#Guide Block Molds | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sitepathos · 8 months ago

Text

From Gold to Mold

Chapter 3: The End (Warning: this will be dark. Read at your own risk)

The last bell of the day rings, letting everyone know that they’re free to go. In unison, your classmates begin shoving books and papers in their designer book bags before getting up and flooding the exit all at once. People begin to pair up with their friends, talking about hanging out and staying over at one another’s house for the weekend, but as usual, you’re left by yourself; when you first enrolled in GA, many students wanted to be your friend, but you could tell they were more interested in Bruce Wayne being your father than you because they talked more about Bruce than you. When Tim became Timothy Drake-Wayne, everyone flocked to him, starstruck that he was now a member for two of Gotham’s most elite families. Since you lack Bruce’s good looks and charisma, Dick’s athletic prowess, Jason’s brute strength, Tim’s intelligence, and Damian’s pure pedigree, everyone here has deemed you unworthy of a passing glance; you’re painfully average in every aspect and in a family as prestigious and remarkable as Gotham’s beloved Wayne Family, that’s an unforgivable sin.

It didn’t matter to you, though. You didn’t care that no one in school or in your “family” acted like you didn’t exist and think you unworthy of a fraction of their attention, you had your video games. When the silence of Wayne Manor became deafening to you, you had your faithful 3DS with multiple generations of teams full of loyal and strong Pokémon that have defeated the mightiest of champions and your preowned laptop that’s allowed you to play a wide variety of games, your favorite being Fallout New Vegas as it took place in your rightful home of Nevada and started off in your beloved Goodsprings. You’ve gone through countless playthroughs because you feel close to your childhood home, no matter how many times you go through the same dialogue options and quests.

In fact, video games have been a major influence on you that you’re determined to be an indie video game developer when you finally graduate. Your laptop isn’t too old to run a visual novel maker software that came out four years ago and you spent over a year scribbling away in a notebook that held all the details that would form your first game, staying up late for three months working on the plot alone and the remaining nine months on side quests, combat, dialogue, and everything else. Despite your best efforts, you’re not an artist like Damian (and how ironic that someone so spiteful like him has the gift to create beauty) or a musician, so the only thing you’re able to work on right now is the code, but you’re not tech smart like Tim so it’s full of bugs and errors and despite you following your Guide to Making Video Games book to the letter, the code just won’t do what you want it to do. With spring break around the corner, maybe you’ll be able to make progress on it.

As you step through the front door of the school, you see Damian and Tim being dragged into a bear hug by Dick, the little shit quickly breaking free; Dick laughs and ruffles his hair before all of them getting into the older man’s car and drive off, leaving you behind. That’s nothing unusual, though, Dick’s always picked up the two of them from school and you know they always go get ice cream or go to an arcade while you get left behind to find your own way home. You’ve never been offered a ride to or from school or asked if you’d want to go hang out with them and with how they’ve treated you over the years, you’d sooner have a tea party with the Mad Hatter before you ever got in a car with any of them. Knowing them, Damian would probably try to strangle you with your seatbelt, Dick would most likely try to guilt you to spend more time with your “brother,” and Tim would just sit there, not saying anything, no matter how wrong their words were or how upset you got.

You’ve been relying on Alfred to give you rides (always a block away from the school since you didn’t want them knowing you were relying on him), but Bruce gave him the month off. He tried to turn it down, of course, insisting that he had important duties at the manor (you knew it was because he was worried about what would happen to you while he was gone), but Bruce insisted. Only after you promised to text him everyday and call him the moment something went wrong did he book a flight to Essex. After taking care of a museum the size of the Smithsonian, taking care of a family full of assholes, and dealing with your emotional baggage, the man deserved to take off and relax for a while.

Since he’s been gone, you’ve used the bus to get to where you need to go and have kept a wide berth between you and the Waynes and so far you’ve managed to stay under their radar. Though, with you not even clocking on their radars, can you really claim such an achievement. Hell, you’re positive they wouldn’t notice you even if you were right behind them. World’s greatest detectives, your ass.

That’s right, you knew about their nightly activities of wearing bird themed costumes, jumping across rooftops, and battling with the demented freaks locked up in Arkham. Not because Alfred told you (and god knows they’d never tell you shit), but because your status as the unwanted and forgotten firstborn of Bruce Wayne is like an invisibility cloak allowing you to walk in plain sight without anyone noticing you and it’s thanks to that you’ve been able to spy on conversations. You’ve come down many times in the late hours of the night to find them sitting at the dining table, eating, talking, laughing, and enjoying their lives as if you don’t even exist. Sure, it hurt you to see them so happy while you sit above them, miserable, what hurt even more was the fact that Alfred didn’t tell you. Sure, you have no intention on joining them in fist fighting Joker or solving the Riddler’s Saw-inspired puzzles (not that you could, you obviously lacked the capabilities), but you thought that after all that they’ve out you through, you were entitled to know what was going on.

But, you know that Alfred is also in on it, providing support from cave under the mansion (that you found after investigating the library while they were all out) and since he’s helped you through the bad times, hugging you tightly white you cried your eyes out, you decided to keep your discovery to yourself. Besides, if the secret ever comes out, you have plausible deniability.

Your phone rings and when you pull it out to check the caller ID, you see a picture of Alfred and you on the screen.

“Hey, Alfred,” you answer.

“Good afternoon, Master Y/N. Did you have a pleasant day at school?”

“I did. Since spring break is next week, the teachers toned down on the lessons.”

“And how did you fare on your algebra test?”

“Fine, I guess,” you mutter. “I’m sure I got more right than wrong.”

Math’s always been your worst enemy (at least until you met Damian) and getting an A on an anything math related was always once in a blue moon. A B was always your goal back in Goodsprings Elementary, but with Gotham Academy being a prestigious institution, their math classes were as difficult as a speed run in Dark Souls. Sure, all your classes are hard, but math has always been your Achilles’ heel.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you prepare for it. Maybe I should come home—“

“No,” you quickly say, cutting him off. “It’s fine. I studied my notes and found some practice problems online. I’m sure I passed.”

There was a brief pause before the man said, “Very well, Master Y/N. If you’re sure. How have you been faring? I trust you’re eating three meals a day and sleeping enough?”

“Of course,” you say. You’re lying, of course. You skip breakfast and dinner since they’re all downstairs at the same time in the mornings and at night use before going out on patrol and only eat lunch at school, where lunch is prepared by five star chefs because their elite students will accept nothing less. As for sleep, you’ve been cramming for this test and trying to work on your game, where as soon as you fix one bug, three more come to take its place.

“Of course,” he says, obviously not convinced, but chooses not to call you out. Not over the phone, anyway. Had he been here in person, it would be a different story. “And how have the others treated you?”

“Like I don’t exist. So, things are status quo.”

“I know their behavior has been nothing less than unacceptable, but have you tried talking to your father? Maybe he’ll be more receptive to you if you approached him while he was alone.”

“We both know that’s not gonna happen, Alfred. Bruce can’t stand the sight of me because I’m his greatest mistake.”

“Master Y/N!”

“It’s true and you know it! Both he and Momma were young and stupid, one thing led to another, and I was their reminder why condoms were invented. He got stuck with me and he’ll never forgive me for that. You know it and I know it.”

His silence tells you he knows you’re right. You hate to say how you really feel since you know that Alfred raised the man after his parents were murdered and telling him things like this makes him feel like he failed as a father figure, but after being treated like shit for most of your life, you’ve really run out of fucks to give. Hell, when you turned eighteen last month, you had your bags packed and were ready to buy a ticket on the first bus to Las Vegas, but Alfred begged you to stay long enough so you could graduate and since it would be a pain in the ass to transfer this close to schools letting out for summer, you agreed. Plus, it’d look good on a resume that you graduated from Gotham Academy. .

“Maybe I could talk to him for you? I just don’t want you to leave hating your father so much.”

“Look, Alfred, I really don’t wanna talk about this. I gotta go, I’ll be late for work.”

“Very well, Master Y/N. Please be safe. You know I hate you being out at night all alone.”

“Don’t worry, I will. Talk to you later, Alfred.”

And with that, you hang up and head to the nearest bus stop to take you to Chinatown. When you turned sixteen, you decided that it wasn’t fair taking Alfred’s money (in your defense, you helped out in cleaning the mansion, but you were still taking his hard earned paycheck), so you went out and found a job working at Gotham Games, a small store in one of the few nicer parts of Gotham that specialized in video, trading card, and tabletop games. Your boss, Mr. Chen, is a sweet old man who loves to talk games with you, especially Pokémon; in fact, he always gives you a free booster pack when he hands you your paycheck, saying that it’s a bonus for doing a good job. You love your job and aside from Alfred always willing to lend an ear to listen to your troubles, it’s made living in this hellhole of a city actually bearable.

After arriving at the bus stop in Chinatown, you walks a few blocks to find Mr. Chen closing the door and locking it.

“Mr. Chen,” you say when you near him, making him turn around to face you.

“You’re always on time, Y/N,” he says with a chuckle, but you can see he’s sad about something.

“Is the store closing for today?”

“No, I’m afraid I’m closing the store for good.”

Your heart stops and you feel yourself losing balance a little and you quickly steady yourself. You quickly think for any reason why the store would be closing for good.

Poor sales? No, you helped Mr. Chen with the spreadsheet for last month and sales had gone up by 11% thanks to the Pokémon TCG tournament you hosted.

Too much theft? No, you keep a close eye on all the customers and last time you checked, all inventory was accounted for.

Threats? Please, Mr. Chen’s been here for twenty-five years and is a pillar of the community. If anyone ever had the dumbass idea to threaten him, all shop owners in the street would rush to his aid, yourself included.

So, why?

As if he read your mind, he says, “My daughter said she was worried about me when the Penguin broke out of Arkham the other day and his car chase with Batman ended when he crashed a block away from here. She said that she and her husband had already set up a room for me at their house and now they’re here to take me with them to Florida.

You remember hearing about that. Bruce devotes all his time to fighting Gotham’s crime problem and one would think all the time he doesn’t spend with you could go to keeping things like car chases with Arkham’s inmates far away from innocent people and their businesses, but guess that’s what you get for having expectations when it comes to Bruce.

“What will happen to the store?”

“Mark’s already taken care of it. He called up some company that owns plenty of stores that’s just like mine and they agreed to buy my entire stock. They’ll have some people here tomorrow to get it all.”

For the second time in your life, it feels like your entire world’s been turned inside out. Working here and being around Mr. Chen was the best thing that’s happened to you since you over to Gotham and with Alfred gone and the loss of your job and boss, you’re extremely tempted to get on the nearest bus and ride it out of Gotham right now.

“I also wanted to wait for you so I could give you this.” He hands you a neatly wrapped box that you just now realize he’d been holding this entire time. “To thank you for keeping an old man company.”

You take the box and with shaky hands, you unwrap it and open the lid to see a pristine aqua blue Game Boy Advance surrounded by several cartridges. When you take a closer look, you see that they’re all Pokémon games, ranging from the original Red and Blue to Red Rescue Team.

“You appreciate the classics and it seemed a shame to let that Game Boy and those games just sit around, collecting dust. Plus, it’s my way of saying thank you for taking care of an old man.”

At this point, you realize you’re crying and can’t help but hug your boss. “Thank you, Mr. Chen.”

“You’re welcome, Y/N. When you move back to Nevada and win big in Vegas, don’t forget to give me a call so we can celebrate.”

You laugh at that and it makes you feel better, but only a little bit. When he promises to call you when he’s set up in Florida and you promise to call him when you’re back in Nevada, you two separate and watch as he gets in his daughter’s car and drive off, waving at him until he’s out of sight.

As you neatly tuck the box into your backpack, you realize that your schedule’s totally fucked up now. Normally, Alfred comes and gets you when you get done working at 7, but with him gone, you’d been using the bus that comes at that time to take you to the closest stop to Bristol and walk the rest of the way to Wayne Manor, but that bus won’t be here for hours. And you’d sooner chew your own arm off before calling any of them for help.

You mull it over for a minute or two before deciding to walk to the nearest stop, hop on the bus, and ride it to as close to Bristol as possible. With the store closed (and your beloved job lost) you can use the time to get ahead on your spring break plans and work on your game, ironing out bugs and working on your art. You pull out your map of Gotham’s bus stops and see the closest station is over in the East End, a place no one with a half working brain cell goes. Still, it’s the closest bus stop and you’ll only be there for a few minutes. You’ve survived Wayne Manor for thirteen years, surely you can deal with Gotham’s trash can for a little bit.

With your mind made up, you make your way to the East End. As you cross into the district, you’re greeted by a group of kids playing Cops and Robber, but instead of cops, one of them plays the role as Red Hood, complete with two stick guns and a red plastic pail on his head. That’s right, East End is Jason’s territory and is well loved by many of the children. The thought of the brute gives you even more incentive to leave the area as fast as possible because you’ve heard Jason yelling at the others for entering the East End because it’s his to protect and he doesn’t want any of them unless it’s a really big emergency and even then, they need his permission. Knowing him, he’ll accuse you of invading and try to fill you full of lead, despite the fact that you’re not a vigilante and he ever pulled his head out of his ass, he’d know that, but you guess that being in a family full of distrust and paranoia has polluted his higher reasoning skills.

The further into the district you get, the closer you hold onto the straps of your book bag. With every step you take, you hear glass shattering, people screaming, and even a gun shot or two, making you regret ever coming here. You should’ve found another bus stop or just found something to kill time until your regular bus showed up. Still, you’ve already come this far and turning around would probably be more dangerous than continuing forward, so you keep your head up high and try to change your stride to be more confident, hoping that appearing more confident would keep people away from you.

You see the bus stop and pick up speed to get there quickly, but just as you get close enough to see the map and schedule, you feel something grab your book bag and you’re quickly yanked backwards. You turn to look behind you to see three men staring down at you and by the way they’re grinning down at you, you can tell this won’t end well for you.

“Well, what’s a little GA snob doin’ here,” one of them sneers.

“Surprised you’re actually walking,” the other jeers. “Thought all you little shits were carried around by your butlers and maids. Too good to use your own legs.”

That little joke actually pissed you off because you’re not like the rest of your classmates who have their private drivers open their car doors when they go to the airport to spend Christmas on their private islands. You aren’t using Bruce’s money to pay for every little thing you see (not that he’d give you any because he’s forgotten you exist), you actually have a job and work hard for your money, damn it!

“Bet there’s someone who’d pay a pretty penny for you,” the man, obviously the leader of the other two, says. “Looks like we’ve hit pay dirt, boys.”

You struggle to break free of their grasp, but the three of them are too strong for you. The leader pulls out a rusty pipe from his back pocket and the last thing you see is said pipe rushing towards your head before everything goes black.

“Wake up, you little bitch,” a gruff voice says as you’re overcome with feelings of sheer cold and wetness.

You open your eyes to find that you’re sitting on n extremely dirty floor. You look up to see a man looking down at you, a sadistic look on his face and a dirty metal bucket in hand. Your mind finally boots back up and you remember being stopped by three dirtbags and being knocked out be a pipe to the head. As if on cue, the memory triggers immense feelings of pain in your head and while you’re no doctor, you’re pretty sure that you have a mild concussion. When the rest of your senses come to, you realize that you’re tied to chair with thick ropes you have no chance of getting out, at least without a knife. Through blurry eyes, you’re able to look around to see you’ve been dragged to some dirty shack and based on what you see through the busted windows nearest to the door, you know two things: that you’ve been dragged to Gotham Woods and you’ve been knocked out for a while.

“Alright, now that you’ve had your beauty sleep, it’s time to get to business.” The leader squats down to your level, an old flip phone in hand. “You’re gonna give us a number we can call to ransom you off. Try any funny business and…” he trails off as he brings out a gun and points it at you. “You won’t live long enough to regret it.”

You hears the words, but all you can focus on is the gun aimed at you. You’ve known Gotham is a dangerous place and going to certain parts of the city at night is practically committing suicide, but you never thought you’d be in this position, where the slightest action or inaction was the difference in sleeping in your bed or being put to rest in a pine box when everything was said and done. Ever since you’d turned eighteen, you’ve kept a tally of how many days you have until you graduate and put this city of the damned behind you and now there’s a good chance you’ll die here, in a city you’ve hated since you were forced to move here.

“Hey,” he says, breaking you out of your stupor. “Number. Now.” He emphasizes his point by waving his gun.

At first, you’re tempted to give him Alfred’s number, knowing the butler would probably come to your rescue and kill these thugs John Wick Style, but you know that they wouldn’t appreciate talking to someone on the other side of the world and right now, you couldn’t take the chance on pissing them off; you need someone here in Gotham and as much as every fiber in your body wants to throw up at once just for even thinking it, you know Bruce is your only hope of making out of this in one piece. Even if he doesn’t care about you, he’ll be able to swoop in and bash in the heads of a bunch of kidnappers, so that should be enough of a reason to bring him here.

“Alright, you can call my father,” you say, the word “father” leaving a bitter taste in your mouth, but right now, you can’t afford to let your hatred for the man get the better of you; not when your life hangs in the balance. You give him the manor’s home phone number, which he dials and puts it on speaker.

You wait with bated break as the phone rings. After the third time, you can feel yourself breaking into a cold sweat and when you look up at one of your captors, you can tell he’s getting angry by the second; with every ring, his scowl gets more and more intimidating and the gun starts to shake in rage.

Finally, after an eternity, you hear someone pick up.

“Hello,” Bruce’s voice comes through, and based on the tone, he sounds pissed. Knowing the time, he was probably getting ready to go out on patrol. Still, you can’t help but feel just a little to relived to hear his voice. You just might make it through the night. “Bruce Wayne speaking.”

“Holy shit, man, we’re about to be rich,” one of the other men whispers to his cohort, who nods in agreement.

“We have your son, Wayne,” the man says with an air of confidence. “Do as we say and you—“

“No, you don’t,” Bruce says, cutting off the man.

“What,” the leader says, the wind obviously taken out of his sails.

“No, you don’t,” Bruce repeats.

“Fuck you mean,’ he shouts. “I’m looking at him right now! Don’t you know you’re missing a brat right now?”

“All my kids are right here with me and I’m none of them are missing,” Bruce says in a matter-of-fact tone that makes your heart stop.

“Did you really think we wouldn’t notice if someone was missing” Dick chimes in.

“Man, you’re fuckin’ stupid,” Jason mocks.

“You’re not the first to fake holding a Wayne for ransom,” Tim explains. “It hasn’t worked before and it won’t work now.”

“If you lowlifes put as much effort into finding a job as you did trying to steal money, you’d be rich,” Damian taunts.

“Wow, you’re a loser,” Cass laughs. “Don’t you have anything better to do with your life? Why don’t you get out of your mom’s basement and go outside to touch grass and maybe talk to a girl.”

They all laugh at that and you can feel your heart just collapse in on itself. Right now, you have a better chance of sprouting wings and flying out of here than this man letting you go after being insulted by every member of the Wayne Family. And based on the fact that his face is as red as a beat, this definitely won’t be for you.

“As you can see, all my children are home, where they should be. I don’t know how much you hoped to get out of this, but you aren’t seeing a dime.”

And with that, the call ends and so does your chances of leaving here in one piece. You always thought that your existence was a complete unknown to them, but to actually see something that proves it? You can’t help but begin to cry, both at how the call went and for the world of hurt you’re no doubt about to experience with your captors.

“Bet you thought that was funny,” the man says as he slowly flips the phone shut, indicating that he’s pissed off beyond words.

You decide that Alfred is the one you should’ve had him call, but before you correct your mistake, you’re filled with pain as he strikes you on the head with the pipe. He hits you again and the force sends the chair tumbling to the floor, but that doesn’t matter to the man; he’s pissed and all he cares for now is hurting you. He’s spouting off insults and threats, but all you can focus on is the immense pain you’re in. He never hits in the same place twice, spreading the pain to your head, arms, torso, and legs. You feel your skin tear, bones break, and blood shed and the pleas you’d been shouting since he began his assault finally die, opting for crying and sounds of pain.

By the time he’s finished, you’re in so much pain, you can barely think. All you want to do is die.

“Hey, look what I found in his bag.” You look up through swollen and blood filled eyes to see one of the other men is holding up your Momma’s pen. “Looks like real gold. Might be worth something.”

After the pen incident three years ago, you’ve lived in constant fear that Damian would take you pen in an act of revenge, so you’ve kept the pen on you at all times, even keeping it under your pillow as you slept, only taking it out when you were in the safety of your room. Up until now, it’s kept your most treasured possession safe, but it looks like it’s about to cost you dearly.

“At least it’s something. Anything else?”

“Naw,” the man responds as he rummages through your bag. “Just the regular school shit, a wallet with a few bucks in it, and…” He pauses before pulling out the box Mr. Chen gave you and opens it. “Holy shit, looks like an old Game Boy! And there’s a bunch of games with it!”

“Is it worth much?”

“Might be able to get something for it. A bunch of collectors out there looking for shit like this. Couldn’t hurt to check around.”

“Haven’t seen one of those in years,” the last man chimes in. “Had one when I was a kid. Someone stole it, though. Hey, if we can’t get much of it, can I keep it?”

“Not now, Butch,” the leader growls. “Batman’s busy dealing with that clown bustin’ outta Arkham and all we got out of this is a lousy pen and a stupid video game.” He looks down at you. “Since you didn’t give us a name to ransom you off to, guess no one’ll care if you go missing.”

He picks his gun up and aims it at you. You feel your heart skip a beat at the sight of staring down the barrel of a gun aimed at you.

“No, please,” you beg, struggling to spit out the words as you’re so badly hurt, it’s a miracle you’re able to talk at all, but right now, all that matters is that you do what ever it takes to survive this.

“What’re we gonna do with the body,” one of the men asks.

“There’s the chasm near Mt. Gotham,” the one called Butch says. “That thing goes down for miles. We dump him in there and not even Batman’ll find him.”

Is this how it ends? After everything you’ve gone through, you die from being shot by three thugs in the forest and you’re thrown in a big ditch like a trash bag when you’re so close to leaving this damn city behind. You try to open your mouth to say something, anything that will at least buy you a few more minutes, but whatever you wanted to say is drowned out by the flash of a muzzle and the bang of a gunshot.

Your world goes to black.

A/N: Sorry, we were a little under for on cliffhanger quota, so we had to up production. The original plan was to split this chapter into two, with the kidnapping at the end of the first and the shooting at the end of the second, but with October upon us, I think things are going to get really crazy for me this semester, so I decide to be merciful (this time) and make one big chapter that only has one cliffhanger. Enjoy the wait for the next chapter! Also, if you asked to be added to the tag list and don’t see your name, I promise it’s not because I didn’t do it on purpose, but because when I went to tag you, Tumblr didn’t find your blog. I always check twice before uploading a new chapter to ensure everyone who asked to be tagged has been added.

Tag List: @space1crow @bat1212 @minkyungseokie @solelifauna @nosyrobin @bunbunboysworld @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd @feral-childs-word @l0serl0v3r @phoenixgurl030 @soriansick

#male reader #yandere damian wayne #yandere dick grayson #yandere dc #dc x male reader #yandere tim drake #yandere stephanie brown #yandere alfred pennyworth #yandere cassandra cain #yandere bruce wayne #yandere batfam #yandere jason todd #yandere batfamily #yandere barbara gordon #batfamily x male reader #batfamily #batman #from gold to mold

731 notes · View notes

gazeofseer · 6 months ago

Text

𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒄𝒊𝒕𝒚 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒌𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍?

𓇼🐚☾☼🦪 🎀🫶🏻💌💓

••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°••....••

Texas, Australia, United States and California, You are a queer by soul who lives by their own even amongst the crowded room, seeking something as distant and indifferent to what seems the same after all, but subtle do you fear the idea behind crossing lines, edges that drew scars around your borderline of heart the reason you easily withdraw the click and connection with places and people, you feel everything should be new as each passing moment because anything that stay longer bored you because you feed in daydreams and expect teh same dosh to be served outside around you, but all you taste is something different but not you.

Guidance : You are looking for yourself from within by blocking all the external settings and invites believing the world to be a harm to your existence throughout your journey down the lane to changing seasons and places so far, now you are just tired and tormented wanting to settle but truly can't keeps you restless.

Leo sun, Aries Rising, 8, Saturn in 9th house, Silver accessories, Denim Jeans, You brought something last week still waiting to be worn.

I see you are not only brain fogging but also bloating with overwhelming thoughts and emotions at the same time because you want but you don't, you don't but you want so badly, you have been guided to not make any decision right now, and not to hang in either, changes kept happening, but you are holding something beyond it did. It could be a little picture or a memory too, let it go to where it belongs it will harm you in the long run. Stop sitting with disappointment, disgrace or insult. Let that find peace within you and embrace these changes as a chance for you to strike this fog with the sword of your consciousness on if the very next second you would die, what will you do in the given second of the moment? Chose what is right, and needed for now that is how you lead life always rightly despite the wrong being gifted.

Netherland, Germany, Scotland, Denver & Amsterdam, there are eerie chills to your soul which plays chivilrious in the darkness and acts demure in the light, like a nasty kid you carry the flaws around the forest creeks but throw a elegant gaze the moment a eye flickers upon you, the mask of basking in solitude feels so enchanting enough to thrive through life beyond its hardship and pain, you take it as gift for the one who got none even sorrow becomes the only life present before.

Guidance : The ostracized child, who was not even a count nor in the quantity or quality leave the first and last of being a choice but never an part of any option to even begin with? I feel you started to heal enough that you understand the value of pain you received so far and treat it exactly right that it has become your that safe home which strengthens you instead to tame, instead of guidance your spirit guides have messages 'That, we really appreciate your pure heart and acknowledge your being of existence as of great as of the any other living, we are around you, when you believe you are lucky enough after seeing something weird l, quirky and unique because that is who you are and we show up there'

Fox teddy, bear, herbivores, cozy vibes, brown eyes, eyeglasses, Aquarius Venus, Capricorn Venus or sun, writing a novel or blog, secret lover.

Paris, France, Italy, London, Russia and South Korea, What beauty of it doesn't scares a bit right? It took you a trail blaze or ages to burn down and pave one path for you that fire runs through your body despite the sickness you feel in your heart and fatigue you carry on your soul, the more you get tested the more pure you mold into the miracles and become the magic itself, you accept the essence of love, that sets free, wild and at the arms of death where one can love so truly to the depths of each feels and moves of life.

Guidance : Okay, so this pile has been through a lot bodily or mentally the sickness which prolonged seems like a default, or your mistake or an accident which made you be on bed for rest and feel this helplessness from the echoes of the room and beyond the sky where slowly you discovered and connected to your soul and learned the ultimate truth of being all that you need to yourself exactly when you need yourself.

'Hey, sorry to interrupt I am just worried and kind off ..sorry again how are you? I hope you are doing well now, I promise I am on my way please, kindly don't give upon me, for that I have not yet arrived into your life, all the lovers you met were the lie you told yourself to hold yourself tight in your head, but let go the grudge and find me within your heart whenever you look into the mirror with those doe eyes, those two flicks of your hair curls around you ear I did kiss those cheeks with freckles and toughened skin, I did hold you like the witch who carries her wretched wand in her power and strength, I love you, can you hear that, I say that everyday before you sleep'

Well, that was tear jerking right? Give me a second.

Important Updated my services list do check (;

#Spotify #divine feminine #divination #divine guidance #pyschic reading #gratitude #intutive reading #pick a pile #pick a image #pick a card #free tarot reading #tarot cards #witchy #happy winter

338 notes · View notes

damiansgoodgirll · 3 months ago

Note

Hiii!! I hope that you’re doing good and feeling better!!

I was wondering if I could request a Jey Uso x reader where Jey and reader are celebrating because they both won their Royal Rumbles (still so proud of Jey 💖) and it goes from a cute and fluffy celebration to steamy pretty quickly? Thank you so much and I hope you have an amazing day!!

jey uso x reader

‼️love, soft moments, fluff turned into smut, stay away kids‼️

royal winners

you could still feel the adrenaline rushing through your veins as you stepped into the hotel room, jey’s hand wrapped tightly around yours. your body ached from the war you had just survived, bruises forming beneath your gear, but none of it mattered. not when jey was here, his fingers laced with yours, both of you still high off the biggest moments of your careers.

“we really did that…” you breathed, laughing softly as you kicked off your shoes. your ribs ached, muscles sore from the chaos of the royal rumble, your gear was half broken but the sheer excitement humming through you overpowered everything.

“hell yeah, we did!” jey’s grin was wide, pure joy radiating off him. then his eyes found yours again, dark and gleaming with something else “we are really going to wrestlemania!”

a shaky exhale left your lips as the realization fully sank in. both of you had done the impossible. fighting 29 others, carving your names into history and you had done it together.

“this is insane…” you whispered, running a hand through your damp hair. before you could say anything else, jey’s arms wrapped around you from behind, his body warm against yours, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“nah…” he murmured, his lips kissing the side of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine “this is perfect.”

your breath hitched slightly at the softness in his voice, the way his fingers brushed against your stomach beneath your shirt. his touch was slow, teasing, like he had all the time in the world.

“we should celebrate…” he murmured against your skin, his lips barely touching, just enough to make you shiver.

you let out a quiet hum “we already celebrated with everyone.”

“not how i wanna celebrate” - a smirk appearing on his face. his voice was lower now, thick with meaning. before you could respond, his lips pressed a lingering kiss beneath your ear, his hands sliding up your sides. your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, tugging him closer.

“jey…” your voice came out softer than you intended, breathy, already sinking into him.

he turned you in his arms, your chest pressing against his, your noses brushing. his hands found your waist, steady and sure, his eyes flickering down to your lips.

“lemme take care of you, baby” he murmured, voice rough with want and desire. desire for you.

before you could speak, his lips were on yours - slow, deep, desiring and savoring you. you melted into him, fingers slipping into his hair as he walked you back toward the bed, his hands wandering with a mix of tenderness and hunger.

the celebration was just getting started.

you sighed against his mouth, your body already molding against his. jey deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours, the heat between you two sparking into something undeniable. his grip on your waist tightened, and before you knew it, he was guiding you backward until the backs of your knees hit the bed.

“sit baby…” he murmured, pulling back just enough to look at you. his dark eyes were heavy with hunger, his breathing slightly uneven.

you did as he said, watching as he pulled his hoodie over his head, revealing the toned muscles beneath and the tattoos you loved so much. your fingers twitched to touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin against yours. as if reading your mind, jey smirked and leaned down, his hands blocking either side of you.

“you know how long i’ve been waiting for this?” he murmured, his lips trailing along your jaw, down the side of your neck. “watching you in that ring tonight, being a damn star. you were born for this. fighting charlotte, fighting liv, raquel, bianca…you were the best one out there baby…you had me going crazy, fucking insane.”

your breath hitched as his teeth grazed your skin, his tongue soothing over the spot immediately after “jey…” you whispered, your fingers tangling in his hair. you felt your panties getting wetter and wetter, your stomach aching with pleasure.

he hummed against your throat, one of his hands sliding beneath your shirt, his palm hot against your bare skin “tell me what you want, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick with need “i wanna hear you say it…” - while his hands played with your breast, teasing your nipples, making them hard.

making you whimper. moan.

your heart pounded as you met his gaze, your body already burning for him “you…”you breathed “i want you.”

that was all he needed.

jey pulled your shirt over your head in one swift motion, his eyes raking over you like he was committing every inch of you to memory. his hands roamed your body, slow and deliberate, igniting sparks everywhere he touched. his lips followed, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your collarbone, across your chest, taking your nipples into his mouth, playing with them, making you shudder beneath him.

his hands found the waistband of your already broken gear, and he looked up at you, his expression unreadable for a moment. like he was taking his time, making sure you knew just how much he wanted you.

“you good?” he asked, his voice softer now, his thumb stroking slow circles against your hip.

you nodded, your fingers trailing down his abs before slipping beneath the band of his sweatpants “i need you, jey.”

a groan rumbled from his chest. in the next breath, your gear was gone, and his sweats followed, leaving nothing between you but heat and skin and pure, aching need.

his hand found your leaking pussy. wet, dripping for him. his middle finger testing the water as he circled your swollen clit.

“oh shit…jey” you moaned, already lost in the pleasure.

jey hovered over you, his forehead resting against yours, his breaths mingling with yours as he lined himself up “hold on to me, baby” and then he was pushing into you, slow and deep, stretching you in the best way, making your body arch into his. a gasp escaped your lips, your nails digging into his shoulders as he filled you completely.

jey cursed under his breath, his grip on your thigh tightening as he gave you a moment to adjust “you feel so good…” he murmured against your lips, kissing you again, this time rougher, needier “so perfect for me.”

you moaned into his mouth, rocking your hips slightly, urging him to move. and when he did - when he started rolling his hips into you, setting a slow, deep rhythm—you swore you saw stars.

“oh…jey fuck…” you moaned into his mouth as he was hitting every right spot.

jey took his time, dragging out every stroke, making sure you felt every inch of him. his hands roamed your body, gripping, caressing, worshipping. his lips never left yours for long, alternating between kissing you breathless and whispering praises into your ear.

but soon, slow wasn’t enough.

“jey - faster” you gasped, your fingers tightening in his hair “please faster, fill me up so good” - you were gone now.

he groaned, gripping your hips as he picked up the pace, his thrusts rougher now, deeper. the sounds filling the room, his low curses, your breathy moans, the rhythmic slap of skin only fueled the fire building between you.

“damn, baby” he muttered, his teeth grazing your shoulder “this what you needed, huh?”

you couldn’t even form words, only nodding as waves of pleasure crashed through you. jey shifted slightly, hitting a spot that had you crying out, your back arching off the bed.

“that’s it love” he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck “let go for me, baby.”

his hand slipped between your bodies, finding your most sensitive spot, and the combination of his touch and the way he moved inside you sent you spiraling. your release hit hard, your body tightening around him as pleasure consumed you.

jey wasn’t far behind, his pace stuttering as he buried himself deep, a low groan escaping him as he followed you over the edge, spilling inside of you.

for a moment, neither of you moved, both of you catching your breath, tangled together in the aftermath. jey pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips before rolling onto his side, pulling you with him so you were curled against his chest as you were still catching your breath. his fingers traced lazy circles on your back, his breathing still uneven.

“best celebration ever…” he murmured, making you laugh softly.

you tilted your head up, meeting his gaze. “yeah” you whispered, smiling “and it’s just the beginning” you teased.

he grinned, pulling you closer. “hell yeah, it is…”

you were born ready to take over wrestlemania and you couldn’t wait for that moment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

199 notes · View notes

brights-place · 6 months ago

Text

[Spiderman] Miles 42 x Reader

1K 5 Part Special: 1 (You are here) , 2 , 3 ,4,5 Warnings: Mafia AU, Cursing, fluff, blood

A/N: 5 POSTS OF FIVE DIFFERENT FANDOMS TO FEED I WILL NOT BE LIMITED BECAUSE IMMA MAKE YALL BE FED anyways thank you all so much for 1K im so happy !! TY SO MUCH

Summary: A mafia au ATSV type or idk something similar to mafia au but the reader being Miles' personal bodyguard after they took all their anger out on their parents for being abusive despite being young and later got found by someone Miles' family who took them in and trained them then as the reader spent more time with Miles 42 they fall in love and super possessive since they would give their life protecting Miles and get jealous very easily if someone flirts with their partner, that they would glare at the person threaten to kill them if they didn't back off sorry if it's short I've been having writers block more then usual

The sound of rough heaving echoed as a silhouette was gripping its side The small boy, with deep/light e/c eyes, tilts his head as he gazes over the old floors. Each slab of wood was old and beginning to rot, defunct seeds fostered by mold. That's why the gentleman in front of the small boy seemed far too out of place he was clean and tidy unlike the boys state.

Like water and oil, he simply did not fit in with his surroundings yet a hand was held out infront of him as the h/cnette looked up to see a guy staring down at him as your hand stared at the hand afraid as you looked back to the furrowed brows and eyes of a man who spoke harshly "You wanna be left here to die?" you stared shakily taking his hands as he spoke "so you are... (Full Name) right?" you looked down "(Nickname) sir..." he stared at you and spoke "Aaron... Morales" You stared at him. You had heard the about the awful rumors and secrets of this city. How drunk driving accidents are the norm, small businesses getting robbed at gunpoint was just a regular day especially the arson and deaths with the mafia around yet you wouldn't expect one of the biggest underground crime groups to be holding a hand out to you yet you couldn't help but take it ignoring the bleeding hand under the debris twitching and the famillar eyes through a gap in the crumbled areas that surrounded them the same e/c eyes that they had of their own that had always stared at you with hatred. You couldn't help but turn back to the man who started to guide you away with a blank face. A/N: HEADCANNON TIME BABY OML I'm so tired Im trying my best to upload more since holidays started so Im planning on writing books more on my wattpad, writing also on tumblr for ramble babbles and drawing more so uhh YEAH!

- You were trained by Aaron or known as 'Uncle aaron' by a boy that was around your agel. Aaron would have taught you things that you shouldn't know for someone your age, being tasked to help him with his dirty work before - You had devoted your life to Uncle Aaron after saving you and even if you were tasked to start protecting miles which was easy blending in with him at his highschool even though he'd tell you to fuck off - He claims he's babysitting you because now you're in his care more like He's in your care where he pretends to be all tough shit when your the one cutting someones tongue out for spouting lies and talking to the pigs - Miles always fights his own battles so you doing this pissed him off yet he slowly started to get used to it - You both would practice fighting together hell you cleaned up his prowler mask and costume for when he and uncle aaron went off on missions - The amount of blood that was already on his hands disgusted you but you couldn't talk when you'd come back after getting information out of a guy with bloodied knuckles or a small trash bag being dragged through the room dripping a crimson drop onto the floor - You both falling for each other was a weakness something that shouldn't have happened but it did

- You sometimes think it's foolish for someone like miles to love you but then you remember this man has murdered and stole for good reasons even if he's apart of the mafia. He doesn't take shit from anyone. People follow him like obedient dogs out of fear and admiration because they know he's the right hand to Uncle aaron. - Orders or Not people would take a bullet without a second of hesitation and you were one of them being well Miles is personal body guard protecting him and threatening lives of those who speak ill of him and aaron. - You have certain things that you enjoy outside of battle doing things to relax you as Miles would be in the same room as you doing his own thing as you both were filled with the familiar relaxation. - Everytime your sent out on a mission you'd stare down at your gun loading it just wanting to get back to miles since he needs his right hand - One moment though when on a mission hiding behind a crate when another underground group is leader was shooting with his man you were gripping onto your gun only having one thought before the slaughter this man would not make you lose your life to let miles suffer once more.

reblogs + comments are appreciated ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

©brights-place 2024 — do not repost on another platform, copy, translate or edit my works! if you fit my DNI list please don't interact

142 notes · View notes

winxanity-ii · 1 month ago

Text

⌜Godly Things | Chapter 44 Chapter 44 | of princes and promises⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

Another week passed.

And if the last one had been hard, this one might've actually driven you mad.

You were still on bedrest.

Still.

Despite the fact you could walk, stretch, spin a little if no one was looking.

Despite the fact your ribs barely ached anymore, and your lungs hadn't seized once in four days.

Despite every insistent "I'm fine" you muttered under your breath or tried to explain to the physician when they tilted their head with that patient little frown.

At this point, it felt less like rest and more like house arrest.

No—worse.

You weren't just in any room now. You were in the royal wing. A place that made you feel like a relic—something precious but breakable, tucked away from the world in case the air outside chipped your shine.

Every time you so much as approached the door to leave, someone was there.

A guard—someone you'd once known as just a friend from the kitchen halls or the training grounds—now stiff and silent, stationed with a firm nod and an apologetic smile.

They didn't stop you. They never had to.

Because after the third time of catching someone watching your every move, the moment they caught sight of you...

You stopped trying.

You told yourself it was fine. That this was your choice.

But it didn't feel like one.

So you stayed.

Inside.

Always inside.

Lady seemed to sense it. She'd curl tighter around your ankles when you got that look in your eyes, the one that glanced toward the window a little too long. She'd nose your hand, drag your attention to her, rolling onto her back like a baby in need of constant fussing.

Like she knew you were pacing inside your own skull.

Which is exactly what you were doing now.

Stretched out on your bed—upside down, your head hanging over the side, your legs slung over the top post—you tried (and failed) to pluck a clean melody from your lyre.

The strings sounded different this way. Muffled. Slightly warped. But it was a challenge, and right now? That was the closest thing you had to excitement.

Sunlight spilled in through the massive windows, warming your toes as they hovered in the air. The late morning glow painted the walls a soft honey-gold, and for a moment, you let yourself pretend this was just another lazy day. That you weren't confined. That you weren't under constant watch.

Not too long ago—maybe two days, if you were still keeping count—you'd actually had a bit of fun. A rare pocket of light in your little sentence of bedrest.

Telemachus had come by, all bashful and freshly scrubbed from morning drills, wearing that lopsided grin that he thought passed as casual.

You'd coaxed him into sitting with you, tossing a cushion on the floor and patting it with the kind of exaggerated glee that made him sigh and lower himself like a man being led to the gallows.

"I've never even touched one," he muttered, staring at your lyre like it might bite him.

"Good," you said. "Then I'll mold you from nothing. Like a block of clay. A very stubborn, unmusical block."

He scoffed. "Rude."

And gods, he was terrible.

You couldn't help but laugh—truly laugh—as he fumbled over the strings, his thick fingers plucking with all the grace of a sleep-deprived goat. At one point, he winced so hard at a sour note that he nearly knocked the entire lyre off his lap.

"Maybe if it wasn't so dainty," he grumbled, cradling the instrument like it was going to explode. "This thing's built for fairies."

You'd teased him mercilessly, correcting his posture, tapping his knuckles whenever he got too aggressive with the strings. At some point, he gave up pretending to be annoyed. The corners of his eyes softened. He let you guide his hands.

He stayed longer than he meant to.

But duty came knocking eventually, as it always did. One of the guards appeared at the door, asking for the prince's presence down at the training yard—new recruits, a few from the far coasts, needed testing.

Telemachus stood, stretching with a soft grunt. You'd waved off your own disappointment, smiling through it. He promised to return later. "Maybe this time I'll manage a chord that doesn't make your plants wilt," he'd teased, nudging your arm.

And you believed him.

But that wasn't what left the bitter taste in your mouth.

No. That came a few moments later, when you'd said—curious, maybe even hopeful—"One day, I'd like to learn how to fight too."

It was soft. Almost careless. A passing comment.

But his smile faltered.

Not in a mean way. Just... startled. Like you'd suggested diving into the ocean in winter. His eyes searched yours, and there it was: that familiar look. Gentle. Kind.

Too kind.

"Fight?" he repeated, like the word didn't belong in your mouth. "I don't think—I mean, you don't need to worry about that. You've got us... You've got me."

It wasn't a bad answer. Not cruel. But it stung anyway.

You weren't asking because you wanted to join the infantry.

You were asking because you remembered the alley. The pain. The helplessness.

Because next time... you didn't want to be the only one left bleeding.

But you'd seen the concern tighten in his jaw. The subtle way his posture changed, shoulders tensing. So you just laughed, waving a hand.

"Never mind. It was a silly thought."

He didn't argue. He just smiled, gave you one last look, and left.

Now, that moment lingered away like smoke.

You played another note.

Off-key.

With a sigh, you let it slip from your hands.

It landed on the plush rug with a soft thump.

Lady wasn't there to judge you for it. She'd trotted off earlier, tail swaying like a banner, probably somewhere in the kitchens being spoiled by every worker with a soft spot and a pocket full of scraps.

Which left you alone. Again.

In your room. Again.

Doing absolutely nothing.

You stared up at the ceiling, sunlight painting gold across your outstretched arms.

And even now, in all this brightness... you still felt trapped.

You sighed.

This had to end soon.

It had to.

Just sitting there made your annoyance flare up all over again. It churned hot in your chest, bitter and itchy, like you'd swallowed a mouthful of sunlight and it had nowhere to go.

You groaned aloud, tossing yourself sideways across the bed, limbs flopping dramatically into the covers. "I can do it," you muttered, as if Telemachus was still in the room. "I'm not made of glass. I'm not gonna fall apart the second someone bumps into me."

You rolled onto your stomach, cheek pressed into your pillow.

"Maybe if I knew a thing or two, I could've got a hit in," you mumbled into the sheets. "Maybe if I hadn't been so soft and helpless, I could've—" You bit your tongue. Hard.

The words hung there. Sour.

You weren't supposed to still be thinking about that alley. About him.

But it clawed its way back, again and again—the memory of his hand yanking your sash, the press of cold stone against your back, the pain that flared so suddenly you couldn't even scream.

You'd thought about what you could've done differently too many times now.

A knee. A fist. Anything.

But you'd done nothing.

You'd frozen.

You sat up with a huff, frustration prickling under your skin.

Your legs swung off the bed.

Your feet hit the floor.

You were moving before your mind caught up.

Because you weren't going to sit here any longer. Not when you felt like this—like your body didn't belong to you. Like your voice, your agency, had been taken that day and handed right back only under strict, whispered rules.

Bedrest.

No stress.

Just heal.

But what about strength?

What about never letting it happen again?

You yanked your cloak from its hook near the door, pulling it over your shoulders with quick, jerky movements. Your fingers fumbled briefly with the clasp, the little bronze piece catching against your nerves.

"Stupid cloak," you grumbled under your breath, and finally gave up halfway through.

Your hands balled into fists at your sides as you stepped into the hallway, the familiar hush of the royal wing curling around you like steam. You passed the flowers on the sill, the guards stationed at the end of the corridor—heads bowed, pretending not to notice you slipping past.

You didn't stop.

Not until you reached the turn that led toward the queen's solar.

Because you needed to see her.

Because if anyone could help you feel like yourself again—strong, capable—it was Penelope.

You weren't sure what you'd say when you got there.

But your heart was thudding fast in your chest, and your mind had already made its decision.

No more waiting.

You would learn. You would fight.

And you would never, never be caught unarmed again.

With that vow still hot in your chest, you didn't bother knocking properly.

Just a quick rap with your knuckles—more out of habit than manners—and then you were pushing the door open with your voice already half-formed in irritation.

"Your Majesty, forgive me for speaking so freely, but I swear to the gods, if Telemachus tries to coddle me one more time—!"

You strode in like it was routine, like it wasn't the queen's private solar, like you hadn't just died a week ago and been brought back with enough divine drama to stir the skies.

Maybe it was because you were still annoyed. Maybe it was because you were still trying to forget the look on Telemachus' face when he'd said you didn't need to learn how to fight. Or maybe it was because dying had taken the shame right out of you.

But either way, you walked in mid-rant, breath puffed and ready to complain.

And then you saw them.

Penelope.

Odysseus.

And someone else.

You froze mid-step. Your voice caught and collapsed like a bird flying straight into a wall. Your hand lingered stupidly on the door handle, your weight half-shifted like you could still turn back time and leave.

The room had been full of conversation just a second ago—but it died the moment you entered.

Three sets of eyes turned to you at once.

Penelope was seated at the small writing desk near the window, her hands folded loosely over a scroll. Odysseus sat with a goblet in one hand and a knife resting against his thigh, the edge of it catching faint light. But both of them looked up with calm expressions—no alarm. Just mild surprise.

It was the third person who made your stomach twist.

He sat beside the hearth, dwarfing the low chair beneath him like it had been built for someone else entirely.

A giant.

Easily the largest man you'd ever seen—taller even than most of the palace guards, but broader still. His armor wasn't polished for show; it was dented. A blade sat propped beside him, long enough that you'd have to lift it with both hands—and even then, it'd probably drag.

He wasn't slouched, but he didn't need to sit tall to loom. Even with all three of them seated, he towered.

And when his head turned toward you, the room felt like it shrank.

Dark skin, smooth and gleaming in the sunlight. A strong nose, high cheekbones, and a scar that sliced down one cheek like a brand. His locs were thick and long, tied back with gold rings that caught the light in little flashes. There was dirt and old soot on his jaw, a faint stubble covering it, and his mouth was set in a way that suggested he wasn't impressed. Not by the room. Not by you.

Your stomach flipped.

You dipped immediately into a curtsy—too fast, almost stumbling—and you bowed your head low.

"I—I'm so sorry," you stammered. "I didn't realize the Queen had guests—I thought she was alone—my deepest apologies—"

You felt like you were rambling. Like you couldn't talk fast enough to make up for the mess you'd just barged into.

The silence dragged for a second longer than your pride could take.

And then—mercifully—Odysseus chuckled.

Low and rough, like gravel underfoot, but not mocking.

"No apologies needed," he said, waving a hand casually. "You're never unwelcome here, little star."

You lifted your head just enough to meet his gaze, breath caught halfway between embarrassed and relieved.

Odysseus turned slightly, nodding toward the stranger. "Come. Since you've already interrupted us, you may as well meet our guest." His tone was light, but there was something sharp under it. A hint of amusement. A warning not to look away.

"This," he said, with a gesture toward the man, "is Diomedes. General of the southern warfront. Former champion of the arena. Now something far more dangerous."

Penelope added gently, "A trusted friend. And one of the few men who's never lost a battle he intended to win."

Diomedes said nothing.

He simply stared.

And gods, his stare—dark, sharp, heavy—it pressed against your ribs like weight.

You straightened slowly, hands brushing against your sides, trying not to fidget. Trying not to show that your heart was thudding too loud. Too fast.

He didn't smile.

But something in his expression shifted—like a test had been passed. Like your flustered curtsy hadn't disappointed him, but your stillness afterward... had earned you a second look.

The gold in his hair shimmered faintly when he finally spoke.

"You've got quick reflexes," he said, voice deep and even. "But next time, don't freeze. You might not always be walking into a room full of friends."

You blinked.

He wasn't wrong.

And even though it sounded like an insult, it didn't feel like one.

More like a challenge.

You swallowed once, nodded, and found your voice again. "I-I'll remember that."

And his mouth twitched.

Not a smile.

But close enough to make your skin prickle.

You didn't breathe for a second.

Just stood there, caught under the weight of his stare, the way his scar caught the light, the way his broad shoulders looked like they could block out the sun. That not-quite-smirk ghosted his mouth, just... knowing.

But before you could get swallowed up in it again, Penelope's voice gently broke the silence.

"Well?" she prompted, her tone soft but expectant. "You came in with something to say, didn't you?"

You blinked, snapping your gaze away from Diomedes and looking to the queen. She was smiling now—genuinely—and her hand lifted in an encouraging little flutter, beckoning you forward. "Come, come. I want to hear it."

You hesitated.

Then stepped deeper into the room, smoothing your tunic with clammy hands. The warmth that had lit your anger earlier now curled into something else entirely—embarrassment. Not only had you barged into a royal meeting like a fool, now you were being invited to talk about the prince.

Their son.

Telemachus' parents were looking at you like you had something lovely to share, and gods, that alone made your mouth go dry.

"I, um..." You shifted on your feet. "I'd just been thinking about something he said. Earlier. It's not important, really..."

Odysseus raised a brow. "That so?" he drawled, swirling the drink in his hand. "Because from the look on your face when you came in, I'd wager it felt pretty important to you."

Penelope's eyes twinkled. "Something he said, hmm?"

You flushed, wishing a hole would kindly open beneath your feet and swallow you whole.

"I—it was about training," you admitted, eyes flicking toward the floor. "I said I wanted to learn to fight. And he... well, he didn't say no. But he said I didn't need to. That I didn't have to worry. That he'd protect me."

Odysseus let out a low hum, the sound vaguely amused.

Penelope, meanwhile, clapped her hands lightly, as if this all confirmed something wonderful. "Oh, that boy," she said with a fond shake of her head. "He always was protective, even as a child. Wouldn't let a goose so much as look at me wrong without chasing it halfway down the orchards."

You smiled, faintly. "It wasn't a bad thing. I just—" You shrugged. "I don't want to be helpless."

There was a beat of silence.

Then a deep voice cut through it.

"Hah," Diomedes rumbled, and you nearly jumped. "So you're the one who's got little Tel wrapped around their finger."

Your mouth parted, stunned.

Little Tel?

Penelope lit up instantly. "Yes!" she said, like a proud matchmaker, her whole posture brightening. "This is her—the one he's been following around like a shadow. Always trying to look like he's just passing by, but honestly, he has no subtlety."

Odysseus snorted into his goblet.

"Like father, like son," Diomedes muttered, a glint of amusement cutting through his usual edge. His eyes flicked to Odysseus, sharp with memory. "Gods—you were just as bad. Always lurking around whenever I was in the palace. 'Diomedes, let's grab a drink. Diomedes, Iook how far I can shoot this arrow—' like a pup trying to impress a lion."

"Don't pretend you didn't like it," Penelope said a bit too quickly, smiling into her cup. "You let him braid your hair once."

"You said we weren't speaking of that again," Diomedes grunted—but his tone wasn't sharp anymore.

There was warmth here—between the three of them. A shared past, sharpened at the edges, but softened with time. Like old iron that had been quenched in laughter.

And you could only blink.

Because this man—this towering, blood-streaked warrior—was smiling now, just faintly, as he looked at you. Still intimidating, still built like a god of war—but more real somehow. Less statue, more man.

"You've done something good," he said, nodding toward you. "Whatever it is, keep doing it. Tel's steadier than I've seen him in years."

Your throat tightened.

You weren't sure what to say.

Penelope saved you again, her voice soft and full of pride. "He's changed, hasn't he?"

Odysseus nodded, his gaze steady but knowing. "And not just because of the throne."

Diomedes looked at you one last time, and that not-quite-smile returned—smaller, but just as unsettling.

Then, slowly, his eyes flicked to Odysseus, then back to you.

"So," he said, tone low and rough but teasing at the edges, "our little prince is too scared to train you, huh?"

Your mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

"I—no, I don't think he's scared," you managed, fumbling for something reasonable to say. "He just... doesn't think I need it."

Diomedes snorted, loud and amused, like the sound of boulders crashing through fog. "Soft," he said simply. "He's soft. Always was, when it came to people he cared about."

Penelope laughed into her palm. "That's not always a bad thing."

Odysseus shifted in his chair, shooting his friend a look. "He's cautious," he corrected. "Not soft."

Diomedes leaned back, crossing his arms, the gold bands in his locs catching the light as his head tilted just slightly. "He's in love. That's the softest state a man can be in."

You tried not to look at the queen and king—but your eyes darted toward them anyway, searching for any hint of embarrassment. To your surprise, it wasn't yours that bloomed first.

Penelope smiled demurely, but Odysseus let out a low grumble and rubbed a hand along the back of his neck, clearly trying not to look at her.

"Don't start that story," he muttered under his breath.

"Oh, please," Penelope chimed in sweetly, glancing your way with a twinkle in her eye. "When we were younger, I asked him to show me how to notch a bow. And Diomedes nearly died laughing when he kept missing the target because he couldn't stop watching me."

Odysseus grunted. "You could have hurt yourself."

Diomedes just shrugged, grin spreading wider now. "All I remember is you nearly loosed an arrow into the olive grove. He snatched the bow from your hands so fast, he looked like he was trying to save a kitten from drowning."

You blinked, caught in the moment, unsure if you were supposed to laugh or apologize for simply existing.

But Diomedes' attention turned fully back to you.

"Ithaca's safe for now," he said, voice leveling out again. "But I'll only be here a few weeks. King Lykomedes sent word about unrest down the coast—he'll be needing my help soon. But until then..."

He leaned forward just a bit. Not threatening, but close enough to make your shoulders straighten. That unreadable smirk returned, like he'd already decided something.

"If you want to train," he said plainly, "I'll teach you."

You blinked. "You—what?"

"I've trained princes. Queens. Temple girls. Doesn't matter. If you want it bad enough, I'll show you how not to die next time."

Your breath caught. He said it so casually—but you could feel the weight behind it. The truth. The memory behind it. He wasn't offering a game.

This was survival.

"Truly?" you asked, trying not to sound too eager.

Diomedes shrugged. "I don't offer twice."

"I—yes," you said quickly, before you could second guess yourself. "Yes, please."

Odysseus leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other, his brow lifted in approval.

"That'll be perfect," he said. "I've got to start pulling Telemachus into more council work anyway. A few more lessons on law, balance, ruling. Give him some quiet time away from swordplay."

He shot you a knowing look.

"And it means he won't be sneaking off to check on you every hour."

Penelope giggled softly behind her hand. "He really thinks we don't notice."

Your lips twitched, your whole face warm.

The tension that had wound so tightly in your chest since the alley, since bedrest, since everything... it began to loosen, just slightly.

You smiled.

Not out of politeness, not from awkwardness—but from something bubbling beneath your ribs. Something hot and bright and real.

A spark.

Because something in you had shifted.

You would learn.

You would fight.

And tomorrow, maybe for the first time in your life—

You wouldn't be afraid.

A/N: a lil short but i couldn't help myself, i go feral over diomedes, so after learning of his and odypen's lil thing?? i just had to add a hint of it 😩 (i kinda hinted about him in earlier chapter 10.5 )

Tag List: nerds4life246 ace-spades-1 uniquetravelerone alassal thesimppotato11 jackintheboxs-world kahlan170 akiqvq matchaabread danishland uselessmoonlight apad-ravya suckerforblondies jolixtreesunn dreamtheatre woncloudie byzantiumhollow kisskisskys b4ts1e sarcasticbitchsblog trashcannotbealive idkanyonealrr

59 notes · View notes

lueurjun · 3 months ago

Text

━━━━ 𝗍𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗍. 𝗌.𝗃𝖺𝗄𝖾

stuntman!jake x actor/actress!reader: in which scary stunts seem less intimidating in the arms of a professional.

suspended twenty feet in the air, nausea weaves through your senses, thick and unrelenting. the harness digs into your ribs, a constant, unwelcome pressure which does nothing to help, while the cables groan with every subtle shift, each sound sharpening the panic clawing it’s way up your spine. this was unnatural—stupid, even.

so the pay check was good—solid, dependable, the kind that makes the risk feel almost reasonable. but lawyers made good money too. maybe you should’ve been one… at least then, your life would rest in the hands of reason and fine print, not a tangle of wires and the hope that physics would be kind.

“you’re shaking like a leaf,” observes jake, your co-stars stuntman, his voice a calm current in the wind. he stands as steady as ancient stone, completely unnerved by the dizzying heights. “i’ll have hold of you the entire time, you’re completely safe.”

you exhale, the tension wound tight between your shoulder blades, as you attempt to adjust the harness. every breath feels like a struggle, even without it digging into you. “easy for you to say,” you murmur, keeping your focus on the harness. “you do this for a living.”

an easy chuckle vibrates his frame, and the warmth of it chases away some of the cold settling in your chest, easing up your muscles ever so slightly. “and you act for a living. it’s just another scene, another play pretend. if you don’t feel like you trust me enough to ease up, then do what you do best and act like you do.”

he shifts closer, a subtle movement that turns you away from the dizzying drop and into his steady presence. his figure fills your vision, his scent clouding your senses, blocking out the distant hum of the set below and distracting you from the trembling wires in the wind. there is now only him—his gaze, so delicate, his body so warm. “i won’t let you get hurt. you’re safe.”

the certainty in his eyes loosens you up, the nausea ebbing away like a receding tide. inhaling a gust of air that washes away the panic and resets your heartbeat, you manage a nod, surrendering faith to these wires and the trained professional before you, trusting him to keep you absolutely safe. he smiles, his eyes never flickering as you release your death grip on the wire and step back to get into position, the director’s call for everyone to get into their places cutting through the air.

“you trust me?” asks jake, his voice an anchor. stepping forward, his hands wrap around you—firm yet assuring. he gives a reassuring squeeze, a promise in the form of an action that he’s there, and he won’t let you get hurt.

in return, you drape your arms around his neck, allowing him to hold you against him, just as the script demands. but it’s not the script guiding you now—it’s something deeper. you’re moving on auto pilot, his body a necessity to your life, a craving for his warmth, his safety. it grounds you, calms you in a way the wires can’t.

“i trust you…” you mumble, strengthening your hold while he shifts the both of you towards the ledge. “don’t let me die.”

his laughter takes you captive, locked muscles succumbing to the vibrations of the melody. you glance down, feeling the heat of his lips brush your ear, his breath warm against your skin as he whispers a one worded promise. “never.”

and then, the director yells action, and suddenly you’re hurdling off the platform. becoming one with the wind, jake fills every corner of your senses, pressed so tightly against him you’re surprised the two of you haven’t molded into one. time seems to stretch, suspended in the air as gravity gives way, leaving you completely weightless.

survival instincts seem to set in then, your eyes flickering shut as if the darkness behind your eyelids could shield you from the impending impact. your lungs burn, and you cling to jake like a vice. like he’s the only thing tethering you to life at this moment, his body a safety net. and just as you brace for the brutal collision, you feel nothing but a soft, yielding surface of the crash mat.

you didn’t die. you’re safe!

“and cut! that was amazing you guys!” the director's voice is a distant hum, swallowed by the buzzing of the adrenaline still racing through your veins. your eyes remain shut, your grip unrelenting as you bury your face into jake’s chest, your fear raw and gripping.

“you did it!” jake’s voice reverberates through your body, finally sending the safety signals to your brain. you’re safe… he had you the whole time, the wires didn’t snap. you survived. the relief crashes over you like a bulldozer, leaving your mind reeling.

“i did it…” you whisper, tearing your eyes open and meeting jake’s gaze, the dark depths brimming with pride. “you didn’t let me die!” a laugh of pure disbelief trembles through you, tears stinging your eyes as you recall the stunt—the one that you pulled off… without a stunt double of your own. you really did it!

“i told you i wouldn’t!” he responds, brushing your windswept hair aside. “you did amazing.”

still unwilling to let go, you let your head fall against his chest, gratitude staining your words. “thank you for keeping me alive.”

“perhaps you can repay me by letting me take you for a drink? you know… to celebrate,” his tone carries amusement, but there’s a present thread of nervousness woven through it. raising your head, your eyes settle on his cheeks, and you can’t quite tell—whether it’s the wind or something else making his skin flush, but it looks oddly like he’s shy about asking you out.

you release a dramatic sigh, though the smile on your face is telling. “i suppose, since you did keep me alive.”

jake clears his throat, and glances away with a playful shrug.. “i can’t take all the credit, the wires helped a little.”

the pair of you erupt into light laughter, adrenaline giving way to exhausted delirium. lost in your own bubble, completely detached from the bustling set around you.

that is, until a tedious voice slices through the air, shattering the moment.

“okay! let’s just do that one more time!”

72 notes · View notes

jakesangel · 1 year ago

Text

firsts w jake ꣑୧ - deep dive into new love w him

first hug

obviously you had share hugs w jake, but as the friendship flourished into further more, you both were too shy to hug again, even during the talking phase. but jake can not take it anymore. how did he went from having you so close to nothing at all ? he used to have you in his arms so many times in the past n now that he needs you the most, he cant ? because of his stupid embarrassment ? he just can't take it. you're worth taking the risk. so when he finally had the courage to ask you out, can i be your boyfriend ? n sees your flustered state, he would take you in a hug, the tightest n softest hug you both shared. he wouldn't let go, using it as a coping mechanism from his overflowing happiness but also wanting nothing but to keep you here in his arm. it would also be because he is too shy to back away, but seeing you not wanting to let go as well makes him even shyer, knowing the feeling he has for you are reciprocated.

first pet name

after a few days of dating, blue messages filled w heart emojis w his hand placed on his heart seeing your text, the honeymoon phase is hitting him hard. tho he still hasn't seen you since he asked you out, he needed wanted to see you and soon. are you free tonight, baby ? he'd text you, but as he realize he already used a pet name on you, he'd automatically turn off his phone afraid you might say no or even worse tell him you felt comfortable w it. that would make you fold, onbviously, and you wouldn't kno how it to answer it, nor how to react to it. but it didn't help jake who is waiting to hear to ting of your notification. he is only relieved when he'd see your funny keyboard smash n he'd think your cute, can't wait to see you tonight then, baby ;) he'd finish the convo, settling his phone on his chest, ridiculously already so down bad for you.

first kiss

as the date finishes goes by, walking side to side, hands almost touching, smile widely spread in each of you faces, jakes one would slowly decrease as he realizes that you arrived at the final destination : your front porch. he was so immersed in your heavenly laugh n your sweet scent, he completely forgot that he was walking you home. he still hasn't kissed you ? nor used a pet name on you irl ? the date cant already be done he needs wants to give you so much more !! i- i had lots of fun today, hed shyly say, his hands going to his fronts pockets, still unsure to call you how he wants to. i know it only had been a few days, but i really enjoy being your boyfriend, baby, he would then add, his eyes leaving yours. but they would immediately back on you, as he doesn't hear any reaction coming from you, only seeing your flustered mess, you cheeks' color matching his ears. so he'd remove his hands from his pockets, n come close to you, his shyness slowly fading away, you like that baby, a step closer, how i call you ? right baby ? another step closer, entering your personal zone. did cat got your tone, baby ? he would keep, your whines too amusing to him. and if you arent backing away, he would out his hands of your lower back or your waist, tasting the waters. come on baby talk to me, one hand going slowly higher to reach the front of your face. and as he puts your hands away, you trying to not physically fold in front of him, you look munch prettier with your smile showing, baby, he would voice out in a soft murmur. after what felt like minutes, but was just seconds if the both of you jsut looking at each other both wanting more but too shy to do something about it, he would break the silent, still in a whisper is it okay if i kiss you ?, his heart almost escaping his chest. and it's only then, after your shy nod, that he would finally feel complete. his plump lips molding on yours, his hand guiding yours to his hair n nape. he would giggle into the kiss, as teeth would collide or noses blocking each other, but to hind it's exactly how he wants. just a raw expression of love full of honesty n vulnerability.

first cuddle

jake is a gentleman. tho you've came to his place multiples time n he also came to yours as well, he'd never make you feel like he came w naughty intentions, he genuinely want to spend time w you. after numerous movie 'date' when you guys were just friends, it was the first time for him to come over as your lover, making him all shy. meaning it will be the first time, you see jake all giddy in the entry, waiting for you to show him around as if he never came here. if you asked why he was like this he would just laugh, his hand going to his hair rubbing a little, to cope w his embarrassment. even on the couch, he wouldn't sit next to you, but leave few cms between the both of you even tho you've been much closer before. n if he is really really shy, he'd even keep his hands, closed together, on his lap. but as he sees you scooting not so slowly closer to him, he'd understand that you aren't uncomfortable nor doesn't want him close to you. tho, it will make him even more shy : facing your wants n needs of him, is something still new, n as he is usually the cocky one, for the first still is quite unsure what to do. but he knows what he wants n he also wants you close. so he would do the infamous fake yawn to wrap an arm around you. he would feel so silly n his heart can't stop beating specially when he cant see your reaction. his heart would beat even faster, as you accept his advance n put your head on his shoulder. he would go red, too affected by your cuteness n his liking he holds for you. he wouldn't even focus on the movie anymore, but try to remember the way ur hairs falls on his nap n how it smells, ur cute chuckles, or even just you breathing against him. and even if he heart gonna explode from his chest, he would add his other hand, closing himself around you, comfortably laying together.

꣑୧ one month ꣑୧ one year

notes : i think i forgot english

@imaluckygirl @luvj4key @stwrjvke @amouriu @neos127 @goldenretrieverjakezgirlbaby @jaeyunpinkyring @pockettwinzz @jwsdoll @heeheeswifey @sjylouvre @txnwvc @oopshee

#enhablr #jake fluff #jaeyun fluff #jake sim #jake x y/n #jake sim x reader #jake x reader #jake headcanons #enhypen jake fluff #jaeyun imagines #sim jaeyun fluff #enha fluff #enhypen fluff #sim jake fluff #jake soft hours #jake enhypen #enhypen

308 notes · View notes

the-kr8tor · 10 months ago

Note

Perhaps for fluffy friday/hobie brown x reader. Maybe it could be like a beach night? For example: Hobie and reader are strolling along the beach at night, and at one point they end up getting into a bit of a playful splash-fight with the shallow ends? Anyways- I really like your writing! It always manages to give me inspo whenever I have writers block:))

Thank you for requesting! Hope you like it ❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, FLUFF

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

The shore glows nothing like you've ever seen before. Iridescent blues and purple dance along the tides as they lap at the sandy beaches; like tiny glittering stars fell into the sea to join with the seafoam.

You use the light as your guide while Hobie holds onto your hand to make sure you're not taken in by the waves. His other hand holds onto your sandals as you're occupied with splashing your feet into the salty waters; effectively lighting up the shimmering stars with your movements. Leaving specks of light instead of footsteps in the sand.

“Do you think the small algae can make you sick?” He suddenly asks above the sound of waves and the endless night.

“What?” You pause mid-step, squeezing his hand once. “What do you mean?”

You can see his faint outline, a halo around him appearing thanks to the full moon above. “Like black mold.”

You scrunch your brows. “I don't think they're the same though.” Continuing to walk, he lets go of your hand to snake his arm around your waist. Chin placed on your shoulder, lips blowing air into your ear as you lean closer. You giggle, craning your head to meet with his stare. “Hi to you too, Hobie.”

Blue lights dance on his pensive face, “Algae are alive, and they're the cause of the bioluminescence.” He once thought that the long walks on the beach were a bunch of bollocks, but now that he's strolling along with you under the moonlight— he thinks that he should add it to his introduction whenever he has to introduce himself. “D’you think they'll get into your skin?”

You still haven't seen through his act.

“Someone read the pamphlet.” You tease, wiping away stray sand from his cheeks left when you buried him in the sand a few hours ago. He's absolutely enamored by you in this light. “Like, they'd make my feet glow or something?”

Hobie huffs, leaning away and taking your nose in his fingers to squeeze playfully. Your laughter echoes around the near empty beach. “‘m just lookin' after you. What if the algae gets in between your nails and enters your system, huh? What then?” He's incredibly happy in paradise with you. A bit sunburnt from how much he surfed and forgot to reapply sunscreen, but happy nonetheless.

“Wha’!” Your voice is altered by his fingers around your nose. Eyes wide, you still don't see what he's doing. Your face coaxes him to continue with his scheme.

“You'll be taken over by algae, and then turned into one of its mindless hosts to add to their growing mind hive.” Every word he says, your fear is stomped away, leaving only a (feigned) flat expression. “Imagine that, you'll be my algae girlfriend—”

You yank his finger away, biting it but not enough to actually hurt him. Hobie laughs, taking back his hand to embrace you while the waves drench both of your ankles. He laughs into your neck, you feel his laughter reverberate in his chest. Hugging him tighter, you trace his spine with your knuckles, feeling him relax even more.

“‘Algae girlfriend’, fuck off.” You say with a giggle. Hobie slowly brings you further into the shallow part of the beach. The water has now reached just above your knees as he leaves quick kisses on your face with a smile. “You're knee deep in the algae now too.”

Hobie feigns a dramatic gasp, earning another hearty laugh from you. “Good thing I know how to cure it, love.”

You tilt your head, curious about what ridiculousness he's about to come up with. Smiling, you pat his chest lovingly. “What is it?”

“Salt water.”

“Oh, is it really?” You sarcastically say. Pretending to let the information convince you. Hobie tamps down a laugh from your supposed thinking face. “The cure is their habitat too? How curious.”

He chuckles, moving away, slyly crouching down to scoop up water in his palms; drenching his linen pants but he already forgot about the cold seeping through his clothes the second you copy his movements.

You splash water at his face, quicker than him, while Hobie gets a mouthful of saltwater. He splutters, “Is that how it is then?” His eyes shine like the bioluminescence in the water, glinting with mischief. “‘m cured, but you're not, love.”

Shrieking and laughing while you run away from him, Hobie stalks you with his large strides, catching up to you effortlessly.

“Get back ‘ere! The algae is already in your brain!” He chases after you with a grin, while you continue to run while your guffaws echo around the beach; prompting other people to stare at you two with raised brows.

124 notes · View notes

kats0nlin3 · 3 months ago

Text

master of none 2 | eddie munson x fem!reader

summary Keeping things secret with Eddie was supposed to make things easier—not blow everything up in your face. But after Dustin lets it slip to Steve, you're left dealing with your brother's fury, Eddie’s indifference, and the sinking feeling that maybe hiding wasn’t just about Steve after all.

warnings nsfw, 18+ only, smut (implied/somewhat explicit), arguing, emotional hurt/comfort (or lack thereof), lying/deception, sibling conflict, yelling/shouting, mild violence (wrist grab, shoving), cursing, Y/N

Part 1

𝜗𝜚

Moans and ragged breaths filled the thick air of Eddie’s van, mixing with the faint creak of the suspension as you moved atop him. The vehicle rocked gently with every roll of your hips, windows fogged from the heat of your frantic rendezvous.

This wasn’t the plan. Eddie had only offered to drive you home, but neither of you made it that far. A block away from your house, he had to pull over, hands gripping the steering wheel too tightly. Stress relief, he called it. And who were you to say no when you needed it just as badly?

His jeans were shoved down to his ankles, your shirt bunched above your chest as he latched onto one of your breasts, sucking harshly while his hands molded your hips to his lap, guiding your movements. You whimpered as he flicked his tongue over your nipple, a wicked smirk tugging at his lips when you clenched around him in response.

But despite the fire burning low in your stomach, your mind was elsewhere—on Dustin, on the way he caught you two in the hallway earlier, on the way Eddie spent all afternoon trying to talk the kid down before he could go running to your brother.

Your rhythm faltered. Your heart pounded for an entirely different reason. What if Dustin ratted you out?

Eddie noticed the shift immediately. His grip tightened, stilling your movements as he pulled back to meet your gaze. “You’re overthinking it again.” His voice was husky, but laced with something softer—understanding.

You exhaled sharply, fingers curling around his shoulders. “Can you blame me?”

He tilted his head, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Henderson isn’t gonna open his mouth. Not unless he wants to lead the campaign against Vecna next week.”

You tried to smile, but the worry still gnawed at you. Eddie’s thumbs traced slow, soothing circles into your skin before he sighed and reached for the hem of your shirt, tugging it back down over your chest.

“Worst case scenario?” He leaned back against the seat, his hands settling comfortably on your thighs. “Henderson squeals, Steve loses his shit, and what? He locks you in your room to keep you away from me?” He chuckled, dark eyes twinkling.

“He might just do that! He’s overbearing and annoying—doesn’t think I can take care of myself.” You huffed, running a hand through your messy hair.

Eddie’s lips curled into a smirk. “I think you handle yourself pretty well…” His voice dipped suggestively.

You rolled your eyes, shoving his shoulder with a playful scoff. “Pervert.”

He chuckled, but the amusement faded when he noticed the lingering tension in your posture.

“I’m sorry…” you murmured, voice softer now. “I didn’t mean to kill the mood.”

Eddie exhaled, shaking his head as he gently patted your back. “It’s alright, sweetheart.” He shifted, hands settling on your hips before carefully lifting you off him. “I gotta get home and get ready for work anyway.”

You nodded, tugging your shirt back into place as he pulled up his jeans. As you reached for your bag, Eddie glanced over, watching you with a raised brow. “Hey, you sure you don’t want me to just drop you off in front of your house?”

You slung the strap over your shoulder, shaking your head. “I’ll be okay walking. Call me when you’re done with your shift?”

His smirk softened into something almost sweet. “Of course.”

Eddie leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to your cheek before reaching for the door handle. The van creaked as he hopped out, then turned back to offer you his hand. You took it, letting him help you down before stepping onto the sidewalk.

He stayed there for a moment, hands in his pockets, watching as you started down the street toward your house. You glanced over your shoulder, offering a small wave, and he returned it with a lazy salute before climbing back into the driver’s seat.

The engine rumbled to life, headlights cutting through the dim street as he drove off in the opposite direction.

⭒ ⭒ ⭒

You slip quietly through the front door, moving swiftly toward the stairs. Maybe—just maybe—you can make it to your room unnoticed.

You’re on the third step when his voice cuts through the silence.

“Y/N? That you?”

You freeze, shoulders tensing before letting out a quiet sigh. So much for sneaking in.

Dropping your bag by the stairs, you turn just enough to call over your shoulder. “Nope. Just a robber here to steal all your furniture.”

Steve emerges from the kitchen, a mug in one hand, his other braced against the wall as he leans casually, watching you. His expression is unreadable, but the silence stretching between you is heavy.

You stare at each other, neither of you speaking for a long moment.

Finally, he takes a slow sip of whatever’s in his mug, then asks, “Where you been?”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “China.”

His jaw tightens. He sets the mug down on the side table with a little more force than necessary. “Answer the damn question and quit being a smartass.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “Jesus, I was with Chrissy.”

“Bullshit.” His voice sharpens, accusation clear in his tone. “Tell me the truth.”

Your heart kicks up a notch, but you keep your expression neutral. “I already did.”

Steve doesn’t buy it.

You turn on your heel and start up the stairs, but he’s right behind you.

“You really wanna do this right now, Steve?” you mutter, gripping the railing a little tighter.

“Oh, I’m not the one doing this,” he fires back. “You are.”

“You’re crazy!”

“Am I?” Steve’s voice is low, dangerous, as he grabs ahold of your wrist.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Let me go!”

His eyes burn with frustration, his jaw clenched so tight you swear you hear his teeth grind. “I know you’re seeing Eddie.”

Your entire body goes still. So much for keeping it a secret.

Your voice comes out small, barely above a whisper. “Dustin told you.”

“You’re damn right he told me!” Steve barks. “Told me all about how Munson had his hand all over your ass in the hallway like it was no big deal!”

Your stomach twists. Damn it, Dustin.

You rip your wrist from Steve’s grasp, heart pounding. His anger is radiating off him in waves. His voice, sharp and booming, sends a shiver down your spine.

“Steve…” You take a slow breath, trying to steady yourself. “Just calm down.”

His eyes flash with something almost protective, but it’s buried under the fury. “My baby sister is being taken advantage of by Eddie the freak Munson, and you want me to fucking calm down?”

“It’s not like that!” you snap, frustration bubbling over. “Eddie doesn’t pressure me to do anything I don’t want to. He respects me!”

Steve’s eyes darken. “Did you sleep with him?”

Your breath catches in your throat.

You don’t answer.

But your silence says everything.

Steve exhales sharply, turning away from you, hands gripping his hips as he stares at the floor. His chest rises and falls with heavy, uneven breaths, and when he finally turns back, his expression is set—resolved.

“Whatever you both have going on,” he says, voice cold, final, “it’s done. I don’t want you seeing him anymore.”

“What? No!”

“If I so much as catch him near you, I swear to God—”

“Why do you keep doing this to me?” Your voice cracks as you shove him, hard enough to make him stumble a step back. “You want to control every aspect of my life, and I’m sick of it! I’m sick of you!”

Steve takes the hit, but his expression doesn’t waver. If anything, it only hardens. “Hate me all you want, but Eddie is not a good person, Y/N. You think you know him, but you don’t, okay?” He shakes his head, voice heavy with something that sounds almost like desperation. “I’m not gonna tell you again. It’s over.”

Your chest heaves, anger twisting inside you like a storm, and before you can stop yourself, the words come spilling out.

“You want to talk about being a good person? What about Nancy, huh?”

The second her name leaves your lips, something shifts. Steve’s entire body goes rigid, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

“That’s different,” he mutters, but there’s no confidence behind it.

You let out a bitter laugh. “Is it?” Your voice drips with venom, with years of pent-up frustration. “She dumped your ass and got with Jonathan not a second later, and here you are, still chasing after her like a damn dog.”

Steve’s throat bobs, but he doesn’t say a word.

“She never loved you, Steve,” you continue, and you can feel the anger morphing into something cruel, something ugly. “And she never will. So get over your little fantasy of having a family because you're always going to be a second choice—to Nancy, and to Mom and Dad!"

Silence.

Steve doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.

And for the first time tonight, you wish you could take it back.

Because the look on his face—the way his lips part slightly, the way his eyes dim, like you just knocked the wind out of him—makes your chest ache.

You hurt him.

Steve sniffles, barely holding himself together. When he speaks, his voice is quieter now—tired, defeated.

“You wanna be with Eddie? Go ahead.” His gaze flickers to you, but there’s no more fire in it. Just exhaustion. Just hurt. “I’m not gonna tell you what to do anymore.” He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “But I’m telling you right now… when he hurts you—don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The words sting, but it’s the way he says them that really gets to you. It’s not anger anymore. It’s not even frustration.

It’s resignation.

“Steve…” Your voice is small, hesitant, guilt creeping in at the edges.

But he doesn’t respond.

He just turns, walking away with slow, heavy steps, like the fight has completely drained out of him.

And then, without another word, he disappears into his room, shutting the door behind him.

Shutting you out.

And for the first time tonight, you don’t feel victorious.

You just feel… alone.

⭒ ⭒ ⭒

The Hideout was alive with the usual late-night chaos—motorcycles lined the parking lot, their chrome glinting under the dim streetlights. Bikers leaned against their bikes, cigarette smoke curling into the air as their girls perched on the seats behind them, laughing at some crude joke. A few drunk men stumbled out the bar doors, voices slurred, arms draped over each other like war buddies barely making it home.

You weaved through the crowd, the scent of beer, leather, and smoke thick in the air. The steady thrum of a bass guitar vibrated through the floorboards, the band already deep into their set. It wasn’t your usual scene, but getting in was easy—Eddie had made sure of that, giving you a voucher that granted you smooth entry past the bouncer.

Sliding up to the bar, you spotted Jeff behind the counter, drying a glass with a rag that had probably seen better days. His eyes widened when he saw you, and without hesitation, he leaned over the counter, pulling you into a half-hug.

“Hey, Y/N,” he greeted with a grin. “Didn’t think I’d see you on this side of town. What’s the occasion?”

You returned the smile, though something nagged at the back of your mind. “I was looking for Eddie. Is he on his break yet?”

Jeff’s grin faltered. He frowned, setting the glass down with a dull thunk. “Eddie? He’s not supposed to be in today. Doesn’t work Tuesdays or Thursdays.”

Now you’re confused. “Wait… what? He told me he was working tonight.”

Jeff’s brows knit together, shaking his head. “Not unless Beverly dragged him in against his will—which, trust me, I would’ve heard about.” He leaned on the bar, studying your face as confusion flickered into something else. Something colder. “Sorry.”

You swallowed, trying to push down the sting creeping up your spine. Jeff must’ve noticed the shift in your expression because he flashed you a reassuring smile. “How ‘bout a root beer? On me.”

You hesitated, but ultimately sighed, shaking off the thoughts creeping into your head. No use jumping to conclusions, right? “I guess one wouldn’t hurt.”

Jeff nodded, grabbing a bottle and popping the cap off with ease before sliding it across the counter. You took a sip, letting the fizzy sweetness distract you.

For a while, lost in conversation with Jeff as he poured drinks and joked with customers, you almost forgot that Eddie had lied to you.

Almost.

⭒ ⭒ ⭒

“Sorry about yesterday, babe. I know I said I’d call, but the place got so busy, and Bev needed everyone’s hands on deck,” Eddie says between bites of his sandwich, speaking casually, like it was just another day.

“I bet.”

Your tone is flat, but if Eddie notices, he doesn’t say anything right away.

The two of you had met up for lunch at your usual spot—a worn-down bench tucked just inside the tree line by the woods, far enough from school that no one would bother you.

You’d been turning this over in your head all night—whether to call Eddie out for lying to you twice now, or to just let it go. After all, it wasn’t like you were in an actual relationship. No labels, no promises. That was the deal, wasn’t it?

Eddie watches you carefully, his chewing slowing as he picks up on the shift in your demeanor. “You okay?”

You stare at your food, stabbing at it with your fork, the plastic scraping against the cheap to-go container. You don’t look at him.

“I’m fine.”

It’s a lie, and you both know it.

But for now, you’re not sure which of you is better at pretending.

Eddie lets out a heavy sigh, dropping his sandwich onto the crumpled wrapper beside him. “Okay… what did I do this time?”

“Nothing.”

He raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Doesn’t seem like nothing.”

“Well, it is,” you snap, tossing your plastic fork onto your food container with a little more force than necessary. “So can you just drop it?”

Eddie scoffs, running a hand through his hair. His patience is starting to wear thin now, the easy going demeanor slipping. “What’s with the attitude?” His voice sharpens, irritation creeping in. “I said I was busy at work—sorry I couldn’t set aside a few minutes to give you all the attention you so desperately need.”

Ouch.

“And I’m sorry that you’re full of shit,” you snap, abruptly standing up. The bench scrapes against the dirt as you shove your food container into your bag with jerky, frustrated movements. “I lost my appetite.”

Eddie watches you, his expression shifting from irritation to something unreadable. “Where are you going?”

“With someone who’ll actually give me attention,” you shoot back, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Since I so desperately need it, remember?”

His jaw clenches. “Oh, come on—”

But you don’t give him the chance to finish. You flick him off without so much as a glance, turning on your heel and storming back toward the school.

You don’t make it far.

Before you can take more than a few steps, Eddie is suddenly in front of you, having shot up from the bench faster than you expected. He blocks your path, his boots planted firmly in the dirt, dark eyes locked onto yours.

“Seriously, what did I do?” Eddie demands, frustration laced in his voice.

“You lied to me!”

His brows furrow, confusion flickering across his face. “What are you talking about?”

“I went to The Hideout yesterday,” you spit out, heart pounding. “And you weren’t even on the damn schedule!”

Eddie’s expression darkens. “You’re coming to my work now?” His tone turns defensive, almost accusatory. “What, you don’t trust me?”

“Listen, you asshole—I only went because I needed to talk to you!” The words come out sharp, your voice shaking with more than just rage. “I got into a huge fight with Steve, and now he’s not speaking to me, and—” Your breath hitches, throat tightening as the emotions catch up to you all at once.

“And you lied to me!”

“Shit… he found out about us?” Eddie mutters, running a hand through his hair.

You stare at him in disbelief. “Of course he did! What did you think was gonna happen? I knew I should’ve been the one to talk to Dustin…”

Eddie lets out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “Whoa, hold on—you're not seriously blaming me for that little shit running his mouth, are you?”

“I’m not saying that,” you huff, crossing your arms.

“You might as well have,” he snaps, voice dripping with irritation. Without another word, he turns on his heel and stalks back toward the bench, his boots kicking up dust as he goes.

“Why are you mad?” you demand, throwing your arms out. “I’m the one who should be pissed! My own brother shut me out because we have to sneak around just to see each other!”

Eddie doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he yanks on his leather jacket, his movements stiff, tense. Then, without looking at you, he mutters, “Well, if it’s that much of a hassle to you, then maybe we should just stop seeing each other.”

You blink, the words hitting harder than you expect. Then you scoff, shaking your head in disbelief. “Seriously?”

Eddie doesn’t say another word.

He just brushes past you, the scent of leather and cigarette smoke lingering in the space between you as he strides away. Leaves crunch under his boots, the only sound breaking the heavy silence.

You stand there, frozen, staring at his back until he disappears into the trees.

By the time the lunch bell rings, you realize you haven’t moved.

And you’re still alone.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x female reader smut #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x y/n smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #eddie stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stranger things #joseph quinn #navigation

127 notes · View notes

cerastes · 9 months ago

Text

OKAY, Reclamation Algorithm 2.

The first RA was a more arcade experience with meta progression: You had runs lasting only a few days, and you'd have to defend against a final boss horde in a much smaller overall map. Likewise, your resource acquisition was also much more explosive, such as getting a couple of Clash of Clans and other such resource-rich maps almost every run. You could only carry a few items other than what you had built on your base between runs, meaning that blowing up everything and saving a couple of things between runs was the way to go.

I think RA2 is easier overall than RA1 simply because it's a continuous, full-on mode that doesn't have an arcade, short-run based format. It goes on for as long as you play. Resource acquisition is slower because of its longer form nature, but it also does not at all pressure you with Linebreaker day 14 for example. Plus, the Energy System this time is much easier to manage, since you need Two Pops or Three Pops of Energy Drink to field an entire squad of 6 and under or 7 and above, respectively, whereas RA1 needed you to feed individual units from a Fountain of Energy Drink. That's not to say everything is easier; the Priestess and the Troubadour are much more challenging than anything RA1 threw at you -- Linebreaker, Ruinbringer, and Al-Rafiq --, and while the new horde bosses are fun, they are on about the same difficulty as those three, who are more or less tests of RA mechanics and if you are using them or not more than anything.

Make no mistake, this is ENDGAME endgame, especially in regards to Priestess and Troubadour, since you have to beat them in one Day -- two attempts at the map in which your progress is saved between attempts, BUT in which you can only use each unit once, so if you want to use 12 units per attempt, that'd be 24 units you think are up to par -- and they bring mean gimmicks that can be curbed somewhat by the season in which you fight them, but not entirely, and are still quite formidable even with the counter season. They were some of my favorite parts of the mode, personally, because not only is it a big, harsh challenge, it also reinforces the World Of Adventure nature of Terra: Even though they are unaligned with any of the big factions, you still have REALLY strong individuals roaming the land.

I think the main difficulty for a lot of people will come from choice overload: Arknights is already a game with a lot of player expression and a focus on gameplay, both aspects not at all the norm with gacha games and thus not what a lot of gacha gamers are used to, and while main content is kept very accessible to all skill levels, they do provide truly endgame challenges that can be quite demanding in terms of skill, for players that do dabble in the depth of player expression and team building that Arknights offers, such as High Multiplier (Waves/Natures) Integrated Strategies and 26+ Risk Contingency Contract.

This preamble is to say, Reclamation Algorithm has even more player expression and thus potential options for you to use. You have so, so many more tools other than just your Operators that a lot of people just don’t know what to do with them, hence why I think so many people find it so much harder than it truly is. Food for a myriad of different stat boosts and perks, structures to mold maps and enemy routing at your will, the ability to create your own ranged tiles or throw 5-block fridges at your enemies, purposefully overpowered tools like stun mines and supply stations at your beck and call, you can do so much in RA, and for some people, maybe it’s too much. Like an open world game does for some people, the sheer vastness of your options in RA2 might just blind and overwhelm some, especially since the average gacha player is very casual (and that’s not in the slightest an insult), and the average AK player watches clear guides without really understanding why the strat in the guide worked. Thus, in a mode in which player expression is king, the player that barely interacts with the baseline mechanics of the game, let alone those exclusive to RA, is not even part of the kingdom. For me personally, RA1 clicked the moment I realized just how nightmarishly strong the player is if they use food and structures, and after that, it was a non-stop streak of wins (unbroken in RA2 since RA1, too).

My advice to anyone trying to seriously get into RA2 is to just experiment as much as you can with anything that even remotely calls to you: Is there a unit you like a lot, like say, Bibeak? Well what if you give her insane attack, bulk and infinite SP to spam her skills? Food that buffs ATK, 2 shield generators and 2 supply stations on Bibeak makes this a reality. You wish Yato Kirin had no DP cost whatsoever? There’s food that makes her DP cost 0 no matter how many times you deploy her. You wonder what it’d be like for Eunectes to have 3 Block? Food does that. You think a particular map would be much more manageable if you could just have a Corrupting Heart-buffed 5-Block Mudrock in a particular chokepoint with no ranged tiles? You make your own ranged tile and then give Food to Mudrock to get her to 5 Block, or maybe 3 Block is enough, and you’d rather she has 75% extra Def and 35 more Res instead to make her truly unkillable, well, food does that too.

You just need to dabble into the possibilities a bit before it becomes crystal clear just how insane you can get.

#arknights #reclamation algorithm

100 notes · View notes

janaem · 2 years ago

Text

clay

just a reminder that the “___” is either your name or your crush’s name depending on the context

[4:45 pm]

your crush decided to take you to your first ever private ceramics class. it was a beautiful autumn day and you both wore cozy outfits for comfort purposes.

you two were taught how to make a small and plump vase--well you were being taught--your crush, on the other hand, had months of experience with pottery making. you couldn’t help but perceive in envy, while being on your third attempt of centering the fresh ball of clay that was crisp in your dampened hands.

you added water, pressed your elbows as tightly to you body as you could, biting your lip so hard it was sure to bleed in any moment, and hugged your finger as tightly around the mound as possible. unfortunately for you, the clay spun off and flew smack dab in the middle of your apron, your elbows splashed lightly with clay spots.

although you seemed calm on the outside, you couldn’t help but bite your tongue in frustration, your blood boiling throughout your body as you tore the mess from your apron.

you abruptly stood up about to put the wet heap of clay in the used clay bin, until you felt your crush’s hand tap you lightly.

you immediately averted your eyes to him, and to the two freshly sculpted clay vases that sat flawlessly on his platter. was he fucking serious right now?

his eyes gazed upon your subtly agitated expression. One thing you loved about ___ was how quickly he could read you like a book.

“___, sit down, i’ll get you a fresh one.” he said softly turning off their wheel whilst half struggling to get the mess from your hands. he stood up and walked over to the bin and tossed the old clay in and got some freshly cut clay from a counter by a large window.

still standing, you couldn’t help but gaze upon his sunkissed figure as worked away with cutting away at the fresh block of clay whilst weighing it on a scale, adding and removing chunks if the weight wasn’t ideal.

from afar he looked like an angel in the clouds of heaven crafting a new and mysterious creation.

it didn’t take them long before he was headed your way, the rays of sunlight trickling from each window that painted him with beautiful oranges and yellows.

his lightened eyes never left yours as he nodded his head, motioning you to sit.

you do so, and after a brief moment of silence, you hear another chair scoot behind yours, immediately feeling the warmth of another body against your back.

you opened your mouth to say something, until ___ traces his fingers slowly across your forearm, while his other hand places the clay mound onto your wheel. warmth caresses your inner being, your heart rate increasing gradually once you felt the side of his face graze your ear.

“just relax and let me guide you.” he reassures softly.

your body goes limp, as if you were being taken under the care of a guardian angel. something about ___’s voice automatically relaxed you, and you certainly couldn’t say no now.

“press the peddle,” ___ directed, gently pushing your body forwards with his, “remember, lean forward and press your elbows against your torso...”

the wheel started to spin s you hesitantly pressed down on the peddle. both of ___hands were over yours now, the warmth and stability of his arms making you practically melt under their touch.

you observed quietly as ___ helped mold your hands to center the clay properly, it was like teaching a kid how to ride a bike for the first time, only ___ was guiding you with his gently yet firm hands, directing your palms in whatever position needed. he frequently reaches over by the jar of water and add it to the clay to avoid stickiness.

moments later, ___ moves his hands up and gently slides his thumb across yours so that you both were pushing down onto the peak of the clay, which was caving in as it formed a whole. the tingling sensation in your stomach intensified as you felt his thumbs on your own, pushing and pushing further until you nearly reached the bottom of a now bowl shaped piece. how were ___’s fingers so light in such a difficult process?

“you’re doing good, ___, just a few more steps.” he said against your neck and you couldn’t help but sigh as they slide their fingertips up to your wrists reassuringly. his cool minty breath tickling the skin under your ear.

you nod absentmindedly, but you were focused on was the way ___’s body caged yours, how his arms caged your smaller ones, and the way his hands guided yours with occasional massages from his thumbs. the contact alone instantly made you go feral, but you were sure good at hiding it.

___’s voice snaps you out of your sweet and savory trance, “i’m gonna let go now, just work your hands up like a showed you.”

you had no idea what they were talking about but your hands moved on their own. even though your hands felt feel empty without theirs, you could still feel him.

well, he was still touching you, his hands glided across your arms and down to your waist, giving you a small squeeze, he was still leaned against you mumbling an occasional “mmhm” or a “just like that”.

your mind was in two places at once, the magic work of your hands on the clay and the feeling of ___’s hands slyly moving up and down your waist as a way to calm you. this truly was a beautiful feeling, and you took in every second of it as his hands also made their way to your center, feeling you heart beat against your ribs.

“your heart is beating so fast.” he commented with a small chuckle in the end.

“the clay is making me nervous, ___” you lied with small smile spreading across your face.

___ shook his head, “yeah, totally,” he the suddenly removes his hands from your stomach and onto your thighs, giving them a light tap, “stop the wheel.”

you pressed you heel against the elevated peddle, putting the wheel to a complete halt.

you and ___ starred at the glistening vase before your eyes.

___wraps his arms around you tightly, waves of laughter rippled in between the both of you as you took in this moment of achievement.

“you did it ___.” he whispered against your ear before planting a kiss on your temple.

#crush imagines #crush x reader #crush scenarios #fluff #wholesome #Crush Series #crush blurbs #timestamps #boy crush #a shit ton of grammar and spelling mistakes but it's aight #x reader #reader insert

715 notes · View notes

saturnianoracle · 2 months ago

Text

A breakdown of the meaning behind Elements in Astrology

THIS IS PART ONE OF MY SERIES OF HOW THE ELEMENTS, TEMPRAMENTS, PLANETS AND SIGNS ALL CONNECT. This first post will tackle the elements and temprament.

We all know that: Fire sign = Aries, Leo, Sag Air sign = Libra, Aquarius, Gemini Water sign = Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces Earth sign = Capricorn, Taurus, Virgo Further, that: Fire + Air = masucline/yang elements Water + Earth = feminine/yin elements

The relationship and meaning behind what it means to be of said element or such goes a lot deeper, however. To understand this we need to look at the primary qualities of these elements and tempraments (sanguine, choleric, melancholic, phlegmatic).

So, I want to essentially regurgitate my notes on the link between elements, tempraments, planets, and signs. You cannot understand one without understanding the others. Grasping these fundamentals will help in delienating charts better as you'll know more about how the signs and planets function. This requires unlearning a lot of modern/pop astro rhetoric though, as some things may not initially make sense or are 'unrelatable' (an unreliable, poor metric of accuracy in the first place) . This does not make traditional information false - just that a different frame of perspective is needed to understand and synthesise the information for charts. Pretend you know nothing about astrology and start from the very bottom up - its foundations - and keep an open mind; this is merely a stepping stone guide into broader delineation practices.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘∘₊✧──────✧₊∘∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

All the information below comes from Avelar & Ribeiro's 'On the Heavenly Spehres' which I have split into: I. The Primary Qualities, II. The Elements, and III. Tempraments (and how to calculate it). Parts written in "((...))" are my own thoughts, and part of the Tempraments section is from Greenbaum's 'Temperament: Astrology's Forgotten Key' instead. Buckle in because this will be long af teehee. (I directly quote from these books but have formatted the information in note form to be more accessible and also made it way more succint.):

I. The primary qualities

✦ The 4 elements (building blocks) of the universe are composed of four fundamental principles, or primary qualities. These are: hot, cold, dry, and moist. These qualities represent energy, density, resistance, and malleability. ✦ It is their combinations which define the four elements and the nature of planets and signs.

✎ It all starts with Hot and Cold:

Hot: symbolises energy; what is active, radiant, centrifugal, luminous, light, and subtle. It is a masucline quality, meaning expansive and dynamic. The masucline principle represents activity, dynamism, exteriorisation and expansion. Cold: symbolises what is static; absorbent, centripetal, dark, heavy, and dense. It is a feminine quality, meaning contracting and static. The feminine principle corresponds with receptivity, contexmplation, internalisation, and contraction.

✎ The universe is shaped by opposing forces—light and dark, expansion and contraction, movement and stillness. This interaction between hot and cold generates two more poles: moist and dry.

Moist: symbolises fluid interaction. It is generated from the quality of cold, since an increase in coldness results in humidity (e.g. cold nights -> condensation). Represents: adaptability, malleability, plasticity, smoothness, and therefore things that are easily molded, slippery, and soft. It has no form in itself, but represents cohesion. Dry: symbolises tense interaction. It is generated from the quality of hot, since an increase in heat results in dryness (e.g. leaving things out to try in the sun). Represents: resistance, hardness, rigidity, and therefore things that are abrasive, breakable, and cold. It is the maintenance of form: containing, giving structure, and crystallising. Because M + D are generated from active qualities, they are cllaed passive qualities. They are connected to the concept of form (e.g. clay is malleable when moistened, but hardens when dried in an oven).

II. The Elements

╰┈➤ Each element is composed of two primary qualities: an active + a passive.

Fire = hot + dry. It is expansive, radiant action (hot) that imposes itself naturally without molding itself to the external environment (dry). Air = hot + moist. Dynamic (hot) but adaptable (moist). It is characterised by dispersive activity, adaptability, and changeability. ೃ⁀➷ They both share a hot quality and are therefore both masculine, dynamic, and extroverted ((energetically external, does not mean YOU are extroverted though)). They have a strong a strong centrifugal impulse (exteriorising). Earth = cold + dry. It is contracted , inert (cold), hard, and non-moulding (dry). Water = cold + moist. It is receptive and dense (cold), but extremely malleable (moist). ೃ⁀➷ They are both cold and are therefore feminine, reflexive, and introverted (energetically internal). They have a receptive and centripetal motion.

╰┈➤ The elements can also be grouped according to their passive/secondary qualities (as dryness and moistness come from hotness and coldness).

Fire and Earth both share a dry quality, giving them a tense, resistance, and non-molding expression. ೃ⁀➷ Fire resists by imposing its radiance; consuming and burning what it touches, but also illuminating, energising, and transmitting its heat to everything. Earth resists through its presistence, its premanence. It is immovable, creating obstacles but also providing structure, cohesion, and stability. Air and Water both share a moist quality. They are malleable, changeable, and adaptable. ೃ⁀➷ Air expresses this malleablity in an active manner, expanding freely in any direction. Water expresses itself in a more retracted manner; it molds, absorbs, infiltreates, and dissolves structures.

╰┈➤ Extra tidbit: The four elements are arranged in sublunar spheres ((this concept comes from Aristotle and Ptolemy, which divided the cosmos into the ever-changing realm below the moon aka our planet earth, contrasting with the perfect unchanging celestial realm above)) by density.

Earth: the densest, forms the central sphere. Due to its gravity (weight), it represents all that tends toward static permanence (e.g. a rock). It maintains fixed and structured forms, crystallises and turns substances hard, giving them permanence, durabiltiy, and stability. Continents. Water: less dense than earth. Although dense (cold), its moistness gives it plasticity and adaptability. It makes dense materials pliable and prevents obejcts from becoming dry/brittle with its adhesive propeties. Represents all bodies of water. Air: lightness + penetrability, great mobility and plasticity. Like water, it has a unifying role, though more subtle, and is associatived with transporation, (such as of smells and sounds as done through the air). Fire: the most subtle element as it is the outermost sphere. Its presence is detected through its qualities of luminosity, heat and 'electricity'. Drives energy exchange, creation, and vitality.

╰┈➤ Everything contains all four elements in varying proportions. Each planet and sign is linked to a specific element; planetary movement/celestial configurations are interpreted from the perspective of the movement and thus the combination of elements. Elements bridge terrestial events and celestial reality.

╰┈➤ ((Primary qualities therefore help us understand the THEMES of an element. There are a lot of buzzwords when trying to describe planets/signs (will be in my part 2 post), but it is important to remember their composition to better interpet them.))

III. Tempraments

Fire: choleric Air: sanguine Earth: melancholic Water: phlegmatic

✎Ancients defined tempraments as the complexion of an indvidual: their physical and behavioural traits, as well as psychological and metabolic predisposiitons. ((planets + signs also have tempraments which I will go into in part 2, this part is talking about overall temprament of the nativity, however.))

✎Each person will have a predominant temprament, but the remaining 3 are also present in their constitution, in smaller varying proportions.

(( N.B. Greenbaum (in her book , Temperament: Astrology's Forgotten Key) agreeably describes temprament as a person's inherent nature/disposition. This is NOT personality. It highlights the core characteristics that condition a person's behaviours, motivations, and personal dynamics - their character as a broader concept. Greenbaum also suggests (as do many other hellenistic authors) that the personality of a person is a mix of their ascendant, planets in the 1st house, lord of the ascendant, moon, and mercury. There is an issue of people thinking all the planets/signs are them and their personality, and falling into a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy of, subconsciously or not, acting like what they think their chart means vs what it actually does...especially under the misunderstanding of what the planets and signs mean - a double homicide issue if you ask me. I'll write another post on how sun sign and etc are not 'you' yourself. Astrology is not so wholly centred on or concerned about a psych evaluation lol. Temprament, however, is the first step in understanding the blueprint of the person. Greenbaum argues that things like planets or aspects to the ascendant in affecting 'personality' are accidental to the individual rather than essential. She explains this in deeper detail in her book. IMO, temprament therefore just provides a rough basic idea; the clean slate/blueprint, it will not give you the complete picture of one's personality. The things that define that are factors beyond what is just essential to our makeup. For example, I bake a lemon drizzle cake. It is essentially a lemon drizzle cake because of its composition. Realistically, though it has many more particular quirks and features which makes it different to other lemon drizzle cakes and adds more nuance)).

✎ Calculating temprament (YOU NEED AN EXACT BIRTH TIME FOR THIS):

- There are several methods, e.g. the one given in this book or the one in Greenbaum's book mentioned above (can find both online as a free pdf). I prefer Greenbaum's method (I think it is more accurate, and her book in general on Tempraments holds a lot of authority and solid reasoning) so I will be using that. Either way, just remember not to include the outer planets, and especially not as rulers (I'll write a separate piece on the benefits of using traditional rulers and why I ditched modern rulerships another time) Greenbaum's method: ((BTW you might need to know whether your mercury and venus are oriental or occidental for this, i.e. whether they are rising before/behind the sun (OR) or after/in front of the sun (OC). This can be confusing to do sometimes so the easiest way is to imagine your sun as the asc point and simply see what planets are above it and the dsc axis (those are OR), and below it (OC). Heres a guide i made:

✎These charts are of the same birthday but born at diff times (night v day) to demonstrate how to find oriental and occidental planets. The easiest method however is to just imagine your sun is in the 1st house/asc instead:

✎ Say the original chart is the night chart, it is clearly a lot easier to pretend/shift the sun into the ascendant position to easily see planets above (oriental) and below it (occidental). Remember to mark the opposition from the sun's position precisely degree wise. Otherwise, for example, you could mistake jupiter in the chart above as being oriental instead of occidental. ))

STEPS (cheat sheet pic further down): 1. The rising sign by element (2 points for the temprament it falls under. E.g. leo rising = fire sign = choleric gets 2 points) 2. Moon sign by element (2 points. E.g. Taurus moon = earth = melancholic) 3. The season you were born in (2 points. Sanguine is spring, Choleric is summer, Melancholic is autumn, Phlegmatic is winter.) 4. 1L/Ruler of the ascendant by intrinsic quality, aka planet (1 point. E.g. leo asc = ruled by sun = 1 point for choleric ) ✎ IMPORTANT: If the planet is mercury or venus: they are BOTH SANGUINE WHEN ORIENTAL in your chart, when OCCIDENTAL - Venus is PHLEGMATIC and Mercury is MELANCHOLIC. 5. Ascendant almuten by intrinsic quality (1 point. This is the planet with the most essential dignity at any degree of the zodiac.). (( USE A DIGNITY TABLE: ✎E.g. Aries rising 28 degrees. Take the sign of Aries and calculate its possible dignities, aka hypothetical, aka not where the planets are in your chart (domicile is 5 points, exaltation 4, term 2, triplciity 2, face 1) . THEREFORE from the dignity table we can see that : Aries' Domicile is mars = 5 points, Exaltation sun = 4, Term saturn (28 degrees) = 2, Triplicity is the sun in a day chart = 2, Face venus (28 degrees) = 1. The almuten of the asc is the Sun because 4 + 2 = 7 points for the sun = choleric. )) ✎ IMPORTANT: If your asc almuten is mercury or venus: they are BOTH SANGUINE when ORIENTAL, when OCCIDENTAL - venus is PHLEGMATIC and mercury is MELANCHOLIC.

6. Ruler of the moon by sign ( 1 point. i.e. its dispostier. E.g. moon in taurus, taurus ruler is venus in aries = choleric 1 point) 7. Moon phase (1 point. see table below). Greenbaum provides a cheat sheet here and an example of scoring:

╰┈➤ THE TEMPRAMENTS (back to OtHS):

✎ Choleric:

- Hot + dry (fire). Enthusiastic, energetic, rapid actions. - Produces resolute, courageous, and ambitious people, ready for action, enterprising, enthusiastic. Does not give up easily. Leadership + strong will. - Can change their mind frequently, start several projects in life. But enthusiasm is not necessarily lost. The focus is action and conquest, details cannot deter them. -Can be precipitated and inconstant. Impatient and not academically/investigation inclined. - Not overly emotional, 'dryness' may cause rigidity and insensitivity. Impatience may cause a lack of grace which may be rude or hostile. - Reacts intensely to threats/external challenges. In extreme cases, their insensitivity and easily expressed rage can result in cruelty. - If the choleric's secondary temprament is melancholic, they may be more moderated in actions. This combo is predominantly dry, indicating a tendency to retain ire, and a tendency for mistrust or bad temper. Has greater emotionaly constancy, curiosity, and capacity for study as the melancholic coldness moderates the choleric's heat. - If it is phlegmatic, this cools the constant activity and impulsive reactions as it involves a mixture of complimentary primary qualities (hot and dry , but also cold and humid). Has greater range of emotional reactions, generating contradictory attitudes. - If it is sanguine, they will be lighter and more sociable, attenuating their cholericness. More sensible and adaptable (humidity moderates the harsh dryness), but as they both have hotness, there is agitation and inconstancy. Physically: cholerics are slim, muscular, hairy. Average frame or short. Coarse skin, hot, and shiny, of a yellow/reddish tone. These traits may be modified by other tempraments. In physiognomic terms (humors and stuff) associated with yellow bile which is centred in the gall bladder. Used to process the remaining humors; confers movement and actions and heats the body.

✎ Sanguine:

- Hot + moist (air). - Similarly to choleric they are dynamic and active. Moistness makes them more versatile and adaptable. Vivacious, spontaneous, enthusiastic, and very communicative + sociable. - Have many interests. When properly tempered, they are curious, studious, and inquiring. - Emotionally very sensitive . Does not harbour anger easily, naturally happy and friendly. -Exteme fluidity can lead to dispersion, lack of concentration, lack of perseverance. Negative aspects include lack of organisation and dicipline, unsettled, and restless. Immense sociability may also cause superficiality and futility. - Melancholic as the secondary temprament: their dynnamic and changeable nature is more structured and consistent. Their vivacity and joy becomes more contained and the person is more serious or conservative. Balanced combination due to contrasting primary qualities (hot and moist v cold and dry), well suited to study and investigation. - If phlegmatic: dissolution of sanguinity. Its coldness makes the person less exuberant/happy, more self-oriented yet still changeable and adaptable due to their shared moistness. - If choleric: intense and bellicose with loss of natural flexibility (due to predominance of hotness). Yet, the dryness confers greater determination and perseverance to the sanguine's actions. - Physically meaty and full but not fat. Robust frame, medium height to tall. Smooth skin, hot and moist to the touch with white or rosy hue. Associated with blood. This humor eliminates and transports substances in the body.

✎ Melancholic

- Cold + dry (earth). - Reflective and focussed. Reserved and moderated, tendency to be underestimated and seen as uninterested in things. - Focuses on objective reality as it provides a sense of firmness and security. Deals better with facts than ideas, resourceful, a good investigator, has a lot of patience and perseverance. - Not very outwardly emotional, rigid in sensibilities (like choleric). Its coldness, however, makes them especially susceptible toward pessimism and depression. Their dryness results in difficulty crying, can retain anger for a long time to the point of resentment. - Rigidity can make them obstinate, distrustful, anti-social, loneliness. Critical and a perfectionist. Extreme cases = intolerant and cold hearted. - Sanguine as the secondary temprament: more sociable, bold, joyful, less pessimistic and defensive. Measured combo. - If choleric: greater vitality, sociability, determination. But predominance of dryness confers a solitary and individualistic attitude. - If phlegmatic: the predominance of coldness reinforces reservedness and withdrawal. Similar behaviour to a pure melancholic type , but more flexible and adaptable. -Physcially: medium frame and slim. Coarse skin, cold to touch, yellowish or dull colour, spare hair that tends to be dark. Associated with black bile. Function is retaining substances in the body, bestowing consistency to muscle tissues and liquids, solidifying the bones, strenghtening memory and sobriety. Containing organ is the spleen.

✎ Phlegmatic

- Cold + moist (water). - Sensitive, reserved, powerful emotional drive, making decisions help maintain security and emotional wellbeing, introverted. Moistness confers plasticity and adaptability. - By favouring emotional reasoning, they can be subjectvie and inconstant to the point of incongruence. Interested in what they feel and in what promotes seucirty, love new people and new situations, can easily adopt a passive and slightly lazy attitude. Timid and serene. -Very emotional but seldom openly expressed. Senstive and sympathetic, avoids commitments and not v expressive. Tends to assume conciliatory roles and is excessively patient. When emotionally disturbed , they can become reclusive and apathetic. Excessive malleability can cause extreme laziness and indolence. - Has difficulty disaplying courage and determination. Extreme case = their emotional self-centredness lads to greed, cowardice, deceit, and emotional manipulation. - Choleric as their secondary temprament: greater agility and daringness. More tempered due to opposing qualities. - If Sanguine: adds hotness which gives greater joy and vitality, minimises their staticness. Predominance of moisntess reinforces flexibility and elasticity. - If melancholic: emphasis on coldness, enhancing introversion. Yet, addition of dryness confers greater solidity and perserverance. - Physically: medium to short frame, meaty body that can easily put on weight. Soft, cold to touch skin that is generally pallid or white and with little hair. Associated with phlegm humor, responsible for maintenance of the body's temprature and its lubrication (aka mucus and lymph).

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

I hope this was a solid, comprehensive summary (thanks to the information from the books mentioned, ofc there are lots of other great traditional astrology books covering these topics but I haven't gotten around to digging into all of those yet so am going off of these for now) of elements and tempraments and that you can begin to see how these are vital and crucial to understanding the planets and the signs - stay tuned for part 2 byeeeee B)

#astroblr #astrology #astro notes #astro observations #hellenistic #traditional astrology #astrology observations #tropical astrology #western astrology #hellenistic astrology #beginner astrology #astrology beauty #astrology transits #temprament #learn astrology

35 notes · View notes

bnny0rgnz · 17 days ago

Text

A/N: So sorry for not posting consistently, been really busy with school events. But this time, I'm merging 3 chapters into one to make up for all those times I was supposed to be posting, so please enjoy. Again, Sorry!!

The Tempest Effect

Morning drifted softly into Gotham, its sun a weak gold stretching shyly through the haze. The city was still asleep in its more reclusive corners—the ones where shadows lingered even in daylight, and the buildings breathed with secrets. But in a reclaimed warehouse nestled near the waterfront, the stillness had been broken for hours. Inside, the echo of motion bounced off the walls like a heartbeat. That heartbeat was you.

The worn mats beneath your feet were scuffed with the ghosts of repetition. Your muscles burned, but it was a sweet, familiar fire—one you had learned to dance with. You moved in unison with Lucian’s rhythm, his blade cutting the air as he circled you.

“Again,” he said, voice calm but commanding. He wasn’t barking anymore. Not like the early days. His words no longer bit—they guided, molded.

You adjusted your stance and surged forward, eyes locked on the blade in his hand. Wooden, but no less dangerous in the right grip. Yours met it with a twist of your arm, blocking his strike. The thrum of effort pulsed through your body as you followed up with a spinning kick. He caught your leg before it connected, raising an eyebrow.

“Your center of gravity’s off,” he muttered.

“And your hair’s in your eyes,” you countered breathlessly, grinning.

He actually chuckled, short and sharp. “Fair enough.”

From across the mat, Darlene clapped once. “Can we not flirt mid-sparring?” she called, her voice honey-laced with mischief.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. Lucian turned away to retrieve two staffs from the rack, his usual silence now stretched with something softer. The edge of his jaw held tension—but not from annoyance. He handed you a staff, brushing your fingers as he did. You tried not to react, but the current that shot up your arm made it hard not to.

You looked at him. For a second too long.

“You good?” he asked, tilting his head.

You nodded, pretending to twirl the staff like it was part of a warm-up. “Yeah. Just... zoning out.”

He gave you a look—part skeptic, part fondness. Darlene arched a brow from where she now stretched in the corner, clearly watching with more interest than necessary. You ignored her.

The next round began. Staffs clashed, wooden crack ringing like a drumbeat. Lucian was precise, efficient—his movements honed from years of necessity. Yours were more fluid, artistic even, an extension of the grace ballet gifted you. The two styles collided and complemented, fire meeting water.

Each move was measured, intentional. Sweat clung to your skin in elegant rivulets, your breath moving like waves—rising, falling. Lucian ducked under your strike and used the momentum to sweep your legs. You landed with a soft grunt, blinking up at the flickering lights overhead.

Before you could rise, his hand was offered. His palm, calloused and steady, hovered in front of you like a promise.

You hesitated. Then took it.

As he pulled you up, your faces were a breath apart. You smelled cedar on his skin, maybe the faintest scent of copper and salt. His eyes searched yours, quiet and unreadable. You wondered if he could hear your heartbeat.

“I’ve been meaning to say...” he began, then stopped.

You tilted your head. “What?”

He cleared his throat. “You’ve improved. A lot.”

You blinked, unsure whether the flutter in your chest was from the compliment or the way he said it. Quiet. Like it meant something more.

“Thanks,” you said softly.

Darlene walked by, not-so-subtly smirking as she grabbed her water bottle. “If you two are done making eyes at each other, Lucian promised me a sparring round.”

Lucian sighed. “You're exhausting.”

“I know,” she said brightly.

Before you could rise, his hand was offered. His palm, calloused and steady, hovered in front of you like a promise.

You hesitated. Then took it.

“I’ve been meaning to say...” he began, then stopped.

You tilted your head. “What?”

He cleared his throat. “You’ve improved. A lot.”

You blinked, unsure whether the flutter in your chest was from the compliment or the way he said it. Quiet. Like it meant something more.

“Thanks,” you said softly.

Darlene walked by, not-so-subtly smirking as she grabbed her water bottle. “If you two are done making eyes at each other, Lucian promised me a sparring round.”

Lucian sighed. “You're exhausting.”

“I know,” she said brightly.

You sat out the next round, stretching in a corner, watching them dance. Darlene was light on her feet but fierce. She gave Lucian no quarter, and he—perhaps to test her or perhaps to spar honestly—didn’t go easy. But beneath the clashing, there was playfulness. Familiarity.

And you were realizing something strange. Lucian’s gaze lingered more often today. Not on Darlene. On you.

Later, the three of you collapsed into a circle of breath and laughter, sweat cooling on your skin, hair damp against your forehead. Lucian leaned back on his palms, looking up at the warehouse rafters.

“I don’t hate mornings like this,” he muttered.

“You usually do,” Darlene teased.

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “But sometimes it’s... tolerable.”

You watched the light hit his cheekbones. Something in your chest squeezed.

“Tolerable, huh?” you echoed.

He glanced at you, smirking. “Don’t get cocky.”

The three of you sat in that silence for a while—thick with contentment, with the hum of connection that didn’t need words. Outside, Gotham carried on with its usual chaos. But in here, for now, there was only quiet warmth.

Lucian stood and stretched. “Same time tomorrow?”

You nodded. Darlene gave a thumbs up.

“Cool,” he said, voice lower now. “See you then.”

You watched him walk out, hoodie pulled over his hair, hands deep in his pockets. He looked back once. Just once. And the look was for you.

Darlene whistled. “He’s softening up.”

“He’s always been soft deep down,” you murmured.

She turned to you, eyes gleaming. “No. I mean with you.”

You smiled, not answering. But your heart had already betrayed you—racing like it knew something you didn’t.

It was late afternoon when golden light poured across the polished floors of the private studio at Wayne Manor. The grand mirrors shimmered with sunbeams, each ray stretching long across the floor like ribbons cast from heaven. You moved in silence, the silk of your practice attire gliding against your skin as you pivoted, leapt, and reached in perfect rhythm to a symphony only you could hear. Your breath came in gentle huffs, your body already tuned finely from weeks of grueling repetition, and yet you pushed harder. You had to. The performance was in two days, and Madame Collette’s sharp eyes would catch even the tiniest misstep.

A fouetté. Another. Another. You turned, landed on pointe, arms slicing the air, back arching with pristine grace. Sweat beaded on your forehead but you didn’t wipe it. You didn’t stop. Your reflection danced alongside you, not quite matching the light in your chest that flickered with excitement and nerves alike.

Outside the tall French doors, birds chirped and the trees swayed gently. Alfred had opened the windows earlier to let the spring air drift in. The scent of tulips and warm bark floated with it, grounding you in a rare sense of calm. Until—

The studio door creaked.

You stopped mid-pirouette, your breathing slowing as your eyes flicked toward the entryway.

“Darlene,” you breathed, a smile spreading across your lips.

She grinned as she stepped in, her wild curls held back with a green scarf, her jacket slung over her shoulder like she owned the manor. “Hey, étoile,” she teased, plopping her bag by the door. “You practicing for Paris or are you just trying to make me feel ungraceful?”

You chuckled, padding barefoot over the hardwood. “Trying to keep Madame Collette from breathing fire.”

Darlene laughed and gave you a tight hug, rocking you side to side. “You’ll kill it. I’ve seen you crush a solo on three hours of sleep and a sprained ankle.”

“I wasn’t crushed. I cried on stage,” you reminded her.

“Yeah, but you cried beautifully,” she retorted, releasing you with a wink.

You smiled, feeling the warmth of her presence ease the tight knot in your stomach. Together, you wandered down the marble staircase, the echo of your conversation trailing behind you.

By the time you reached the drawing room, Alfred had already set up a silver tray of warm raspberry scones, mini sandwiches, and imported sparkling water. He stood by the fireplace, offering his usual poised smile.

“Miss Darlene,” he greeted with a respectful nod, “a pleasure as always.”

Darlene beamed. “You always remember my favorite.”

“I do try to anticipate needs before they arise,” Alfred replied, his eyes twinkling.

You flopped onto the velvet settee, your muscles grateful for the rest. Darlene joined beside you, already reaching for a scone.

Footsteps padded from the hallway, and soon enough, a few of your siblings trickled in.

Damian stood by the arched doorway, arms crossed, eyebrows drawn. “Who’s she?” he asked, tone neutral but eyes curious.

Darlene leaned forward, unfazed. “Darlene. Friend, future forensic psychologist, and the person who’s going to eat your last scone if you don’t hurry.”

Tim walked in behind him, raising a brow. “That was oddly specific.”

“She’s always like this,” you said with a smile, leaning back and sipping your water. “Darlene, this is Tim, Damian, and that’s Jason—”

“Don’t forget me,” Dick called from behind them, dramatically swinging into the room and plopping onto the couch’s armrest.

“You guys make it sound like I’m some visitor from another world,” Darlene said, clearly enjoying the banter.

“Well,” Damian muttered under his breath, “she looks familiar…”

Darlene tilted her head. “I get that a lot.”

You noticed the flicker in Damian’s gaze, the furrow in his brow. You quickly redirected as he began to leave, the others soon following behind. “So, school’s almost over,” you said to Darlene. “You're gonna be ready for all the charity galas coming up?”

“Oh god,” she groaned. My mom already has three dresses on standby. One’s too tight, one’s too poofy, and one makes me look like a stepmother.”

Alfred, passing by with more napkins, raised a knowing brow. “Might I suggest the poofy one? It’s harder to trip in.”

You both laughed as Alfred gracefully departed.

“So,” Darlene began, drawing out the word with a smirk. “Lucian’s been… warmer lately.”

You froze slightly mid-bite of your sandwich. “Has he?”

“Don’t ‘has he’ me,” she said, nudging your shoulder. “He’s been making jokes, lightening up, giving you special training hours. I mean, if he offers you personalized sparring one more time, I might start to think he’s writing your name in a notebook with little hearts.”

You laughed nervously, tucking your leg beneath you. “Lucian’s just… intense. Maybe he’s just lightening up around both of us.”

Darlene studied your expression like a hawk.

“Y/n,” she said slowly, “you do realize he stares at you like you’re some glowing artifact, right?”

“He doesn’t,” you said quickly, brushing imaginary lint from your skirt.

“He does. And don’t think I haven’t noticed that every time he says your name, you blush like mad.”

“I do not!”

“You’re blushing right now.”

You covered your face with a groan. “Okay, maybe… maybe I get a little fluttery around him. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Mhm,” she hummed, sipping her water. “It’s just your heart skipping every time he’s in the room. Totally platonic.”

You looked away toward the French doors. Outside, the sun was beginning to set, casting the garden in molten gold. The sky painted itself in hues of lavender and pink, clouds stretching like cotton across the horizon. The light made you look far away for a moment, caught in something unspoken.

“Sometimes,” you murmured, “I don’t know how to handle it. When he looks at me like that… it’s like… like he sees something I haven’t even discovered yet. And it scares me.”

Darlene softened. “That’s kind of beautiful. Scary, yeah, but beautiful.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready for anything more,” you whispered. “Not after everything. Not when I still dream about… about that night. About Mom. About Claude.”

The room fell quiet for a moment, the ticking of the antique clock filling the silence.

Darlene placed her hand over yours. “Then take your time. Let things grow naturally. You don’t have to rush.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of her words settle warmly in your chest. Outside, the wind picked up gently, rustling the ivy against the manor walls.

“Also,” she added, grin returning, “if you don’t do something about him, I might. Have you seen that jawline?”

You both burst out laughing, the tension easing.

Just then, your phone buzzed. A message from Lucian.

[Lucian]: Don’t over-practice tonight. You’ve got a big day coming. Rest. Eat. Sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.

Your heart skipped.

Darlene leaned over. “Let me guess. Him?”

You nodded.

“I knew it,” she sang, spinning in her seat with glee.

You laughed again, light-headed with something you couldn’t quite name. Outside, the last light of day dimmed, and the stars began to rise like shy dancers behind a velvet curtain.

The sky was overcast the morning before your performance, the clouds hanging low and gray, casting a quiet light over Gotham’s early morning skyline. There was no rain, not yet, but the wind carried with it a chill that whispered of something brewing.

Inside the Wayne Manor’s private gym, you stood at the center of the floor, stretching with silent intensity. The room smelled faintly of lemon disinfectant and sweat, a scent you’d come to associate with discipline. You rolled your neck slowly, letting the vertebrae click gently into place. Today wasn’t about pushing hard. Today was about preserving what you’d worked so tirelessly to build.

Your fingers curled and uncurled at your sides. You glanced over at your bag resting by the mirrored wall, your pointe shoes poking out slightly. Tomorrow would be everything—your final performance of the year, one of the biggest charity galas in Gotham, and, hopefully, the night your father would finally see you. Truly see you.

You stepped out into the hallway quietly, padding barefoot toward your father's study. Your heart pounded with every step, the words you planned echoing in your head like a mantra. It was still early; maybe he hadn’t left for the office yet. You turned the corner just as Bruce emerged from the study, dressed in his standard crisp black button-down, already halfway through reviewing something on his tablet.

“Dad,” you called out, more breath than voice. He stopped, eyes flickering up.

“Y/N,” he acknowledged, voice flat with fatigue. “What is it? I have a meeting downtown in ten.”

You swallowed the knot in your throat. “I… I just wanted to ask—my performance. Tomorrow. It’s at seven, at the Gotham Arts Theatre. I was wondering if you’d come.”

There was a pause, slight but devastating.

“You know I don’t usually go to public events unless they’re mission-critical,” Bruce said, setting down the tablet for a moment. “But you want me there?”

Your eyes fluttered up to meet his. “Yes,” you whispered. “I know you’re busy. I know… I’ve asked before. But just this once, I need you to come. It’s important to me.”

Bruce studied you for a long beat. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Alright. I’ll be there. I promise.”

The breath you’d been holding escaped all at once, a warmth blooming in your chest. “You’ll really come?”

“I said I would.” His tone softened a degree. “You’ve worked hard for this. I’ll be there.”

You nodded slowly, something cautious yet hopeful flickering across your face. “Thank you.”

You turned, walking away before you could let the moment swallow you whole. You didn’t want to cry. Not now. Not when it finally felt like things might be changing.

That afternoon, you made your way to the training facility where Lucian and Darlene waited. The air smelled of steel and wood polish, of old mats and fresh bruises. Your body was ready, but your mind lingered elsewhere, caught somewhere between tomorrow’s stage lights and this morning’s conversation.

Darlene was already mid-stretch when you arrived. Lucian was pacing near the weight rack, but his expression was lighter than usual—less storm cloud, more passing shade.

“Hey, sunshine,” Darlene teased, standing up and brushing dust off her knees. “Look who finally showed up.”

“Five minutes early is still early,” you replied with a small smile.

Lucian turned toward you. “Actually… I was going to cancel today’s session,” he said, voice unusually casual. “You’ve got a big day tomorrow, right?”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

Darlene raised an eyebrow at him. “You're… cutting her a break?”

He shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Figured we’d do something else. Hang out, maybe. Keep it light.”

You tilted your head. “You don’t go light. Ever.”

“I do now,” he said with a sly grin, his dark hair falling slightly into his eyes.

Your heart stuttered. It wasn’t dramatic, but you felt it. The flutter, that warm weight in your chest threatening to tug your smile wider.

Darlene raised both eyebrows and muttered under her breath, “Oh, it’s getting serious…”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile breaking over your face. “So, what? Are we just… hanging out here?”

Lucian shrugged again. “Figured we’d walk the park, grab food. Get your mind off the performance.”

Something caught in your throat at the offer. It was simple, small—but the effort behind it was anything but. “Okay. That sounds… really nice.”

You, Lucian, and Darlene strolled through Gotham Park within the hour. Trees overhead danced in the wind, their branches brushing against the sky like the strokes of a restless artist. You sipped hot cocoa from a paper cup, grateful for the simple heat.

Darlene walked a few steps ahead, narrating some outlandish story about an ex-boyfriend who tried to woo her with glow-in-the-dark roses. Lucian chuckled beside you, but his gaze kept drifting toward you when he thought you weren’t looking.

Eventually, Darlene wandered off to chase pigeons near the fountain. Lucian leaned close.

“You nervous?” he asked.

You nodded. “Terrified.”

He was quiet for a moment, then: “You’ll be brilliant. I’ve seen what you’re capable of.”

You looked up at him, searching his expression. “You’ll be there, right? At the performance?”

Lucian’s gaze flicked toward yours with an earnestness you weren’t expecting. “Of course. Wouldn’t miss it.”

You smiled, fingers tightening around your paper cup.

Darlene reappeared a second later, laughing breathlessly. “Alright, lovebirds. Let’s not get too caught up in our romcom here.”

You blushed immediately, glancing away. “It’s not—”

“Yeah, yeah,” she waved you off with a wink. “Just make sure you don’t trip onstage tomorrow from being too distracted.”

You threw a napkin at her. She ducked and stuck her tongue out, and all three of you collapsed into laughter that echoed off the trees.

That night, back in your room at the Manor, you sat cross-legged in bed, staring at your reflection in the vanity mirror. The glow of your string lights made your hair look gold, soft curls falling around your cheeks like waves.

You reached for the small gold locket resting in your jewelry tray and opened it slowly. Inside, a photo of your mother smiled back at you. You pressed your thumb against it gently.

“I hope you’re proud,” you whispered.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” you called.

Alfred poked his head in, carrying a small tray with tea. “Chamomile. For nerves.”

You smiled. “Thank you, Alfred.”

He set it down beside your bed, then hesitated. “I hear you’ve got quite the cheering section tomorrow.”

You chuckled softly. “Yeah. Darlene and Lucian are coming.”

“Anyone else?”

You hesitated. “Dad said he would. He promised.”

Alfred smiled faintly, the kind of smile that held decades of history behind it. “Then I imagine he’ll be there.”

You sipped the tea slowly, the warmth grounding you. Alfred reached over and squeezed your shoulder gently before leaving.

Alone again, you lay back against your pillows, heart fluttering in your chest. It wasn’t just the performance. It wasn’t just the crowd or the lights or the perfection you’d have to achieve.

It was the people who would be watching. Lucian. Darlene. And maybe… finally… Bruce.

As your eyes began to close, a peaceful exhaustion overtaking you, you didn’t notice the faint shimmer beginning to crawl beneath your skin. Not just yet.

That would come later.

The auditorium buzzed with low murmurs and shuffling programs as the lights dimmed, casting a soft hush over the audience. Backstage, a very different kind of silence filled the air—tense, trembling, and too quiet to be soothing. You stood in front of the full-length mirror, breath tight in your chest, ballet slippers planted but shaky. The white tulle of your costume glimmered under the soft bulbs, your arms folded around yourself.

Two days ago, this moment felt exciting. Now, it felt like walking a tightrope between euphoria and devastation.

Your name echoed faintly in the air, muffled through the walls. “Y/N Wayne, lead ballerina.” A voice called from the hall, rehearsing the lineup.

Your fingers trembled slightly as they adjusted the jeweled pin in your bun. You glanced at your reflection—wide eyes, flushed cheeks, the faint shimmer of nerves making your skin dewy. You couldn’t hear the audience clearly, but you didn’t need to. You were listening for one voice, or maybe just the silence of its absence.

“Come on,” you whispered to yourself, “you knew he wouldn’t come.”

Still, it didn’t stop the aching.

A gentle knock tapped against the door. “Y/N? Ten minutes,” a stagehand said softly.

You nodded, swallowing the lump forming in your throat. “Thank you.”

The moment she left, you exhaled. Lucian and Darlene. They would be here. That was enough, wasn’t it?

You stepped away from the mirror and opened the dressing room door, walking down the dim hallway where dancers passed with urgent flutters. Each one glided with purpose. You tried to match their grace, but your mind swirled.

“Y/N!”

You turned, the voice unmistakable. Darlene was rushing over, dressed in a pale yellow sundress that made her look like sunshine in motion. Her curls bounced as she threw her arms around you.

“You look breathtaking! Are you ready?” she asked, her voice bubbling with pride.

You blinked rapidly, trying to hide the emotion rising in your chest. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” you whispered with a smile.

Darlene stepped back, tilting her head. “Don’t tell me you’re looking for someone…”

Your lips parted, but you didn’t say his name.

“Y/N,” she said gently. “Lucian and I are here. We’ve got front row seats. He’s even wearing the dark shirt you like.”

You smiled, the real kind, soft and reluctant. “Thank you. For being here.”

“Of course,” Darlene beamed. “Now go out there and steal the show, prima.”

You nodded, inhaling deeply and walking to your mark. The curtains would rise in seconds. The theater was nearly full. You peeked through the side of the velvet stage curtain.

There they were. Darlene. Lucian.

Your stomach gave a small flip when Lucian leaned forward, elbows on knees, already watching the stage even though the performance hadn’t begun. His gaze was sharp but calm, his presence like an anchor in the sea of nerves around you.

Your heart fluttered.

Then you scanned the rows again. One seat near the center remained empty.

Your smile dimmed.

A soft tap to your shoulder startled you—one of the stagehands signaling it was time.

The music cued.

You stepped into the light.

As the curtain rose, you melted into movement. The stage was yours, the spotlight cradled your limbs like warmth on skin, and the opening notes of Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake spun around you like wind. You moved as you’d practiced for months—light, elegant, sorrowful, every emotion hidden deep in your bones called out by the music.

You could feel the audience watching.

Each twirl, each plié, each reach of your fingers held a piece of your story. Your mother. The garden. The rain. Claude. Bruce. The emptiness of silence after hope.

But then there was Lucian. And Darlene. And the soft brush of possibility.

As the first act closed, the applause rose like a crashing tide. You held your breath, heart pounding, and bowed.

And that’s when you saw him.

Bruce Wayne.

He was seated in the once-empty seat, dressed in a suit, still as ever, expression unreadable. But he was there. And that alone was enough to pull a tear from the corner of your eye.

For the first time in years, he had shown up for you.

You turned, heart hammering against your ribs, and vanished into the wings, breath stolen.

Backstage, dancers gave you high-fives, soft congratulations, but it all passed like fog. You leaned against the wall, trying to breathe.

“Y/N.”

You turned.

There he was, dressed in black, a bit of sweat on his brow—your father.

“You made it,” you said, voice barely audible.

He stepped closer, softer than usual. “You asked,” he said. “So I dropped everything and came, just as I promised.”

You stared at him for a moment, then crossed the distance and hugged him. His arms wrapped around you, and for a second, you felt like a little girl again, like the one who used to wait on the front steps for someone to come home.

In his arms, you breathed in. It smelled like cologne and faint smoke. It was real.

But then—

Your eyes flicked open mid-hug.

Across the room stood Lucian and Darlene. Darlene, smiling softly but fading. Lucian’s expression unreadable, his eyes caught on the moment like it pierced him.

You took a step back from your father, eyes widening.

“Excuse me,” you said quickly, moving past Bruce, your slippers scuffing lightly against the floor. “Lucian—”

But he was already gone. He had disappeared into the crowd backstage, vanishing like fog swallowed by night.

The absence he left behind carved something hollow in your chest.

Darlene touched your arm as she walked past. “Go after him,” she whispered.

You wanted to.

But you stood still, rooted by the storm of emotions. The joy of Bruce showing up tangled with the pang of Lucian leaving. You weren’t sure what to feel—only that it was all crashing down on you.

Back in your dressing room, the mirror no longer reflected confidence—it reflected confusion.

The knock that came minutes later wasn’t from Lucian.

It was Bruce.

“I have to get back to work,” he said, holding your gaze. “But I meant what I said.”

You nodded. “Thank you. For coming.”

He gave you one last look, then left.

And once again, you were alone.

Later that night, you sat in the garden outside the manor. The moon hung low in the sky, soft and milky. Your slippers dangled from your hand as you stared at the stars, thinking of everything and nothing.

You had danced the performance of your life.

You had your father’s attention, finally.

So why did it still feel like something was missing?

You leaned your head back, feeling the wind trace across your skin, and thought of Lucian. The way he looked at you in the audience. The way he left.

And how your heart had stopped when you realized he was gone.

You didn’t understand it yet. But something had shifted tonight.

Not just in the way you danced.

But in the way your world had cracked open—and in the space that followed, something new began to bloom.

Something stronger.

It had been three days since your performance—the flowers had wilted, the makeup removed, and the standing ovations faded into a distant echo. But you couldn’t stop replaying that one moment backstage. The one where Lucian’s eyes met yours across the room and then... he was gone.

You hadn’t seen him since.

Darlene noticed first. “He’s avoiding you,” she’d said with a subtle shrug, casually flipping through her phone while lounging upside down on your bed. “Like plague-level avoidance. That boy disappeared with the wind.”

You’d tried to brush it off. You told yourself maybe he was just busy. That he’d reach out soon. But as each hour passed and his silence grew louder, your stomach churned with a creeping guilt you couldn’t name.

Until today.

Today, you decided enough was enough.

You stormed into your closet, slipping into jeans, boots, and the hoodie he once told you made you look “unapproachable in a cool way.” Hair let down, you met Darlene in the kitchen, where she was sipping cold-brew like it was gossip fuel.

“Where is he?”

Darlene blinked. “Good morning to you, too.”

“Darlene.”

She sighed, placing the coffee down. “He’s at his apartment. And before you ask—yes, I know for sure.”

You gave her a look.

She handed over a folded sticky note. “Just... don’t kill each other.”

Lucian’s apartment was in Burnside—industrial, minimalist, and definitely uninviting from the outside. It was tucked between a boxing gym and a motorcycle repair shop, like a well-kept secret.

You stood in front of the grey door, staring at it like it owed you something.

Then you knocked.

Silence.

You knocked again. This time harder.

Footsteps.

A click.

The door opened.

Lucian stood there in a dark tank top and joggers, hair mussed, expression blank. But his eyes—his eyes looked like they’d been arguing with his thoughts for days.

He blinked. “Y/N?”

“I need to talk.”

He looked at you like he didn’t expect to ever see you again.

“You gonna let me in, or...?”

Wordlessly, he stepped aside.

You walked in. The space was just like him—clean lines, dark colors, a punching bag in the corner, books scattered in precise messes. You stopped in the middle of the room and turned to face him.

“I’m sorry,” you said, voice breaking the silence like glass.

He crossed his arms. “For what, exactly?”

You swallowed. “For not telling you. About... everything.”

Lucian didn’t move. “Tell me about what? Oh, that you’re the daughter of the man who left me to die?”

His voice was sharper than you expected. He didn’t yell, but it hurt more because of how calm it was. Controlled. Measured.

“Lucian, it wasn’t like that—”

He cut you off. “It was exactly like that. Your father knew my family needed help. He chose not to. And now... you’re part of that legacy. And you didn’t think to mention it?”

Your hands curled into fists. “Do you know how hard it was not to tell you? Do you have any idea what it felt like? Every time I wanted to say it, I stopped myself because I was afraid you’d look at me like you are right now.”

He stepped closer. “And yet you let me train you. Trust you. You let me fall into your orbit while keeping the biggest thing about you hidden.”

“I didn’t let you do anything!” you snapped. “Don’t twist this into something it’s not!”

He blinked at your tone—this time, his mask cracked just a bit.

You pointed at your chest. “I’ve spent every single day trying to prove that I’m not just ‘Bruce Wayne’s daughter.’ I’ve bled. I’ve trained. I’ve earned every scrap of respect in those sessions. But when you found out the truth, you threw all of that away!”

His jaw tightened. “I didn’t—”

“Yes, you did!” you cut in, voice trembling. “You judged me before I even had the chance to explain.”

Lucian exhaled, stepping back, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“And you know what?” you said, your voice dropping. “I didn’t tell you because I was afraid of this. You walking away. You treating me like I’m poison. Like I’m just a part of the man who hurt you.”

Silence.

Lucian looked at the floor. “I don’t know how to separate you from him.”

You blinked rapidly. “Then maybe you need to grow up.”

He looked up.

You stared him dead in the eyes. “I’ve been holding it in, but I’m tired, Lucian. Tired of pretending like I’m okay with your silence. Your moods. Your walls. I’ve done everything I could to show you that I care. That I want this—whatever this is—to mean something. And you? You run. You shut down. You act like I’m the villain for hiding something that scared me to share.”

The room pulsed with silence.

“I’m not him,” you said, voice cracking. “I never will be.”

Lucian stared at you. Something unreadable flickered in his eyes.

You gasped, suddenly aware of how hard your heart was pounding. You’d never spoken to him like this before. You covered your mouth, horrified at what just came out.

“I... I didn’t mean it like that,” you whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Lucian’s lips parted, but he didn’t speak. Instead, he took a slow step toward you.

You turned slightly, ready to retreat. But he reached out and gently touched your wrist.

“Y/N,” he said, barely above a whisper, “don’t apologize.”

You looked up, and your eyes met his—full of something soft, something wounded.

“I needed to hear that,” he said. “You’re right. I’ve been holding onto the past like it defines me. I looked at you, and all I could see was what your father didn’t do. That wasn’t fair.”

You held your breath.

“I was scared,” he admitted. “Because when I’m around you, I feel like the walls I spent years building don’t matter anymore. You make me feel... normal.”

Your heart leapt.

“I was mad. But more than that, I was afraid that knowing the truth would change how I saw you. And it didn’t. Not really. I just didn’t want it to mean something more than I could handle.”

You took a step closer.

“You never saw me as a Wayne,” he said. “You saw me as Lucian. Just Lucian. And I didn’t give you the same courtesy.”

You blinked, warmth filling your chest.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

You looked at him, studying his expression. “So... you forgive me?”

He laughed under his breath. “I should be the one begging for your forgiveness.”

You stared at him for a moment. “Okay. Then you’re forgiven.”

He smiled—genuinely, the kind that made the air between you soften.

“But,” you added, “you ever ghost me again like that, and I’m lighting your apartment on fire.”

He chuckled. “Fair.”

You exhaled deeply, feeling like a weight had been lifted. Then you stepped back, looking around. “This place is actually kind of cozy.”

“I know. You expected a training dungeon, didn’t you?”

You raised a brow. “I expected chains and a secret punching bag that screams when hit.”

“Don’t give me ideas.”

The tension finally broke between you both. And in its place, something new formed—stronger, clearer, and unspoken.

You stayed for another hour.

You didn’t kiss. You didn’t even touch again.

But when you left, you knew Lucian would never see you the same way again.

And for once, you didn’t need the Wayne name or a mask to prove your worth.

The sky wept long before you did.

Rain lashed against the glass panes of the conservatory, wind howling like a wounded animal through the cracked seams of Gotham’s towering skyline. You stood inside the glass garden high atop the abandoned penthouse of the old Gotham Botanical Archives—your safe space, your secret sanctuary—and stared up at the turbulent sky, your palms outstretched.

The storm was mimicking you now.

You weren’t surprised. Not anymore.

You could feel it deep in your bones—the same way you’d felt the water calling you, the flowers blooming beneath your feet, the way your reflection rippled before your fingertips ever touched the surface. This new power wasn’t quiet like the others.

It roared.

Thunder cracked, splitting the sky in half, and with it came a jolt of energy behind your ribs, a pulse so violent it knocked you back a step. You gasped, grabbing the rusted railing beside the orchid wall, your body trembling. A faint blue light shimmered beneath your skin, lightning spider-webbing up your arms and down to your fingertips.

Your breath fogged in the air.

And then you screamed.

The storm answered with a symphony of thunderclaps.

You dropped to your knees.

Twelve hours earlier, you were in training.

Lucian had started easing back into sessions with you after your confrontation. Things between you two had become tentative again—but honest, grounded. There were apologies, long silences, a few awkward grins. No one said the word “relationship,” but something softer had begun blooming again, this time without the lies between you.

“You’ve been... jumpier,” he noted that morning as you dodged a roundhouse kick and threw him across the mat.

You wiped sweat from your forehead. “My body’s changing again. I can feel it.”

He frowned. “Like before?”

You hesitated. “No. This is different.”

“How?”

You looked up at him, chest rising and falling. “I think I’m becoming something I don’t understand.”

Lucian didn’t flinch. “Then we figure it out.”

But even as he said it, you knew something was stirring far beyond your control.

That afternoon, Alfred found you pacing in the manor greenhouse, gripping a rose stem too tightly, thorns digging into your palm.

“Miss Y/N,” he said gently. “The flowers are not to blame.”

You blinked down at the blood trailing from your hand.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered. “I just…” I trailed off, feeling the blood seep from my skin.

Alfred stepped closer, dabbing at your hand with a cloth. “I worry for you, Y/n. You’re gone everyday and every night, bruises painted on your skin. Then, at times like this, you start to feel ill then go missing for 12 days, you come back like a different person, as if you didn’t have your whole family searching for you. I hate to get in your business but, is everything okay?”

You looked at him, eyes burning but a smile still placed on your face, “I promise, Alfred. I’m..” I faltered a bit, lowering my head to figure out what to say, “I’ll be fine.” My eyes met him again, reassuring him.

He met your gaze. “I have a hard time trusting you nowadays, but I mustn't go against your word.”

You went to the rooftop conservatory alone that evening, hoping the silence would still the war raging in your chest.

It didn’t.

Instead, the sky mirrored your unrest. Storm clouds rolled in like sentries, thick and bruised, pregnant with fury. You sat in the center of the garden floor, surrounded by broken planters and rain-drenched vines, your knees tucked to your chest, waiting for the sensation to pass.

But it didn’t pass.

It built.

And then it broke.

The pain started behind your sternum—an aching pressure, like your ribs couldn’t contain the voltage. Your fingers began to spark. At first tiny, gentle flickers. Then arcs. Then full streaks of electricity danced up your arms, crackling along your skin in vibrant veins of cobalt.

Your back arched. You let out a strangled cry.

Lightning slammed into the rooftop outside, rattling the glass so hard it splintered.

“No, no, no—”

You tried to hold it back, but the energy was wild, furious. It wasn’t responding to your fear—it was feeding on it.

You gasped for air, eyes glowing faint blue in your reflection on the wet glass.

The storm within you had breached its cage.

And it wanted out.

A sudden explosion of light knocked you backward into a planter. The air stung with ozone. Your hoodie smoked at the sleeves. Your heartbeat roared like thunder in your ears.

You stumbled up, clawing at your chest as if you could rip the energy out.

“I’m not ready!” you screamed to no one.

But the storm didn’t care.

Your palms snapped outward and a shockwave of lightning erupted from you, shooting into the ceiling and up into the clouds.

The skyline above you lit up.

And then you heard it—sirens. Screams. A transformer down the block had exploded. The city’s power grid flickered.

You fell to your knees again, sobbing, fingers twitching with residual sparks.

You were losing control.

Down below, Lucian’s bike screeched to a stop outside the building.

He didn’t need to be told where you were. He felt it—the way your energy tugged at him now like a magnetized tether. He took the fire escape three steps at a time, rain pelting his shoulders, until he burst through the broken conservatory doors.

“Y/N!”

You were on the floor, curled around yourself, shaking uncontrollably.

“Don’t come near me!” you cried.

But he didn’t listen.

He ran to you, kneeling in the rain-soaked garden tiles.

“I can’t stop it,” you choked out, voice panicked. “Lucian, I can’t—if I touch you—”

He grabbed your hand anyway.

The moment his fingers laced with yours, the lightning surged.

But he didn’t let go.

“Look at me,” he said firmly.

You were sobbing. “I’ll kill you—”

“You won’t. Look at me.”

You raised your eyes to his.

“You’re not the storm. You’re the one who holds it. You control it.”

“I can’t,” you whispered.

“Yes, you can,” he insisted. “You already are.”

Your hands trembled violently in his.

“I’m scared.”

“I know. But you don’t have to be alone.”

Another bolt cracked the sky, but this time it didn’t land. It hovered. Pulsed. Waited.

Because you were no longer fighting it.

You were listening.

He helped you sit upright, his hands still gripping yours.

“Let it pass through,” Lucian said quietly. “Don’t dam it up. Just... channel it.”

You closed your eyes.

And for a moment, you let go of the fear.

The storm inside you roared—but you didn’t drown.

You breathed it in.

And then you exhaled.

When you opened your eyes, the lightning receded. The blue glow faded from your veins, the tension in your chest released like a dam breaking into gentle streams.

The storm didn’t vanish.

But it bowed to you.

Lucian exhaled, forehead resting against yours.

You both sat there, surrounded by shattered glass and dripping vines, the remnants of chaos still sizzling in the air.

You looked at him. “You shouldn’t have touched me.”

He smiled faintly. “You were sparking like a human battery. I figured it was a risk worth taking.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“You love me anyway.”

You hesitated.

Then nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

He blinked.

You both went quiet.

The wind softened.

You leaned against him.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” you whispered. “First the flowers, then the water, and now... thunder?”

Lucian tilted his head, brushing damp hair from your forehead. “You’re evolving.”

You closed your eyes.

“But what am I evolving into?”

His voice was steady. “Something extraordinary.”

Hours passed before you moved again.

Lucian helped you clean the glass, reset the broken planters, and cover the cracked ceiling with a tarp. The conservatory was a wreck, but it felt more sacred now—baptized by lightning, marked by survival.

As the storm outside faded into a grey morning hush, you stood at the edge of the rooftop with him, watching the first sliver of sun peek over Gotham’s silhouette.

“I’m changing again,” you murmured. “I can feel it. Every time, it’s deeper. More elemental.”

He nodded. “And I’ll be right here for every phase.”

You looked at him, heart full.

“You promise?”

He didn’t blink. “I do.”

You believed him.

Because even in the eye of your chaos, he’d walked into the storm to find you.

And now, as the sun kissed the clouds and the air shimmered with dew and smoke, you felt something you hadn’t in weeks.

Calm.

The headlines were still fresh. Y/N Wayne had become more than a mystery—she was now an obsession. Her face, newly matured by the storm-like transformation, was splashed across every newspaper and tabloid cover in Gotham and beyond.

“Breathtakingly Beautiful—The Most Captivating Wayne Yet?” “Wayne Heiress Causes Stir on Gotham Streets!” “From Quiet to Queen: Y/N Wayne’s Glow-Up Goes Viral.”

Photos snapped by the paparazzi showed her walking calmly through downtown Gotham. Nothing about her outfit was flashy—an off-the-shoulder sweater, wide-legged jeans, boots, and a satchel across her shoulder—but it was the way she carried herself. Each step was poised. Each breath seemed to harmonize with the air. The sun caught in the shimmer of her skin like moonlight on water, and her curls fell in soft, ocean-like waves down her back, touched with a subtle electric hue when the light hit just right.

People turned. Not just out of admiration, but something closer to reverence.

Cars slowed as she passed. Pedestrians blinked in awe. A child in a stroller pointed and asked, “Is she a fairy?”

She didn’t notice them. Or, more truthfully, she didn’t let herself react to them. Because on the inside, she still felt like that quiet girl—delicate, bruised, and unsure. The same girl who once curled up in a subway tunnel after crying herself hoarse over the world’s indifference. Now, everyone saw the glow, the ethereal softness. But none of them saw the ache still hiding beneath her glowing exterior.

Back at Wayne Enterprises, the sky dimmed with early evening light, a golden-orange pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Bruce’s office. The city glimmered below.

Inside, the tension between Vivienne and Bruce was growing thicker, as if even the beams of light didn’t dare slip between them.

Stacks of paperwork sat between them—budget reports, gala proposals, property agreements—but none of it was being touched now. Bruce had rolled up his sleeves, his forearms flexing slightly as he leaned over to read a quarterly audit. Vivienne sat on the couch, glasses perched on her nose, scanning over a merger proposal. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—but it was loaded.

It was the way Vivienne’s gaze would drift toward Bruce, then quickly flick back to the page. The way Bruce rubbed the back of his neck when she got too close. The way they didn’t speak much, but when they did, it was low, deliberate, thoughtful.

“You’re staying late,” Vivienne finally said, softly. “That’s a first in a while.”

Bruce looked up, his brow creasing in something unreadable. “So are you.”

A silence. Then a laugh from Vivienne—small, a little nervous. “Touché.”

Their eyes lingered on each other. The air shifted.

Then… a knock.

Before either of them could answer, the door opened with theatrical ease, as if pushed by wind—and in walked Selina Kyle.

Wearing a skin-tight black catsuit beneath an open trench coat, her heels echoed against the tile. Her eyes, cat-like and gleaming, scanned the room. She smiled like she owned the world. Or maybe like she could steal it and no one would notice until she was halfway across the continent.

“Well, well,” she purred. “Didn’t know this was a party.”

Vivienne immediately straightened. The name didn’t need to be said aloud; she recognized her from photos, headlines, and one charity event years ago. She sat up straighter, her expression unreadable.

Bruce’s jaw tensed. “Selina.”

“Don’t sound so thrilled.” Selina moved like a dancer, her coat swaying behind her as she stepped toward them. “I was in town and thought… maybe it’s time I said hi.”

She turned to Vivienne, holding out a hand as if the two of them were old friends. “And you must be the new assistant. Or are we calling them partners now?”

Vivienne stood, taking her hand with polite calm. “Vivienne. CFO.”

“Oh, chief,” Selina mused, dragging out the word. “Very impressive.”

Bruce cleared his throat, attempting to cut through the rising tension. “Selina, what are you doing here?”

Selina leaned in, her lips brushing his cheek in a kiss that made Vivienne flinch. “Just missed you, darling.” She said it like a joke. Like a dare.

Bruce didn’t move away.

Vivienne watched in silence. Her jaw tightened, but she said nothing. She turned back to the paperwork, though her vision blurred slightly.

Selina perched on the edge of Bruce’s desk, crossing her legs. “I saw your daughter in the papers, by the way. She’s… wow. You breed well.”

Bruce frowned. “Don’t talk about her like she’s a horse.”

“Relax.” Selina laughed. “I meant it as a compliment. She’s stunning. Looks a bit like you around the eyes—though the rest of her’s all mystery.”

Vivienne turned a page, even though she hadn’t finished the last one. Her hand trembled slightly as she scribbled a note in the margin.

Selina glanced toward her, eyes sharp. “Something wrong, Vivienne?”

“No,” Vivienne said coolly, standing and collecting her things. “I just remembered—I have something urgent to take care of.”

Bruce turned to her. “Viv—”

But she was already walking past him, her ponytail swinging.

She didn’t look back.

Not when Selina smirked. Not when Bruce stepped after her and stopped himself. Not when her heels clicked down the hallway in clipped, precise beats of quiet rage.

Bruce stood there, torn between the woman who just left… and the one still watching him.

Selina tilted her head. “Did I interrupt something?”

“No,” Bruce said, but even he didn’t believe it.

Meanwhile, at Wayne Manor, things felt colder than usual.

Y/N sat on the window seat of her room, watching the sky bruise into night. Her curls were still damp from the bath, her skin shimmering with the afterglow of her transformation. Her phone buzzed nonstop with notifications—news alerts, texts, social media tags. Darlene had even sent a voice note laughing: “Girl, you are literally breaking the internet.”

But Y/N didn’t feel like laughing.

She scrolled past headlines. People discussing her beauty like she was a painting. Critics analyzing her “aura.” Blogs comparing her to old Hollywood icons or mythical creatures. There was admiration, but also obsession—and beneath it all, a reminder that she was still being seen, not understood.

She hadn’t heard from Bruce all day.

She knew he’d been working late again. Probably with Vivienne. A small smile played at her lips thinking of them—how they’d started to talk more, joke even. Vivienne was kind. Grounded. She was good for him. Y/N had hoped that maybe, just maybe, her father was learning to make room in his life for someone who wasn’t haunted by shadows.

Then she saw it.

A tweet. From Gotham Press.

@GothamPressOnline: “EXCLUSIVE: Bruce Wayne spotted at Wayne Enterprises tonight. And guess who showed up? None other than Catwoman herself. The old flame is back. 👀 #SelinaKyle #BruceWayne #GothamLoveTriangle”

There were pictures. Selina brushing a kiss against Bruce’s cheek. Bruce not moving away.

The smile slipped from Y/N’s face.

Her thumb hovered, then tapped the comments.

“Omg power couple!!” “Selina’s back?? We stan!” “Poor Vivienne lol.”

She shut the phone off.

Outside, thunder rumbled faintly on the horizon, even though no storm had been forecast.

Downstairs, Alfred was setting the kettle to boil when he heard footsteps.

“Y/N?” he called gently.

She appeared at the bottom of the stairs, wrapped in a soft shawl, her expression unreadable.

Alfred took one look and knew. “You saw.”

She nodded.

“Come. Tea?”

She nodded again, following him into the kitchen. The clink of porcelain, the quiet whistle of steam—it all felt too gentle for what thundered inside her.

“I liked her,” Y/N said, after a pause. “Vivienne. She made him better.”

“She did,” Alfred agreed.

“Why does he always chase what hurts him?”

Alfred set the cup down before her. “Because sometimes, child… the past is louder than the present. And Bruce has never been good at listening to the softer voices.”

Y/N held the cup, warming her fingers. “Do you think she’ll come back?”

“I don’t know,” Alfred said honestly. “But I do know this: the right people never really leave. Not truly. They find their way back—if they’re meant to.”

Y/N stared into her tea. Outside, lightning flickered on the horizon.

(Just realized that some parts are missing ARGH!!!)

#batfam #batfamily #batfamily x neglected reader #batman #alfred pennyworth #bruce wayne #damian wayne #dc universe #dick grayson #tim drake

47 notes · View notes