#HE HAD SO MUCH POTENTIAL AND THEY DID NOTHING WITH HIM AND HE DIED

[lemonfizzyy]

This is soooo intricately stupid and I LOVE IT. This has so much potential to be the funniest crack fic ever.

For the purposes of this silly little scenario I'm tweaking Dick and Dami's cover story to be: Dick had Damian at 15 via some supervillain cloning plot, then he raised him with Alfred's help up until Damian was 3, then Damian was kidnapped and trained by the LoA for the next 7 years, then he was sent back years later shortly before Bruce fake-died.

Tim: "You're joking, right? When we first met you were calling yourself the Son of the Bat. You know you're Bruce's son."

Damian: "What I meant was Son of the ACRObat. It's not my fault you assumed my parentage."

Tim: "Okay, how about this. You called Bruce 'Father' until now. You've been calling him that for three years."

Damian: "He is the patriarch of this family, no? I was simply acknowledging his position."

Tim, eye twitching: "If you're Dick's kid then why did you hate his guts when you first met?"

Damian: "I was told little about him in my youth, save that he failed to claim me as his son. As you can imagine I wanted nothing to do with him."

Tim: "Okay.... Assuming that all of this is remotely true, why wouldn't you tell any of us sooner?"

Damian: "Oh, well that's simple. I hated all of you, so I didn't want to afford you any knowledge of my personal life. Though it pained him, Baba went along with my wishes out of love for me."

Tim:

Tim: "...Why do I get the feeling that if I were to get a paternity test, you'd rig it to show Dick as your father?"

Damian: "That's silly, Timothy. Baba is my father, I wouldn't need to."

Tim, sighing: "That's what I th-

Damian: "But hypothetically if I were for some reason lying about all this and needed to change it, Barbara would have already implanted a program that would automatically change the results in real time with no traces, even going so far as to account for the fact that Baba stands in for both genetic parents, not just one. This program would of course include extra DNA to fill in the various gaps, carefully chosen from certain persons who both resemble me and prove to be a plausible choice for the mad man who theoretically created me."

Tim:

Damian, smiling slightly: "That's only a hypothetical, of course... A little thought experiment if you will."

Tim: ".......Yeah, I'm not touching this with a ten-foot pole. Guess I'm an uncle now."

Ok ok but Dick being like ~ 15 years older than Damian. When Damian shows up on Bruce’s doorstep, Bruce doesn’t really have a chance to announce it to the public before he gets lost in time. So now Dick, who’s 25 is stuck with this tiny 10 year old and has the job of integrating him into Gotham society.

Except because Bruce only adopts kids who look like him, and Damian and Dick are tanner than the rest of his kids, literally everyone assumes that Damian is Dick’s bio kid. Like Dick is like “oh yea this is Bruce’s biological son that I’m looking after” and everyone goes “uh huh sure” but when he’s not around they’re just like “oh that’s his kid for sure”. Both Dick and Damian are aware of it and offended by it, albeit for very different reasons. Dick is offended that they somehow think he would be a deadbeat dad even if he was a teen dad, and Damian is offended that nobody believes he’s Bruce’s kid.

But eventually Dick is just like fuck it that’s my kid, and Damian is extremely annoyed but somehow lets Dick convince him to go along with it. Dick walks around in a pink shirt that says “Your favorite DILF” in the most basic font ever, and buys Damian a matching shirt that says “The favorite child” which Damian refuses to wear unless one of the other Batkids (usually Steph since basically everyone else fucked off when Bruce was lost) is around.

It gets to the point where even Dick, Damian, and Alfred forget that Damian isn’t actually Dick’s bio kid. (In this AU, Bruce is lost in time for about 3 years) Dick decides to forget about Talia’s existence as well and just decides that Damian is a clone that he birthed. But then Bruce comes back and now they’re in a weird place. Damian lives with Bruce now and while nobody ever says anything directly, the entire public is giving them a huge side eye because both Dick and Damian look a little depressed with the predicament. People start to wonder if Bruce is blackmailing Dick or something.

Everything comes to a head when Bruce and Dick start fighting in front of the whole fam over something Bruce said to Damian on patrol. Bruce tells Dick that he needs to back off because Bruce is Damian’s father, not Dick. Nobody’s sure how Dick is going to respond, but they definitely weren’t expecting for Dick to say “Fuck you, I’m the one who birthed him!!!” There’s a stretch of silence and before anyone can respond to that, Damian just nods his head and goes “Grayson is right. Surely your memory is not so poor that you’ve forgotten?” Everyone is gaping when Alfred delivers the final blow “Master Bruce, I truly did not expect this behavior from you. Of course Master Dick is Damian’s parent. Perhaps it is best if you retire, since it is clear that your lack of sleep is getting the better of you.”

Everyone is shook and they’re like “wtf you cannot gaslight us into believing this shit.” Except they do indeed gaslight. And gaslight. And gaslight.

Jason tries to reason with them by talking about how he had met Damian in the League, had seen Damian with Talia, yada yada yada. Damian just goes “I think I would remember if I had played little league. Such foolish games are beneath me. Cease your nonsense, Todd.” Jason eventually calls Talia to make sure he’s not losing his memories or something. Talia is perplexed but Dick’s claim over her child does scare her just a little bit, considering she remembers how feral he was when he was younger and she’s heard whispers about him killing the Joker (not that she ever mentioned that to Jason).

Tim tries to go with logic but gets shut down every time. One time he asks “If you were raised by Dick then why is your English so proper?” He’s met with “Oh, so because English is not Richard’s first language, then he is incapable of speaking it properly? Tt.” When he questions why Damian fights the way he does if he wasn’t raised by the LoA, Dick brings out his Renegade training and shows off his skills. Tim keeps trying to find ways to prove that they’re lying, but somehow ends up losing the argument every time. It’s grating, especially considering Alfred is on their side.

Bruce is hesitant to try anything because Alfred is corroborating their story and he doesn’t want to cross Alfred. He only questions it once, asking Dick where Damian’s baby photos are. He does not anticipate Dick tearfully explaining that they were all destroyed when Blockbuster blew up his apartment. Bruce is so panicked and desperate to make sure Dick doesn’t cry again that he just never questions it again.

So now the entire family is kinda gaslight into believing it, and those who know the truth don’t actually say anything because they don’t think it’s worth the effort. After all, Dick is doing a great job of parenting Damian. But then comes the Justice League, which is much bigger than batfam. Everyone is kinda awkwardly glancing around when Dick introduces Damian as his kid, because they remember a few years back Bruce saying the same thing, but now Bruce is just going along with what Dick is saying. The OG Titans are like “wtf dude” but also immediately have his back whenever someone tries to question it. They talk about how they were there for Damian’s birth, about all the presents they’ve bought for their nephew and holidays spent together. Everyone gets the memo to not ask questions about it. The only one stupid enough to try is Hal, who is met with a feral Damian. He has a flashback of the many, many times Dick bit him as a child and decides that yea, that kid belongs to Dick.

[weirdmamagnet]

Does Stanford feel anything for will? and does will feel anything for Stanford?

Question is for your reverse falls btw :)

It's defo tricky because it's a former romance scenario that pretty much parallels canon. Butterflies that unfortunately crumpled and died because it's a relationship built on means to an end.

It plays much how it does in canon -- Backupsmore, Gravity Falls, a bump in his research. He meets this knowledgeable deity who has chosen him amongst the many figures in history to enlighten. It's wine, karaoke, and chess until Stanford hears about Will's plight of a dying dimension. Of course, he sees opportunity rather than just helping him, a chance to see more entities like Will & more. He sees an untapped potential in multiversal travel.

This is also around the time he started dabbling in dark magic, like finding the amulet (which Will was like. yo maybe stay away from that???). So his mental health is deteriorating because Stanford has to explore every aspect of it (this is also a verse he leaned into magic instead of science, think the opposite of him poking fun at it in the journal). He works on the portal alongside Fiddleford.

It's rough on Will's end because he sees potential in Stanford to better & enlighten the world, but he becomes power-driven, and Will is holding out hope he'll pick the better choice in spite of what the prophecy says. It didn't end well for either of them, a fight to keep the Oddpocalypse at bay before the Gleeful twins incident.

Will thinks Stanford has deluded himself & is obviously hurt to find he's been used, but disappointed this is the path Ford's chosen. Ford meanwhile sees this as a penultimate betrayal in the same way canon Bill does because he sees nothing wrong with what he's after. And he thinks Will, his muse, has abandoned him.

Did Ford have feelings for Will? Probably! Butterflies before the mere mention of the portal, but it's not something he realized until he lost him, overtaken by ambition and replaced by bitterness. Will has lingering feelings but between the world and Ford, he's choosing the world.

They still very much maintain the bitter exes trope but it's less angry and more sad and mourning. They're not mad, just disappointed. If Ford had been in love, then he tells himself he's wasted such feelings on people who will only abandon him. Meanwhile Will is just: 'I just don't want you to destroy your world?' which is a plan Ford could stop at anytime but he doesn't. He wants weirdness to be embraced but doesn't know what that entails.

I'd say if there's anything between them present day, it's extremely distant and cut off because they've both been 'burned' by each other.

[mcdms-ripoff]

As I’m rewatching MCD S2 with friends, I’ve been calling it Laurance’s Crash-Out Arc (for obvious reasons), but it turns out I’m also crashing out because I keep getting reminded why Aaron was my favorite character. 🙃

[dutchs-paisley-vest]

Been thinking about Hosea a lot as I write this analysis on Dutch and Micah.

Maybe I’ll eventually whip something up about him, but for now I’m left with thoughts about knowing that not only is Hosea just as guilty as Dutch when it comes to how their boys were brought up (and continued to be treated through adulthood and ultimately up to their deaths), but also the way the two irreparably damaged John and Arthur’s entire lives beyond even their own comprehension. FURTHERMORE, they set forth a viscous cycle of familial violence and neglect that maintained momentum into the next generation. (See: John and Jack.)

The way Hosea’s action, but more importantly his inaction had in part led to… well, [gestures vaguely to RDR1 + RDR2].

Hosea might have been gentler than Dutch on the surface, but he saw it all, and at times both implicitly and explicitly encouraged it through the meticulous timing of his decisions to remain a “silent watcher.”

Yes, refusal to mitigate the violence makes him complicit, but the matter of the fact is… Hosea can’t even feign partial innocence as a third-party bystander because of how calculated he is in nature.

Additionally, there is no “third party.” Dutch and Hosea are a single unit. They occupy the same space even as two separate individuals in John and Arthur’s lives.

The deliberate nature of Hosea’s inaction puts him in the same position as the “perpetrator” because he isn’t just a watcher, he corroborates directly with Dutch and agrees with what he is doing on principle. He reenforces it in perhaps more subtle ways, but that doesn’t make him any less responsible for the outcome.

The only difference between the two is that while they’re dealing different cards, they are playing the exact same game.

[starry-eyer]

god tywin lannister deserved worse

just remembering elias death and i wanna puke and the way tywin talks about elia and what happened is so damn gross

but rip tommen and myrcella we all know what’s about to happen in the next book :/

the cycle of violence just keeps spinning and damn you tywin for beginning it

(i got a bit crazy in the tags 💀)

[hauntedfictionland]

❝His dear princess❞

☾︎✰❛❀ Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem! Reader!

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Jacaerys did not want you, or the vow he was bound to for life. Yet when he makes a big mistake, and potentially loses you for good. He realises just how much you meant to him.

𝐈𝐧���𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬/𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Bastardphobia, mentions of death and grief, kissing, marrage of convenience and grumpy X sunshine trope, Jace is down bad, flirty!reader, guilt and anxiety and happy ending;)

🪐𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: This is one of my first house of the dragon fics ever, so I truly hope it's not too bad. Jacaerys is one of my favourite characters in hotd after Alicent so I really wanted to get his characteristics and behaviour right. Also, I didn't like the way they showed his grief after Luke died, as if he just moved on after two or three days. But overall, I enjoyed writing this:)

Jacaerys was infuriated with you.

You—his betrothed, acted like you owned the castle as soon as you strutted in. Speaking with no formality and a sharpness in your tongue that only infuriated him further. And especially when you did not seem to care for his heritage, who he was. The heir to the iron throne. Yet you acted as if he didn't exist to you. As if he meant nothing to you.

A marriage pact with the martells was only one of convenience. You, a princess of dorne, he, the firstborn son of queen Rhaenyra. Yet, they were stuck in dragonstone, and needed support to match the strength of the green armies. His mother needed this arrangement more than the martells did, and you made that very clear by acting carelessly and so freely, like you were in your own home. By taunting him, sitting at the great council table with your legs on them, a coin in your fingertips and a smirk in your lips. He hated it, he hated especially how good you looked.

He hated being betrothed to you already.

Rhaenyra had told him martells were rather, open and modern people. They took part in adultery even after being married, especially with the consent of their own partner. He did not know how anyone could be okay with such acts. He did not know what to expect when he met you, but it certainly wasn't how you commented on his face, calling him one of a beauty. It was inappropriate, calling a prince by such bold remarks on the first meeting, yet you did not seem to care.

But what edged him to his limit was the day you called him a bastard.

Jacaerys had been worried, he couldn't find you anywhere. Not that he cared, he was just stressed you would create another ruckus. He looked around everywhere, the garden, the great council, the dining hall, your room, even his room, but you were nowhere to be found. His chest tightened, a restlessness growing in his stomach. It seemed he always felt that way without being with you for too long. Not because he missed you—of course, but because he wanted to ensure everything was going smoothly.

He was going around circles, head spinning with a feeling that made him uncomfortable. Where were you? did you flee the castle? or were so bored of him you went to the city to a brothel in search of another man to keep you company. Anger and jealousy filled in his chest at the mere thought of that.

Jacaerys did not seem where he was going, many thoughts inside his head, before he harshly opened a door to the library. And to his surprise, there you were, a book in your hand. ‘Adventures of Aegon the conqueror’, he could read the name of the book by how you were holding it. He felt he could breathe again. By the loud sound of the door opening your head flitted towards him. Your usual smirk growing up your lips. Something that made his heart flutter in a way he didn't want it to. He clenched his jaw, holding his fists in a tight ball.

“Where have you been?” he asks, desperate tone in his voice.

“Ah, Prince Jacaerys.” you smile, closing the book and turning your attention towards him. He hated how your eye lashes fluttered, your hair falling down in just the perfect way. “I've been gaining some Targaryen knowledge, as you can see. Since we are to be married, I thought I should know my husband's family. Don't you think?”

Husband.

That word rose heat to his cheeks, quickly clearing his throat.

“I'm not your husband.” he spoke, in a tone harsher than he intended, “At least not yet anyway.”

You smile wider, making his heart race. He was always a bit stubborn, and uptight. Yet you were always so carefree and light, always so kind with his demise. He didn't know what to make of it all. A curious look grazed upon your face, eyebrows furrowing. You sat up, walking onwards another shelf of books, lips pursued. Before looking at him.

“I have always wondered, hmm,” you say, your finger coming up to your lips, “do tell me prince Jacaerys, is it true that you were born out of wedlock?”

His eyes widened, “What did you say to me?”

You either did not notice the offend and defensiveness in his tone, or simply pretend not to. Turning to look at him, “I mean, all Targaryen children have white hair. Do they not? Even if they did not, none of your formal parents have black, dark hair like yours.”

His breath hitches, all of the insecurities he had contained in a jar of fireflies fled out the second you brought out his hair. A wall rising inside him. You were acting as if you just did not ask the most dangerous question ever. As if it did not matter to you.

“How dare you insinuate such filthy claims?!” his voice rises, almost shouting. Your eyes flicker surprise for a moment, before turning back to the usual stoic look.

“Ah, you are offended.” you state, as if he shouldn't be, “I meant no harm, my prince. I have no problem with you being a bastard. In fact, it only makes you more interesting. The thing I don't like is your distaste for the truth. One should own up to who they are.”

Bastard.

You, called him a bastard. He isn't able to speak for a moment, too tongue—tied. You....think of him this way too? you? he can't hear as you speak further, a ringing in his head. It only intensifies. Only when you start talking about dorne is when he snaps back from his haze.

“And I have thousands of brothers and sisters back in dorne, no one cares ther—”

“I don't care, what you dornish do back there, but here you don't speak to me with filths of a claim.” he grits, his voice cold, “I am the queen's son. And if I hear you say one word about that again, I will see you hanged.” his words held so much malice in them, one would believe it to be true.

Of course, he could never actually do that, the blacks needed martells armies more than ever. His mother couldn't afford them raging war at her and joining the green's side. And, he could never harm you either. It was just a baseless threat, one he said out of anger and insecurity. He immediately regretted it when he saw the look on your face; hurt. But even worse, fear. Before he could even begin to take them back, it was too late. Your spot, where you stood, was already empty.

You had seen him less and less after that. Of course, you were your usual self. Taunting and teasing him, but something was off. Something distant. He hated it. He hated how much he missed it. Your remarks, your witty replies, your cockiness. He wanted it back. He wanted you back.

Next time he sees you, it's in a completely unexpected place. Dragon—pit. He was about to ride on Vermax to patrol the skies, when he stops. There you were, sat on the hard rock, legs swinging at the edge of it and his dragon's head in your hands. You..you were feeding him. “What the hell do you think you're doing?!” he shouts, eye wide.

You turn your head to him, a smirk on your lips grows. You enjoyed the fact he was on his nerves, furious.

“What does it look like? I'm feeding this cute little angel right here.” you coo, talking to his dragon in a baby voice. Vermax was known for her temper, yet with you it magically dis—appears? a little bit inside him was flustered, heart beating faster than ever that you and his dragon, a very important part of his life, bonded flawlessly. But he shrugs it off, he has to. Flushing over you isn't his duty.

Protecting you is.

As much as he would like to deny it, you're his now. Lawfully so. And he wouldn't let anything happen to you. Especially Vermax. He wouldn't know how to live with himself if his own dragon were to be the cause of, of.. your demise. His throat burns, even the mere thought of harm coming to you feels as if he's being drowned to death. After Luke, he cannot lose anyone. Jacaerys cannot lose you. Even if that was the first thing he tried to do after meeting you. You were the most part of his frustrations yet the only thought when he's in his bed at night.

“Have you lost your mind?” he asks, his voice harsh, as if you were his child and he was scolding you for doing something childish.

“Have you had no fear? you could have died what were you even thinking?!” you falter for a moment, upon seeing the trembling of his hands and the tightness in his voice.

“Jacaerys—”

“No!” he interrupts you, “You, you could have been...do you even realise..”

Your eyes widened as he struggled to even breath, huffing for air anxiously. You quickly get up, walking towards him. He's so much inside his head that he doesn't notice your hands coming up his face, slinging through his dark curly hair. An act that slowed and claimed his beating heart down. Your soft palms make contact with both his cheeks, a peaceful shush in your voice and he finally breathes. Properly. He sighed, eyes closing as his hands came up to hold yours.

This, you, him? this felt oddly peaceful. This felt like home. Vermax watches the whole interaction with a quiet huff, turning away back to the pits. You nudge closer towards him, resting your forehead against his. Love. This felt like love. “Promise me” he starts out, his voice low and timid, “promise you will never do that again.” Instead of putting on a fight like you usually do, you nod, gently caressing his cheek. His head leaned further into your touch, putty in your hands.

“I promise.”

That, gives him great relief. “Good.”

Time seems to slow down, Jacaerys could count every freckle on your nose to cheeks, every small cut in between your knuckles or lips, every curve of smile you put on. And all the scents coming from your body that drove him crazy. You notice his lips still trembling, and above your judgement, you decide to kiss it better. He inhales a sharp breath as your lips touch his, but makes no movement to push you away. It's gentle, barely brushing against his. Jacaerys realised how they fit perfectly amidst his, and how much he was craving it all these months until he finally tasted them.

You slowly pull away, hesitantly. His eyes are still closed. Hands crawling up your waist. He speaks again, a whisper almost.

“I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

He's talking about the library, and you smiled softly, shaking your head.

“It's okay. You can't get rid of me that easily, Jace. Should have known that when you got betrothed to a dornish princess.”

You had already forgiven him. But he didn't want you to. He didn't want to be at your mercy this easily, not when he wasn't able to forgive himself. You, you had crept your way into his heart when he didn't want you to, and now he never wanted to let you go. It was all your fault.

“No I...” he shakes his head, “I never should have said that. Not only because it was so wrong but also because it was completely untrue.” Jacaerys swallows his breath, every bit of him wanted to turn away and never look back, but he couldn't do that. “I have been called names, about my heritage. Ever since I was a child. About my parenting and what not. And it's very...when anyone talks about it, it's like a bandage ripping off a new and fresh wound. No matter how many years pass by, it's still like that for me.”

You nod your head slowly, in understanding. This was raw. He had finally told you one of his darkest parts, his worst fears, and you hadn't run away.

“I understand. I should have never said that. I did not know it was like this for you.” He feels relief in your words.

But there was still something he needed to let out.

“But I...” he didn't know how hard this was for him until he started to actually say it, “I really could never mean it. What I said. Even if you have committed the worst treason or crime, even if you had taken my heart and carved it out, I still wouldn't be able to do one thing that might be even close to harming you. Believe me I have tried. And I have failed.”

He looks away from you, cheeks closing red. Jacaerys had just poured his heart out and gave it to you. But the chances of you, and feeling the same? were very dim. He sees stars when he sees you, what do you see? just him? or even worse? a filth in the name of a true born prince. A gasp leaves his lips as your fingers trace the outlines of his jaw, trailing down to his neck to his chest. You stopped at the red and black three dragons symbol made on the polish cloth he wore.

“Why do you think I agreed to this marriage? not because of this.” you point to the very symbol engraved on his chest, of the house targaryen, “If it was just for this, I certainly would have never.”

He turns his head back to you, confusion in his face. He also feels a bit of guilt in him. At first, he only agreed to this pact because his mother had no choice. Because of your house. Nothing else. And you're saying that his house didn't even matter to you when you agreed to this betrothal? then why? you did not even know what he looked like, and you simply agreed?

“Why then?”

That's the question that's now left in him. Why, if his house and title didn't matter?

“Well,” your lips curl up, a glint in your eyes, as a blush arose your cheeks, “From years I had heard stories of Targaryen princes. How arrogant and unkind they were, your cousins, Aegon and Aemond, well I certainly didn't hear anything good about them. And then you came. The velaryon prince, the son of the realm's delight, born with a kind heart and a fierceness to protect. I knew I had to marry someday, but I only agreed to marry you because I knew—you wouldn't mistreat me. Because I fell in love with the stories of the dark haired prince who had the most beautiful brown eyes ever, who protected his brother when he was a child himself, who stole my heart before he even claimed it.”

Jacaerys doesn't know what to say, his throat falls dry. It doesn't feel real, when he's wanted something so dearly and someone just gives it to him freely; it does not feel real. You do not feel real. But you are. He knows you are when your hands tug at his collar, his face close to you as you pull him towards you and your breath fanning on his cheeks. He knows this is real, and it's better than any dream he's ever had.

“I do not want our marriage to be an unhappy one.”

You say, a plea in your voice.

He smiles, wide. And he doesn't even have to make an effort this time, “For me, the words unhappy and you? well they don't go in the same sentence.”

That seals it for you, he can see that. As you kiss his words, an unspoken understanding and passion in it. Jacaerys realises he could get used to this. Kisses, hugs, reading each other books, waking by the warmth of your body besides his; in fact, there's no one else he'd rather do it by. And nothing he would want more.

𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑡, 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑚:) 𝐼 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑎𝑙𝑠𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑒𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑠 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛! 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝐼 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑟𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑠 𝑠𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑒.

[heliosunny]

I've read a manhwa with the plot of MC being in a marriage of convenience with the ML in their first life and they work hard to make it work/feel like an actual marriage but the guy didn't give it much thought so they died and in their second life, the MC just decided to not focus on the guy but that somehow attracted the guy's attention

So that premise with Mydei (or Phainon, I just thought it suited Mydei more) where in reader's first life they had loved him and dedicated their whole being to him but they end up dying so in their second life they were more confrontational and willing to potentially piss off Mydei but that just had the opposite effect on him.

Bonus I guess if he remembers what reader did after a certain time and makes him fall harder (or go full on yan route idm)

Yandere!Mydei x Reader

[Artist]

You had loved him once.

It was a quiet, steady love, the kind built on careful devotion rather than reckless passion. A love that manifested in the way you always reached for his hand in public, in the way you made him pomegranate juice exactly as he liked it, in the way you handled every social obligation so he wouldn’t have to. A love that, despite being arranged, had been genuine on your part.

Mydei, however, had never given you much thought.

Your marriage had been one of convenience, a political arrangement that benefited both parties, nothing more. You knew that. You had known it from the start. But knowing didn’t stop you from hoping, didn’t stop you from trying to be someone he could come to love.

Yet you had tried.

You learned his preferences. You shielded him from trivial nuisances. You defended him against enemies in court. You ensured his home was warm when he returned, even if he never cared whether you were there waiting or not. You gave him everything you had to offer, even as your own needs went unnoticed, unfulfilled.

And then, one day, you died.

It was an illness, slow but inevitable. The kind that ate away at you little by little until there was nothing left to give. You had fought to stay by his side, to live long enough for him to notice you, to care. But as you lay on your deathbed, your body weak, your breath shallow, Mydei had stood beside you with the same unreadable expression he always wore.

“It’s unfortunate” he had said, his voice calm. “But there’s nothing to be done.”

He hadn’t held your hand. Hadn’t begged you to stay. Hadn’t even asked if you were afraid. And so you died, alone in a marriage that had never truly been shared.

But then, against all reason, you awoke again.

A second life. A second chance.

And this time, you wouldn’t waste it on him.

----

The first time you met Mydei again in your new life, he had the same detached expression, but this time, you weren’t the same.

“Oh. It’s you.” he said, mildly surprised.

You stared at him, deadpan. “Tragic, isn’t it?”

He blinked at you, clearly taken aback. In your past life, you would have smiled softly, eager to please. Now, you met his gaze with all the warmth of an ice sculpture.

“You seem different.” he noted, as though observing the weather.

“Yes, well, dying does that to a person.” You crossed your arms. “But don’t worry, I’m not here to cater to your every whim anymore. I have better things to do.”

His brow furrowed slightly, a reaction so subtle you might have missed it if you hadn’t known him so well. It was funny. For the first time, Mydei found himself unsure of how to proceed.

Days turned to weeks, and you continued to avoid him as much as possible. When you couldn’t, you treated him with polite indifference.

“Here, I brought you tea.”

Mydei raised a brow. “Tea?”

“I just grabbed the first thing I saw.” You sipped your own drink with a smirk, watching as he hesitated before taking a sip. No more pomegranate juice, but you made no move to correct it. Let him suffer.

He gave you a long, unreadable look, then quietly finished the tea anyway.

You weren’t sure when it started, but Mydei began seeking you out more often. Not for anything important, just small, meaningless interactions that, in your first life, he would have ignored entirely.

“You’re busy” he observed one day, watching you pour over books in the library.

“You’re perceptive” you deadpanned, not looking up.

“I can help.”

You finally met his gaze, incredulous. “You? Help? With something that doesn’t benefit you?”

“I’m capable of generosity” he replied smoothly.

You scoffed. “Sure. And I’m the Empress of the Universe.”

To your growing unease, Mydei only chuckled, as if thoroughly enjoying the challenge you presented. If he had ignored your love in your past life, he now seemed intent on prying into your every thought in this one.

You weren’t sure which was worse.

What made it all the more complicated was that Mydei had no idea you had already lived and died once before. To him, this was just the first time you had ever looked at him with anything less than quiet admiration. And while he couldn’t understand what had changed, he was undeniably intrigued.

-----

The third prince’s birthday celebration was an unavoidable event. No matter how much you wanted to stay far away from Mydei, you were both expected to attend.

Dressed in formal attire, you entered the grand hall, carefully ignoring Mydei’s presence beside you.

As expected, the noble ladies flocked to him almost immediately, their voices sickly sweet.

“Mydei, you look as composed as ever” one simpered, lightly touching his sleeve. “Surely you must save a dance for me?”

“And me as well” another chimed in. “It’s not often we get to see you at these gatherings.”

You sipped your drink and turned away, uninterested.

Mydei, however, seemed less inclined to entertain them. His gaze flickered to you, watching your utter lack of reaction.

“You’re ignoring me” he murmured, stepping closer.

You didn’t even glance at him. “Congratulations, you’re learning.”

His lips twitched slightly, as if amused. “Are you jealous?”

You turned to him at last, offering the driest look you could muster. “If I had a single grain of salt for every second I cared, I wouldn’t even be able to season a meal.”

He chuckled. And you had the distinct feeling Mydei wasn’t going to let you ignore him forever.

Sensing your chance to leave, you excused yourself quietly and slipped away. You navigated through the bustling crowd until you reached the gardens, where the young third prince stood alone, watching the lanterns flicker above. You wished him a happy birthday, exchanged brief pleasantries before excusing yourself, intent on leaving before anyone noticed. Unbeknownst to you, Mydei had followed—watching from the shadows as you spoke to the young prince with a warmth you had never once given him in this lifetime.

The door shut behind you with a quiet click as you stepped into your quarters, letting out a sigh of relief. The evening had been long. You had done your part, made an appearance, and now you could finally shed the pretense of civility and rest.

You barely had time to unfasten the heavy jewelry weighing on your ears before there was a knock at the door. Your brows furrowed. It was late. Too late for someone to be calling on you unless it was urgent.

Still, you already had a sinking feeling about who it was.

“Enter” you called, bracing yourself.

The door opened, and sure enough, Mydei stepped inside. His usually pristine attire was slightly disheveled, his coat unbuttoned at the collar. But what truly caught your attention was the way he moved, slower, more deliberate, as if something was weighing on him.

He had never been one to drink, and yet, something about him seemed... off.

You sighed. “It’s late, Mydei.”

“You left early” he countered, shutting the door behind him. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it—something quiet and simmering beneath the surface. “Without informing me.”

“I wasn’t aware I needed your permission to retire for the night” you replied dryly, turning away. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

“I saw you” Mydei interrupted.

You stilled. “Saw me?”

“With the third prince” he clarified, stepping closer. “In the gardens. You seemed… close.”

You exhaled through your nose. “He’s a child, Mydei. I was wishing him a happy birthday.”

“And yet, you looked at him with more warmth than you’ve ever spared me.”

You turned to face him then, brows arching. “Are you jealous?”

Mydei didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he studied you. He took another step forward, invading your space, forcing you to tilt your head slightly to maintain eye contact.

“Would it matter if I was?” he asked at last.

You scoffed, stepping back. “No. Because it wouldn’t change anything.”

Mydei was a man of control. To be thrown off balance, to be met with resistance where he once found compliance, was undoubtedly foreign to him.

Good. Let him feel what you had felt all those years.

You turned away, signaling the conversation was over. “Go sleep, Mydei. We have nothing more to discuss.”

For a moment, he didn’t move. Then, finally, he let out a quiet chuckle, a sound devoid of humor. “You truly are different now.”

You didn’t respond. Didn’t look back.

Because if you did, you might have noticed the way his fingers curled slightly at his sides. And you might have realized that Mydei was far from willing to let things be.

-----

Over the next few days, Mydei seemed to have an unusual amount of free time. His duties, which once kept him busy, were now seemingly cast aside. Wherever you went, he was there.

It started subtly: walking in step with you through the halls, his presence a quiet shadow. Then it grew bolder. Sitting beside you at meals, his knee brushing against yours and never pulling away. Standing behind you, fingertips grazing the small of your back under the guise of guiding you forward.

You would have ignored it, written it off as coincidence—if not for the way his touch lingered. The way he reached for your hand absentmindedly, as if it were second nature.

One evening, as you sat by the window, lost in thought, you felt it again, his hand, warm and steady, against your shoulder. A familiar presence, yet wholly unfamiliar in its intent.

“You’ve been avoiding me” Mydei murmured.

“I’ve been living my life” you corrected, not looking up.

His fingers curled slightly, almost as if to pull you closer, but he hesitated. “And yet, somehow, I find myself a part of it more than before.”

You turned to him then, meeting his gaze directly. “Perhaps you should ask yourself why that is.”

A smirk ghosted his lips, though his eyes held something heavier. “Oh, I have.”

You had tolerated it long enough. Mydei’s constant presence, his lingering touches, the way he hovered around you as if he had never been indifferent.

The final straw came when he followed you into the private study, an intimate space he had never once stepped foot in before. You slammed the book you were holding onto the table and turned to face him, irritation burning in your chest.

"Enough!" Your voice was firm, unwavering. "What exactly do you want from me, Mydei?"

He arched a brow, unfazed. "I would think that’s obvious."

You scoffed. "Obvious? You ignored me for years, treated our marriage as a mere obligation, and now—now you cling to my side like a shadow. Why?" Your breath hitched slightly, but you pushed forward. "Is it because I no longer chase after you? Because I finally see this marriage for what it is?"

A flicker of something passed through his eyes—something unreadable. He took a step closer, but you raised a hand, stopping him in his tracks.

"No" you said sharply. "No more. This ends now. I want a divorce."

For the first time since his sudden shift in behavior, Mydei’s expression darkened. "You don’t mean that."

"I do." You met his gaze head-on. "I refuse to stay shackled in a marriage that was never real."

He exhaled slowly, as if reining himself in. "And what makes you think I'll allow it?"

Your fingers clenched into fists. "Because it’s not your decision to make."

"You truly have changed."

You didn’t back down. "And I intend to keep it that way."

His eyes lingered on you, calculating, something darker stirring beneath the surface. Then, as if making a silent decision, he took another step forward.

"Then let's see how far you’re willing to go" he murmured.

-----

Determined to push him into agreeing, you invited Duke Laurent, a respected noble and someone with a clear interest in you, to visit. If Mydei would not agree to divorce out of reason, perhaps jealousy would make him let go.

Just as you began conversing with the duke, Mydei’s arm suddenly snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You stiffened at the public display of intimacy, something he had never once shown before. The duke’s expression remained polite, though there was clear tension in the air.

Mydei leaned in, his lips brushing dangerously close to your ear. "You think bringing another man here will make me release you?"

He turned his gaze to the duke, his expression composed but lethal. "You see, we are still very much married."

Before you could shove him away, he tilted your chin up and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the corner of your lips, just enough to make the moment scandalous.

"Mydei—" You hissed, shoving at his chest, but his grip remained firm.

Then came his final blow, spoken with a smirk against your skin. "If you truly wish to fulfill the divorce, then surely, as tradition dictates, our marriage must bear an heir first. Otherwise, it would be incomplete."

The audacity of it, the sheer arrogance—

Fury surged through you. Without thinking, you leaned in and bit his shoulder, hard enough to make him tense, hard enough to leave a mark through his fine fabric. Just hoping it'll make him let you go. He inhaled sharply, but instead of anger, something else flickered in his gaze. Interest.

His grip on you tightened, fingers pressing into your waist. "How intriguing" he murmured, almost amused. "You’re becoming more and more fascinating."

You could only glare, breathless with anger, as he leaned in even closer. "I’ve decided—I shall never let you alone."

That night, Mydei made his final decision.

You found yourself restless, pacing in your chambers, feeling trapped in a game you never agreed to play. The door creaked open, and you didn’t need to turn to know it was him.

"Leave!" you ordered without looking up.

Instead, he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. "You asked for a divorce. I gave you my terms," he said smoothly. "But I have a better idea."

You turned, narrowing your eyes. "I don't care for your ideas, Mydei. I want my freedom."

"And I want you," he countered effortlessly, closing the distance between you. "So, it seems we are at an impasse."

He reached out, tracing a hand over your wrist. "You see, I’ve realized something," he murmured, his voice quieter now, almost reverent. "I cannot let you go."

"Then you will have to learn."

"No" he whispered, leaning in "I will simply ensure that you never wish to leave."

This was no longer a battle of marriage or freedom.

This was war.

Then, his voice dropped to a chilling whisper. "If you try to run, I will find you. If you seek another, I will ruin them. And if you deny me..." His fingers trailed over your throat, "I will make sure you have nowhere to go but back to me."

"You wouldn’t dare."

"Wouldn’t I?" The smirk on his face only triggered you more. "You forget, my dear, I am not a man who lets go of what is his. And you? You belong to me."

A slow, measured pause before he added, "So fight me if you must. Hate me, struggle, scream. But in the end, you will always return to me. I will make sure of it."

---

Another day passed. Nothing happened. Until-

You were sitting stiffly in your chambers, the weight of Mydei’s last words still pressing against your mind.

Mydei entered, once again without your consent.

A goblet sat before you, filled with deep crimson liquid—the rich, unmistakable hue of pomegranate juice. It was his favorite, something he drank often, something he had tried countless times to get you to enjoy.

“I had the servants prepare this just for you” Mydei said smoothly, swirling the liquid in his own goblet. “It would be such a shame if you ignored my gift.”

You hesitated, glancing at the drink. Something about his tone made you wary, but refusing would only stretch this moment further. You reached for the goblet, only for Mydei to intercept, his fingers ghosting over yours as he picked it up himself.

“Let me.”

His hand cupped your chin, tilting your head slightly. Before you could react, the cool rim of the goblet pressed against your lips, the sweet aroma of pomegranate thick in the air. The moment the liquid touched your tongue, warmth flooded through your body. A strange, numbing sensation curled through your veins, heavy and inescapable. Your limbs felt sluggish, the world turning soft around the edges.

Your breath hitched as your body betrayed you, sinking against the silk sheets.

Through your hazy vision, you saw Mydei standing by the door, watching. His expression was unreadable, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Rest well, my dear”

But he didn’t leave.

Instead, he moved closer, his fingers brushing against your cheek before he slid into the bed beside you. His arms wrapped around you, firm yet deceptively gentle, caging you against him. The warmth of his body seeped into yours, and in your hazy state, resistance felt… unnecessary.

“You’ll understand soon” he whispered, his breath fanning against your ear. “You don’t need to fight anymore. Just listen to me.”

Your thoughts wavered, slipping further into a fog. Your body felt too heavy to move, your mind too sluggish to argue. His presence, once suffocating, now felt… inevitable.

Through the night, he held you close, his grip never loosening. Each time your thoughts stirred, his voice was there, murmuring soft reassurances, reinforcing his presence, reminding you he was always there.

By the time morning light crept through the curtains, your mind was no longer as sharp as before. The idea of pulling away seemed distant, unnecessary.

He was still here.

His arms remained locked around you, as if this was how it had always been. His breath, slow and even, ghosted against the side of your neck, warm yet oppressive.

“Awake already?” His voice was low, thick with the drowsiness of someone who had slept well.

You swallowed, trying to shift, only to realize just how intimately entangled the two of you were. One of his legs had hooked over yours, anchoring you beneath the weight of him. His fingers, idly tracing over the fabric of your nightclothes, stopped just at your wrist, where his hold subtly tightened.

You were trapped.

“I need to get up” you muttered, voice still hoarse from sleep.

Mydei didn’t loosen his grip. If anything, his arms curled around you more securely, pressing you deeper against his chest. “You don’t, actually,” he murmured. “Stay.”

Something in his voice made your stomach twist. There was no plea, no request, just the quiet certainty of a man who had already decided what would happen.

“I have things to do” you tried again, frustration slipping into your tone. “You can’t just—”

“Can’t I?” Mydei interrupted lazily, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look down at you properly. His hair was slightly tousled, falling over sharp eyes that gleamed with something unreadable. “You haven’t been well. I think it’s best if you rest today.”

“I feel fine” you lied, pushing against his chest.

He caught your wrist easily, his thumb pressing against the rapid beat of your pulse. “Do you?” His smile was slow, knowing. “You still look dazed. You’re warm. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were falling ill.”

Mydei had always been perceptive, dangerously so. And in this moment, with your thoughts still sluggish, you knew you were at a disadvantage.

“Mydei,” you tried to keep your voice steady, “what did you do?”

His grip on your wrist didn’t waver, but his expression softened into something almost… fond.

“I’ve merely helped you see things clearly.” His fingers traced over your knuckles before he lifted your hand, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against your palm. His lips curved against your skin. “You always try to run. You make things so difficult for yourself.”

“You drugged me.”

Mydei sighed, tilting his head as if mildly disappointed. “It was just a little something to help you relax. To stop you from making rash decisions.” He leaned in closer, his nose grazing against your cheek before his lips brushed against the shell of your ear. “You wouldn’t want to make any rash decisions, would you?”

A surge of unease coursed through you, your body screaming to move—to fight. But your limbs still felt leaden, and Mydei knew it. He had planned for it.

“I thought we had an agreement” you gritted out. “You can’t keep me here like this.”

“What do you mean by 'keep you'? You’re mine, my dear. You always have been.”

Your breath hitched as he finally released your wrist—only to cup your jaw, forcing you to look at him properly.

“You’ll understand soon enough.”

----

Visit [2] [2*]

[tossawary]

The fun thing about Luo Binghe potentially NOT being pushed into the Endless Abyss at the Immortal Alliance Conference, imo, is that he's still a forcibly outed heavenly demon stuck in the middle of the cultivation world after a deadly invasion. There are so many different fun ways to play it.

So, Shen Yuan groggily wakes up and the first thing he sees is that traitorous asshole Shang Qinghua's relieved face and disheveled appearance. Ugh. And then first thing that the An Ding Peak Lord says is: "Wow, and I thought the System hated my ass. It had it OUT for you, bro."

What the fuck.

At which point, Shen Yuan sits bolt upright because what the hell happened? The last thing he remembers is not moving, the weight of the sword in his hand, the thunder of his heart in his ears, not being able to go through with it, hoping against all reason that this was all some sort of sick test and that the System wouldn't really-

"Where's Binghe?" Shen Yuan demands.

Shang Qinghua winces. "About that..."

And Shen Yuan's heart falls because Binghe ended up in the Endless Abyss anyway, obviously. There were apparently two transmigrators all along and neither of them could truly change the story.

"He got arrested for your murder and the invasion of the conference," Shang Qinghua says, scratching the back of his neck. "It was ugly. So ugly. I probably would have died if Liu Qingge hadn't shown up to put him down. The Palace Master is saying that this is obviously revenge for Tianlang-Jun's sealing and Yue Qingyuan has pretty much stopped talking-"

"What."

"Oh, you were super dead, bro, and the protagonist freaked the fuck out. I was there, so he started yelling about why I hadn't done something, irrational with grief and all that, it was pretty scary."

And Shen Yuan can see how a surprise heavenly demon kid would get blamed for his shizun's death and the invasion of the conference. There's nothing that any drama likes better than an innocent person somehow caught red-handed in the middle of an inexplicable disaster.

"Wait, the invasion IS your fault!" Shen Yuan says, pointing an accusatory finger. He feels like shit still, but his righteous, trembling anger is going mostly in the right direction. "Why didn't you speak up-?"

"What, and I was going to admit to that in front of all of those peak lords and sect leaders? Get off my dick, bro."

"I meant blame Mobei-Jun!"

"Oh, yeah. They'd made up their minds, though! And shit got really violent really quickly! Liu Qingge is still itching to kill someone here, you know. Ask yourself why you're not still dead first, huh?"

That's an annoyingly good question. And Shang Qinghua annoyingly answers himself without waiting for an input.

"You're so fucking lucky that I've been here for like forty years now and I have so many useless points. Enough to pay off YOUR debt! They can be transferred, apparently? Be grateful! Anyway, I don't want the vengeful protagonist thinking that I hold any blame whatsoever in you fainting to death there, even if he is locked up in the Water Prison right now, so don't say I did nothing for you, got it?"

"...He's WHERE?!"

"Water Prison. He's going to be put on bullshit trial for the Immortal Alliance Conference and also for existing as a heavenly demon. Keep up, bro. Also," Shang Qinghua says with an urgent look over his shoulder, "you have to back me up when I try to explain to Mu Qingfang and Huang Qingheng that you were only mostly dead, they must have missed something, and I was just hanging around paying my respects when you miraculously recovered. I don't know anything! Ready to go?"

"No."

"Well, that fucking sucks for you. Let's go!"

[nightingale-prompts]

Dying to Love- DCXDP

Dating is hard. And Danny has bad at tough go at it.

"She called me creepy." Danny sighed into his coffee cup.

"What? You're not creepy." Tim reassured.

This has been an ongoing thing. Every time one of Danny's dates canceled, rejected, or ghosted him he ended up pouring out his sorrows with Tim.

"Well, who wants to date a funeral director?" Danny gripes.

It was kind of hard to explain how they met. The Waynes wanted to move a headstone for their no longer dead son/brother. Danny had to oversee the process that day and thankfully they didn't need to dig up remains.

Danny didn't know why Tim wanted to be his friend but who was he to complain when he didn't know anyone in this city. No one had any reason to talk to him since he was always working. Constantine came in on occasion at least. The Bats did as well.

And Danny? He keeps to his own. What humans do is on them. The ghosts are enough of a handful. Yeah, it was cold but so was he. The mortuary was comfortable, and he liked this life.

Yes, it was emotional. How do you tell a family that their newborn who died of SIDS needed to be held for a few hours before they were ready for burial? Or that grandma was mad they didn't cremate her like she wanted?

The ghosts weren't always there. Most of the time he was alone. It was rare that one lingered around the body or didn't pass on immediately. It just meant that death let them slide for a while. She was unpredictable like that. That's how he got here.

It's a lonely life though.

Did he just want friends? Well sure. So he somehow became friends with Tim Drake. Easy. Okay not easy, he and Tim just had common interests like true crime. They both could talk for hours on that alone.

But that's not the same as dating and he wanted to have a relationship. So he went on a few dating apps and had a few meet-cutes. But they never last.

"Danny, you aren't creepy." Tim lied. "You love what you do and someone will understand."

"Tim, even my coworkers don't want to talk to me." Danny sobbed.

"Well, male morticians have a bad rep. They might not know you well yet. Give it some time."

Tim knew very well that Danny was creepy. Danny had a habit of talking way too much about his job. Not everyone finds embalming and cutting open bodies fascinating. But he'd never tell Danny to stop.

"I actually invited my last date over and she ran the moment she came in."

"She must be uncomfortable going to guys' places. That's normal."

Tim knew why that happened. Danny collected occult and haunted items. He would make displays of death masks, haunted dolls, animal and human bones. Danny does tarot readings for himself every morning. It's not normal behavior. It's actually the reason Tim started talking to him. He had suspicions that Danny might be a serial killer. He wasn't, he just had hobbies.

Tim was an enabler on all this. He thought about pointing Danny in the direction of some edgy types or those into witchcraft. But if he did that then Danny would be dating someone else.

Tim was good but he wasn't a saint. So everything Danny fumbles with a potential partner he stands by to pick up the pieces. Call him what you want, it's not like he was sabotaging his friend. He just didn't want him dating other people. And honestly, if someone doesn't like his interest then why aren't worth Danny's time.

"Hey, do you I know Red Robin's number?" Danny asked suddenly.

"Why do you ask?"

"I don't know. I think if I were with someone used to this for of thing it would be easier. Also, he's the good-looking Robin."

Tim 100% filed that away as a gloat over Dick.

That being said, if he did give out that number would that further the manipulative asshole title that he probably already earned. He was nothing if not smart enough to be self-aware.

[greenglowinspooks]

Honestly I think the fics where Danny’s a Kryptonian have a lot of potential, so here’s me throwing my hat into the ring

Danny was born a human. He was born to two loving (though slightly neglectful) human parents in the painfully mundane state of Illinois.

Then, he died, but he didn’t do it right. He became a Halfa; too alive to be a ghost, but too dead to be human.

Then, through strange, uncontrollable circumstances, that changed as well.

He had been heavily injured, missing a large percentage of body mass, and was at the cusp of either dying fully or just fading from existence.

(Perhaps it was an ordinary fight. Perhaps it was the GiW, or his parents. Perhaps it was a simple accident. That didn’t matter now.)

He fled, phasing through the ground, trying to bury himself as deep as possible.

(Perhaps he didn’t want to be unmasked in death. Perhaps that was already too late, and he just wanted his body be able to rest in peace.)

Unfortunately for him, he was in Metropolis, and ended up in a secret genetics lab below the earth.

Danny detransformed, completely exhausted, falling onto a table covered in different labeled specimen containers. He closed his eyes, and prepared himself for what would happen next.

And… nothing.

Slowly, cautiously, he opened his eyes.

Danny sat up, brushing off the foul-smelling liquid from the specimen jars, petri dishes, and assorted vials.

He felt…fine.

No, better than fine. He felt normal. Healthy.

He felt like he wasn’t missing most of his internal organs anymore.

Danny looked down at his stomach, and saw that the wounds that were killing him had completely disappeared.

(The blood blossoms, if there had been any, were still there, but they no longer hurt. At most, they itched a little, or maybe just tickled a bit.)

He wanted to question what in the hell had just happened, but he didn’t want to jinx it. He just quietly changed back to Phantom, going invisible and phasing out of wherever he had found himself in, ignoring the loud alarm system that had begun to blare when he broke the samples on that table.

Life mostly went back to normal after that.

If, like Danny, you ignored all the physical changes in a valiant effort to remain in denial that something was horribly wrong.

His skin was tougher, now; he didn’t get scrapes or cuts, even when he accidentally fumbled a knife while trying to cook. His ghost form was stronger, too; he was barely knocked down by his old rogues anymore.

He could fly, even in his human form. Though, admittedly, the flight was much different. It was like using a muscle he hadn’t known existed beforehand. He didn’t just ignore gravity or wind resistance, though he felt more graceful in the air now than he ever did as Phantom.

There were more powers popping up, lasers and cold breath, x-ray vision and super strength. His lungs and heart were larger, and he could handle temperatures much easier. He didn’t have to transform to handle the pressure and cold of space anymore.

His reaction time had improved, becoming much faster than ever before. His senses were much stronger, and he had even seemed to gain a sense of electric fields, like a shark.

The only thing that separated him from a Kryptonian was that he had developed electrokenesis, which he had never seen any of them use on TV.

So, surely, he was fine.

Everything was normal, he hadn’t been transformed by alien DNA in a sketchy lab, he had just had a really weird and specific metagene activation.

—

Clark Kent, Kal-El, was panicking.

It had been around a month and a half since a particularly brutal fight between Intergang and an unknown assailant, and it seemed that Intergang was determined to draw out whoever had scorned them.

Their method of doing this, of course, was trying to level the city.

He and Jon were doing their best to stop them, but with both Kon and Zor-El away on their own business, it was difficult.

And by difficult, he meant almost impossible.

Slowly but surely he was driving them back, but not without massive amounts of damage to the city, especially with only Jon on dedicated rescuing duty.

He was distracted, trying to draw a group away from a heavily occupied building, when a projectile hit him in the back of the head.

The world spun for a moment, and then it went black.

(It was, probably, then, some sort of Kryptonite-metal alloy. Intergang at its finest.)

He woke slowly, forcing his eyes open. He felt like he had been hit by an eighteen wheeler.

Clark jolted up, preparing for the worst.

To his shock, though, the city hadn’t been reduced to rubble while he was out.

Jon seemed to still be working on evacuation, either unaware that he had went down or forcing himself to focus on the task at hand.

Then, a lightning-quick figure flew into view, and Clark’s mind went blank.

He thought, for a moment, that Kara was back. But, no, that wasn’t right, she was supposed to be off-planet for another week or so.

Besides, this new figure didn’t move like her. They were lankier and more slender, and they flew quicker than any member of his family.

Their powerset was different, too; they focused mainly on using blasts of ice and electricity to drive enemies back, only occasionally using their strength or lasers—ones which came from their hands instead of their eyes.

He had woken up at the tail end of the fight, it seemed. The remaining Intergang members were fleeing from the mysterious metahuman.

They stayed in the sky, motionless, watching them leave.

As if they could sense him staring, they turned.

They were small, still clearly young. Probably around Kon’s age, or maybe even younger.

Instead of the colorful clothing he had inherited from his family, the stranger wore black and white clothes which looked similar to a hazmat suit, their face covered by some sort of gas mask.

Interestingly enough, instead of the S-shape crest that he was so used to seeing, the stranger wore the letter D on his chest.

Kal’s heart sped up.

From up in the sky, he heard the stranger’s heart, on the left instead of the right, speed up in return.

But before he could say a word to them, they sped off, disappearing into the deep blue sky.

[helloilikepurple]

DC X DP - DeAged

The Nasty Burger explosion took a lot from Danny.

Stopping Dan meant nothing when Danny lost everything. His friends, his parents, his sister, his teacher - all gone. Danny, desperate to not become Dan, fled. He would not let Vlad destroy the only thing he had left; himself. He didn't turn human again if he could avoid it. Let Danny Fenton die with his family.

He did what he could, trying to keep it all together. Avoid Vlad. Catch havoc-wreaking ghosts. Try to not have a panic attack every time he saw his reflection. FentonWorks became out-of-bounds. No one was sure how to turn off the portal or any of the house's defence mechanisms so it was taped up instead.

Danny kept the GIW away. They wanted his parents' research, even if they had to bend the law to get it. Danny would not let them have it. Never.

But the GIW was persistent and Danny weak from nearly two months of being Phantom and nothing else. He was so tired. Tired from grieving, from fighting, from wandering around, completely lost and alone.

The GIW got a lucky shot in. Danny went down. He woke up, still ghost, somewhere white. He'd trained himself not to have to turn back. He was grateful he did.

The GIW studied him. Danny did not have the energy to fight back. The will to survive. Curled up in his cell, bloody and becoming less human with every passing day, Clockwork finally intervened.

He could not let the future High King wither away into nothing.

With Nocturn's help, he whisked him away. His world was dying anyway. With no one to maintain the portal, it would soon overload and explode. The radiation would kill all life on Earth, leaving nothing behind, and taking with it the potential for new life. One world among infinite realities meant nothing. But Danny, as High King, is a singularity. A unique existence, only found in one reality. Clockwork, for the sake of everything that lives and dies, could not let Danny fade away.

Danny slept at the Far Frozen, dreaming of his family, his friends, and the stars he would one day rule over. He healed, wounds knitting together into scars and fractured core slowly, ever so slowly, repairing itself. A future Ancient, bound to protect all that is and will be, was bound to be very badly hurt from such a loss.

Clockwork only wished he could have done more, but to remove Danny too early would have spelt disaster worse than the deaths of billions. This boy would someday be someone he'd proudly call his grandson. Seeing that future alone was enough to make his own core ache for the young one.

The Infinite Realms wept for its child, still but a babe yet having suffered so much. It embraced its future King, blessing him with its loyalty and adoration. The ghosts of the realms, spread far and wide over distant realities, timelines and worlds, felt the loss too.

Danny healed, unaware of how loved and precious he was to so many - how far he was from alone. The dead's sudden quiet unsettled many. Enemies froze in the silent mourning, animosity forgotten. Raging wars came to abrupt ends. So many, unable to bear the ever-reaching, unidentifiable pain in the air killed themselves. Good, kind people cried alone.

Magic users, like Constantine and Zatanna, hid, waiting out the Infinite Realm's despair for its child. No one spoke of it, for fear of disrespecting the dimension between dimensions. But they hid, and they waited, and they couldn't help but worry for themselves and everything and everyone else.

Danny got a lot of visitors. Ancients, regular ghosts, crowded around his bed, gifting him blessings and support. Danny slept, he healed, and his world died, taking with it all he'd known. He wouldn't remember or know of any of this when he woke  - even the memories of his pleasant dreams will have left him. He'll awaken and think himself entirely alone.

But he'll know, someday.

Clockwork will make sure of it.

---

Danny doesn't know where he is or who he is.

He has a vague idea. His name. His life and his death. But so much is so distant, like impressions on sand, washed away by the ocean. He knows he should be bigger. He knows this isn't home. He knows there is no home anymore.

He knows there are people he misses, but he doesn't know who they are or where they've gone. He knows so little yet so much. White walls and orange hair, green (toxic, writhing green) and hazmat suits, white and black and orange and blue. Expensive, Packers-branded cologne, burning flesh, the scream of an alarm and laughter and fear and hope and love and pain and loss. Disjointed flashes, snippets of another life.

And this isn't familiar - this city and these people. These crowded, filthy streets aren't home, but there's no home anymore so of course they aren't. And maybe Danny should be afraid. He doesn't know where he is, or how he got here. There are people, so tall, walking around him not sparing him a glance. It's loud and smelly and so much to process all at once.

But Danny doesn't care because he's so tired, and he wants nothing more than to curl up in bed and sleep the day away. But he doesn't have a home, so obviously he doesn't have a bed either. He looks around for somewhere else to sleep, rubbing at his chest subconsciously as he does.

There, a building, on the other side of the road. The windows are tinted, but the doors open and Danny, through the crowds and passing traffic, catches a glimpse of what has to be a couch. Maybe the people that own the building will let him sleep on their couch for a little bit.

So he crosses the street, sticking close to the legs of some lady with skinny heels that go tap-tap-tap so the cars don't go because they can't see him. The lady turns to go a different way after but it's okay because Danny is in front of the building now.

He pushes the door open and slips inside. It's quieter inside, and warmer. Danny wasn't cold outside but in here there's a nice heat that makes him feel even sleepier. He looks around at the fancy chairs and potted plants and lights, and is happy to see there are couches. Long couches, with lots of pillows and space for him to spread out.

He walks up to the desk. He's too short to see over it, and it makes him kind of angry because he's sure he's supposed to be taller. But he figures maybe he remembers wrong because people don't just shrink. Except, he's a halfa so maybe ghosts do?

"Hello?"

There's a lady here too, behind the desk, but unlike the one he followed across the street she has short, curly hair. Danny wonders if she's wearing skinny heels too. Leaning his head back, he can see her look up, glance around, and then look back down.

Danny pouts. Did she not see him?

"Hello?"

He waves an arm this time, reaching as high as he can to catch her attention. She finally sees him, eyes widening in surprise. "Oh, sorry! Hello." She has a nice voice.

"Your voice is pretty."

She smiles, and Danny decides her smile is nice too. "Why thank you. You have a pretty voice too. Is there something I can help you with?"

"Can I please sleep on your couch? Just for a little bit."

"Of course you can. Would you like a blanket? I could fetch one for you from the staff room."

Danny shakes his head. "I'm okay. Thank you."

"Alright. But if you change your mind, do tell me."

"You're very nice."

"Thank you, but it's really no problem. Not much to do today anyway."

"You should sleep too then. Sleep is good."

She giggles. "That is a very good idea. I just might take your advice." Danny nods. He has lots of good ideas. "Okay. I'm gonna' go nap now. Bye-bye."

"Sleep well."

There are a few couches, and for a bit Danny's not sure which one to sleep on. He chooses the one with the most pillows. It's very comfy, and the pillows are nice too. He puts one under his head and hugs another, curling up around it. He falls asleep in seconds.

-

When a toddler with black and blue eyes asked to sleep on one of the couches on in the reception hall of Wayne enterprises, May had assumed he was one of Bruce's boys. He certainly fit the type Gotham's favourite playboy liked to adopt, and it wasn't unusual for his wards to show up out of the blue.

Once she found Tim Drake passed out on the floor under her desk. Apparently, he'd been hiding from Dick who was visiting from Blüdhaven and forgot to bring his coffee with him, consequently falling asleep while he waited for her to arrive so he could ask her to go pick some up for him. That had been an interesting Thursday morning. 

On another memorable occasion, Cass, Bruce's only official daughter, and her girlfriend Steph had shown up, said hi, went upstairs, then came back down after about an hour, giggling as they ran out with a wave goodbye. Not even ten minutes later, Bruce himself stumbled out of the elevator, absolutely covered in purple glitter. May remembers raising an eyebrow and asking if Bruce wanted her to have another suit brought in.

He'd ended up collapsing on one of the couches with an exhausted sigh, and said he'd have Alfred pick him up instead. He left a sparkly trail behind him when he walked, and the couch he sat on had to be replaced because, even after numerous cleaning attempts, no one could get the glitter out. He had glitter in his hair for months afterwards.

So, May hadn't bat an eye when the little boy came in. Well aware Bruce had several meetings scheduled that day, she sent him an email saying one of his kids was taking a nap in the reception hall and resolved to look out for the boy herself. Throughout the day, she made sure to check on him often, making sure no one picked him up ran (this was Gotham after all).

He slept soundly for most of her work day, barely shifting. She ended up putting a blanket on him herself during her lunch break and leaving him a water bottle and little snack for when he woke up. She also made sure security kept an eye on him whenever she left for whatever reason.

It was well into the afternoon when Bruce finally replied to her email and asked if his kid was still sleeping downstairs. She said yes, and not long after he arrived on the ground level. He walked up to her desk and asked if his kid had caused her any trouble. She smiled and assured him no.

Then Bruce asked where Tim was.

"Sorry? Tim isn't here today."

Bruce frowned, looking just as confused as she felt. "My apologies. You said one of my wards was asleep here. I assumed it was Tim."

"Oh! No, no, it's not Tim. Well, I don't actually know his name but the little guy has been here since this morning." She gestured to the toddler in question.

Bruce turned around, saw him, and frowned. "He's not one of mine."

"He's not?"

"No. Are you sure he's not an employee's child?" He kept his eyes on the boy, eyes narrowed in thought.

"Yes, I am. Only three employees brought in their children today, and all of them are ten or above. He can't be older than five." She frowned now too, turning to her computer to double check. "I'll send out a company-wide email to be sure. I should have done this sooner. I'm sorry, I was just so sure he was under your care."

"It's alright, May. I'm not upset. I'm just worried about him. When about in the morning did he get here?"

She glanced up, but Bruce was still looking at the sleeping boy. "A little after nine."

"And he's been sleeping all that time?"

"Yes, as far as I'm aware."

"Alright. Thank you for looking after him. I'll take it from here."

"Of course, sir. I'll reach out to you if anyone identifies him."

He nodded appreciatively and walked over to the boy. She watched, frustrated with herself. She's worked as one of Wayne Enterprise's receptionists for over four years. She should have known better than to just assume some random, black haired blue eyed child was Bruce's kid. She should have at least reached out to make sure that was the case.

She sighed as Bruce knelt down by the couch and gently shook the little boy awake, resting her head in the palm of her hand. This poor child. His poor parents. They must be worried sick.

She has to make this right.

---

[princessbellecerise]

Nameday Celebration

Summary ✩ Call it recklessness or sheer stupidity, but Benjicot is determined not to miss his lovers nameday…Even if it means sneaking into enemy territory for the night

Warnings ✩ Smut, oral sex, established relationship, brief mention of violence, fingering, foul language

The music around you was loud, and though it was quite merry, it did nothing to lift your spirits as you sat at the high table.

All around you, you were surrounded by the happy chatter of other lords and ladies that had travelled from all over to be here. Some of them even shared the same last name as you did, Bracken. But even though the evening was filled with music and light, warmth and laughter from your family, you still felt…disappointed.

You felt terrible, of course, sitting there in your fancy dress and feeling ungrateful at the ball that was thrown in your name—but you couldn’t help it.

People had come from all over the Riverlands for you, uprooted their lives and paid good coin on gifts for you, but none of that was what you truly wanted.

Your father had gone through great lengths to throw you this ball, spending coin that he didn’t have just to celebrate and maybe find you a suitable match.

By all means, it was supposed to be an amazing night in your life and yet you were so caught up in your feelings that you couldn’t even find it in yourself to be thankful.

All over, you constantly spotted sigils from houses such as the Freys, the Mootons, and the Mallisters. Even the Tully’s had made an effort to appear but none of those sigils were the ones that you wanted to see.

None of those sigils belonged to him.

Admittedly, you knew that you were a fool to ever think that he’d show up here. Your father would have sooner died than invite a Blackwood into his home, let alone have one around his daughter.

It was a feeble thought, and it was stupid of you to even be upset. Of course Benji would not show up your nameday celebration. You had known that ever since it was announced.

Your lover himself had told you that as much as he wanted to, there was just no way for him to celebrate your nameday with you. He sure as hell wasn’t invited and it would be too risky and too bloody to just show up unannounced.

The chaos that would ensue if a band of Blackwoods showed up would ruin your nameday for certain. And as much as you wanted to see him, you understood that his absence was for the best.

Still though, the feeling of disappointment had its grip on you.

You tried to act normal and you tried to make it seem like you weren’t utterly gutted, but you knew that your emotions had spilled out anyways. You were quiet and withdrawn, choosing to stay at the high table in the seat of honor rather than get up and dance with every one else.

You had chosen to sip on your wine rather than prance around with a man you didn’t care about.

You knew it was petty, but if your father wanted to be petty as well and not invite the Blackwoods, then you vowed not dance with anyone other than Benji.

It was problematic, seeing you were the guest of honor and you had declined many lords already, but you held fast. Each and every man that came to your table was turned away, to the displeasure of your father.

His ulterior motives of trying to find you a husband were not as discreet as he thought them to be. Every time the word ‘no,’ left your lips to a potential match, his lips pressed into a thinner and thinner line.

His patience with you was slowly running out.

Even though others might not have picked up on your sullen mood, he did. You were your father’s daughter after all. It was easy enough for him to tell that something was wrong, and whatever it was, he wasn’t happy about it.

After making sure that the coast was clear and that was no one was listening, he leaned in and addressed you with distain in his voice.

“Is something the matter with the celebration, Y/N?” He asked tightly.

His eyes, similar to yours, bore into you from behind his mask. Curiosity along with annoyance could be seen pooling inside them.

The answer that you had been mentally rehearsing all night finally had its chance to slip out.

“No father. Nothing is wrong with the celebration. Everything you have done for me is beautiful and much appreciated.”

Your father clenched his jaw as you took a sip of your wine, trying your best to avoid his heated stare.

“Is that so?” A small scoff left his lips. “Then why is it that you refuse to act the least bit of happy?”

You swallowed as your mind flickered to Benji. You were grateful that your mother had insisted on a masquerade ball, and that your mask was big enough to cover your face. If it didn’t, you feared you’d give much more than you wanted to away.

“I’m not…unhappy, father,” A sigh left your lips as you looked to the dance floor. Your eyes lingered on all of the couples who got to dance freely. On all of the ladies that got to be with who they wanted to without it ending in a bloody civil war.

Involuntarily, envy pooled in your chest.

“I’m just..tired, that’s all,” You continued, hoping your lie was enough.

It wasn’t.

Another scoff could be heard from your father as his chair scraped. From beside you, on your left, your mother looked on worriedly as he hissed.

“Tired? How can you be tired, daughter, when you have not even bothered to grace the dance floor?”

Silence was heard on your part as you swallowed again. You kept your eyes in front of you for fear that you’d say something to make him angrier. It wasn’t your intentions to get into it with your family, not tonight, so you kept your eyes straight and your mouth shut.

You focused on the many people on the dance floor as your father simply shook his head, mumbling about how ungrateful his daughter was.

Your mother simply gave you a disappointed look, but you ignored them both as something caught your attention.

At first, you thought that you imagined it. A simple trick of the light perhaps, or maybe you just had too much wine, but you could have sworn that you saw a flash of black, accompanied by broad shoulders and wide, gleaming eyes.

Your gaze became locked onto the stranger that bared these traits, so familiar to you but so far away. With your heart hammering in your chest, you watched as he made his way onto the dance floor. You couldn’t see him yet, not properly anyways. He was still hidden behind the horde of people all crowded together. Hiding behind the multitude of dancers and weaving in and out of the crowd.

It took all you had to keep your gaze on him and not look away. You couldn’t lose him. Not until he got closer. Not until you were sure.

For now, you were stuck following his movements with care, watching as he came closer, and closer, until finally…

Your heart stopped.

You weren’t sure if it was the wine or if you truly were hallucinating as your eyes locked with his, Benji coming to stand right in front of the high table. Beside him were two other men, all bare of any sigils and hidden under masks. But they were there. They were…

No, no.

It couldn’t be. He wouldn’t dare.

…Would he?

You started to doubt yourself. Telling yourself that there was no way that it could be him. It was too much of a risk. It was too dangerous for him to even consider such a thing…

But then he began to smile. That damned smile that you would recognize anywhere, under a mask or not. That and his eyes. You knew those eyes. That wide-eyed, crazed stare that often sent your heartbeat racing through your chest.

You knew them like the back of your hand. And sure enough, as you stared into the crowd, looking directly into those eyes, he winked.

Your chair scraped immediately.

Without much warning you stood, shooting a quick mumble towards your father before racing down the steps and towards him with determination.

Your father, thankfully, was none the wiser as you rushed forward, nodding in approval as you reached Benji and looped your arm with his.

He thought you had simply come to your senses and was dancing with some lord.

He had no idea who you were moving towards the dance floor with and if he did, you were sure that the smile would be wiped right off his face.

Lord Bracken would start a war if he knew a Blackwood had snuck under his roof, but alas that was the last thing that you were worried about.

You were more concerned about your lover getting caught, the fool having the nerve to laugh as you dragged him through the crowd. The two men he had brought along with him tried to follow, but they quickly ended up getting lost.

It was almost impossible to navigate through all of the twirling bodies, but you made it your mission to weave through them, Benji’s laughter getting lost under all of the noise. You were grateful that the masks at least concealed your true identities, allowing you to pull him along until no one else was around.

You managed to make it all the way to your room without getting stopped. As you did, you opened the door and all but threw Benji inside, making sure the door was locked before turning to your lover with a glare.

A wild gleam appeared in his eyes as he stared at you. It was obvious that he was more pleased than afraid as he grinned, crackling as he embraced you in his arms.

“Benji, Benji! Put me down!”

His laughter mixed in with your shouts of protests as Benji suddenly picked you up, spinning around in his arms.

The world suddenly went blurry for a moment as your lover twirled you, your eyes going in and out of focus. You felt dizzy whenever he finally let go of you, swaying a little bit until Benji steadied you.

When he did, you swore with everything inside of you were going to kill him.

“You idiot! What the hell were you thinking?”

Benji smiled sheepishly as you turned your fiery gaze on him, a mix of concern and anger lacing your voice. Worriedly, you glanced to the door, afraid that someone would burst through and discover him even though you had locked it.

With little time to protest, you were swept into his arms again and pulled against him.

“I was thinking that couldn’t help myself, my love. It is your nameday, and I had to see you,” He said softly, pressing his forehead to yours.

Instantly, some of your anger began to dissolve. You blamed not seeing him for weeks as the reason you began to fold so quickly, but some of your worry and panic still bled over.

“You had to? Benji you could have been caught! Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to be here right now? If my father or the guards had discovered you—”

Benji cut you off with a loud laugh.

“Your guards are the sorriest cunts I have ever seen in my life,” He snorted. “I could have snuck an entire army into Stone Hedge and no one would have batted an eye.”

“Hey!”

You playfully swatted his shoulder, giggling softly because you knew he was right. If your guards had done their jobs then Benji wouldn’t be here right now. Alone in a room with their Lord’s daughter, staring at her with a hungry look in his eyes.

A million different things ran through your mind. Everything from terror at getting caught to just being plain excited that he was here flooded your veins. You kept looking over your shoulder, expecting your door to burst open any second while Benji continued to hold you.

It took a few seconds, but when you were sure that no one was coming to seize your lover and take him away, a smile broke out on your face and you quickly embraced him back.

You threw your arms around Benji and held him tight, burying your head into the crook of his neck as you laughed lightly.

“Leave it to you, Benjicot Blackwood, to risk death and torture just to wish me a happy nameday,” You whispered, feeling his chest rumble underneath you.

Benji shrugged. “And to give you this,” He said cheekily, pulling away. When he did, you saw him reach into his pocket for a second before slowly pulling something out.

You bit your lip as Benji handed you a box, a velvet box with the Blackwood sigil embroidered on top.

With a curious look, you opened it up and then gasped at what you saw inside.

“This is…this is for me?” You asked incredulously.

Benji nodded, grinning.

“Of course it is, love. You’re the only Bracken I can give that to without loosing my head,” He teased slightly before continuing.

“D’you like it though? I had to go four towns over, all the way to The Crag so people wouldn’t ask questions. Figured it would have been strange if a Blackwood was caught asking someone to make a neckless with a Bracken sigil.”

The shyness that he sometimes was known for was evident on his face as he waited for your response, Benji nervously playing with his hands.

Luckily though, he didn’t have to wait long. He sighed in relief as he saw you grin, pulling him into another bone crushing hug and kissing his cheek.

“Benji…of course I love it,” You whispered in his ear, making him shiver. You could feel him relax underneath you, hugging you back as your eyes threatened to fill with tears.

“You mean it?” He asked, a bit more vulnerability shining through.

Your heart filled with more love that you thought was capable.

“Of course I mean it. How could I not?” You asked him softly. “It’s beautiful, and I can’t imagine it was easy for you to even have this made.”

You made a jest in order to keep yourself from crying.

Benji laughed lightly. “Aye. It nearly killed me to spend coin on that ugly red stag, but I think the back of it makes up for it. Look.”

He gestured for you to flip the necklace over and when you did, you discovered that it was double-sided. On the front, the sigil of house Bracken was carved, unassuming to anyone who saw it. But on the back…

You ran your fingers over the weirwood tree surrounded by ravens and lightly gasped. It was the sigil of House Blackwood, the symbol that belonged to the man you loved.

In tiny letters, barely visible unless you squinted, the initials B.B were engraved in one of the ravens.

Benjicot Blackwood.

“Oh. It’s beautiful Benji. Thank you,” You said again, your voice thick with emotion as you saw it. This time, you weren’t able to keep the tears from your eyes, one of them falling down your cheek as you sniffled.

Gently, Benji reached to your face and wiped it away. He smiled lightly and gestured for you to turn around. Taking the necklace from your hands, he then unclasped it and gently placed it around your neck.

When he did, he flipped it so that the symbol of House Blackwood showed instead.

“There. Just as it belongs,” He said.

Sniffling lightly, you allowed him to run his fingers over it, Benji placing soft kisses on your neck before turning you around.

When you did, you immediately planted your lips upon his, unable to resist it any longer.

You could tell that Benji was taken by surprise by the sudden action, but he quickly wasted no time in kissing you back. He matched the amount of passion in your kiss, greedily drinking in the taste of you after being starved for so long.

Not long after, what started as a soft, slow kiss turned into something more. The desperation that you both felt after not seeing each other for a while pooled over, and soon enough you found yourself tugging on his hair, wanting something more.

Benji clearly felt the same as he began to lead you towards the bed.

Gently, he laid you down on the soft covers and your heart pounded as he leaned over you.

Once more, his lips met yours in a swift kiss but this time it was accompanied by roaming hands.

You felt him touching you everywhere that he could, Benji feeling all of the parts that he missed.

His hands lingered on your waist and then your chest, fingers dancing over the material that covered your breasts. It was clear that just feeling you over your clothing wasn’t enough. He wanted more, and so you weren’t surprised when he broke the kiss, eyes hungry as he tugged on the yellow garb.

“Take this off,” He demanded softly, his dark eyes wild with lust.

Quickly, you sat up and with his assistance was able to get it off. Benji struggled a little bit when it came to your corset, resulting in your lover getting impatient.

Regrettably, this meant that you would have to explain to your Septa why the strings looked like they had been cut with a knife. A little annoyance pooled inside of you at the inconvenience, but you tried not to think about that as you stared at him, anxious to know what he wanted next.

“Turn around,” Benji then rasped, taking no time to drink in your naked body. “I want you on your knees, ass in the air.”

Despite his filthy words, his tone was oddly soft. Desire pooled in your core as you obediently listened, eager for whatever it was he had planned for you. You laid your head on your soft pillow, eyes fluttering shut as you felt the bed dip behind you.

You sighed as Benji kneeled in between your legs. In an instant, your felt his calloused hands roaming over your body, trailing all the way from the small of your back to the center of your core. Gently, his padded fingers traced your slick folds, eliciting a moan from you when they brushed over your clit.

“Fuck, how I’ve missed this.”

You said nothing as his fingers continued to tease your clit, too busy panting at the sensation.

It had been too long, you noted, since you had felt your lovers’ touch.

The more that tensions between your houses grew, the less time that you had to spend with Benji. It was too risky to be seen anywhere near Blackwood territory and your father had doubled the guards, making it nearly impossible to sneak out. Your meetings had been so few as of late, leaving you craving his touch like no other.

Eagerly, you wanted to take advantage of this opportunity, moaning when Benji sank a digit into your tight cunt. You cursed softly as he began to pump in and out, loving the way he curled them inside of you to reach your pleasure spots.

It seemed that your time apart did nothing to impact Benji’s memory. He still remembered exactly how to make you come undone, adding more and more digits until your cunt was stuffed.

The more fingers that he added, the louder you moaned. Pleasure that you had not experienced in weeks quickly began to cloud your senses, making you forget that you were supposed to be quiet in case anyone overheard you.

You could only imagine the disaster that would ensue if Benjicot Blackwood was discovered knuckle-deep inside of Lord Bracken’s daughter. Making her come undone on his fingers, slowly but surely, and whispering the filthiest of words in her ear.

You imagined that the aftermath wouldn’t be pretty, but alas all of those thoughts and worries faded away the minute you felt Benji kneel down, attaching his mouth to your cunt.

Any previous thoughts that you had were gone—replaced by muffled moans and incoherent blabber.

You whimpered as you felt Benji’s tongue lapping at your folds, eating your cunt like he was a man starved.

You felt him sucking on your clit, taking the bud into his mouth just as his index and middle finger curled against the right spot.

The combined pleasure had you gasping out, pillow forgotten as strangled cries left your lips.

Benji could feel your cunt tightening around his fingers and he smirked, coaxing you through your orgasm as you moaned and withered under him.

It took all he had to hold you down, using his free hand to keep your cunt firmly pressed against him. He refused to let up his assault until he could taste you on his tongue, the sweetness of your juices making him groan as well.

When he finally pulled away and released you from his hold, you managed to weakly look behind you and see him grinning. Benji licked his fingers, his face shiny with your arousal as he met your eyes.

“Hmm. So fuckin’ sweet. You want to taste, raven?”

Meekly you nodded, your face and your core burning at the nickname. Benji smiled as he leaned down to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his lips while he grinded into you.

You could feel his cock hard as stone poking against your thighs. The thought of him being inside of you after so long briefly made you loose the ability to breathe as excitement flooded your veins.

The action allowed for Benji to slip his tongue in your mouth, kissing you sloppily for a moment before reluctantly pulling away.

His wild eyes were dark with lust as he fiddled with his own clothing, loosening his trousers so that his cock could spring free.

You felt your mouth water as you watched him stroke himself for a moment, spurts of preseed dripping down the base.

Benji let a hand roam over your back and gently used it to push you down, spreading your legs so that he could settle in between them.

With your back arched and your face pressed firmly against the pillow once again, he teased you by dragging his cock along your folds and then, he pushed in.

Together, you both let out a whine as Benji’s cock sank inside of you, your lover letting out a swear as you gripped him tight.

It had been a while since the two of you had sex, and it was evident in the way your legs trembled, your cunt straining to take him as he sank deeper.

You let out another whine, reaching behind you for something to grip. Luckily Benji seemed to get the message clear enough, and quickly he intertwined your fingers together.

Once he was buried inside of you to the hilt, he stilled for a moment, trying to catch his breath. Light kisses were peppered against your back as he leaned over you, holding you as close as possible before his hips began to move.

In a slow rhythm, he dragged his cock in and out as if to savor the moment.

As his hips snapped against yours and sent jolts of ecstasy through your body, your moans slowly started to combine.

You had forgotten how much you missed this. You had forgotten how much you missed him. Loneliness was awful but often times it was easy to get accustomed to it. After all, it’s what you signed up for when you took a Blackwood for your lover.

You expected to go days, weeks, or even months without seeing Benji. So when he was here, you did all you could to savor him before he had to leave again.

Every breath, every groan, and every whisper of encouragement was committed to memory. Every touch, every kiss cherished.

You relished in the way Benji’s cock felt against your walls, squeezing him as if it would somehow help you remember how it felt.

A small curse left his lips as you did, Benji leaning down to suck a love bite on your skin.

As his teeth grazed your neck, you groaned as he somehow managed to find both of your sweet spots.

“That’s it. That’s it. Good girl. Good fuckin’ girl.”

Benji praised you as you began to fuck yourself on his cock, throwing your hips back and meeting his trusts. Your moans combined together as the pace sped up, the sound of heavy breathing quickly filling the room.

After a moment, you felt his weight shift off of your body as Benji opted to get back on his knees. He used his hands to keep your hips steady, pushing down on the small of your back to keep it arched.

With this new angle, he was able to drive into you quicker and repeatedly hit your sweet spot. Curses left his lips as you began to tremble around him, his own orgasm approaching at the same time as yours.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

You gripped the sheets tightly as obscenities left his mouth, feeling Benji quickly pull out of you just as your peak washed over you.

Hot spurts of his seed coated your back, Benji spilling himself onto your skin before finishing you off with his fingers.

The absence of his cock was most disappointing, but by the time you came down from your high you barely noticed.

You were too busy in a state of bliss, turning around to capture Benji in a kiss before shakily pulling away.

“Are you alright, my love?” He asked immediately, panting heavily as he collapsed next to you.

Sometimes, it amazed you how quickly he could change. One moment Benji was shy and sweet, giving you the most beautiful necklace for your nameday. And then the next he was making you cum, whispering the dirtiest things in your ear and fucking you so good that you saw stars.

Now, he had switched again, his soft side back on display as he held you in his arms.

He was careful enough not to cum inside of you and—much to your displeasure—had used your fancy yellow dress to wipe up his seed.

You suspected that he was too pleased by the action, but you opted not to say anything about it. Instead, you merely disregarded the dress and chose to cuddle in his arms, trying to soak the last remaining moments you had.

“Of course I’m alright. It is my nameday and I’ve just received the best gift of the night,” You replied after some pause.

You knew him well enough that you could practically hear the smirk appear on his face.

“What? The sex?” Benji asked cheekily, to which you playfully elbowed him.

“No you fool!” You giggled as you knew that was exactly what he was going to say. “The necklace! The necklace you risked life and limb to deliver to me personally!”

You rolled your eyes as Benji began to laugh behind you, the cheerful sound echoing through your chambers.

“Right, right. That is what I risked life and limb for,” He said innocently.

You didn’t have the energy to do anything expect roll your eyes again. You swore he was so stupid sometimes. From sneaking into enemy territory to making silly little jests, your Benji sure was a character to be reckoned with.

But, that was exactly what you loved about him.

Sighing softly, you shook your head and listened to the sound of his breathing. It remained steady behind you as Benji slowly relaxed, settling in your bed like he was simply at home.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that he was falling sleep. His body was certainly still enough to think so, but you knew as well as he did that he couldn’t stay here.

The party downstairs was slowly dying down. If you listened close enough, you could hear the final songs planned for the night dwindling down, and you knew pretty soon someone was going to come for you.

Benji couldn’t be here when they did.

Your father was probably already angry enough at your lack of presence. If he ever discovered the reason why you had so suddenly disappeared then he would have your head—Benji’s too.

And as much you loved lying in his arms, feeling the warmth and the love radiating from his body, you loved seeing Benji alive much more.

So, sure enough, as the final notes on the final songs began to play, he stood up.

“Well, I suppose that’s my cue to take leave, then.”

Benji smiled sadly as he began to gather his clothes, redressing while you watched him with despair. The sheets that were wrapped loosely around you began to fall as you stood as well, walking over to him just as he readjusted his dagger.

“Do you promise to come visit me soon?” You asked him anxiously.

Slowly, Benji began to nod. He knew as well as you did that soon was debatable. Tensions were at all time high as whispers of war breaking out in the Kingdom spread. They added to the already strained relations between your houses.

Still though, Benji could not bare to see your disappointment. He didn’t want to leave on a bad note, either, so he settled for an unserious answer to ease the situation.

“If your father doesn’t replace his guards any time soon then I’ll be able to visit you any time you’d like,” He chuckled.

He was met by a small giggle that had his heart smiling with joy. Softly, you gripped his hand, savoring his touch as you knew that it would be the last time for a while.

“Stay safe out there, Blackwood,” You told him softly. “Don’t get into any trouble and for Seven’s sake, leave the assize stones alone. Make sure that you come back to me, you hear?”

Your tone was playful, but he knew that you were being as serious as a dead man.

Briefly, his lips twitched a little as he fought the urge to tell you that it was your family that messes with the stones. But ultimately, he agreed.

“I will. I promise,” Benji said sincerely.

A soft kiss was then planted on your lips, you and Benji holding onto each other for one last time. When you pulled away, a sigh of disappointment left your lips as you watched him walk away.

Closing your eyes, you decided to count his footsteps until he reached the door.

When you got to ten, you heard the door open. And one last time, Benji called out to you.

“Oh. And Bracken?”

“Hmm?”

You opened your eyes to see that familiar goofy smile, his eyes shining as he looked at you.

“I almost forgot to tell you, but happy nameday, my love. I do hope that this was a good one,” Benji laughed.

And with that, he closed the door, leaving you smiling and shaking your head behind him.

That fool. What one earth am I going to do with you, Benjicot Blackwood?

[illyrianshadow]

Lost in Shadows (pt. II)

Summary: After centuries apart, you see him again — Azriel, the boy who once kept you safe in the shadows of Windhaven.

But now he’s a stranger and you’re left wondering: does he remember? And is your connection, fated or forgotten, still strong enough to bring you together?

Warnings: mentions of difficult home life, most likely angst in future chapters (and potential smut)

A/N: I still can't believe how many of you interacted with the first part of this! From the bottom of my heart, thank you!! A little bit more back story in this chapter. Hopefully the switching of POV's isn't too confusing. As always, any feedback more than welcome.

ps, let me know if you want me to make a taglist

Word count 2.25K

Part 1 | Part 3

—————-

The day you left Windhaven was one of the worst ones of your life. 

You had overheard your father tell one of his friends that he had promised you to a male named Kaelen, a warrior from Frost Edge, a nearby camp known for its strong traditional views and values on the treatment of Illyrian females.

Now that your 18th birthday had come he could finally send you away, to him. You were to become his wife. 

You’re a unique Illyrian female. Born to a high fae mother and Illyrian father, you never had wings of your own but did possess Illyrian anatomy, something that was extremely rare. 

For centuries, your father had pursued high fae females in the hope he’d one day have a wingless child. 

He picked young, impressionable fae, females that did not know about the dangers of giving birth to a winged babe. Your mother fell right into his trap and after a short courtship she fell pregnant. When you were born, wingless as your father had always dreamed off, he was convinced that they were cauldron blessed. It was so incredibly rare, the mother must have granted him the ultimate gift. 

He became obsessed with having another child. Your mother fell pregnant again within the year and died when giving birth to your brother. You didn’t remember her, your brother didn't survive. 

Your wingless back was your fathers pride, the ultimate “clipping”, a daughter born to serve on the ground not soar in the skies. 

His voice was filled with pride as he told the other male that you were send away to be used for breeding. As if you were some prize mare that was only good for producing offspring. Wing clipping was standard in Frost Edge and wingless females were worshipped above all. They had heard of your rare anatomy and hoped you would be able to pass your rare genetics on to the next generation. 

You shouldn’t have been surprised, he’d never seen you as anything more than a cleaner and a cook. 

Your father did always say you had ridiculous notions. Wanting to have a job, wanting to travel and see the other courts. Whenever you expressed wanting to do anything besides cleaning his house and looking after him, he would shut you down immediately.  

He had treated you like this from a young age, and as you grew older you became more and more isolated. Your father forbade you to interact with any of the Illyrian males in the camp, and the other females were afraid to come near you because of your father's reputation. Your friendship with Azriel was the only thing keeping you sane.  

The colour drained from your face as you heard your father's words.

You knew you couldn’t stay. You would have to leave, get out as fast as you could. You headed back into your room and started packing the few belongings you had as the reality of it all hit you. 

You could never come back, it would never be safe. Not until your father was gone, or dead. 

You were furious, tears streaming down your face as you thought of what leaving really meant. You would lose him, Azriel. 

You grabbed a pen and a bit of paper. You had to leave him a note, you had to tell him how much he meant to you. You stared at the sheet for what felt like an eternity, trying to find the words that could convey the depth of your feelings. Nothing came to mind. In the end you opted for a short explanation of the situation at hand instead. You told him you had to leave Windhaven for your own safety, and you told him that you loved him more than anything in the world. 

When your father had left the house, oblivious to you overhearing his earlier conversation, you sneaked out into the forest to leave the note in your hiding place.

And then you were gone. 

You fled to Velaris hoping you would be able to find passage on a ship that could take you to the day court. In your first days there you noticed one of Azriel’s shadows. He had sent one after you as soon as he realised you were gone and it had followed you all the way to the city. His gifts were still untrained and his shadows were young, but they were drawn to you like moths to a flame. Sending one after you to find you had been easy. 

You felt its presence, being so used to the feeling of having them close. They couldn' t hide from you.

You whispered to it to return to its master, that it wasn’t safe for you to be tracked. You told it to tell Azriel that he needed to let you go. You made a promise you would try and find your way back to him one day when it was safe for you to return. 

You had never thought it would take more than 500 years for you to do so. 

—————- 

Present day, Azriel’s POV 

He knows you are here as soon as you walk through the door. His shadows calm in a way they have not done for over 500 years. A quiet, soothing feeling. It’s as if they say he can stop looking, he can relax, you are here. 

“Alive,” they whisper in his ear; “found, safe.” 

His heart rate picks up, his palms become sweaty. This is it, the moment he has been dreaming of for centuries. Confirmation that you are okay, that you are still breathing. Now that it has arrived he is unsure of what to do with himself. 

Even though he can sense you are there he has no idea if you’ll remember who he is. 

He’s sitting with his back to you and even though he is the Spymaster of the night court (and one of the most feared warriors in Illyrian history), the thought of turning around and looking at you leaves him feeling unsettled. 

The reality of it all is utterly terrifying. 

What if he finds your gaze and there is no recognition in your eyes? Or worse. What if you do recognise him and are disappointed by the male he has become? 

He’d rather keep looking forward and stay oblivious for all eternity than live in that reality. 

Azriel is so different from the boy he used to be. He’s learned to close himself off over the centuries. He’s become guarded, distanced, learned to keep his cards close to his chest. Some would even describe him as cold. 

Years of training as an illyrian warrior and being the Spymaster of the night court will do that to a male. 

The open vulnerability he had displayed towards you as a child was for you and you alone. When you disappeared out of his life you took that part of him with you. 

How is he meant to live up to the image you undeniably still have of him? 

The image of a boy untainted by murder and violence. Your best friend who would wrap you in his shadows and cloak you in darkness whenever you needed to feel safe. You once explained to him the feeling of them made you feel grounded, protected. You saw them as something beautiful. No one else had ever looked at them that way. 

You knew him as a boy that had only ever used his shadows for good, not the illyrian warrior who had hurt and tortured countless people. Who had used his shadows to instill fear rather than offer them to people as a safety blanket. 

The only similarity between him and who he had once been are the boyish curls framing his face and the scarred hands clenching his drink.

He is scarred, broken. 

He tries to ground himself by bringing his attention back to his family. Mor is waving her arms around enthusiastically as she recalls something adorable Nyx had done when she’d last visited the river house. 

He’s hoping his frequent nodding and occasional “hmhm-ing” will be enough to convince her he is fully engaged in whatever story she is telling him. 

“And then Nyx picked up Cassian and threw him across the room.” 

Azriel snaps out of his trance at her latest words. “Nyx did what now?”

“Finally! I’ve been spouting nonsense at you for ages. Rhys and I have been having a bet going for the last 5 minutes to see how long it would take for you to notice." She turns to Rhys with a triumphant smile on her face. “Pay up.” 

Rhys rolls his eyes. “Don’t pretend I don’t already pay for everything your heart desires, dear cousin.” he says, a feline smile gracing his lips. “I think we can probably call it even.” 

Mor gasps and grabs her chest as if wounded. “Me, spending your money? I would never.” she says in mock exasperation. 

This immediately results in a discussion about Mor's spending habits as Rhys starts listing the countless things Mor has bought with his money in the last week alone. 

Offering the perfect opportunity for Azriel to let his thoughts wander back to you. 

His shadows start whispering again, reporting your movements to him. “Watching.” They whisper. “Staring.” 

Is it because you recognise who he is? Or is it because the sight of an Illyrian sitting in a crowded bar in Velaris has grabbed your attention?

If your shared past is anything to go off, the sight of one of your own kind will undeniably have put your guard up. You might be watching him out of habit, to make sure he doesn’t do anything unpredictable. 

Rhys’ voice suddenly crowds the space inside his mind. “As much as I enjoy watching whatever inner conflict you are having brother, I just wanted to inform you that there’s an incredibly beautiful female staring at your back.” 

Azriel’s breath hitches at his brother's comment and he feels a pang of jealousy knowing that Rhys has seen you before he has had the chance. The high lord raises his eyebrows when he notices the effect of his words. 

“I’m surprised you haven’t noticed. Some Spymaster you are. Should I be reconsidering your position in my court?” he continues, a teasing tone lacing his words. 

Azriel just glares at him in response, resulting in Mor pouting at the both of them when she notices the exchange. “Oi, stop having conversations in your head you two. It’s rude to gossip in the presence of a lady.” 

Rhys just snorts at that remark and brings his attention back to her as their bickering continues. 

This time the High Lord opts for commentary on the mountain of incredibly unladylike situations he has seen his cousin in while out at Rita’s.  

“Moving.” his shadows whisper “Getting up. Walking.”  

Azriel’s shadows start to stir, becoming restless just like their master. Were you leaving? 

Still too scared to turn around, he sends one of his shadows after you to investigate your movements. 

“Bar” it reports back and Azriel lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. You weren’t going anywhere. 

Good. This was good. He just needed a little bit more time. 

—————- 

Reader POV 

You need another drink. You’ve been staring at Azriel for god knows how long and since you can’t seem to find the courage to approach him, you need something to distract your busy mind. 

A trip to the bar will have to do. Maybe an additional drink (or 5, or 10) will help you find the courage you need, or at least quiet down your anxious mind. 

As soon as you start walking you think you notice something. A presence, something calming. The feeling disappears just as quickly as it had come on. You must be imagining things. 

As you make your way over to the bar you realise that if you were to turn around and head back with your drink, you’d have to look at Azriel face on. 

Flustered by the idea you decide to settle on one of the bar stools in the corner instead. You take a deep breath and when your drink arrives you hold on to it for dear life. You down it way too fast and order another one, which turns into a third and then a couple of shots. 

The pace at which you're drinking seems to keep the other people in the bar at bay. No one really pays you any mind or approaches the corner you are sitting in. Good. 

As the alcohol starts to cloud your judgement and you begin to feel its full effects, you decide that it’s time. Consequences be damned, you cannot leave here tonight without speaking to him. 

You can’t lose him again. 

You turn and jump up from your seat, misjudging the full effect the alcohol has had on you. You stumble forward and you would have fallen face first on the ground had strong, scarred hands not steadied you. 

You are many, way too many, drinks deep.

Your eyes grow wide as you look at the hands holding you upright, knowing damn well who they belong to. 

As you look up into a pair of hazel eyes, you feel your whole world slow. Your chest fills with warmth and you feel a longing, something familiar but also incredibly new. 

It’s as if your heart is reaching out to his. It’s like something is tying your souls together. 

It’s that familiar feeling his shadows used to give you. A quiet calm, a steadying comfort. 

And that’s when you know. You’d probably always known deep down. 

Mate.

[autumnmobile12]

Natsuo is more like his father than he wants to admit...and it is both tragic and unsettling.

Disclaimer: Not a criticism of Natsuo. I actually like this character. It is just a comparison study and a commentary of actions vs reactions. Natsuo is NOT a bad person for any of his choices.

He does what he wants without regard for what the people around him want.

Sure, he'll go along with certain requests, like going to the family dinner because Fuyumi asked him to.

However, rather than be a polite host, he decides he'd rather embarrass his sister by being angry at their father all through said dinner and making things awkward for their guests. He didn't have to be there. Whoever he's talking to on the phone after the fact, maybe the girlfriend, he apologizes for bailing on their plans. He didn't even have to white-lie to Fuyumi. He straight up had other plans that night. So there are two ways you could look at this:

He conceded to a request to support his sister...then half-assed it.

Or he canceled his plans and went out of his way to be a prick.

He's not wrong for hating his father, that is 100% a normal reaction to an abusive parent, but he is wrong for not establishing his own concrete boundaries or respecting Fuyumi's.

Like Endeavor, Natsuo is pretty isolated within the family.

Mom’s out of the picture and contact with her is limited.

We all know what his relationship with his father is like.

His closest sibling 'died' when they were kids, but even then, Touya and Natsuo's relationship wasn't a good one. We know Touya spent years trauma-dumping on Natsuo, and little bro took it like a champ. Supporting one's siblings like that is admirable, but it does highlight a key difference between the brothers. Touya has memories of a happy childhood with their father. Natsuo does not. So he had to listen to his older brother crying for a past he knows nothing about, which had to have brought on a little resentment. "At least Dad loved you once. I never even got that much."

As stated above, Natsuo doesn't see eye to eye with Fuyumi. At least not enough that he respects her decision to forgive their father. Whether he supports that decision or not, he should love his sister more than he hates their father, and starting shit unprovoked over a dinner she asked him to be at is not a supportive decision.

His relationship with Shouto is hard to gauge. They were raised apart, sure, but they lived in the same house. So the fact that he didn't know Shouto's favorite food until he was fifteen is...odd. Natsuo never tried to have a conversation with him in passing? But I have a theory about that. With how Shouto behaved in the very beginning of the series, the mirror-image of their arrogant father, I think Natsuo had a, “Fuck, now there’s two of them," moment and actively avoided association with his younger brother. This may have contributed to him moving out even though he attends a college that's close enough that that he can casually stop by for dinner.

He Actually Does Get Violent.

Not with other people, thankfully, but he does slam his fist against the door in this scene, which is an act of aggression.

This makes for an intense moment in animation, sure, but if you saw a person do this in real life, you’d be nervous about where that fist is going next.

I already went over this in the Endeavor analysis that I made a few months back, but the gist of it is taking out your anger on inanimate objects is unhealthy because you're training your brain to associate anger with violence, which has the potential to make it harder to dissociate in the long run.

In his own way, he did abandon his family.

Fuyumi tells him to leave the family circumstances to her....and he just left her to it? She went to college to become a teacher and made a career work in spite of living in a volatile home. The series doesn't say where Natsuo is a student at, but he clearly lives close enough to home that he can drop by for a visit, so it's not like he went to some prestigious university out of town.

So yeah. Left his remaining brother and sister to their father.

The other point, though, is he's canonically studying medical welfare.

Medical welfare is the consideration of patient wellbeing, preserving individual dignity, promoting quality of life, and taking a holistic approach to healthcare that applies mental and emotional care to a patient, not just physical.

So it's ironic this is where his brother ends up and he says absolutely nothing about it. Nothing about promising to come see him, nothing about asking the staff if this really the best arrangement they could come up with, no promises to Touya that he'll figure something out. He just ghosts and, like their father, that is really hypocritical.

In the end, he puts his own hate and feelings above everyone else’s.

This one's pretty closely related to my first point, but it does bear reiterating for the finale. Natsuo's decision to never see his father again is ultimately going to hurt his family more than it's going to spite Endeavor.  Going no-contact is a healthy choice and I don’t fault him for it at all.  But if he sticks to it, it’s going to lead to some serious ramifications down the road.

If he's strict enough to refuse to be in the same vicinity as Endeavor:

He won’t attend Touya’s funeral and support his grieving mother and siblings if Endeavor will be there.

Since we see in the epilogue Rei stays with Endeavor, Natsuo visiting her is going to be complicated.

If Fuyumi gets married, she might want her father at the wedding. Is Natsuo going to skip his sister’s wedding out of spite?

If Shouto gets married and decides to let their father be there, same story.

If Endeavor outlives Rei, will Natsuo miss her funeral?

And finally, Natsuo might have to come to terms with the fact his own children may want to meet their grandfather, which is a decision he can only control until they’re legal adults.  He can tell them how much of a monster Endeavor was all he wants, but those kids may still be curious about meeting the man in person, especially if they hear stories from other family members and know the former No. 2 and No. 1 is their grandfather.

I’m not saying Natsuo should forgive Endeavor, or even stop being angry with him because he has every right to his anger. But if he still wants a relationship with the rest of the family, he is going to have to exercise some form of compromise.  Especially with his children because he unfortunately has all the hallmarks to become the next Kotaro Shimura. This is a society where kids want to be heroes, and then there's Natsuo who has a history with the dark side of hero society, no matter the good Shouto does.

[womanofwords]

Everybody's Favourite (Part 14)

You started spending weekdays over at the Iceberg Lounge, much to the Batfam's chagrin. Each time, your excuse for leaving rubbed them the wrong way.

"Sorry, meeting investors for the Ice Block! One of them's Japanese, so I have to be there to translate!"

"I'm discussing prices for the ice creams with Papa!"

"Uncle Harvey and I are discussing logos and copyright law for the business!"

"That's it. I'm ending this myself," Damian said. "Nobody steals my sibling and gets away with it."

"Damian, do not try to seek Y/N out," Bruce warned, although his heart broke to say such a thing. "It'll just make things worse."

You were making headlines a lot, too, and not only for being Gotham's wounded dove. As it turned out, you were a legend.

Y/N Wayne Throws 5th Birthday Party For Pothole That Is Five Years Old

Y/N Wayne Found Flying Around Gotham On Hoverboard

Y/N Wayne Caught Commanding Birds; Claims Their Papa Taught Them

"Father, Y/N can't actually command birds, can they?" Damian asked.

"I . . . have no idea," Bruce admitted. "I really have no idea."

Tim's sleep schedule got worse with each headline; every time a new one was released, he would stay up all of the next night cyberstalking you. It only made things worse.

Click. There you were, opening the first Ice Block location. Click. You were visiting the zoo with Oswald, feeding the parrots. Click. You were painting your nails black, white, and gold. Cobblepot colours, you called it.

They also noticed your stuff moving out. It was just some trivial trinkets at first, but then it became bigger and more important stuff. Weirdly enough, nobody ever saw anybody move anything. It just . . . vanished.

One day, you moved out for good. You left a letter on your bed (one of the last pieces of big furniture left behind) for Alfred to read.

Dear former family,

For ten years, I have been in this house with you, eating the same foods at the same table, but with a seat far removed from you all. I have tried to invite you into my life, telling you about trivial school matters and asking you your opinions on clothing choices, but to no avail. I watched my father shut me out of his life, only throwing me cold looks like a prison warden throwing scraps of rotten food at a starving prisoner. It hurt so much to watch you shower everyone but me with love and affection, making it clear who your favourites were and weren't.

I had so many questions to ask you, Bruce, questions I have contented myself with being left unanswered. How did you meet my mother? Why didn't you know about me earlier? If my mother hadn't died, would you ever know I existed? Life at Wayne Manor wouldn't have looked any different without me, except Damian wouldn't have had anybody to torment.

Everything changed when I was taken. It was terrifying at first, but I settled into a routine very quickly. Papa noticed my talents and potential very quickly, and my aunts and uncles took a shine to me very quickly. Finally, I knew what parental love felt like, how it felt to be surrounded by people who actually wanted to know you, rather than people who had to put up with you.

But it wouldn't last. Batman had to come in and ruin it on your behalf, suspiciously after the fourteen-day video we'd made. I could only watch in horror as my family were beaten up by him and his Batkids and I was kidnapped again.

When I was returned to Wayne Manor, you acted different. You went from cold to overly affectionate. It unnerved me. Dick called me 'baby bird', Bruce fed me lies about my papa, and Damian brought up the nauseating fact about me being his blood sibling. The last people I wanted to see were too close for comfort, and the people I did want to see were forced away from me. You really pick your moments, don't you?

Being around you long-term is nothing short of bad luck. I go for a walk with Stephanie and I get a drink thrown at my head and my 'sister' using me as a human shield. I go with you to a gala and become acquainted with your horrifying unpopularity. It is embarrassing to be seen with you.

So I'm leaving. I can't be with family members that only try and build a relationship when they fear a loss of status. By the time you read this, I will be legally adopted into the Cobblepot family. (Adult adoption's a thing, you know.) I will be sending you all restraining orders very shortly, except for Alfred. I hold no ill will towards him. However, if he ever tries relaying messages from you to me, I will cut him off without delay. I will also be tipping off Animal Control about Titus, since no normal ten-year-old should be commanding a vicious animal. If the authorities find out about your vigilante lives, then so be it. You are, as of this moment, not my problem.

I do desire that we become better strangers than family.

(Not) yours,

Y/N Cobblepot.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14 <- You are finished

Taglist: @tinybrie, @enchantingarcadecreation, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @sh4rk-k1d, @prorpy, @angelicbear, @sulleha, @sirenetheblogger, @omgfangirlland, @heather-hutchcroft, @wannaflyaway, @jaybunsblog, @sugarrush-blush, @redkarmakai, @asillysimp, @type-ink, @jellyedkazoo, @lonely-nerd-sodaholic

OK, folks, that's it! You're at the end of the line with this fanfic; I have posted the very last part. Thank you for the nourishment (likes and reblogs) and the encouragement (comments)! I will be back soon with a new multi-part story, and I'll let you pick which one comes on first.

[longagoitwastuesday]

Gushing about Gojo and Megumi and how they are or could have been everything to me I forgot to mention that I really really really love Yuuji. Like, a lot