about the clear weather today — hoping to break the silence, but it always falls flat, her words left hanging in the air most times, going unanswered. Rindou’s partner tries joining in when her guilt finally overflows, showing a smile so sweet that it reaches her eyes, but it drops when his mother glances at her.

There was truly nothing more deafening — more unnerving — than the silent resentment of the Haitani brothers, who both seemed to be deep in their own world. Their rage was for who, nobody could tell. There were many unspoken words lingering between the three of them, thick and suffocating, full of dissatisfaction. A storm waiting to break at sea.

Then, their mother’s hand shifts, breaking the curse of silence in the room. She picks up a croaker with her chopsticks and places it into her eldest son’s bowl, and repeats it for her youngest.

Sure, Ma is really trying, Ran knows this much, and even though he doesn’t fully agree with every method that she uses, he never dismisses her efforts on reconciling with her children. But when two siblings are forced to grow up under the choking darkness of favoritism — like a joke that never truly lands, mocking the other for things he didn’t get to have — one has to be very careful in how they treat them both when they grow.

Like grass knocked down by the summer typhoon, Rindou has always gotten back up. Dusted the shards off his palms, plucked the thorns out of his flesh by hand, he made do with all that he knew as a boy. He became a man who grew calluses on his heart to withstand the embers that still hadn’t dimmed since childhood.

And yet, here he was — a festering wound wrapped in the shadows from his youth, a scar that still bleeds, getting ripped apart by his mother’s own hands, and she keeps the stitches loose, always. When you press on the edges, it presses back ten times, and it always hurts.

He pauses on chewing, staring down at his bowl with violets that only grow dimmer and dimmer with each dreadful second that passes. Very slowly, he lifts his gaze to meet his brother’s, who shoots him a blank look that he cannot read — or more like, a look that he doesn’t want to read. He knows there is something Ran is trying to say with that look on his face, but he dismisses it, and Rindou ignores him.

[A larger croaker rests in Ran’s bowl. A scene of the fish coming alive to flap around in the China flashes before his eyes. It was truly a mockery.

Ma continues picking away at the bones of her own fish as if nothing has ever happened. He doesn't know if she’d done it deliberately or not. After all, he is not Ran. He’s dumb and he’s stupid and he doesn’t get it. He never gets it.]

So, they do not speak of it. And Rindou continues eating.

Deep down, the young child in him was forever stuck in that house in Roppongi.

[For such a sensitive young heart like his own, the little things do matter.]

—

Home was something Rindou never got to have for himself since he was a boy — it never felt quite right for him to say that he had one. As he grew older, he found it to be more and more comfortable telling people that apart from his brother, he doesn’t have a family. Those words felt a lot better to him somehow, growing up.

It felt right.

[“It’s just the two of us from now on, Rin.”]

It has always been that way.

“Can you do Thursday, December 5?”

“No, I have work.”

“Okay, what about weekends? Say the 14th. Can’t on 7th, I’ll be outstation.”

“Can’t do. I have plans.”

Ran switches his phone off to sigh through his nose. Sure, his brother has always been a pain in the ass since they were young, and Ran’s always been able to take on his child-like tantrums without fail. He always knew the right things to say and Rindou never truly understood how he managed to do it.

But today, it felt a lot harder for Ran to control his temper.

Yet, he still tries to speak with him nicely. Some things are still meant to be confronted — he believes you cannot escape it forever.

“It’s just one day. They’re only available half-day on Saturdays and they’re not in on Sundays. Just take the day off on the 5th, or excuse yourself for two hours or so. It’ll be quick. The faster we get it done, the earlier you’ll get to leave.” He presses, convinces.

“No. I have an investor's meeting on that day.” Hard-headed as always, Rindou was. And that was the difference between the two brothers.

“Just go without me. Shoot me a text if you have anything.”

Rindou is stubborn, and Ran is impatient.

“For fuck’s sake.”

And finally, finally, the string that held together the last of Ran’s resolve finally snaps. He tosses his phone to the side to stand from the bed, resisting the urge to pull his brother up from the collar — for him to come to his senses, for him to stop dwelling on the past, on things that he can heal from if he would just let it.

[But it’s not as easy as said.]

“Your mother’s fucking dying and you’re over here acting like a damn child. I know you’re doing nothing on that phone, so put it the fuck down.” His voice is stern.

And it was true — the whole time, Rindou has been scrolling up and down on his Yahoo feed skimming through news and articles that he could care less about.

He just didn’t want to deal with whatever that Ran is putting him through — doesn’t want anything to do with his mother, if he were to be painfully honest. There were two things in the world that Rindou hated more than anything, and it was being put on the spot, and being told what to do.

“As I said, you can go without me.” He locks his phone, shrugging while he speaks, voice lazy and uncaring as he sits up straight.

“It’s not like she’ll want me there, anyway. And I could care less, too.” He emphasises on a certain word and it has Ran visibly tensing at his words. To others, it might’ve sounded like a perfectly normal sentence with only hatred directed to his mother. But to Ran, it was a lot more than that. They both know it.

One was playing with fire, and the other had lost all sense of patience.

“Say that again?”

Rindou does not, despite really wanting to. He shoves the venom back down his throat, bitter and full of thorns scraping through the columns of his throat. He’s just as pissed as his brother is, but Rindou is a lot better at hiding it than him — it was something he’d learned to make use of the hard way, growing up.

If only the world could just leave him alone.

If only his mother would stop tormenting him forever.

He stands before the door, lingering much longer than he’d like, mouth hanging open with words that die the minute they reach the tip of his tongue. Somehow, Rindou could not find it in him to utter the words.

So, he walks away, just like he always does. It’s better for him, he thinks — it meant a lot more to him to protect a peace he so desperately wished for since he was just a boy, from the world that has always been so cruel to him and his young heart.

There, his mother stands holding two small bottles of Yakult and a plate of freshly sliced fruits when he pulls the door open in one quick breath.

If he could describe it in words, her eyes were like hollow windows while she stared deep into the abyss. Numbness. Nothingness.

Then, she turns. He can only watch as her small, lonely back disappears into a corner, and the coil around his heart tightens. Walking away seemed to run deep in their DNA.

[Breaking his mother’s heart broke his own just the same.]

—

“What does he like?” She pulled open the fridge while beckoning his partner over.

“Hmm, let’s see. Oh—! Yakult will do. He drinks a bottle of it every morning.”

A hopeful glint had sparked in her eyes.

“. . . He still does?”

—

Snowfall is late this winter.

Growing up, Rindou has never liked the cold. He runs warm as a person and he likes the warm — it was his refuge to the flesh-eating melancholy that always clings onto the cold nights of winter.

There is a quiet resentment held towards this time of the year, a season that lingers for too long in his memory. Back when he was still a child, Rindou would always get really sick on the first snow. And Ran would always be there to place a damp towel on his forehead and get him pills for his fever, warm food to fill his growling tummy despite his lack of appetite in the face of the cold.

His mother though, she never really cared for things like this — getting sick, falling ill. . . To her then, illness was something that a cold shower could fix, and it was what she’d used to say whenever he’d fall sick, before handing him a couple of bills for KoolFever from the nearest konbini and heading out to go smoke in the snow. Winter has always been a distant affair to her, something Rindou could never quite understand when he was young.

Sitting on the balcony, he plucks a clover from one of Ran’s plants, twisting its stem between the pads of his fingers. The cold slowly creeps into his soul and he sniffles, but still, he stays — watching the world pass by before his eyes, as the sun begins to set beneath the horizon. For some reason, he doesn’t seem to mind the cold too much today. Maybe it was the stillness, the quiet simplicity of it. It feels nice.

Then, a warmth presses against his neck and he flinches.

“You never listen, do you? Always putting yourself out in the cold when you know you’re gonna get sick again.” Her tone is familiar while she tuts, sharp with a small hint of concern. He does not know when she came up behind him, but there she stands.

He catches the familiar scarf in his hands before it can slip off his shoulders — soft, red, and unmistakably hers. It was the same scarf he bought for her once, back when he was still young and naive, convinced that she truly did love him as her son.

Yet she still wears it to this day, aa if time had never passed.

The warmth from the scarf that he wraps around his neck awkwardly feels strange, but the sourness in his chest is already settling in, again.

Ma drops herself beside him on the bench, the sharp click of her tongue breaking the stillness of the space. Without a word, she finds liberty in pulling the red scarf tighter around his neck, wrinkly hands tucking the wool into place, as though she has done this a million times for him before.

“Truly a nuisance. You’re such a child,” she mutters, voice tinged with something that is much softer than annoyance.

[Something maternal, perhaps.]

Despite her words, Rindou does not feel hints of anger or frustration stirring in his chest. Instead, he feels oddly at ease. Her touch — familiar and warm — washes over him in a way that he didn’t expect. His eyes start to sting when the feeling gradually sinks and he buries his nose into the warmth of the scarf, hiding away the red tip of his nose, fat tears that are threatening to spill. The chill is biting but her presence next to him is like a shield — both comforting and suffocating all at once.

“I won’t be around for long. . .” Her voice falters, drifting away into the sunset before their eyes. There’s a distant, almost unreadable expression on her face. “Just bear with me for a bit, boy. I’ll be done soon, and you can soon get back to your lives.”

His breath catches at her words, the weight of her small, tired voice settling between them.

“I know I haven’t been a good mother to you both. I never really tried. Ever since your father and I fell apart, I found it hard to keep going anymore, as a person and a mother. And you. . .” She pauses, finding her words, and she can only hope that they don’t scare him away. “You look so much like him, I—” She trails off, her confession lingering in the air like smoke, heavy and painful.

When the orangey hues of the sun casts long shadows across them — wrapping everything in a soft, aching light — she doesn’t look at him. Instead, she stares far ahead, shoulders stiff and tense, but her hands tremble with no control while she grips onto the edge of the bench.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” she continues, voice breaking, finally lowering as if the weight of her words has fully drained her from inside out. “I don’t deserve it. But. . . I’m here now, and I guess. . . that’s all I can offer.”

Rindou swallows hard, heart tight and yearning for things he does not know beneath his ribs. For a moment, the world stills. He doesn’t know what to say — he wants to scream, he wants to ask why she’s only saying all these now, after all these years, and to tell her all that he had to endure because of their broken family, the memories that still lingers in his mind even when the trees have dried and he is no longer the boy living in that damned house.

But something in her voice — something fragile, laced with a thin string of hope — keeps him silent. It chokes him.

He slowly reaches out, veiny hands hovering near hers for a brief, uncertain moment on the bench.

“Why now?” It’s all he asks, voice thick with the unsaid.

Please tell me.

She doesn’t immediately answer. The cooling breeze shifts between them as the remaining leaves of winter rustle — as if the world is waiting for her to speak.

And finally, she looks at him. Her son.

“I don’t know,” Ma admits softly, eyes tired and resigned from her illness. “It may be selfish of me, but I don’t think I want to die with all this regret sitting in my heart,” she places a weak hand on her chest, where her beating heart resides, “and with all this bitterness, anger between us.”

The words hang between them like the fading sun, lingering just out of reach.

He only nods. The space between them isn’t as wide as it used to be, but it’s still there — unspoken words, broken promises, and years of unresolved trauma stretching like an ocean they will both have to cross. Maybe hand in hand, maybe not. But they can always try.

“I want to be your mother again, Rindou.”

But for now, the only thing that matters is the quiet understanding that passes through their souls, mother and son, as the last rays of the day flicker out.

And when tomorrow arrives, they will live under tomorrow’s sun.

He cries.

—

[Rain can fall and just sweep everything you have away in the blink of an eye. But once the sun shines, everything will come back to life. And then, you can find it again — the path to moving on, the path to living again. The path to healing will always emerge.

Life goes on and on.]

—

inspired by when life gives you tangerines

[dcxdpdabbles]

So, I have another prompt for you. Valerie Gray is Jason Todd reincarnated, there are some parallels that could work. You can take this in whatever direction you want, but here’s a bit I wrote to get it started. If you want to make it more interesting, you can also hint at having another dp character be a reincarnation of a batfamily member. Here’s some ideas I had for that but you can choose differently or just do Valerie:

Danny = Tim or Steph

Dani = Duke

Jazz = Dick

Paulina = Damian

Maddie = Bruce or Selina

Prompt:

Valerie loved her dad, she didn’t need a mom to be happy in life. (Jason had two mothers and both of them broke something deep inside of him. One of them betrayed and killed him, the other let him love her while he watched her deteriorate and die from addiction until he was left completely alone. His fathers abused him, with beatings and abandonment, lack of care, a batarang to the neck... Valerie was lucky to have someone who loved her.) The day Axion Labs is destroyed by Phantom and his dog, when Valerie’s family is ruined all she can think about is revenge. She’s overcome with a soul deep anger, remnants of a rage that never died in a past life overcoming her. Valerie seethes and plots, she takes the armor from the suspicious billionaire if only because it finally gives her the tools she needs to avenge her dad and herself (Like training with and getting gear from the League of Assassins to be able to accomplish his goals). It almost seems familiar somehow, getting supplies from a suspicious billionaire for a mission of vigilantism. Valerie will use the armor and weapons to eliminate the threat to her town with prejudice, a real hero unlike the false heroics of Phantom. (A hero she thought she could trust, her town hero, his father didn’t care enough to actually bring about Justice. Valerie would make her own justice, make Amity Park as safe as it should be so no one else has to die suffer like this from a supposed “hero”). The echoes of green vengeance fuel the Red Huntress on her mission to hunt down the Phantom, murmurs of rage tempting her like a siren’s song to be more brutal with the threats. Any sympathy Valerie had towards ghosts died when everything fell to pieces for her (Brutal policies to control the crime in the Alley, now drugs will be regulated, Crime Alley will be safer, and vigilantes won’t neglect their duties in the poorer parts of Gotham any longer. He would be the vigilante Crime Alley needs, the one the rich billionaire never truly worked to save, the one he needed as a kid when he was suffering on the streets. Hope isn’t enough. Violence and regulation has to be the answer, or else what did he do all of this for?). Now Valerie had to work overtime in order to stay afloat because her dad couldn’t find any work that would take him that paid enough to support the both of them (growing up too fast with a single parent that couldn’t support them leading to Jason Valerie having to work hard and be exposed to more than a child should ever have to—) Curse that Phantom…

This is fascinating, and I don't know what to add to it. I like the idea that she has deep, hidden memories of the Pit Madness.

You should add more!

[animeredhead101]

Al Ghul Siblings DP x DC Crossover

Complete(Twins)

The Lost One by DizzlyPuzzled :

Danny never wanted to meet his real parents for a good reason. And now all of Amity Park is in the crossfire.

Word Count: 36,427

Reaching for a New Light by ghostly_frogly :

In the safety of his room, he would look at the other side of the room where Danyal’s bed was once placed. Everything that could have hinted at his existence was wiped away. Not even the encyclopedias about the stars and all their legends were safe. Damian would look but never stare, only quick glances. Grief would be seen as a weakness and like Danyal weakness would be wiped away. or Danny and Damian were separated when they were young and one of them thinks the other is dead, he's only half right. An unsuspected gala is just what they need to meet once again. or or The obligated twin AU that every DPxDC fanfic writer has to write Word Count: 8,510

Twin Stars by CrescentCyan :

After making fun of the galas Sam is forced to attend one too many times, Danny is dragged to a Wayne Gala to experience just how awful they are to attend.

Danny would have gone willingly if he knew who was there.

Word Count: 13,377

You Look Like You’ve Seen A Ghost by ShootingFromAfar :

"The runes are wrong.""What does that mean for us?"?" Tim hisses over the beginnings of a dozen voices rising in chant."Nothing good." Jason states grimly, frantically racking his brain for any way out. Whatever entity is about to come out of this circle is going to be baring a fate worse than death.Jason would know. He’s been dead.…Actually speaking of being dead. Jason does know someone from the Ghost Zone with enough sheer audacity to help him fight what very well could be an actual demon.With a mental ‘fuck it’, Jason begins to chant.AKA: Jason and Danny became friends in the Ghost Zone. This is about to be everyone’s problem. Batman just wants to know who this illusive teenager is. Because he’s a meta. Obviously. Not for adoption reasons. No siree, not him. Word Count: 37,602

O Brother, Where Art Thou? by HalfBlackWolfDemon :

A collection of prompts for DP x DC Week 2022.

Danny reconnects with his twin brother, Damian! It's a long read. Please enjoy this!

Some are fun, others are pretty angsty, some are meh. Enjoy

Word Count: 18,261

A Crown Without Jewels by Rottenest :

27 people had a lot of blood; what could he say? “Danyal?” Damian asked, his voice faux-confident. Danny knew that voice, though. Damian spoke in it every time Danny came back from training, his eyes still burning green.Danny sighed. He dropped the katana, hearing it clatter to the floor. Damian carefully, suspiciously, lowered his arm. He still kept his own katana tight in his hands. Both of them knew Danny didn’t go rabid with the red; he could still plot and be deceitful. He didn’t get that blinding Pit Rage. ---OR--- Some 8 years after Danny ran away from the League after his own sort-of experience with the Pits, he and his brother happen to reunite in some less than stellar circumstances. Meaning right after Danny fought and heavily injured roughly 27 assassins. Not-- not the best.TL;DR - Demon twins AU with Pit influenced!Danny Word Count: 10,738

Displacement / Replacement by halfgone (milkywxy) :

Damian has a twin. Damian has never told anyone about said twin. And with a lie, comes its consequence.

Word Count: 11,814

the continuous death of us by sundaze (LegaciesandMemories) :

Damian opened his mouth, but all his usual words failed him. “You’re dead,” he said instead, far hoarser than he expected. At that, the other teenagers tensed. The surprised grin fell from the boy’s face like it had never been there in the first place, his arm falling from Danyal’s shoulder.Danyal smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.” With the careless, yet precise way it’s uttered, it sounded like one of Drake’s incessant references. Damian swallowed, but his throat was as dry as the Katpana.Damian and Dick go shopping for Steph's birthday. They find a key piece of Damian's past in the process. Word Count: 2,960

The Fenton Twins by AceFace98 :

The Demon Twins are unique in the League of Assassins, being the only children. With no precedent to guide their tutors, it's recommended that they have a mission together before their first solo ones.

Jasmine Fenton finds two amnesiac boys in a park, not one. This changes the timeline irreparably.

Now the pair are just fourteen, and a suspicious car accident has taken their adoptive parents from them. But Damian Fenton has a secret; his memory had returned to him several months prior, when Danyal had his accident in the ghost portal. With his knowledge, the twins and their adopted - but very important, very close, deeply protected - sister decide to make the trek to Gotham in the hope that Batman is willing to take them in.

That's not the only thing to hope for, of course. Going to Gotham means they may be spotted. And neither twin wants to think about what might befall them if their mother - or grandfather - discovers they're alive.

Or, well, mostly alive.

Word Count: 15,151

Socialization of the Demon Twins by pastistoday :

When not one but two trained assassin children show up on Bruce's doorstep claiming to be his sons, well, what is he to do but welcome them in and try to minimize the chaos.Danyal Al Ghul had known for a while that their grandfather was a manipulative old fool who didn't really care for them. It had taken work but he had managed to convince the League of Shadows to let both him and his twin go to their father promising that whoever will not be heir to the bat will return. Of course he's never planning to go back, but he'll need help breaking Damian free of his misplaced loyalty. Word Count: 23,242

Runaway Assassin by DizzlyPuzzled :

Danyal had been sent to be a mole in Bruce's care, but while they were heading though Blüdhaven, Chemo attacked destroying the city. Danyal hadn't been in the city like he was supposed to be and therefore survived. He'd never wanted to play double agent with the that was his father. He ran, and never looked back. Several years and ghost powers later, Vlad Masters has decided that the students need some self-defense lessons, so he hires an organization that specializes in just that.

Written for Invisobang 2023!!

Word Count: 86,884

The Winning Son by Derp_Interpreter :

The 16-year-old Ghost King is summoned to Gotham only to find his "sacrifices" are the Batfamily, including the brother who betrayed and killed him. Bitter and depressed, Danny lashes out at Damian only for his revenge to backfire. In the presence of volatile emotions and certain triggers, ghosts are often compelled to act out their own deaths. Word Count: 4,742

On-going(Twins)

Life, Death, and In Between by SaturdayNightFrights :

Injured, alone, and terrified, Danny flees to an unfamiliar city. He’s hoping to disappear amongst the high percentage of homeless youth. Become just one face in the crowd, heal in the anonymity Gotham provides.

He doesn’t expect to be found.

______________________________________________________________ OR another DP/DC fanfic where Danny and Damian are long lost twins. Danny suffers, Damian is angry, and Bruce adds to the Wayne family. Hey! It doesn’t count as adoption if they’re your blood son!

Word Count: 88,804

Shoot Suspected Ghosts First, Ask Questions Never by yastaghr :

Danny is in over his head and he knows it. He's feeling overwhelmed with trying to stop a war between the Realms and Earth, and he doesn't have a lot of good options. He makes a desperate attempt to keep as many people alive as he can, and it goes both horribly right and horribly wrong. Word Count: 169,508

my starlight by hollowgast1 :

Damian and Danyal al Ghul have always been connected. That connection should've broken when Damian returned to Nanda Parbat and Danyal didn't, because death is the end, isn't it? ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Damian doesn't care how inhuman his brother may be. He's going to find his little brother, take him home, and destroy anyone who dares get in his way - and he knows a few birds and bats that won't hesitate to help him.

or: dick has a new little brother who really, really needs some cuddles

Word Count: 57,762

Phantom Assassin by Kanereader765 :

Danny used to be Talia Al Ghul's son, until he failed in his mission and Ra's Al Ghul made every assassin in the League turn their blades on Danyal.Now he's in Amity, adopted by a red-headed girl a few years older than him, and attempting to keep a low profile. Hard enough without becoming half-dead in a portal accident that leads to the source of the Lazarus pits themselves. Word Count: 68,905

Schrodinger's Danny by Die_Erlkonigin6083 :

Faking his death after a solo mission goes wrong, Danny flees into the Ghost Zone, leaving his twin to mourn his passing. Years later, a pair of meddling kids re-activate the portal in the wreckage of the Fenton household. Since no one else is stepping up to the plate, it looks like it's up to Danny to stop the ghosts from invading Amity Park and protect them from the ghost hunters who seek to research them. He was trained to fight, and his father was Batman afterall, so why not?

Word Count: 81,204

I can be both even if it's hard (and it's hard) by mulit_fandomfreak :

Sam and Tucker ran to get Jazz and didn't see Danny come out of the portal. By the time they return Danny has transformed back.This changes things. Word Count: 48,349

Lost and Found by Nanenna :

It's summer break and Danny is having the most stressful vacation of his half life. Can someone please explain what is going on? Maybe one of the many weirdos following them around Gotham could actually approach and start the interrogation, at least then Danny would know WHY he's currently collecting tails like Pokémon. Wait… is that one from the League? Oh ancients!

Word Count: 7,596

Unfair by ForElisLost :

Danny knew Damian would be there — he'd kept track of his twin's public persona (and vigilante life).He'd been doing a great job of not interacting and keeping from being spotted by Damian.Now, Damian was trying to convince him to leave the League. "Daniyah, there is another way.""I know there is another way. Except I told you about it for years and you never listened.OR: Demon Twins AU in which the Fenton's accidentally transe Danny's gender Word Count: 28,919

Green Never Looked So Sad Before I Lost You. by Rin_may_1103 :

His blood turned cold, his stomach twisting in dread, his tired mind pulling up all of his fears. He doesn’t kill, at least not on purpose anymore. Did she find out? Did she know about his past? Or is this something else?

Had he somehow inadvertently gotten someone hurt? Killed? He didn’t like where this was going. Especially since he still couldn’t spot Jack. Gritting his teeth as his knee burned he took a moment to steady himself before he finally asked the crucial question, “Who?”

or:

Danny and Damian are twins, Something happens, and Danny acquires a lot of uncles.

Constantine is very done with everything.

Word Count: 172,411

Twin, Where Have You Been? by mimi_kc_i :

When Danyal, now Danny, met the eyes of his brother- of Damian, he was unsure of the reaction he was expected to have.Did they expect a tearful reunion? He could do that. Was he meant to shake his brother’s hand, and move on to whatever was next? He could do it, any of it, he just needed to know what they wanted from him.Damian made the decision for him. He looked at him for half a second, and Danny knew those eyes. He felt himself tense, but Damian only scoffed lowly, turned on his heel, and walked away. OR Demon Twin AU where both of them have barely started healing and both believe the other is the superior twin. Shenanigans and healing ensue. Word Count: 65,183

Welcome Home by Nanenna :

When Danny accidentally catches his parents plotting against him he does the only thing he can think of: flee to the birth family he's been intentionally avoiding. Now he's got to balance getting to know them and reconnecting with his lost twin while keeping his own secrets from a family of detectives.

Word Count: 34,410

Leave All Your Longing Behind by DisillusionedDanny :

After the Fentons discover that Danny is a halfa, he finds himself heading to Gotham in search of a family he knows nothing about.Along the way he opens up a psychic shop, starts helping the Bats solve murders in the city, make friends with the local rogues, and catches the attention of the Wayne family.Now if only he can find the family that Clockwork told him was waiting for him in Gotham.updates every thursday. Word Count: 33,362

Complete(Brothers)

Ah, Sunflower by DisillusionedDanny :

Danyal Al Ghul faked his death to give his younger brother a better life and to give himself the life that he always wanted.

Damian Al Ghul was happy to learn his older brother was dead. No longer did he have to live under his shadow.

As the years go by, though, this changes for both of them.

Danny Fenton never got the life he always wanted.

Damian Wayne has realized he will never see his brother again.

That is, until the bats summon the Ghost King and soon two sunflowers finally start to grow the way they were meant to.

Word Count: 63,812

Noise and Light by TheWrittingOwl :

It was supposed to be a quick trip to the Ghost Zone. Just there and back before anyone could question why Danny needed to go see Frostbite alone in the first place. However, Vlad just had to bother him with his usual bullshit. While being chased through the Zone, Danny quickly found himself slamming into some weird Ghost Zone nonsense and turning back into a child. Scared and confused, he tries to find the one person who had always kept him safe when he was younger.Damian hadn't seen his baby brother since the day their grandfather had so cruelly killed him. He wasn't sure how Danyal's body had disappeared when Mother had brought him to the pits, but all Damian knew was that he'd never see his baby brother again. Imagine his surprise when eight years later, his six-year-old brother came back, clawing his way out of the pits and reaching out for him. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Based on this tumblr prompt: https://www.tumblr.com/bluerosefox/715375918201421824/i-this-came-to-me-as-om-making-dinner-so-ill Word Count: 35,811

I Chose to Close My Eyes by TheWrittingOwl :

Damian is the only son of Talia al Ghul and Bruce Wayne.

This is a fact he carries with pride. He is the only heir to Ra's al Ghul. The one who will take over the league, or if he so chooses continue his father's legacy in becoming the next Batman. There is no need to fight for his position as it has been given to him by his mere birth.

So what then, is this wrinkly creature his mother is calling his sibling?

AKA

5 Times Damian said he would kill Danny, and the one time he said he wouldn't.

Word Count: 3,102

But I will hold on hope, and I won't let you choke by ghostly_frogly :

After the destruction of his hometown and being hunted by the GIW at the age of 14 Danny didn’t know what to do. He debated going to the Ghost Zone and living the rest of his life and afterlife there when he encountered a group of ninjas. The details of how and why are still lost to him but in the moment he fought. He fought and let out as much anger, frustration, and sorrow as possible. His eyes turned green and his fists were shaking and bruised from the fight.Surprisingly, or maybe not with the life he lives, this isn’t the last time the ninjas come after him. He fights more and more off until he meets the man sending the ninjas his way. He is offered training by a man named Ra’s Al Ghul. Danny jumps at the chance, thinking how he could finally run away from his problems or fully die trying. or Danny runs away from everything he's ever known when it is all taken from him. Seeing no better option he joins a cult-like group of assassins. What could go wrong? Word Count; 6,521

Cain and Abel Wept by Katlover98 :

Based on this prompt

https://www.tumblr.com/yetanothergreyjedi/706901334951149568/a-dp-x-dc-crossover-danny-fenton-and-damian-wayne

When Danny was ten, he tried to get his six-year-old brother out of the League, not knowing the betrayal he would receive.

Seven years later, the Fentons are on the run from the GIW while trying to find ways to dismantle the government-funded organization. They end up in Gotham where Danny sees a familiar face

Word Count: 31,354

Summons by DizzlyPuzzled :

Phantom was next in line for the throne of the Ghost Zone, however, he was still underage. He wouldn't be king for some time, yet when they summon the Ghost King now, someone still has to show up. Word Count: 17,295

On-going(Brothers)

Off With [the Demon's] Head by halfgone (milkywxy) for satoshy12 :

As it turns out, Damian is not Talia's firstborn. Not her first child, not her first son. This would not be so horrible if Talia's actual firstborn hadn't been stolen from her as a babe. But he's alive. And he's not alone. As it turns out, Talia is a grandmother. She takes this news surprisingly well. If only Damian did the same. Word Count: 62,181

regular boy: daniel wayne by diamond_rozie :

“Reporting live from Gotham City, here at the scene of the crime. Dr. Collin Kilye, renowned geneticist, has shot himself and has been declared dead by the paramedics. Dr. Kilye is suspected to be responsible for the purposeful switching of newborns between families under his care, where an known over 500 babies have been swapped in the last 20 years of his employment here. Based on the information provided to the Gotham PD by Nightwing and Batman, we are led to believe that Nightwing has been investigating this case after an anonymous tipoff. After a month and a half of investigating, Nightwing-” Dick had learned that people never know a situation as well as they assume they did. Dick had always assumed that he wouldn’t be one of those people. He was a detective, a Bat, the first Robin.The case file in front of him glared tauntingly. He should've known better to assume anything. Danny Fenton; Birth Parents: Bruce Wayne (father) and Clarissa King (mother). Status: Alive Word Count: 100,571

Some Kind of Miraculous Bind by Saitrised :

Damian Wayne is the heir to the Bat, the Blood Son. Except, he wasn't always the only blood son. There was another, younger heir once, before Damian had left the league and his brother hadn't had the chance to join him. There was one alive heir to the Bat, and a second one, secret to all but him, that was gone. Danny Fenton is already tired of being the Ghost King. Not even six months into his reign, and he's having to deal with ectoplasmic leaking past Amity's borders and new, unknown threats against his people. And the fact that Gotham, the one city that he had mentally marked as off limits, seems to be where most of the problems are isn't helping. ---This is an upload of a heavily edited version of the previously posted chapter 14--- Word Count: 126,392

Broken Bonds by SleepingDead (PolarBearSeals) :

Severely injured, Danny escapes the GIW and latches onto the first ghost that called to him who offered protection and rest. Danny regrets it when he learns he's in the city of the brother who'd killed him.And it appears he can't leave. Word Count: 123,699

Prodigal of Lazarus by sherashalala :

Damian looks at him, a million things going on in his head. “The Heir.” That’s not… technically true. He looks at Talia, sending her a look. She looks back with a ‘do not tell him.’ He could understand why. They’re trying something new with Damian, something they couldn’t get to do to Danyal who was already the first born. They’re trying to get him to strive for something. And Danny does exactly the opposite. “No, not anymore– but I am more than that now.” he slowly takes Damian’s hand. “I am your brother, your protector.” He grips Damian’s hand with conviction. “I am your family.” He says with finality. OR The al Ghul heir died, which is how Damian al Ghul inherits the title of heir. By technicality, he gets to keep that title even if the eldest son is revived two years later. Some things happens, and eventually Danny is tasked to escort his younger brother, the heir, to their father. They didn't... exactly tell him he's also to be delivered to Bruce Wayne. To be fair, they could really work with their method of communication! (OR OR The adventures of Danny as he traverses to and from Gotham as the technically-not-heir of al Ghul.) Word Count: 86,324

Ghosts of Our Pasts by yetanothergreyjedi :

Seven years ago, Danyal Al Ghul tried to smuggle his little brother away from the assassins. He… he should've explained it better, but to be fair he wasn't expecting a knife in the back. Now, a class trip to Gotham and he meets eyes with his brother. He runs. Word Count: 24,102

[artdcnaldson]

patricks sister au has me in a tizzy hes so mean my pussy is sopping wet but what if he got meaner - what if he started dating someone just to get the message across. kisses her where you can see and acts all boyfriendy. what he doesn't know is that ur certifiably insane and purposely crash dates he has with her under the guise of 'i need a ride home.' and 'i need help with homework.' art knows what you're doing, isn't impressed by it.

but one day his girlfriend takes it upon herself to snap at you - maybe you're at a party and this time its not a ploy - you really do just want to go home - and you come up to art and his girlfriend rolls her eyes like, "jesus, here comes your fucking fan club, art." looks at you like, "you know you're annoying right. that everyone knows you have a crush on him? take a fucking hint. he. doesn't. want. you."

and you get tears in your eyes, bottom lip wobbling.... you run off so you dont see the absolute look of rage that flits over arts face. the way he becomes a wall of ice. if he was mean to you the cold way he turns to his girlfriend and promptly dumps her in front of everyone is downright evil.

of course he has to come find you ☹️ and he has to say sorry ☹️ and maybe you'll forgive him and leave him alone if he tells you really truly honestly...... that he doesn't want you. and if he cant say that...... then at least, cant he be your first kiss? please? you'll milk more tears out if you have to.

GODDDD <3

It’s so obvious what you’re doing. But maybe he shouldn’t have his dates on campus, shouldn’t bring his girlfriend to parties he knows you’re going to be at. It’s like he’s asking for you to do it.

And yeah the past excuses have been total bullshit. They were so weak, not even convincing, but you could always count on Art to walk you back to your dorm with his girlfriend in tow. He stops at your door, she lingers behind, and you smile all pretty and thank him.

Alone in your room, you wonder if he’s going to take her back to his dorm to fuck her. You’ve seen the way he kisses her— sweet and gentle, the way boyfriends kiss. You wonder what it’s like when they fuck— if he keeps that same sweet, doting facade on when he’s fucking into her cunt.

Probably. Art’s sweet, he’s respectable. You’re the only one who brings out the fire in him in your brother’s absence. It must be boring when they fuck. Missionary, cowgirl, doggy when he’s feeling adventurous.

You’d never be boring for him, never let things get stale. You don’t even know why he likes her, why he wastes his time. Sure, she’s pretty, she’s… an English major? Whatever.

So the next time you’re at a party and you come up to Art, they figure it’s just jealousy. That you’re just trying to break them apart. Again.

Your DD left with a polisci major, you were drunk and ready to leave. Two hours of watching Art and his fucking girlfriend suck face and grind to shitty music had left a sour taste in your mouth. You just wanted to be home in your bed already.

So you walked up to the two of them nursing beers in a group. She rolled her eyes at the sight of you, whispered something to one of her friends. You ignored her, tugged on Art’s arm.

“Can you walk me back to my dorm, please?”

It’s supposed to be earnest, it is earnest. But Art can’t get a word in before She interrupts.

“Jesus Christ. This whole thing you’re doing isn’t cute anymore. It’s just really fucking annoying, and we’re all fucking sick of it. Find someone else to throw yourself over and leave Art alone. You’re just embarrassing him at this point.”

You try to be a Big Girl about it, to say something back, but all you can manage is a weak I’m sorry before you’re leaving with hot tears streaking your cheeks and a nauseous pit in your stomach.

You don’t hear about the aftermath until later— whispers from a friend, really. Art had laid in on her after what she said. Called her things you’d never heard him say, that you couldn’t even imagine. Calling her a fucking cunt, telling her to mind her own fucking business and keep her fucking mouth shut about you. Shoved her off of him, told her to lose his fucking number.

But you didn’t know that. All you knew was barely five minutes after you had walked into the door and crawled into bed, there was a knock on the door.

You groaned, opened the door with teary, smeared makeup and a weak frown. Because seeing Art just makes it worse.

“I’m sorry Art, I never meant to embarrass you, and I know I’ve been horrible and awful and I’ve made you do awful things, and i don’t know when to just give up and it’s not fair to you.” He walks with you into the room, shuts the door and pulls you against his chest.

He smells like cigarettes and weed and beer and his girlfriend’s perfume. It makes you cry harder. “I’m really sorry, Art. I’ll leave you alone, I promise. I’ll tell Patrick to let you off the hook, and you won’t have to see me anymore.”

He pets your hair, leans back and wipes your tears with soft brushes of his thumbs along your cheeks. “You really don’t want me?” You ask weakly. “Not even a little bit?”

He swallows hard, because he doesn’t want to lie to you. Not tonight, not when you’re already feeling so bad. But what the two of you have isn’t healthy, it’s not what you need.

You sniffle, nod. “Will you just kiss me, then? Once? Please?”

His lips meet yours gently at first, with all the sweetness you’d expected from him, the same kind of kisses he’d give a girlfriend. You feel his tongue brush against yours and moan into his mouth.

It’s short— way too short— but you lean back with your lips tasting like him and that’s all your heart can handle for the night. Really it is.

“You should go,” you say finally, blinking away your tears and wiping at your eyes. “Really, I, uh, I have plans tomorrow, so—“

You don’t have plans, none at all. But he nods, kisses your forehead once.

When you’re in bed, you open your phone, text Art. I’m really sorry. You lock it and try to sleep.