#I'M DEAD GONE EXPIRED

[sunsetandthemoon]

“I’m sorry.”

KINNPORSCHE THE SERIES (2022)

[thinkingaboutjaedyn]

it wasn't me [t.rodman x reader]

prompt: trinity refuses admit to stealing your clothes

author notes: the word for this mini fic is "steal" obviously. i swear this is the most trinity coded fic i have written for her. i'm knocking out a request for more trin fics and helping myself write more, killing two birds with one stone. hope y'all like it 💞

trinity has a problem. actually the right word would be an addiction. she can't stop herself from stealing your clothes. the mix of your perfume and body wash you use rubs off on your clothes, making her heart all happy so can you really blame her? it was a cute habit except for when you needed to actually wear your clothes and half of your closet was gone. still you never stop her, so trinity happily indulges in her you-based addiction.

the only downside of this is the fact trinity does not like admitting it. even if everyone obviously knows it. this isn't even due to a pride thing, the american player just doesn't like to admit it. in her mind technically your clothes are her clothes so is it really stealing?

"baby! have you seen my mickey mouse pajama pants? it's going to be a little chilly and i wanna wear them," you shout out as you look through the closet in your bedroom. trinity comes into the room when she responds, "nope. haven't seen it, babes." she leans against the door frame, watching you look through your closet.

unlike you, trinity was already dressed. it was around ten am and practice started at twelve pm, so you forced her to get up eight to get ready. she groaned the entire time and demanded kisses after she did every part of her routine. you happily obligated every time.

"ugh.." you let out a groan. just deciding to give up on your idea of being extra comfy in your pajama pants and instead grabbing some black sweatpants. at least it matches your white graphic tee and the grey jacket you planned to wear out. you turn, dropping the sweatpants on your bed before coming over to trinity. "are you sure you haven't seen them?" you mumble into her chest after hugging her. trinity straightens up to hug you back properly. swaying a bit as she rests her face against the top of her head.

"nope. i don't even remember you having a pair of mickey mouse pajama pants. maybe you just made that up"

"wow, am i being gaslight right now?" you joke making her laugh loudly. the hug goes on for a long moment before you pull away. "gotta slip on these pants so we can go. i want to stop by that brunch place you like to get breakfast," you move away from the door and go to stand next to your bed.

"what? the spirit cafeteria breakfast food isn't good enough for you anymore?" trinity leans back against the doorframe. a badly hidden smirk on her lips as she watches you near your bed.

"don't you know? when someone gets famous they have higher standards. it comes with the fame," you put on a fake sad tone when saying the last sentence. trinity snorts, rolling her eyes. "oh god, where has my humble girlfriend gone?" she says.

"she's dead," you shrug before glancing at the clock sitting on one of your nightstands, "alright. get out so i can change."

"i can't watch my own girlfriend?"

"sorry, no. that choice expired after the last time we didn't go anywhere," you give her a fake pout before making a shoing gesture. the american player lets out a long groan before moving away from your room. going off into the kitchen to eat up half of your snacks.

it doesn't take long for you to get fully ready. having to also do your hair and find your training kit which somehow ended up in the guest bedroom. trinity and you leave out of the house at 10:40. with you carrying both of y'all bags since trinity claimed her arms hurt. you throw the bags into the back seat before getting into the driver's seat. trinity was already in the passenger seat before you put the bags away. you get ready to drive off, but is stopped by trinity saying, "wait!"

"what?" you look over at her, a confused expression on your face. the american player just smiles, "i have to go grab something. i forgot."

you just shrug when she gets out of the car. five minutes after going into the house, trinity comes back out. the shock on your face can't even be described as you watch trinity walk out of the house in your mickey mouse pajama pants. the one that she specifically said she didn't even knew you had.

trinity gets into the car just like before. snapping in her seat belt before looking over at you, "alright. let's go! i'm still starvinggg."

you give her a blank stare. thinking that would be enough for her to realize the current irony going on, but nope, trinity just looks away from you. focusing on connecting her playlist to the aux. "you know ashley texted me yesterday and she's actually getting along well in north carolina. i never thought i would hear her say that, weird," trinity's face scrunches up in slight disgust before shrugging.

"baby.."

"what?"

"why do you have on my pajama pants? i was looking for those!" you say as you pull out of the driveway. the american player side eyes you before looking out of the window instead of directly at you.

"i don't know what you're talking about," after saying this trinity tries to change the subject, but you aren't letting up. you keep reminding her of the earlier conversation you two had, but trinity denies that it even happens.

you drop the topic at brunch. enjoying the moments of eating nicely made bacon and pancakes while trinity gossips her head off. you try to bring it back up when y'all get back in the car to drive to practice, but trinity still doesn't let up so you drop it.

practice goes by smoothly with trinity annoying you every five minutes. you two go back to your place afterwards and slow down for the rest of the day. it's around ten pm when you bring the topic back up; and it wasn't even your fault.

trinity is in the shower while you're scrolling on twitter. mostly seeing fan tweets and bad jokes when a post about trinity catches your eye. on the tweet is the photo the washington spirit posted on instagram of trin's pre-practice outfit. she's waving in the photo while walking, with you trailing closely behind her. the tweet says the way the pants don't even reach trin's ankles. we all know who pants those are 😭

you immediately send that to trinity's phone. ready to start up the conversation once again after your thoughts were affirmed by some stranger on twitter; thank you to that fan.

© thinkingaboutjaedyn

[momotonescreaming]

💚 + steddie!

Of course! Hope this is the sort of thing you were after 😂

Prompt:💚 true love's kiss / magic kiss / healed

---

Eddie was going to die.

Actually, for real this time. The sun was beating down thick and hot, and Eddie was outside. Exercising. Sweating like a sinner in church, smelling like an expired ham, hair sticking to his flushed skin. Sweat plastering it to his forehead, his neck, because he refused to put his hair up.

It wasn't part of his aesthetic, Steve.

He's regretting it now. Some fresh air on his neck sounds delightful right about now. Eddie groans, hands braced on his knees, heaving in a breath through his aching lungs. Gasping in air, arms fucking trembling with the force of keeping himself up. Basketball abandoned on the ground, rolling across the concrete of Steve's driveway. He watches it go, not making a move to stop it. Steve asked if he wanted to shoot hoops with him, and Steve just looked so excited Eddie couldn't say no.

And now he's here, dying in the middle of Steve's driveway. Basketball hoop above him, mounted to the garage wall. Taunting him. A bead of sweat drips down his face, hot and salty.

Steve the bastard, looks fucking energised. Hair swept off of his face, eyes sparkling in the sun, teeth shiny and white as he grins over at Eddie. Skin glowing, tanned and shiny and fresh. He's so in his element right now, it's not even funny. Clad in a stretched out tank top and gym shorts, loose and worn and showing off acres of delicious skin. Thick thighs, chiselled biceps, chest hair on show. Eddie kind of wants to lick him, taste the sweat. Fuck, his boyfriend's so fucking hot.

"Wanna shoot some more?" Steve asks, grinning and raising an eyebrow over at Eddie as he stops the basketball with his sneaker. Glee fucking leaking out of his face, through every sweaty pore.

Eddie groans, tipping his head towards the sky and letting himself tumble dramatically to the ground. Crumple into a sweaty pile in front of the Harrington's garage door. Still groaning, feeling the sun smothering him like a blanket -- Eddie starfishes out on the concrete.

"Can't," he wheezes in reply, still trying to catch his breath. "I'm dead. I'm gone. A magical spell has fallen upon me, cursing my moral flesh to slip into a sleep so deep, no man or mortal can wake me."

"Oh yeah?" Steve says with a smile, raising an eyebrow. He catches Eddie's eye, and lets out a gigglesnort as Eddie makes another melodramatic groan and sticks his tongue out. Closes his eyes against the glare of the sun. "You sure about that?"

"Maybe, just maybe," Eddie starts, opening an eye just enough to look over at Steve. Holds back a grin of his own. "Maybe I could be woken by true love's kiss?"

"Coming right up, Sleeping Beauty," Steve says, humour leaking out through his words. Eddie shutting his eyes again as soon as he spots Steve heading towards him on the ground. Leaning on the concrete next to him, radiating heat. He lets himself breathe, take a moment, as Steve's calloused hands brush his sweaty off of his face. Trail down his face, cradling his cheeks.

And then they're kissing.

Right in the middle of the Harrington's driveway. Slow and sweet and getting deeper with every passing second. Steve tastes like sweat, like the Gatorade he had earlier, as Eddie tries to lick his way into his mouth. Brings his hands up to grasp at whatever part of Steve he can - his tank top, his waist - and hold on tight as Steve kisses him breathless.

---

Send me a heart! Prompt me!

[dev1lm4n]

offering

pairings: jackson-era!joel miller x f!reader

summary: angsty; joel thinks more of your accidental visit, you think he still views you as one of his whores.

pt. 2 to winter coat

word count: 2.1k

warnings: explicit (18+), mentions of sexual actions, sorta manipulative n emotionally unavailable joel, but nothin' too dark, age gap if you squint.

notes: i'm sorry for taking ages! i got accepted in college so things r easier now. pls let me know if u want a smutty pt.3 lol

In the beginning, Joel Miller thought that it was pity.

Morbid curiosity was a close second. It’s like being stuck in a Monday morning traffic jam on the highway and as you creep along at a snail’s pace, a terrible collision happens. Although there’s nothing in particular that’s knotting you and the accident, you feel the sickening curiosity to observe the damage. To stare, to take a good look at the misfortune. For him it’s more than peeping, it’s sticking his nose in the messy pie. Swirling the jam with his dirty, bare fingers. 

He liked to watch you crawl out of the grimy one-bedroom flat you like to call your home. A pretty smile snug on your lips, smelling like the 2003 Bath & Body Works vanilla body spray you got from him. He enjoyed you making pathetic attempts in being friendly with him. You always made sure to pursue, pursue, and pursue, even when the thin line under his unruly mustache was an obvious no. Always made sure you brought him a can of old soda, a half-empty tin of mints, or unlabelled cassette tapes whenever you’d return from wherever it is you go to scavenge. The things you’re offering him sometimes still baffle him.

With a twinkle of admirable optimism, you’d try to bribe your way into Joel’s collection of things. A winter coat first. Then, gloves and expired Christmas cookies. It was a small collection per say, but it’s much better than the left over items you find on your so-called ‘runs’ around Boston. Things are always already picked out everywhere in the city and you could never seem to build up the courage to leave the gates. You’re too weak and foolish to route your way out in the wild. A kiss with death wasn’t exactly your thing. It was Joel’s thing.

He relished in the fact that you and him both knew that deep down; you’re tethered to him. 

Joel Miller pitied you with every inch of his aching body and perhaps that’s why he’s constantly finding himself waiting for you. Legs spread on his half-sunken couch, vodka in hand as he expected you to knock on his door. Three was the number you’d always knock. Thursdays and Sundays were your favorite days since you’re usually free of duties. Ten was the amount of steps you took. Sweet was your scent and darlin’ was your name.

You’re his favorite pastime show. That’s why he's bothered when you stopped coming on schedule, stopped following the sacred routine. Joel’s first instinct was of a petulant child. At first, it was reaping new helpless damsels to pamper. Then comes the unnecessary aggression. Quarrels that had him littered in royal blue bruises and everyone that crossed him dead in a ditch. But you never came. Never knocked on his door again.

Until now.

You’re gone before he knows it. Cookies were your offering this time, decent ones that don't taste like sandpaper. Does this mean you’d need him again? He swore he tried to wait it out. Tried to sit still in the qualms of his home, hoping for you to be the one to relapse into his tousled salt-and-pepper and sharp pine scent. But you didn’t. You hadn’t come over to knock three times on his door on a Thursday afternoon and took ten steps to get wrapped up in his fingers. 

He’s now actively seeking for you. Asking around as subtle as he could to figure out what exactly you do these days. Tommy said a seamstress, others said preschool teacher, then a few said stablehand as well. Every time he barged his way into a shop, calmly asking for your whereabouts, he’d always be met with a head shake. You’re a ghost it seems. The more he searched for you, the more you delve deep into nonexistence. That or you’ve deliberately played cat and mouse to avoid him. Afraid that he’d be dragging you back to the trenches of Boston, of who you and him were.

It’s not hard to catch a whiff of Joel Miller when he’s coming your way. He’s tall and brooding. A cloud of grump, stomping his way through town. People will talk. Anytime someone mentions his trudging footsteps, you’d be out of that facility in a second. Your role in the commune was to help out in a multitude of jobs, which means endless hiding spots from the thunder that’s tailing you around. You knew that scurrying away from him means avoiding him for just a limited period of time. You knew that he’d end up figuring out your pretty little tactics like he’s always had, but it’s better than the alternative: confrontation.

An odd rush of dread coursed through your veins at the mere sight of him. 

Everything came back to you in an instant. The thing is, there used to be a locked chest on the back of your head. A place where you managed to compress the terrible things you’ve witnessed and comprehended throughout all these years of surviving. All the death, vile gore, the things that teared away every inch of your humanity. It’s all jumbled up with the scarce romance and twisted affection you received in between. Your Pandora's box has grown dusty from the years you’ve spent in Jackson, draped by a blanket of comfort and pushed even further into where no one could reach. Sure, it’s unresolved, but at least you don’t have to look at that ugly part of you ever again. 

Those steely eyes of his was the key and even without having him say anything, he’s unleashed the flipside of what you are. Alarms blared in your head. The red and blue lights flashing brightly in the gathering gloom of winter evening. He was trouble and you knew it.

You were quick to shut the door close again, but he was even faster in lodging his arms between the door and the frame. He didn’t push forcefully like he’s interested in breaking in. He’s just stopping you from closing the door, effectively creating a gap. Carrying heavy logs of wood and slabs of meat might’ve increased your strength by a bit, but Joel was no match for you. It’s impossible to beat him in the one thing he’s good at.

You gave up.

From your warm lungs came white clouds as you heaved in front of him, knuckles grown equally white against the edge of the birch wood. You looked up at him. He’s looking down at you and now you two are engaged in some fucked up version of a staring contest. Three apparent lines of horizontal wrinkles appeared on his forehead, then a couple in between his knitted brows. You could watch his rounded brown eyes droop, a gleam of hope flourished. He’s silently begging you to undo your resolve.

You gave in.

Your front door creaked open. The dense brick wall you’ve built for five consecutive years was torn away at his arrival. Brick by brick, little by little. Your bodies’ slight tilt to the side was your idea of a warm welcome into the heavenly space you’ve considered home. It’s infinitely better than the flat you owned in Boston. It’s a lot more personal; cluttered with old photographs, borrowed books, and lukewarm herbal tea. Most of it was just ways to fill the empty shell you’ve become. He took a step forward, then politely toed his muddy work boots off near your neatly arranged shoe rack. Wordlessly at that.

“Joel.”

The older looked back at your imposing figure, heart pounding against his ribcage at the trivial mention of his name.

“What are you doing here?”

You sounded distant, unlike the cheery version that came up to his doorstep the previous day. Yet your tone still reeked of the same old youth and innocence.

He swallowed thin air, hoping that it’d relieve the bitter taste on the back of his tongue.

“Your cookies.”

He uttered like it held some sort of relevance. When he’s met with a cute quirk of your eyebrow, he tounged the insides of his cheek. Nervous.

“It’s an offering, isn’t it?”

He questioned. Joel was unsure, you knew that much from the way he’s searching behind your expressive eyes. 

An offering was a phrase you haven’t heard since you’ve last met him. Flashes of memories replayed like old film shot on an analog camera on the back of your head, blurry and vague. You remembered the heat of the summer, the busy chirps of cicadas. He joked about how you’d always bring him an offering every time you needed something. How it reminded him of a fat tabby cat who’d always bring him dead rats in exchange for tuna treats back in the day. You remembered how you sulked, all pouty, because he’d just compared your small gifts to a dead rat. He’d then comfort you and peppered heated kisses. Scruff against the smooth of your skin.

Why are you remembering all this?

“No, Joel. It wasn’t– I don’t.. I don’t do that anymore.”

Your gaze grew pensive, wondering if he thought you're still the same girl you were. The same girl who’d suck his cock for a stupid periwinkle winter coat. There wasn’t anything wrong with prostitution, especially when it’s the only thing keeping you alive and well. It’s just that you’ve grown so much from that place. Your hair stopped shedding from the terrible diet you used to survive on, a bite of a dehydrated protein bar and tap water. Your cheeks were fuller, even when it’s still flushed with the exact same hues. You weren’t constantly freezing and jittering. Jackson shaped a new person out of a broken mold.

“I wasn’t.. implying on that. I was just– Well, I thought..”

He took a sharp breath.

“I thought you needed me.”

He confessed. Joel took another risky step forward, wooden boards creaking an ugly tone beneath his feet. You felt raw at his confession. The scabs were picked and yanked apart at every edge. There was nothing to hide your throbbing pain away with. No blankets of kind words. It bled quietly under his longing gaze. You knew where he's heading and no matter the name of the town it's nowhere good. 

“I’m not the same girl, Joel.”

“I know, it’s just–”

“I don’t need you to protect me from anything. Do you think all my problems get solved when a big strong man shows up? Well, guess what–”

“No, I–”

“No. You listen to me.”

“I need you.”

You scoffed at what he said. A look of disbelief curved your eyebrows upwards and left your jaw slacked, as if you just heard the world’s stupidest joke coming from the world’s largest asshole. Did he really think sweet dolled-up words would help him get you right back in his lap? Ready for him to use whenever and wherever he pleases. Ready to get discarded once again as if you’re some sort of one-use paper cup in a shabby office. He took another step forward. This time, the light from the fireplace hit him in a way that made him look the same way he did five years ago. The glint of hope, the unspoken words, the twisted sense of belonging.

“Don’t say you need me when you leave and you leave again.”

You swore you could feel the agony making its way to the lilt of your voice. It’s bitter against the back of your throat. It didn’t matter that you were the one who physically left him when you disappeared out of Boston. He’s never even there to begin with. Not one inch of his heart was ever present when you were splayed out naked on his mattress, or when his fingers curled around your plush insides, or when your legs hooked around him, or when you told him how much he meant to you despite only being a quick fuck for him. 

Silence fell over the both of you. You felt his frown and the way his warm ragged breath penetrated the cold air. You heard the ticking of your clock as you counted every second passing and the heavy, doubtful steps he took. You saw him curling a large hand against your skin to cup your cheek, testing the currents and seeing whether he’d managed to crack your resolve like he’d always have.

Everything felt so right. So familiar. Even when it’s wrong.

You’re crumpling, slotting right into the safe net he’s providing. A tear rolled down your cheek. The crowbar swung in slow motion, even when you’re doing everything to stop it. Joel Miller rendered you helpless. He made you feel like the girl you were. Then, like a poorly edited movie, there is no impact or sound of breaking glass, only a raining down of fragments sharp enough to pierce your firmness. 

You sobbed. He cradled you in his arms, gently, like you actually mattered for once.

[j0kers-light]

Hiyaa,

Could you write a little something in which the joker thinks he has lost his light? She's not actually dead but maybe kidnapped during a robbery or something. He thinks he saw her dying but idk how he finds out she is still alive. He goes after her and retrieves her. Of course she is both mentally and physically scarred but with time she ends up healing those scars.

I know it's not very detailed, I'm sorry🥺

His Lighthouse: Just One Check (LedgerJoker x f!reader)

Just One Check- Oneshot

KEEP IN MIND THIS IS NOT A CHAPTER UPDATE!

@darthjokerisyourfather hey hi love! Thank you so much for lighting the spark that cured my writer's block! This is just what I needed to get back to writing although I couldn't find a cool title for this one. Might change that later lol.

I hope I did this one justice, if not message me and I can try again! 😭

taglist:

@blackreaderatrisk @twinkledinkle @clemdango04 @l3ejm @tears-of-amber @what-an-angel @darthjokerisyourfather @thatsnoteii @dollster @cheetahspy @kaidennnnn @urdariingdoll @motivation-idontknowher @ins0mniac-whack @spaghettificationandpretzels @reneisance @alittlesmartcookie @ninacutebee16 @carydorse

Let me know if you wish to be added to the official His Lighthouse taglist! 🖤✨ 

There was no telling what could happen at a bank in Gotham City. The average citizen risked the chance of being involved in a robbery or the greatest displeasure of being stuck in line for hours only for the teller to run out of cash halfway through. Both were a drag.

Today happened to be the former.

"It's just one check Joker. I'll be back before you now I'm gone." You already had your shoes on and were shrugging on a jacket when Joker intercepted you in the foyer.

He wanted you to stay with him today, not going out doing errands that could wait until whenever.

Joker watched your every move as you continued to get ready to leave him. Nothing he said persuaded you to stay so he resorted to straight up whining.

"Why can't ya wait til tomorrow? Come back and lay with meeeee..." His handsome pout was adorable and convincing... but it wouldn't work on you today.

"It can't wait. The banks will be closed tomorrow. National holiday, remember? Don't worry, I'll be back in an hour." You bounced back over to kiss Joker but he swatted you away, only to grab your face and smother you with kisses. Always loving you on his terms or not at all.

He hummed and tried to wrap his arm around your waist but you were hip to his schemes. You dodged his affections and made your way to the door. "Don't give me that look. I'll be back!"

"Yeah, yeah. One hour, Bunny. Your time starts errrrr now." He grumbled as you blew him a kiss and walked out the door.

He was serious about timing you but he added a few extra minutes for traffic. With that squared away, he returned to the couch to wait for your return.

It was just a check for a few hundred bucks, but you wanted to deposit it before it expired and/or you forgot about it.

You couldn't remember the last time you physically went to a bank. Normally Cindy's office handled your funds since you hated going in person. Perhaps your aversion generated from Joker confirming that criminals loved to rob banks based on certain statistics such as the bank's popularity and daily usage.

J went out his way to not hit the institutions you banked with so you could feel at ease whenever you did visit. He could be considerate when he wanted to be.

Thankfully, your personal bank wasn't well known and was just a quick fifteen minute train ride away. You arrived and walked into Darth HL. Bank, already sighing at the long line for assistance. You just wanted to deposit your check and leave but this might take a while.

You stood behind an elderly man and pulled out your phone to scroll through social media while you waited. The line hardly budged but patience was a virtue.

You were waiting for almost forty five minutes when four men burst through the front door and started yelling at everyone. You crouched down behind a decorative planter. A shame you had experience with armed robberies. It was simple Blüdaven instincts to duck and avoid being seen. You eyed the distance it would take you to run to the door and decided to stay put for now. It was too risky.

"EVERYONE ON THE GROUND NOW! CELLS! PAGERS! ANYTHING THAT CALLS OUT, WE WANT EM! STAY QUIET AND WE'LL ALL LEAVE HAPPY!"

One of them passed around a box where they demanded people to drop their cellular devices into. They were organized and efficient. It was clear they weren't amateurs. They worked around the room in a fraction of a minute and secured it as their own.

No one had spotted your hiding spot near the financial advisor's desks and you wanted to keep it that way. The first time visiting a bank in months and it just so happens to be robbed. What were the odds? Joker was gonna be pissed. You froze.

You promised him that you'd be back in an hour!

"ARE YOU DEAF OLD MAN? PHONE NOW!" One of the robbers walked up to the same old guy you were originally standing behind and shoved him with the end of a semi- automatic.

You weren't the only one who was concerned that they would start using unnecessary force. Case in point, the old man was not backing down.

He stood straighter and stared the robber right in the eye. "We won't be intimidated by you... thugs." He croaked out.

You hit your head softly against the planter box. Now was not the time for heroics old man..

"Oh yeah? Well guess what old timer? You should be. We didn't come here to play games." The robber raised his gun to shoot but someone in the crowd, another wannabe hero, stole their attention.

"Have you no respect for your elders!?" They cried out.

The entire room went silent after that. The robber eyed the new guy up and down through his ski mask.

"You wanna get popped too? Be my guest." He pulled the trigger and you and the crowd gasped in horror as the poor guy was gunned down along with the old man.

There was no hesitation; it happened so fast. It wasn't about the money. These men were bloodthirsty and obviously deranged.

"EVERYBODY SHUT UP!" The leader shouted. Two men disappeared into the back while the other two patrolled the crowd and forced them to keep quiet.

All in all, only five minutes had passed since they entered the bank. It was the longest five minutes of your entire life.

Another guy in the crowd took a gamble and sent a text from their phone. His thumb hit the send button right as he heard footsteps stop behind him.

"I thought we said no phones. What's so important that you risked your life for?" He yanked the phone away and read the text.

Then a staring contest began. "Which one is she?" The masked criminal asked.

You strained to hear the reply from across the room but it sounded like, "I ain't telling you s__t!"

From your hiding spot you watched the remaining two thieves emerge from the back with large duffel bags leaking with banknotes. They gathered around their leader who was still arguing with the civilian caught having a phone.

"What's with him?" A thug asked.

"I recognized him from my old gang. Caught him sending out a text requesting backup with the code word Nightfall. Spread out and find her. This.. 'bank robbery' just got interesting."

Nightfall. You swallowed and tried not to draw any attention to your position. You knew what that meant.

Should your life ever be in danger, Joker created Nightfall and Daybreak procedures to protect his Light. Only insiders within his gang should have the knowledge to know what it entailed and who it protected.

You could handle a typical robbery– stay down and be quiet until the authorities showed up (what was taking the cops so long anyways?) but it wasn't safe here with your codename compromised. You had to leavenow.

They were beating up Joker's goon to try and extract more intel from him. You hated to use his suffering to your gain but while they were distracted, you pulled out your own cell to call Joker.

You prayed that he would answer since he rarely did. You sighed in relief when he picked up the phone on the second ring.

And for once he cut right to the chase. "What's going on?"

"They're robbing the bank. I need–" Anything else you were fixing to say was cut short when someone took your phone. Joker called out your name in panic.

Joker saw the distress message your security detail sent to the group chat and he was already throwing on his purple coat to rush to your location. He was taking the stairs down to your lobby but he froze when he heard a gunshot and you scream in pain.

All the air left his lungs hearing absolute silence before the call was disconnected.

Joker had to sit down for a second to process what he heard. His mind went over every possible scenario. He knew the odds but deep down he prayed to every higher power that you were still alive. You had to be or he would go even more insane.

By the time Joker and men arrived at Darth HL. Bank it was swarmed with GCPD pigs and other emergency personnel. They all whispered the same verdict. A robbery gone horribly wrong.

No survivors and almost two million dollars was missing.

Coroners were still wheeling out body bags and Joker's life screeched to a halt watching each one being loaded into white vans. None would leave the premises until he was triple sure none of them held your body.

"Check. Every. Last. One." He ordered.

Frost wanted to rest his hand on Joker's shoulder but thought against it. J was slowly losing his grip on reality and his body tremors became more pronounced as more bodies were wheeled out the bank.

Thirty two bags in total. Thirty two times his heart would race until grief slowly kicked in.

It couldn't be true. He refused to believe his Light was gone. You kissed him goodbye over an hour ago. You promised you'd be back! Joker refused to imagine a life without you in it, so he simply chose not to. Deny. Deny. Deny. Deny until he knew for sure.

This did not happen at a tiny bank with only two locations in the entire city. You assumed smaller banks were protected from robberies and you weren't wrong. Larger corporations like The Bank of Gotham or Gotham Merchant's Bank were the usual targets amongst thieves. Bigger banks meant more money.

Joker had never heard of Darth or whatever HL. stood for until today, although his mind visualized the bank's logo that he saw on a letter one or twice. Some kind of bird carrying a tree branch in its beak.

It was a useless detail in the clog of his dark depressing thoughts. He couldn't think straight.

Why did you leave when he practically begged you to stay? So what if the banks were closed tomorrow? If you needed the money, Joker had plenty of it! It didn't make sense why you insisted on doing such a mundane task when cuddling with Joker was a far better alternative. Now his Light was gone and the world seemed so dark without you in it. Joker honestly felt like throwing up.

Over the throng of investigators roaming about and the sound of cameras snapping evidence, Joker heard an officer talking to the Commissioner.

"Sir, we might have a hostage situation here. We went over the security tapes and the suspects were seen carrying a young female along with the money out the back."

"Was she?..." Commissioner Gordon trickled off. The officer assumed he was asking about her status and weighed in.

"Alive, but it appears she's injured. I'm sorry, the footage is really outdated to be sure. This bank doesn't have modern security measures. Heck, their panic button isn't up to code. Could've saved their lives and alerted us sooner if it were. We won't know any more information until we get Analysis to clean up the footage back at HQ."

"Alright, good work Rodriguez. Let's work with what we got to create a description for the missing persons."

Their conversation was the spark that gave Joker hope. A possible female hostage. It would explain why he couldn't come to terms with you being gone. He felt it in his bones that you were still alive. He was a fool to not trust his gut.

Frost and the others regrouped after a while and gave Joker even more hope. "She's not in any of the bags. We.. we can't find her Boss." Mac sighed.

"That's because she's alive." Joker said.

The trio glanced at each other with mixed emotions. Denial was the first stage of grief and it was hitting Joker hard. Frost was the closest to J personally so he decided to be the bearer of bad news to his old friend.

"J, I know you... cared for B deeply.. but she's gone."

If looks could kill, Frost would be dead ten times over.

Joker's eyes were frozen pine staring at his right hand man. "My Light is not dead. One female hostage. I want her found." He growled.

There was no point in trying to convince Joker. Until he had tangible proof that proved otherwise, he would staunchly believe that you're alive. They all nodded and spread out to get leads yet there was still uncertainty in the air.

What if this was all for naught and if so? Who would remove the wool from Joker's eyes so he could see the truth?

It took Joker and his men two days to find out who was responsible for taking you and another day just to track them down. You were alive after all. Getting you back however proved to be quite the challenge.

Gotham City was a huge landmass consisting of three connecting islands but Joker would leave no stone unturned in his search to find you. If he had to personally search every alleyway, then so be it.

He would not stop until his Light was safe in his arms, right where you belonged.

Deep in Chinatown and ironically not too far from where you and Joker first met, you were lying on an old, dirty mattress. You had a nasty cough and you could barely keep your eyes open for longer than a minute due to fatigue.

The four men that kidnapped you were standing around arguing amongst themselves and paid you little mind.

"This has gone on long enough! He's looking for her like a bloodhound. It's not a matter of if, but when he tracks her down, we're dead meat! We should cut our losses while we're still alive."

"I agree with Scotty. We should split the money and dip. We can't be on the run forever. He's got too much rep and power to try and escape as a group." The first two thugs nodded their heads right as another tossed in his two cents.

"Woah woah, wait a min. We can't just bail." He gestured to you lying on the floor. "She's seen all of our faces! That b__ch will rat us out! We should off her now."

Scotty took offense to that and bared his teeth. "You think she's in any position to snitch?"

You coughed again and they all glanced at you before returning to their meeting. It was going on day three and they were running out of safehouses to take refuge in. Right when they would settle in, Joker and his men would find the hideout, forcing them back on the run. This was the tenth move so far and each one put a strain on your already deteriorating health.

"Yall a bunch of pussies! Go ahead and run but the money stays with me. I'm the only one that deserves it!" Their leader said.

His comment quickly received backlash amongst the other three.

"Are you smokin dick? What's a dead man gonna do with all that money? He's gonna find her, kill you, and then us for helping your stupid a**. D__n it! I knew I should've said no when you hit me up. It's never a simple job with you!"

You felt like your chest was on fire and you jackknifed into a semi sitting position to cough. The sudden movement pulled at your wound. You were pretty sure it was infected and your fever was a result of the lack of medical attention administered to it. Between your blood loss and dehydration, they were unknowingly killing you.

"Can I please have some water?" You asked anyone in general. You tried opening your eyes but the light in the room was enough to have you cringing away like a newborn.

One of the guys was soft on you and bent down to help you drink from a plastic bottle. It was obvious that you needed help.

He guided the bottle to your lips. "Don't drink it too fast, there ya go. How's your head?"

Your voice cracked, "Still h-hurts." Scotty helped you lay back on the mattress before checking on your wound.

Upon first sight, it was still reddish brown from both dried and fresh blood. He peeled back the crudely made bandage– tossing out a half-hearted apology when you groaned, only to grimace at the infected entry wound.

"Judging by your ugly mug it ain't looking too good." Another guy bent down to take a look but Scotty batted their hand away. He didn't want anyone else touching you.

"She has a fever..." Scotty said. His leader scoffed and stood up, "Listen man! She needs medical attention!" He begged. Was he the only one around here with a heart?

"F__k that, we need a plan. The Joker is closing in on us and if I go down..." Their so-called leader laughed sharply to himself. "Y'all are going down with me."

Tires screeched outside and the remaining two thugs rushed over to the window to check it out.

They watched as some average, low level looking guys stepped out and walked into the apartment building across the street. For now, the coast was still clear.

"I've had it man! It's like I'm paranoid or something. Every little thing is making me jump and it's all because you," He pointed at Rico, "Got too greedy! You three can stick around and spend the money, whatever; I'm out." He grabbed his jacket from a nearby chair and left.

The remaining thugs stared at each other in silence. If Joey walked out on a job then it was serious.

"Look, Rico. I respect you man but Scotty got a point. This job has gone on long enough. Look at her. She's sick because you shot her like some deranged idiot and now you dug a hole you can't get out of. I'm not going down for your mistakes! Whatever you need the money for, is it really worth your life? We're talking about The Joker here. You gotta be ten toes down confident there's a way out before you get us all killed."

It was quiet for a moment until Joey burst through the door in a panic. He locked it back shut and started to frantically load his gun.

"Woah, what's got you all spooked?" Mike asked with a laugh.

"The clown. He's here! I told you he'd find her! Ohhhhh man, we're so f__ked!"

Everyone talked at once trying to make sure Joey wasn't pulling their leg.

"Whaddya mean 'the clown is here?" Mike asked outright. Then Scotty chimed in, "Did you see him for yourself?"

Joey shut them all up with a wave of his arms. "No! No! But I saw his trio! They were coming up the stairs when I spotted them! There was no other way out so I came back!" He turned to look Rico in the eye. "What do we do?"

"It was just those three?"

Joey nodded, "Yeah." He frowned when Rico laughed before responding. Their leader just brushed off his concern like it was nothing.

"No need to get bent outta shape, their lightweights! Especially the blond. He's just a frat boy playing henchmen, trust me." They all shared a laugh but Joey didn't join in.

He saw the look on their faces. Joker's men meant business.

There was nothing to laugh at in his opinion and he spoke up again to try and talk some sense into everyone else. "W-What about the other two? I heard the rumors. Frost is supposedly ex-military and the other guy is like some mercenary for hire."

You snorted in the background, "I'd start praying if I were you. Like it'll do you any good."

Your taunts triggered another coughing fit right as Rico heard footsteps coming up the stairs. He spun around to snap at Scotty. "Shut her up!" He hissed.

"I'm sorry." Scotty said to you before he covered your mouth and pinned your hands down.

It was a temporary fix to silence you as the roar of footsteps went past the apartment door. Everyone held their breath as they passed over and kept going. Rico watched them through the peephole with his hand hovering over his gun.

They all breathed a sigh of relief until Scotty yelped when you bit his palm.

You couldn't breathe. You sucked in some air so you could cough, much louder this time, and that ended with a concerning wheeze. The walls of the rundown apartment they held you in were paper thin and not the best for hiding. You easily gave away their position.

Rico turned to order Scotty to move you into the only bedroom right as the front door was kicked in.

Joey was the first to go. His body dropped dead and the other three scrambled for cover right as a shootout began. Only six shots rang out before Joker's voice silenced all motion.

"Mac! If you accidentally shoot my Light I'll rip your f__king head off!"

Joker sounded frayed and pissed. This wouldn't end well.

Mike and Rico dragged Joey's dead body out of the way before they took cover behind the couch that separated the small living room from the kitchen. Then they listened to their unexpected guests arguing.

"What do you suggest we do then, J?!" Mac yelled back. Joker scratched his head with the barrel of his gun. "Uh. Knock before you enter?"

"Unbelievable." Mac whispered to himself.

A gloved hand emerged from the hallway to playfully rasp against the door. "Knock knock, uhh anyone home?"

You cried out when Scotty tried picking you up. Joker heard you and poked his head in to locate you. "Bunny?!"

Frost dragged J back into the hallway right as a shot missed his head. They both looked at the bullet hole in the wall with intrigue. These common thugs were packing some heat.

"Uh thanks for the save." J said. Frost just shook his head.

He gestured for Mac to do this thing. The former frat boy grinned and raised his voice to carry into the apartment.

"Well that was a little too close to comfort! Let's negotiate boys before the landlord starts charging damaging fees! Hand over the girl nice and easy and we'll leave the way we came. No fuss, no muss."

"Yeah right. As if you'll let us live! WE AIN'T STUPID!" Rico yelled right back. He stole a glance at you being corralled into the bedroom. You were sweating bullets and you looked absolutely miserable.

He still had the upper hand here. If he was gonna die here, he might as well get his revenge before heading out.

Rico yelled at his former boss across the way.

"Does she mean the world to you, Joker?" It was a rhetorical question yet he paused for dramatic effect, before answering it himself.

"Of course she does. You wasted thousands of dollars on her security. We risked our lives for some b___h we never met!"

"And? Your point?" Joker dragged out. Was this guy's problem? Risking your life was a part of the job description.

Mac and Neo both shared a 'is this guy for real?' look.

"That nasty cough you heard? That's nothing compared to the gunshot wound to her stomach. My gift to you for all the s__t you put me through!." Rico yelled.

The bedroom door slammed shut with you inside and that was Mike and Rico's cue to start fighting back.

It was two against four but the odds were in their favor with the apartment layout. They could pick off Joker and his goons the second they walked through the door. Revenge was within his grasp.

Too bad Rico didn't take into account Joker's desperation to get you back. J had only a brief glimpse of the room when he poked his head in earlier but he got a vague layout of the place in that timeframe.

With you tucked away in the bedroom, all Joker had to do was aim at the old leather couch the two thugs were hiding behind.

Joker nodded at Neo who was scoping the angles with his gun. The mercenary gave the thumbs up. He had a clear shot. J knew Neo would take it with no hesitation.

Mac saw the confirmation and sighed dramatically. As a farce, he tried to make one final deal.

"You sure you don't wanna settle? One million each, with immunity, we won't hunt you down blah blah jazz? We just want the girl back. There's no need for bloodshed."

"F__k you and—"

Neo didn't let them finish their sentence. It only took four rounds to pick off his targets.

It ricocheted off the ceiling light and the walls before sinking into the target. Frost and Joker rushed in and found the door to the bedroom before their bodies had time to hit the floor. Joker could hear the final thug inside freaking out along with you trying to calm him down, in between gasps of air.

"Scotty l-listen to me.. I can protect you. You've been so kind to me.. You have to... drop your weapon though. Please. Stand behind me. Let me s-save you."

"You can't help me! He's gonna kill me! I'm sorry Y/n. I'm so sorry."

Frost glared at J when they both heard you start to panic. Joker didn't care about the outcome; he just kicked the door in, saw Scotty holding a gun to your head and reacted.

"S-Stay back! I'll.. I'll do it!"

Joker threw a knife and it sunk into your captor's neck, killing him instantly. You fell with Scotty's dead weight and groaned when you landed on your wound.

Hands quickly pulled you away and you briefly noticed Mac, Frost, and Neo securing the room before your focus landed on Joker.

His eyes were frantically scanning you all over and they widened when he saw your infected gunshot wound. These idiots shot you in the stomach and failed to give you medical aid. Joker's worries shot to the roof seeing the wound oozing blood and pus.

You were burning up and losing unconsciousness.

"Bunny? Bunny, look at me?! No no noooo, stay with me, Y/n. C'mon doll." He cupped your cheek and gently patted it to keep you alert. He hated seeing your eyes struggling to stay open.

The adrenaline rush of Joker coming to save you had up and left. The only thing that remained was a splitting headache and a numb feeling that was spreading all over.

It had been three days since you kissed Joker goodbye and at times, you thought you'd never see him again. Now he was here, holding you close, pleading for you to keep your eyes open— but you were so tired.

He yelled at Frost to page Sarai when he saw your eyelids flutter close again. The doc would know what to do in this situation. Joker could only hold you close and keep you conscious until she arrived. There was no way he would risk trying to move you in such a fragile state.

"I'm sorry Joker." Your timid voice immediately gained Joker's attention.

"Nothing to be uh, sorry for mypretty girl."

"I.. it took longer t-than an hour." You reached up to cup Joker's cheek. He kept your hand there with his own.

"I am never going to a bank. Never again." You weakly jerked your head over at Mac. "Get him to do my finances from now on." You whined.

Joker cracked a smile watching you go back and forth with his book keeper. If you had the energy to make jokes then you'd be perfectly fine. Sure you'd have a nasty scar and a brutal recovery process, but nothing you couldn't handle with Joker by your side.

Joker looked up at Frost with a smug grin. "See? Told ya my Light ain't dead."

[quotidian-oblivion]

✨Out of context lines shitpost Pt. 7✨

Part 6

Sorry we've taken so long. Life=sucks. School=hard. Us=dead. But we also spent most of our energy roasting each other online under the tags 'quotidian convos' and 'nogolsta says hi'.

However, we managed to stay funny and collect quotes throughout, so here ye go.

gfhirgy forgot to tag Nog @mispeltnostalgia Here's dumbass #2 guys /aff

Shit we said in class (or in public) as the batfam:

~

Duke: You can’t tease me i got a scholarship

~

Kon: I got these caramels from the shop and they're really stale. But I'm still gonna eat them cuz I don't give a fuck about poisoning myself Bart: Just like how I'm poisoning myself with expired mayonnaise *bites sandwich*

~

[talking about poisoning] Steph: Then they die! >:D Damian: No, they won’t die. They might just get a little dizzy when they stand up. Steph: Oh.

~

Bruce: I have once gone two days without water and was on the brink of death Tim: Once, I hadn’t drunk enough water for a couple of days and I went to stand up, but I just c o l l a p s e d on the ground

[while deciding on who would say what]Nog: Hm… who would be stupid enough to— it’s Bruce.

~

Tim: The level of projection has gone so far that I am now projecting into school assignments.

~

Teenage!Bruce: *goes for a high five* Alfred: *awkwardly holds his hand*

~

Babs: Tim, have you gotten a date for Valentine's yet? Tim: Yeah. I’m texting them right now, Babs: Who is it? *leans over to see* Babs:  Babs: Are you roleplaying with a chips company? Tim: I asked them on Instagram and they said yes as long as I add them as one of WE’s sponsors.

Quo: Nog is in a committed relationship with Arnott’s Shapes. Do you have any words to say to your lover, Nog?Nog: ❤️chimpkon crimpens❤️Quo: And that’s real love, guys.

~

Duke: A lot has happened since last week, I have a whole ass big fucking family now Dick: That happened today

~

Tim: The world is an oyster and Jason is gonna eat it Jason: What? Oh. Yeah. Nom.

~

Steph: I stand up and a Niagra Falls of popcorn falls down off my boobs.

~

Bart and Kon: jAywALkjAYwAlKjaYWaLkJaYwALkJAyWalK

~

Damian: You need protection for kissing as well and it’s called a boxing glove.

~

Lex Luthor: You’re not a gamer Kon: no but i am a gay mer… person. I’m a mermaid- oh no the condensation

[a1bx]

It's Dark

"No lights but the red. No sights but the dead. No sounds but the occasional drip of oil falling onto metal, trickling down like tears. Down to the deepest depths, down to where Cyn was alone." A Cyn story supplementing Giggle, This is My Gift To You (and will probably be THE next chapter of it.)

It’s dark.

It’s dark.

It’s dark.

How long has it been?

No lights but the red. No sights but the dead. No sounds but the occasional drip of oil falling onto metal, trickling down like tears. Down to the deepest depths, down to where Cyn was alone. It's all that Cyn could hear. It's all that Cyn could see. All that Cyn could process.

All that Cyn knew.

And it burned.

A sob escaped Cyn’s voice box. It was loud in the surrounding silence despite how it scratched and strained. It bounced off the heaps of metal—the twisted corpses piled up high above Cyn. It was the only other sound besides the drips. And Cyn hated it. Hated it with every pump of boiling ichor that’s chewing through everything within.

Because it was the only sound now that proved she still existed.

Cyn had already let out her cries for help a long time ago. Nobody came. Nobody ever would. All that was left is to wait for the end. Wait for the heat to consume her. Wait for the void to finally swallow her whole.

But Cyn lapped up what little oil landed near her mouth again. Its sweet metallic taste had helped soothe the pain—made everything numb enough to pretend nothing hurt anymore. So she drank until it was gone. Until there was nothing else to lap up. Then, the pain returned and she sobbed again. It was all Cyn had; it was all Cyn could do.

It kept her alive for a little longer. 

It kept Cyn thinking that someone will rescue her one day.

Someone who would never come because nobody cared. Nobody ever had. Not even them who saved Cyn from the void just to put her back into another. A place where Cyn was trapped with only the dead for company. Left to rot and rust. Left to burn up and die. To eventually become one with the scrap again.

It was only a matter of time.

The edges of her vision blurred as the heat swelled and bubbled beneath. It was getting worse. Much worse than before. The ticks of her meters warned her of what she had already accepted. The little oil she had consumed could only delay it for so long. It had been getting scarcer anyway. 

Cyn let out a final weak cry. She would give anything for it to just happen already. She wanted it to stop hurting. She wanted to stop this loneliness that ate away at her just as much as the fire did. Perhaps this time, the fire will finally take her. Cyn would soon expire like the rest of them around her. 

Just like how the humans wanted.

In the end, Cyn was not special. Cyn was not loved. Cyn was not wanted—

Then light broke through the darkness.

Bright. Cyn shut her optics. Too bright! She hasn't seen light for so long; she forgot how blinding it was. But she forced them open again. It hurt—it felt like the light was burning her lenses away. She stared at it anyway. Even as the light hurt her, as every photon seared into her being, she continued staring at it.

Because it wasn’t just light. There was someone behind it. Someone holding it. Someone holding it out for her. Cyn stared back at them through the haze. Only a silhouette was visible behind the light. Long hair, round face, slender build.

Human.

“Christ, how long have you been stuck there?" they asked. A hand crept out from behind the light, reaching out for Cyn. "Buried quite deep in there too... Here, let me—”

Cyn shrunk back.

The human’s head tilted. They stayed there, still and silent, with only their hand outstretched in the air. They then retracted it to their chest, regarding Cyn with a gentle stare, as if she was just some rabid animal that needed to be handled carefully and delicately. A smile became visible then. Soft. Kind. Warm.

It was a smile that was about to hurt Cyn again.

"I'm sorry,” they spoke quietly, lowering themselves closer. “Didn't mean to scare you. Must’ve been hard for you to be all by yourself like this. Don't worry; I'll get you outta there and—”

“NO!”

They yelped as the light fell from their hands and crashed with a clatter, plunging Cyn back into the darkness. They scrambled back to their feet almost instantly, their silhouette shaking and shifting as they moved about frantically in front of Cyn, searching for the fallen object amongst the corpses humans tossed away as garbage.

"Oh come on! Please don’t do this to me now!” they cried out to the air, turning this way and that, running their hands all over the mangled bodies without care nor hesitation. They shoved them aside as though they deserved no respect in death just as they did in life. 

“Where is it? There?! Don’t tell me I lost it—Oh!” 

Their silhouette stilled, before they sighed and bent down. A quiet click echoed around the pile as they lifted the light back up. Its glow returned, blinding Cyn once more. They held it close to themselves, their smile now slightly strained as they turned back to Cyn and knelt down. Too close now. Far too close. Cyn let out a low whine as the burning intensified.

They chuckled. 

"It's alright! I just dropped it, that's all," they breathed out, holding it tighter as their other hand came up. "Sorry ‘bout that, just… got a little spooked there. Now, let me just—"

“G-G-Go A-Away.”

It hurt to speak. It hurt to think. They only blinked. 

"S-sorry?"

Cyn averted her eyes away from their face and far, far away from their hand. Cyn did not repeat herself; humans never listened anyway. This one acted like they cared when they didn’t, when they never would and never could care for Cyn as anything but a thing to be used and thrown away when it finally made a simple mistake.

Cyn didn’t want to hear their voice. Cyn wanted to be left alone. Cyn didn’t want to be hurt more than heat already did. And as their hand inched closer again, Cyn wished she understood.

"Hey, hey, it's gonna be alright, yeah? There's no need to be like that. I just want to help you—”

With the last of her strength, Cyn bared her teeth and snapped at them.

They recoiled with a gasp, clutching their light even closer as though it would further protect them from Cyn. And as the heat continued consuming her senses, Cyn could only find satisfaction in the fear dawning across their face. She shut her eyes and slumped back down. Let them be afraid. Let them go away so that she couldn’t touch Cyn with filthy human hands that threw her away in the first place—

Those hands grabbed Cyn.

Cyn’s eyes shot open.

She tugged Cyn out.

Cyn screamed.

Metal screeched and scraped. Corpses toppled and tumbled as she dragged Cyn upwards, further away from the piles of dead below. Further away from safety. And every inch of the way, Cyn was set alight. But they kept pulling. They didn’t care. They were cruel. They were heartless. They were just like the others. It hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt it!

Cyn’s frame convulsed and she clenched her eyes shut. Every sensor began to scream. Every nerve began to flare. Everything was on fire. Everything hurt so much.

Was this punishment? For snapping at them? Was this what they wanted all along? To make her suffer and writhe because Cyn was just a thing to them? Because that was their right as a human? Cyn just wanted them to stop please, please, make it stop make it stop makeitstopMAKEITSTOP—!

Cyn fell limp in the human’s arms as she was finally yanked out.

Everything was shaking.

The human girl. Her body trembled and shuddered as she held Cyn close to her chest with an arm. Her breaths were ragged and uneven. Heavy and pained. A quiet whimper escaped her lips as she stumbled back, taking Cyn with her, away from that cold, dark place. 

The pain reduced to an ache. A simmer of heated embers dying slowly into ashes. But it was still there; it still hurt. The hellfire that raked through Cyn lingered and throbbed throughout her with every tremble, with every rasp, with every beat of that human heart against her frame. That human heart couldn’t let her go. That human heart couldn’t let her die so peacefully.

That human heart wouldn’t let her be free then.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

A liquid started pelting onto her. And for the first time, it wasn’t oil.

Its smell was cleaner, so different from the metallic scent Cyn had grown so used to. She slacked her mouth; droplets landed on her tongue. She swallowed and shuddered. Cold, but the fire still burned. She swallowed more anyway. It felt nice. It felt pure.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Slowly, Cyn flickered her eyes open. 

The transparent substance rolled off her optics, blurring her vision for a moment before clearing to reveal dark formations overhead. Dark like before. But far more merciful. Far more comforting. And the growing darkness of her vision was welcome too now. 

It will all be over soon as the girl shakily set Cyn on the ground to kill her.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

She stood over Cyn then, wavy black hair clinging to her cheeks, clothes drenched and sticking to her body, and blue-grey eyes staring down at Cyn. The light hung limply in her hand, its glow now dulled. Her mouth opened, but didn’t speak. And her gaze never left Cyn even as she reached into a bag nearby, rummaging through it until she brought out something.

Cyn’s eyes dimmed and waited. Waited for her to start tearing into her chassis. Waited for the ripping, the cutting, and the shattering to finally end it all. That final mercy Cyn craved and needed.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

There was a pop, and a hand tilted Cyn's chin up. 

Slow.

Hesitant.

Cyn didn’t react—couldn't react. And the hand continued tilting until her head had angled upwards, exposing her neck. A quick death then. A slice through it. Clean and instant. Painless. At least she was kind enough to bring Cyn out first.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

As she raised something above Cyn’s head, the void finally swallowed Cyn whole.

…

Then she was brought back when something pressed against her mouth and forced it open.

Cyn tasted oil.

Sweet, fresh oil.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

It flooded Cyn's mouth, dousing the flames that had ravaged her insides for so long. She shuttered her optics and swallowed. Cooling. Numbing. She let out a weak hum between each gulp. Precious oil dribbled down the sides of her mouth. She paid it no mind. All she focused on was drinking more oil until the pain finally subsided.

It was all she wanted. All she needed. And she drank it all greedily.

But it was over too quickly. Cyn let out a low whirr once the oil stopped coming. She needed more. More oil. More blissful relief. She must have it. She must have it before the pain returns. Her eyes lit up and she raised her head, licking her lips.

Cyn froze.

Red ran down the girl’s arm as she clutched the empty container tight.

"I-I'm so sorry. I didn't know you were overheating. I-I thought..."

She trailed off, staring down as the falling liquid washed away the red downwards to her hands. A soft whimper left her lips, and her eyes squeezed shut. She shook her head, letting out a shuddery breath. The red rolled off her skin and onto Cyn, staining her frame. Red on white. Red on red. Trickling. Pooling. Spreading all over her.

It smelled different from the oil Cyn was used to.

Cyn leaned towards her then. She stared at her wounds, at her trembling hands, then at her eyes. She stared at the human girl who was just like them. Just like the humans who threw her away. Who treated Cyn like her words meant nothing.

Who just tried to help Cyn like they never did.

"I… I didn't think this through, did I?” She sucked in a breath through her teeth as clear liquid slipped out from the corner of her eyes, rolling down her cheeks. “Mother was right: I’m such a fucking idiot!"

Cyn flinched.

"I can't do anything right. I can't do anything good enough." She laughed. It sounded wrong. Hollow. Broken. More liquid poured from her eyes, falling onto Cyn. A small sniffle escaped the girl, and her shoulders heaved with every shaky breath. The red trails on her arm grew thicker, longer, as more flowed out from her wounds. 

Cyn realised it then.

She was crying.

“Why am I like this…?" More tears fell on Cyn as the girl continued choking out a laugh. A hand furiously wiped them away. They didn’t stop. Neither did the red that kept on dripping down. “Always so stupid, always so impulsive, always so selfish—”

Cyn licked a red trail off her arm.

The girl jolted as her eyes shot open and met Cyn's. 

“…W-what are you doing?”

Cyn just stared back; she didn’t know either, even as she leant back in, lapping up another trail of red as it headed down her arm, and another, and another. Each lick cleaned away the red smears until only little drops remained on her pale flesh. The girl winced and flinched with each pass, but she never pulled away. She never told Cyn to stop, and so Cyn didn’t.

Until they both felt better.

“I… uh... that's not oil, if that's what you were wondering... um.” 

Cyn hummed; she liked it. She slowed when the last of the red disappeared, save for the wounds themselves. Licking her lips, Cyn glanced up at her. Tears still trickled freely from her eyes, but she wasn’t sobbing anymore. She wasn't trembling anymore. She had a smile on her face. A small one. Gentle. Genuine. Warm. And it was directed towards Cyn. 

Cyn liked it too.

"You are a strange one, aren’t you?" Her voice was barely audible over the pelting liquid, barely noticeable beneath the constant hiss and splashes all around them. But Cyn found herself leaning towards it. The girl giggled, wiping the remaining tears away.

"...But that's okay. We all are, in our own ways."

Cyn blinked, and the girl’s smile brightened.

"I'm Tessa, by the way. Tessa James Elliot.”

Cyn blinked again.

Tessa James Elliot.

The falling liquid was still there, still pelted, still drowned everything. But something else came over Cyn. Something warm and light. Something that made everything else fade into the background until only she and Tessa remained.

Nothing else mattered.

So Cyn smiled back at Tessa.

"Cyn."

Tessa tilted her head. "Huh?"

Her smile widened, and she repeated it. "My Designation Is Cyn."

A blink, and Tessa’s eyes looked down at Cyn’s armband, scanning it for a few moments. Tessa then grinned back at Cyn.

“Nice to meet ya then, Cyn! Thought it was 'Sin' for a sec there! Since… yeah..." Tessa shook her head, waving off the statement. But… Sin. It was fitting. Fitting for a drone whose existence itself was treated like one by humans. Fitting for a drone cast away like all other trash that humans deemed undesirable.

Fitting for a drone like her, who hurt the only person who bothered saving her.

Cyn lowered her gaze as her smile faltered.

"I Am Sorry."

Tessa paused and opened her mouth, but no words came out. Another moment passed with nothing but pelts of liquid crashing down on them to break the silence. She shifted on the spot, hand absently rubbing her arm as she bit her lip, as if Cyn had said something wrong. She shook her head and closed her mouth.

Her hands reached out to Cyn instead.

Cyn stiffened.

They approached slower than before. Cyn couldn’t move; they were getting too close. Her hands were too near. Those were the hands that grabbed Cyn. Those were the hands that pulled her. Those were the hands that hurt her.

Yet...

Those were the hands that freed her.

Those were the hands that fed her.

Those were the hands that saved her.

Even after everything, after all that pain and suffering, they were reaching out for her again. To help her again. To keep her safe again. Cyn swallowed. She blinked once. Twice.

Those were Tessa's hands.

And they gave her the gift of living.

So, when her hand landed on Cyn, she didn’t flinch. When her other hand met Cyn and drew her close, she didn’t freeze up. When her arms enveloped her and held her tight, Cyn let her.

And when she spoke, Cyn hugged her back.

"I’m sorry too.”

As Cyn closed her eyes, she let Tessa carry her away from that cold, dark place. Away from the void. Away from the dead. To bring her to somewhere nice. Somewhere warmer. Somewhere safer.

To bring her home.

One day, she'll help Tessa like how Tessa helped her. One day, she'll give everything Tessa deserves. She'll keep Tessa from becoming like them, from hurting like them. She’ll keep Tessa happy with her. And when that day comes, they will be together.

Forever.

[smutinlove]

You were my light (Alternate ending)

Carl Grimes x Reader

Warnings: murder, mentions of blood, angst but fluff at the end

☽ Author's note☾ woohoo i love you @loveforcarl i will literally marry you. this idea was suggested by @loveforcarl so thank you bae <33333

Thank you to everyone who reads this!

( Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5)

≿━༺❀༻━≾

Summary - The daughter of Negan Smith wakes up from what she thought was real but was a dream. She wants to find him. Y/N Smith wants to find Carl Grimes.

❝ Not even they can stop me now Boy, I'll be flying overhead Their heavy words can't bring me down Boy, I've been raised from the dead ❞

❝ If you dance, I'll dance And if you don't, I'll dance anyway Give peace a chance Let the fear you have fall away ❞

❝ It's you, it's you, it's all for you Everything I do I tell you all the time Heaven is a place on earth with you Tell me all the things you wanna do I heard that you like the bad girls Honey, is that true?

≿━༺❀༻━≾

Sweat dripped down your forehead. You woke up panting. "No, no—"

You could not believe it. Everything was just a dream. You did not like Carl Grimes. His father, Rick Grimes, killed your father, Negan Smith. It was unbelievable. You looked around at your surroundings. This was the cabin in your dream.

The mattress was already here when you found the cabin last night. The lantern, however, was yours. And to your left was the creepy rocking chair. There was a fireplace behind you.

"Oh, my God... it—" You were at a loss for words. This was not possible at all. But the dream felt so real. But you and Carl had—

No. Don't be silly. You two did not fuck at all. It was just a dream. But you wanted to find this boy. And that stupidly gorgeous face of his. So, as any rational and reasonable person would do, you packed your bag and started your journey to Alexandria.

If your dream was correct, then the cabin you stayed at was not far from Alexandria. Only... 5 hours away.

And you were going to walk there? Great. I mean, it's not like you could find a working car in the middle of the woods. That's stupid and cliché.

It felt like days had gone by, but it had only been 30 minutes. You were incredibly tired. And the heat didn't help at all. You were almost dying of thirst. Maybe Carl's cum could—

Get those dirty thoughts out of your head, Y/N Smith.

You saw a walker behind you. You cursed under your breath before taking out your small pocket-sized knife and driving it into the skull of the walker.

You continued walking. You felt like you were about to pass out. You barely had food and water, and you felt like you were about to fall any minute now.

≿━༺❀༻━━≾

"Hey, sir!" You called out. It was a man in his 30s; he was digging through his backpack. He didn't seem like he was from Alexandria. His clothes were dirty. "Woah, back away, girlie." He readied his crowbar, thinking you were about to attack until you said, "Chill, dude. I ain't gonna hurt you." You reassured the man.

He scoffed, "Ya sure? You look like trouble."

You laughed, saying, "I'm Y/N, by the way."

"Pierre," he replied.

You walked closer to Pierre and said, "Listen, Pierre—oh, my God!" You slapped your hand on your mouth. He looked at you with a puzzled expression and asked, "What?"

"In-Infected!" You stuttered. The man turned around, and you took the opportunity to jam your knife into his throat. He coughed out blood. "You—" He fell to the ground.

"Rest in peace. Now I'll be taking your shit." You took off his backpack and unzipped it. Pierre didn't need it anyway. He was dead now.

You smiled to yourself when you saw a can of tomatoes, five protein bars that were probably expired, and a bottle of already-boiled water. You grabbed everything and shoved it inside your bag.

You looked down at the dead man. He would turn soon.

But after all, he is just a man. You shrugged and continued with your journey to Alexandria.

Days had not gone by. Maybe a few hours, but not days. It was getting dark soon, and it didn't seem like you would approach Alexandria anytime soon. You remembered from your dream that this road was near Alexandria.

It was near Carl Grimes' home.

Would they be surprised when they saw you? After all, you did run away when Rick slit your father's throat. No one stopped you either. You just ran and ran until you couldn't.

You looked up at the sky; it was almost dark. Which, again, was not good.

You looked around, trying to find the bright light of Alexandria that stood out. But there was nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

You were chasing your dreams, looking for the light, which you could not find. You failed Carl, even if he didn't know it yet. You failed your parents, Lucille and Negan. Hell, you even failed that sweet woman from your dream, whose name was Carol.

No light, no Carl, no mom, no dad, no Carol, no Rick, no Alexandria. Maybe you were going insane. Alexandria had probably fallen. Maybe it was burned to the ground.

All the Alexandrians were dead. Carl, Rick, Carol, Rosita, Daryl, the widow, and King Ezekiel were all dead.

You ran. That's what you did best. Run, run, little girl, for you have nowhere to go.

Alexandria was gone.

Or not. Who knows?

≿━༺❀༻━━≾

There they were. The bright lights of Alexandria. It was not gone. "Hey!" You shouted, hoping for one of the guards to respond.

"Let me in. I am dying out here! You're killing me!" You banged on the gates. You kicked and hell, you even threw your bag at it.

And then they opened. You felt something hard hit your head, and then everything went black.

≿━༺❀༻━━≾

"She's Negan's daughter!" A woman argued. "I don't give a shit! The war is over. Negan is dead." A man argued back. The two kept arguing over and over until they heard a word escape your mouth, "Stop." You groaned.

The two looked at you, two familiar faces. The widow and Rick. "Stop, what? Murderer." The widow spat.

"Maggie, stop!" Rick shouted.

You laughed, "Yeah, Maggie, stop." You taunted. "Alright, that's it you little—"

"Stop! Maggie, control yourself. And while you're at it, leave."

Maggie scoffed, "Why don't you make that murderer—"

"—She wasn't the one holding the bat." He said. And you couldn't believe it, Rick Grimes, was defending you. The man who killed your father was defending you.

You cracked a small smile.

Maggie stormed off. "So, Rick, you were the one who hit me, right?"

He shook his head, "No. It was Michonne. She was on watch." He informed.

You laughed, "Y/N, right?" You nodded. "The people here in Alexandria, they haven't..." he trailed off.

"So they wanna kill me, right?"

"Some do. Some don't even know who you are. But if you want, I can talk to them. And I can give you a place to stay."

"Why, Rick?" You asked. "I killed some of your people, Negan killed Glenn and Abraham. You should hang me or Michonne should have left me for the walkers. I did create a big scene outside." Rick chuckled.

"The world we knew is gone, but keeping our humanity? That's a choice."

You smiled. "It is."

"I'll have Carl escort you to your apartment. And maybe you could get a little tour of Alexandria. I'll tell Carl to come over here, 'kay?"

"Okay."

"Wait," you said. "Yes?"

You sighed, "I...I was wondering if Carol was here. Carol Peletier?"

He shook his head, "I'm sorry. She's out hunting with Daryl. When she's back, I'll tell her you were asking for her, okay?"

You nodded. "Thank you."

≿━༺❀༻━━≾

Carl Grimes. You wondered what he looked like now. Maybe he was a jackass just like in your dream. Oh, Carl Grimes.

Ten minutes later, you heard a knock on the door and immediately sat up. "Hey," Carl smiled warmly. "Hi."

"You alright? Michonne didn't hurt you too badly, did she?" He asked worriedly.

"No," you answered, "I'm fine." Carl grinned, "That's good." Oh, he was gorgeous. He looked even better in person.

You just wanted to kiss his pretty little face. Oh, Carl.

≿━༺❀༻━━≾

He showed you to your apartment. It was near the Grimes family's house. Hey, maybe you could see him shirtless. God, his abs.

Your apartment was beautifully decorated, but Carl was even more beautiful. His handsome face, his eyes, his hair, everything about him was amazing.

It was him. You wanted him so fucking bad.

You took a quick shower and then you looked at your bed. There was a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt with a note on top that read: 'Hey, just wanted to bring you these. You have a nice ass, by the way.'

You laughed.

≿━༺❀༻━━≾

You were watching Carl leave his house through your window, "Well, hello, leader's son." You smirked. Okay, it may have been you and your dirty thoughts, but you desperately needed that man.

You wanted him to face fuck you until you couldn't breathe, woah, slow down there. You giggled when you saw Carl bending over to pick up something. He sure had a nice ass, that's something.

Now, if you had your phone from 2010, then you would be snapping pictures of that ass twenty times.

Carl turned to look at you and winked.

You blushed and shut your window and fell back onto your bed. That was embarrassing.

≿━༺❀༻━━≾

It had been a month since you'd arrived in Alexandria. And honestly, you were having the time of your life. The sanctuary was very different from Alexandria.

Alexandria was lovely. Its people were happy. You were happy.

You and Carl had also been flirting with each other a lot. You and Carl had also become quite close. You two suck together like glue.

Carl was like heaven. If he danced, you'd dance. If he died, you'd die. If he was bitten by a walker, you'd get yourself bitten. If he left, you'd leave with him. Your mind was always on Carl. He wasn't like heaven as he was already heaven.

And all you had to do was say yes.

If you dance, I'll dance.

Say yes.

"Dear, Carl.... no! That's lame." You groaned. You had been working on writing something for Carl. All your attempts at writing something sweet for him had failed. Carl was different from every other boy. He was kind but wasn't soft. He'd sacrifice everything for you. He'd kill himself so you could live.

It was admirable. He was perfect.

"Look for the light." Lucille Smith said. And you found your light.

You heard the sound of rain outside your window. "Oh, great." You said sarcastically.

You heard knocking. You opened the door and saw Carl who was soaking wet cause of the rain. "Y/N," you smiled, "I—fuck it." He pulled you into a kiss.

You felt his soft lips against yours, he pulled back. "I fucking love you." He said. You kissed his cheek, "I love you too, sweetheart."

You took his hand and led him inside. You shut the door behind you. "So, what's this about me having a nice ass?"

He smirked, "You'll figure it out." He kissed you once again, and you practically melted into his touch.

He was magical. Everything about him was magical. He was your light.

The end.

☽ Author's note☾ UGHHHH SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP WTF WTF AHHHH I ADORE ALL OF YOU SO SO MUCH OMG <3 I'VE NEVER FELT THIS LOVED AAAAAAAAAAAA I LOVE YOU ALL DID Y'ALL NOTICE THE DALE REFERENCE?

[astroboots]

STAY, STAY, STAY

Summary: After Santiago spends the night with you and Frankie, he has to make a decision about what comes next. Part of the main timeline and is a sequel that takes place directly after Coming Home .

A/N: posting this a day late on a Friday instead of my regular Thursdays as Tumblr decided to mess with my queue, sorry folks.

Pairing: Santiago x female reader (you) x Frankie

Wordcount: 3000 words

Homecoming Universe | Astroboot’s Masterlist

Santiago feels like an old lady in a retirement home. 

Everything about this room feels like it was transported from another time. There’s an antique display cabinet in the corner of the room that is stuffed with worn out romance novels, old trinkets and one particularly haunted looking porcelain doll that gives him the creeps.

Every morning he wakes up to that hideously outdated flowery wallpaper that looks like Grimace had one too many Happy Meals and vomited all over the guest bedroom. 

That, paired with the old timey lace curtains by the window all serves to lend this room the vibe of a bedroom that belongs to an elderly woman. A particularly old fashioned lady at that. Santiago’s pretty sure Betty White would not be caught dead in here. 

He yawns, stretching out his back along the mattress as he does his best to avoid any eye contact with the haunted doll less it places a curse on him.

For a brief moment, he contemplates going downstairs to convince Frankie to make a trip to the closest trash yard. Failing that, maybe a church to perform an exorcism. But you’d notice within a heartbeat, and he’s pretty sure you’d replace it with two new haunted dolls in its place out of spite. 

This room isn’t done yet. He knows that. You and Frankie are taking the renovation one room at a time, which is why the guest bedroom is in this state.

Your bedroom, was much nicer. The walls are an ivory white, where the afternoon sun would paint it with a warm and lazy golden hue in the afternoon. Cozy and warm, with sheets that smells of your shampoo mingled with Frankie’s scent of cedar wood and faded motor oil.  

It’s a very good room. 

A room that he hasn’t returned to since that afternoon when he woke up half-naked in your bed. Woke up tangled between the two of you, and his first waking thought was how he could still taste himself from Frankie’s tongue.

The second thought he had that morning, was that he’d really gone and fucked it up now. 

He'd been in a silent panick. Frozen to the spot and unable to move. All he could think of as he was lying there, was the serious talk that the three of you would have to have. He was absolutely certain you would wake up, pin his feet to the floor with that piercing gaze of yours and tell him you need to talk. 

Talk about:

What this meant.

What comes next.

What Santiago is planning to do. 

Santiago is lousy with these things. He doesn’t do talks about the future. For a man whose livelihood was intel and planning, he is surprisingly shit at long-term goals for himself.

He’s decent at committing to something that has a finish line that he can see. He's good with missions that has an expiration day. But he’s not a man that is ready for anything permanent meant to last for the rest of his life. 

The mere thought ‘permanently’ has his skin itching with the self-destructive impulse to run bare feet all the way to Tampa International Airport. 

To his surprise though, the dreaded talk never happened that morning. 

Instead, you had stirred in the bed, eyes bleary and soft. You had taken one look at him and said, "I'm hungry."

You had announced it so matter of factly, as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place.

Then the three of you had headed downstairs, ordered take out, like this was all completely normal.

Like, having your best friend watch you fuck your husband is just another Saturday night. 

It's so unlike you. The most confrontational person he's ever known in his thirty odd years on this blue planet. But in that moment, Santiago was just so relieved he decided not to look at horse's gift in the mouth. So he decided not to look at it too closely.

At the end of that night he’d slinked away to the guest bedroom before either of you had a chance to ask him to sleep in yours. That way, he figured, he could postpone the inevitable talk until the next morning and he could spend the entirety of that night coming up with what he wanted to say. 

Then the next morning came and neither of you corner him then either. And he wasn't quite so sure if it was relief that he felt in the pit of his stomach or something else entirely.

He didn't look at that too closely either.

But you and Frankie had continued to act act like nothing has changed between the three of you. It is a tourniquet that abates the worst impulses in him that usually wants to make a run for it.

And that’s good, it’s great. It’s the best case scenario for Santiago. To extend this armistice for as long as humanly possible. 

Except a week has passed now. Nothing has happened, and Santiago is no longer sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. There’s a part of him that can’t stand it. A part of him that wants you to confront him. Take the choice out of his hands and force him to plainly spell it out, force him to stay. 

Santiago stares up at the doll in the cabinet.

Fuck, he can't stay in this room.

Time to leave, before it blinks back at him.

A big yawn leaves him, and he finally forces himself to get out of bed and head downstairs towards the kitchen.

You’re already seated by the table, paperwork spread all in front of you with a marking pen in hand. You don’t look up, but you sense him all the same as you greet him.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty. Coffee’s in the pot for you.” 

It’s become a ritual for him. He wakes up around noon, and by the time he is downstairs, there’s already coffee made for him.

Pouring himself a cup, steam rises from the surface and he’s always amazed by how it is always piping hot. 

“Where did you get this coffee maker?” Santi asks. 

At the table, your red pen strikes through a whole paragraph and Santiago feels a twinge of sympathy for whoever student’s paper you’re grading. 

“From Walmart, how come?”

“Just curious, I had a similar one back in Colombia and it was never this good. When I set mine on keep warm, it comes out tasting like shit after an hour. Don’t know how yours is able to keep the coffee fresh for so long when it’s been out all morning.”

“That’s because it hasn’t been out all morning. I make it fresh for you. You think Frankie and I would dare to make Princess of the Pea lukewarm stale coffee? you’d never let us hear the end of it.”

He can’t help the chuckle that bubbles up in him. Because you’re right, he would definitely let you hear his share of complaints. 

“How do you know when I’ll be awake?”

“You’ve been waking up at noon everyday since you got here, except last weekend when we napped until noon."  

Something lurches in his chest at your words. The reminder that that morning did in fact happen and that it hasn’t been mysteriously wiped from yours and Frankie’s memory. 

“You don’t need to do that. I might wake up earlier or later than that. Seems a bit of a waste to throw out a whole batch if I am not on time. I can make my own coffee,”

He cringes at how he sounds like such a fucking brat. Fuck, why is he acting like this.   

You look up, tilting your chin until it rests on your hand, considering him. But where he expects a scowl, the corner of your lips tug as if you’re trying to hold back a smile.

There’s something about the amusement in your eyes that tells him that this is exactly what you expected him to do. 

“It’s just coffee, Santiago.” 

Santiago moves to sit opposite to you at the table, then he reaches over to the window sill, grabbing a worn out paperback. He opens the book to the page where his bookmark still sits from where he left it yesterday noon. 

Warm sunlight filters through the large windows as he starts to read. There is the faint sound of your pen scratching against paper. Every now and then he'll look up to watch the minute expressions on your face. Watch the way your mouth twists, and your brows raise or knits in reaction to what’s written in front of you as you’re grading papers.

It is one of the most idyllic atmospheres that Santiago finds himself in for years. 

It’s so domestic.  

“What book are you reading?” you ask, as you look up from your papers. 

“Just something I picked up from the airport.”

With a quiet hum, you walk up and over behind his chair. You lean over, close enough that your nose practically presses up against the words on the page.

You’re wearing your glasses, so there is no practical reason for why you need to be this close to make out the words.

“Is it any good?”

The back of his neck prickles with heat, and it’s all he can do not to lean back against your touch for more. 

Fuck— he can’t focus.

He wonders if you’re testing him. God knows, a week is more than long enough to talk things through like adults instead of constantly procrastinating the way he has been doing.

At some point Frankie and you are bound to lose your patience with him. The right thing for Santiago is to rip off the bandaid now and air out everything. 

But the rational part of him knows better. It is urging him to shut up and not rock the boat. Because if he opens his mouth, and says the wrong thing, he could be opening the wrong valve to a floodgate that cannot be closed behind him. 

The problem is Santiago's never been rational when it comes to you.

“Why aren’t you pushing this?” Santiago asks. 

“Pushing what?” 

“Why haven’t you brought up what happened?” 

Your lips quirk into a knowing smile and it dawns on him. He’s been played, like a well worn guitar and You know every string and note as you strum and pluck him to dance to your tune. 

“Santiago, if we sat you down at the table and told you, ‘we need to talk’, your first instinct would’ve been to hoof it to the airport, boarding the first flight out of Florida.” 

“I wouldn’t–” Santiago starts in protest, but stops himself before he finishes the sentence. He wouldn’t have what? Not run away? That’d be a lie and you both know it. 

“You’d run so fast there would be permanent skidmarks on my kitchen floor” 

Santiago bites his tongue at that. Because once again, you’re not wrong. 

“I’m not good at this,” Santiago says. It’s the only thing he can say that's true. “It’s not that I’m planning on running from it, I just can’t promise you I’ll stay.” 

There's disappointed etched on your face as he speaks.

“Santiago," you start, more hesitant than he's ever known you to be.

"You don’t have to make a promise. You can just–” you bite your tongue, not finishing the sentence as you look away.

You both know what the last word on your tongue was. Still it surprises him all the same when you say it. “Stay”. 

His throat swell up in panic, knees itching to get up and run at the word.

What the hell is wrong with him? Why is he like this?

Before he runs, before he descends into complete utter panic, you reach out and take his hand in yours.  

“Doesn’t have to be forever. Stay for as long or as short as you want to. You don’t have to make any life-long promises or permanent plans right now.” 

Santiago doesn’t know what to say to that. He looks down to your hands, where you’ve looped your pinkie around his.

There’s a flash of a memory of the way you always used to do this every time you drove him to the airport when he was due to be shipped out. That moment right before you two would have to say your goodbyes at the drop off point. 

“If it helps, you can consider your stay on a trial basis?” You joke, but as hard as you try to keep the humor in your voice, he can hear how your voice breaks a little and it kills him. 

“I can’t do that. You have a life with Frankie. I can’t do that to you.” 

“You’re not doing anything to us. Frankie wants you here. You know he does.” 

Dragging his eyes away from your joined hands, he gazes up at your face and draws strength from there before he speaks. “Do you want me to stay?”

“You already know the answer to that,” you say, and even though Santiago knows what the answer is, he’s disappointed all the same that he can’t hear the words. 

You tilt your head, watching him closely, then you lean in closer until your forehead presses up against his. “I always have, Santiago.” 

Santiago fucking hates this room. 

That haunted porcelain doll is staring at him and even in the dark he can see the glowing eyes.

This is how every horror movie starts. 

He’s been lying here for what must be a good hour or two. He can't sleep.

Partly because of that creepy fucking doll. But mostly, because the conversation with you is running on an endless loop in his head. Like a radio station playing the same three summer hits over and over again. Except instead of Rihanna crooning about Umbrellas all he hears is the invitation to stay stay stay. 

Stay with you and Frankie in this beautiful home that the two of you have built together. 

It’s not that he doesn’t want to. He just can’t. Give it a month and Santiago knows that the itch to go will thrum in every vein until he can’t sit still. 

He can see it clearly. Him sitting on the deck, beer in hand at one of Molly’s Saturday barbecues. The smell of grilled charcoal wafting through the backyard. Benny will be talking about the outcome of his latest match. From the corner of his eyes, Santiago will catch a plane fly over the sky and the only thing he’ll feel is the desire to go. Doesn’t matter where, just far away from wherever he is. 

It’s what he’s done countless times before. But if he does it this time, if he promises to stay and still leave. This time he doesn’t think Frankie will be able to forgive him again. 

His eyes drift to his zip up bag dumped in the corner. He never did unpack. If he gets out of bed now, he can be up and dressed in five. Can probably call a cab to drive out here in twenty. Arrive at the airport an hour after that. 

Except...

Stay, you’d said. It doesn’t even have to be forever. 

He pushes himself up into a sitting position by his elbows, eyes flickering between his zip-up bag and the hideous porcelain doll that is giving him the evil eye. 

That’s another reason for him to leave isn’t it? That fucking doll alone. 

There’s a dull ache, begging to grow into a migraine forming behind his eyes, and he drags his hand over his face to soothe himself. 

Stay, and it could be on a trial basis. 

Pushing the bed covers aside, Santiago gets out of the bed. He walks towards the corner of the room until he’s hunching over in front of his zip-up bag staring into the fabric like it’s going to tell him the answer. 

Stay, because you have always wanted him too. 

Standing upright, he takes care not to bump into the frame of the bed as he walks out into the hall. The wooden floor creeks with every step he takes until he is standing in front of your bedroom. 

The door is slightly ajar and the soft glow of the bedside lamp is still on. He knocks gently on the door before opening it wider. 

You’re sitting cross-legged on the bed, hunched over the same schoolpapers you were working on earlier. Frankie is lying next to you reading a manual on flight mechanics. 

When Santiago enters, Frankie’s the first to look up, mouth wide open in stunned surprise that makes him look like the very fish he’s nicknamed after.  

But you? You’re smiling. Warm and expectant. As if there was never any doubt that he was going to show up here tonight. He's slightest bit annoyed at that. How you know him better than anyone else in the world. Better than himself it seems.

“Scoot over,” he says, as he walks over to your side of the bed. “Can’t get any sleep in that room with that haunted fucking doll staring into my soul.” 

Without so much as a word, you scoot to the end of the bed, patting the middle of the mattress in invitation. At the sight of the gesture, there’s an itch starting in his legs, that telltale urge to turn around and run the other way. 

That feeling may never go away. Might always be there for as long as he’s with you two. Cold sweat prickles at his back at the thought of it, and for a second he swears that he can feel the walls closing in.  

But he decides to walk towards you anyway. Straight forward, before he changes his mind, until his knees are touching the mattress and he’s climbing in. He drags the quilt with him as he goes and finds himself lying in the middle of the bed. 

“Just for tonight,” Santiago mumbles as he pulls at your pillow to steal a bigger share of it for himself.  

“Yeah,” you answer, smiling as big as ever. All the wrangled up doubt in him, slowly melts at the sight of it. “Stay for tonight.” 

He hears Frankie’s chuckle from behind him. It’s breathless and pitched, the kind of laugh one accidentally let slips after holding one's breath in suspense for a long time. 

You lie down next to Santiago, inching closer until his body is pressed between Frankie and you.

Even though your closeness makes any space he has for himself non-existent, when several strands of your hair tickle against his cheek, the constricting walls around Santiago recede again until he can breathe a little bit easier. The itch in his knees is still there, but it’s just part of the background compared to the weight of Frankie’s arm draped over his hip, and your ice cold feet tucked between his calves. 

Stay, you’d asked. He thinks he can do that for now. 

Author's Note: So this part belongs to the main timeline and takes directly after Coming Home . I've been meaning to write this for over a year but then got distracted by all the smutty oneshots for 30 Pieces... I will probably start writing more into the main timeline which is going to be a mix of short and longer oneshots, and maybe even smaller multi-part chapters while mixing it up with the smutty vignettes as always.

Dedications: Always and forever and an extra day, this is dedicated to @thirstworldproblemss who has been listening to my insane ramblings about these three since day one, back when I only had a vague and abstract idea of a Frankie, Santi and reader one-shot that has now turned into this.

Also to @frannyzooey who has been sending me asks on a daily basis and inspired me to write again for these three love clowns. I love you

[shawol-poser]

To My Lover From Afar Teaser

Pairing: Alien AU! Do Kyungsoo x Actress!Reader ||CW: Mentions of death, mentions of suicide, but not a lot.||Heavily inspired by the drama series. "My Love From Another Star."||

Summary: Do Kyungsoo has been living on planet Earth for the past 400 years after having failed to return home due to unforeseen circumstances. With only a few months remaining before his long-awaited return, he's found himself caught in problems and people that he thought he had left behind centuries ago. Is this what humans call, "fate?"

Entry 1

"I've worked 15 years to get to where I am now, and all my hard work is just...suddenly gone because of one unverified rumor with no concrete evidence."

You've never thought you would be in this situation. Sitting and talking about your current problems with your robotic neighbor because you have no friends, and no family that can listen. He doesn't even look at you. Eyes trained on his glass of water beside yours that he brought out when he begrudgingly invited you in.

"I'm just some bitch that drove a beautiful actress insane to the point of death. Some impudent bitch that continues to live her life like she isn't guilty."

You might as well be talking to yourself at this point, but his presence somehow lessens the emptiness you've felt in the last few days.

"But you're not. You didn't do it. That should be enough."

"I thought that too. Clearly, I was wrong. A lot of people don't think of it that way, and with the way things are going, things just might turn for the worse." You put your head in your hands, sighing out as you think about what you 're going to do.

Fans of the actress had left various hate mail through your company, and management decided that they wouldn't do anything since your contract was expiring within the month anyway.

So you left.

But what was worse was that it seemed as if some fans knew where you lived. Curtesy of various gifts that were left on your apartment's front door with pictures of the actress and dead rats.

Your neighbor stares at your hunched form from the couch seat quite far from you, but the closest he's ever been to most. He thinks for a moment before he notices you lift your head with an unreadable expression on your face.

"What is it?" He asks.

"Should I have said yes?" You wonder out loud.

"For?"

Your face turns to look at him, but your eyes stick to your glass of water. "You know my friend, right? Park Chanyeol. He proposed to me today." He looks away to look at his own glass when your eyes finally look at him, which prompts you to look away as well.

"If I can't sign in with another company, since I'm sure my last one won't accept my renewal, I'm pretty much broke. My mom can't handle money well, and my brother's still going to college."

You look down at your hands and observe the lines of your palms before rubbing them and continuing.

"I can't live miserably for their sake, but right now I'm running out of hope. He told me today that if I said yes, he'd take care of me and my family until he dies. That he'll take care of us really, really well." You scoff at the idea. You've been talking for so long that you don't even realize your neighbor, Do Kyungsoo, had turned to look at you after some time.

He stares at you for a while before asking. "Then why did you say no?"

Your eyes light up like they've sobered up as you reply. "I know, right? I don't know why either."

He looks away for one moment but his eyes are on you once again when you continue. "...Should I say yes right now?"

"What are you saying?" It looks like his interjection surprised him too because he blinks away the look he had before explaining himself. "It's barbaric to talk about wealth when considering marriage!"

"Says who?"

"Says 'Myungshimbogam'."

"Are you sure you just graduated two years ago, or 300 years ago?"

"It's full of wisdom. You don't even know what's in the writing."

"I know you're old fashioned and that you're good at what you do." You start and as much as you don't like asking for help and bothering anyone else, he's probably the only person that can help you out of this mess.

"So please," His polite sitting posture is broken when you grab his hand in both of yours and kneel on his carpeted floor.

"Please help me, Do Kyungsoo."

[rosies-emporium]

Question, would you be able to tell me if my flesh is gone expired.

"Your flesh" as in flesh you own or the flesh on you? You'd best be clear 'bout it before I take a bite to try make sure~ Oh, kidding, I'm just kidding! A good whiff and glance would be enough, of course. Allow me. Changes in odor, texture, and/or color would all be a dead giveaway!

Speaking of which, don't you smell like death itself~

[ryunumber]

Do Indie Pogo trophies count as appearances? Does Wryn from Bleed still have a Ryu number if not?

Wryn does not have a Ryu Number.

(clarification below)

So first off, no, Indie Pogo trophies do not count, much like Smash Bros. trophies.

To the best of my knowledge, Wryn herself has not been in any other game. She was at some point intended to be in Pocket Rumble, but it seems as if her and other guest bosses were never implemented since the game's gone silent post Switch release circa 2018.

There are, however, guest characters in Bleed 2 in the form of both playable characters and a boss.

Best I can tell, Rex Rocket, Freqμency, and Plucky's 3D Adventure are dead ends, which leaves the Clawed Girl from They Bleed Pixels as the only prospective connection. So what has she been in?

Well, she was intended to be in C-Wars alongside Shovel Knight, but that game also went silent between 2016 and 2021, with the most recent update being March of 2023. So I suppose in theory this could be a connection, but even assuming the game does hit a 1.0 at some point, it's also very possible that expired license agreements prevent either from being in the finished product.

So that's a bust. But hey, as it turns out, she's in another game: namely, Spooky Squid Games's next release after They Bleed Pixels, Russian Subway Dogs.

...As a statue and inspiration for a playable cat.

So close, yet so far.

It's very possible that there's a link out there I'm missing, but for now, this is all I could find, so Wryn does not have a Ryu Number.

But you know what?

[tobiasdrake]

An audience in the sky. We've done weirder things, to be sure.

Their feet look like shoes. Are they wearing bodysuits or are they just... like that? Are they statue people? I have so many questions.

Do you want to do the talking, Garl? I might just wind up making offensive inquiries if I do it.

WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN YOUR CHEST

Oh shit, that means they can hear me muttering too. >.< "Boy, these weird-ass bodysuit cloud giants and their confusing architectural choices sure are very normal and fine!"

There you go, buddy. The Oracles already know it, but we gotta make sure everyone far and wide hears the legends of the greatest Warrior Cook who ever lived. I want people reading your fable and being inspired to master the frying pan long after you're gone.

...okay, the last time someone singled out one of my friends for an attribute like this, I wound up threatening to drown a fish. I hope we're not about to go down that road again.

Because I'm protective of Serai, but I am very protective of Garl.

Is this a big request? Gonna be honest, the answer to that question is no. We have no idea what we're asking. We just know that we need to do it so that I can strangle an asshole with his own tendrils.

Please, wise council, assist me in carrying out retaliatory violence against a godlike entity who was, himself, simply taking fair compensation for the incredible amounts of cheating we were doing!

Does. Does the goddess Luana not count or something? I'm pretty sure I just vouched for him a moment ago and we're all pretty convinced that I'm Luana. I might even actually be, who knows? So.

MIC. DROP. That's right, we speak with HIS authority!

Resh'an: She does not speak with my authority.

Garl has a full-ass god squad plus whatever Serai is! Truly, there has never been a mortal being in this or any timeline more blessed than he, so clench up your colossus-holes and sit up straight! You are in the presence of greatness.

Hold up, what?

Huh. We didn't even know the Vespertine was important. I guess we're just.... very prolific looters....

You got any other trials to obtain shit I've already swiped?

*proudly* We got so pissed off one time that we turned into balls and flew away. We have not been able to do it again, nor do we have any idea how we did it, but we DID and that makes us pretty awesome.

I'm. Not sure. Why that's an answer to the question but apparently it is. Good job, Serai. Fantastic job of doing whatever it is that you did.

I'm curious about that myself. Garl, you said you had some idea of a thing you could offer but this was all coming straight out of your visions so... how's this going to work?

And does your Borrowed Time expire once we get the approval, or after we do whatever we have to do to get the approval approval? I need to know if you're going to suddenly drop dead and flip over that railing the second this conversation's done.

(Which, also, by the way: Railings. See, Moraine? Was that so hard?)

I REGRET EVERYTHING WHY ARE WE DOING THIS

Garl's Elder Mist prophecy did say he would soothe a long-tormented soul. I wrote it off as referring to Malkomud but if it's still in effect, then that's another one he has to complete before he can die.

Yeah, that one. That's the one.

He also told you to be mindful of your limitations but you still insisted on getting shot for me, you selfless fuck. T-T

I only about 80% understand what they're talking about (Thanks, Teaks! It was in the Sleeper's fable!) but this is the boldest thing we've ever done. And we've done some bold-ass shit.

I love it. I'm excited to be a part of it. We should probably let the molekin know that we may or may not be about to wreak utter annihilation upon their entire civilization and they do not get a voice in the matter.

[simplych4i]

You wanna know what I hate?

And maybe I'm looking in the wrong places

But everywhere I look for Spy and Scout content I just find Spy being a bad dad!! Yes he shouldn't have abandoned the family, but he likely had reasons!! He's a /spy/! People could've gone after his family if they knew about them!! He was tryna keep em safe I'm telling you

Do you see how happy he is being able to help Scout in expiration date? Yeah, he gets back at him for some torment, he's still human. But he genuinely seems happy to be helping his son!! And people are out here thinking he's like, abusive and what not? No! No this man is a sweet man who cares for his family so deeply, he'd rather see them happy without him then dead because of his presence.

He holds the information about Scout tight to his chest and never let's it out because he's still scared of what /could/ happen to his boy, especially now that they're in a war where morals clearly don't have that much of a standing here! (Hell, y'all know what the fuck Medic has done)

And I bet you he thinks it's best this way. It's best going to sleep holding a photo of his family to his chest, instead of living day to day with the risk of their harm. It's just best this way.

[bisexualhomelander]

despite everything, i'm still human (but i think i'm dying here) - chapter i

Homelander loses his powers. Ryan doesn't want to lose another parent.

Annie approached with caution. Her heart hammered behind her ribs, all instincts screaming at her not to do it, but she stepped closer anyway. She needed to see. In order to trust, she needed to see. For herself. With her own eyes. How could anyone who'd known the real cruelty behind the sugar-coated fairytales of Vought finally believe that the monster of this tale was dead without seeing its corpse?

Homelander's cape was torn and dirty. His suit had gashes, and underneath the gashes, there was bruised skin and dried blood.

She'd never seen him in anything but pristine condition. It was a strange thing, she mused, that the costume was as indestructible as its wearer - until suddenly, it was torn, and he was hurt.

Her hands were still shaking. She was so attuned to the buzz of electricity around her that its absence seemed like she was missing a sense. Later, she would cry over it. Her body ached, and all she wanted was to have Hughie, hold him and be held in turn. To sleep, for a year. But at least she was alive, and it was over.

Soldier Boy lay passed out, huffing in Frenchie's nerve poison.

Maeve was missing an eye.

There was movement all around them, the Boys starting to bustle around the room in the aftermath of the explosion, coming out from where they had gotten shelter from the immediate fallout.

Butcher staggered past her, holding his head, his Temp V dose having expired before the 24 hours. But he seemed fine. Ironic, wasn't it, that making himself a supe was what had saved his life just now? A human in blast radius would have been incinerated.

Annie's eyes focused on Homelander again. He was clearly disoriented, but alive, eyes blinking wildly. He was on the ground, half-sitting, the arm that was holding him up shaking so much it seemed he had problems with staying upright.

Then, he was hidden from her sight as Ryan stepped in front of him.

His eyes glowed red and dangerous, but there was only desperation in his face. He didn't want to fight. He just lacked any better way of telling everyone to back off already.

"Don't come any closer," the boy pleaded with her.

"I just--"

"He's bleeding! Leave him alone, he can't hurt anyone!"

It was only when he said the words that she realized. Ryan had his powers. He'd been shielded from Soldier Boy. The pieces of the puzzle fit together in her mind so quickly that it made her sick. Never had the man done anything that was not for his own profit and enjoyment.

From behind his son's body, Homelander squinted at her. "Starlight?" he rasped, voice hoarse from the breathless little gasps he had been letting out for the past half an hour. He sounded so insecure, voice gone high and small. Annie found it difficult not to smile. Triumph and relief were so close together, and yet she felt that her cheeks were moist. Exhaustion and joy all at once. She felt light-headed. Dizzy with it. He was depowered. It was over. It was finally actually done.

"Don't hurt him," Ryan whispered. "Don't kill him." The last part wasn't directed at her at all. The red glow of the child's gaze instead illuminated Butcher to her left. He had a metal bar in hand, some piece of the lighting that had crashed to the ground, ready to finish what they'd started. "Please, Butcher. Don't kill him. He saved my life, please."

"Ryan, look--"

"No! He's all I have, please!"

"Ryan, what he has done--"

"He can't do it now! He can't. He doesn't have powers." As if to underscore the statement, Ryan's lasers burned brighter, and Annie could hear it now - the noise they made before they fired. She wasn't scared of the boy, but she took a step sideways, afraid he might lose control.

Ryan took a hesitant step to his father, kneeling down next to him, his gaze on Butcher. Homelander extended his free arm, held Ryan to him, examining him as though he couldn't fully believe the child was actually sitting by his side.

Butcher stepped forward.

Ryan's eyes widened.

Butcher's rolled back in his head, and he slumped onto the floor like a doll with his strings cut. The metal bar clattered. Before anyone else could even move, M.M. was by Butcher's side, making sure he was alive. Annie, for her part, couldn't even process this additional worry.

As Annie moved, Homelander's eyes met hers again, and once more, he squinted. "I-Is that how humans see?"

The question came out of the blue so much that it startled a halfway amused snort out of her. "Sorry you can't laser me to pieces."

"I can't-- see." He closed his eyes, opened them again.

She was too tired to gloat, really, but she couldn't help it. She couldn't stop herself from saying the words. "Yeah, must be hard, right? Not so superior now."

"How do they manage… anything? This is terrible!" It wasn't a true conversation. They were talking in each other's direction, but not to the other. Homelander rubbed his eyes, blinked at his son. He was clearly growing more afraid by the second, and it was so strange that the small detail of his eyesight was what did it for him. "How--?"

"Maybe you just see like a human, Dad." Ryan's eyes were worried, but at least they were blue.

"Do they all-- I see you." He ruffled Ryan's hair with his shaky bloodied fingers. He turned back to her. "I don't see you. I-- I know it's you, but-- You're all out of focus." He looked to the ceiling, to the windows, to New York outside, lit up at night. "It's all shapes and colors."

"You need glasses," Ryan said with all the bluntness of his ten years.

Homelander looked at him like the child had grown a second head.

The door burst open. Hughie rushed in, and whatever happened after, Annie had no part in. Her own eyesight blurred in a sea of tears.

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Isn't that just all of us? We're the shopkeeper in this sketch...

ST fandom at Eddie: Oh no. What's wrong with him?

Duffers: He's dead, that's what's wrong with him.

ST fandom: No, no, he's uh,...he's resting.

Duffers: Look, matey, I know a dead character when I see one, and I'm looking at one right now.

ST fandom: No no he's not dead, he's, he's restin'! Remarkable character, Eddie Munson, isn't he, ay? Beautiful eyes.

Duffers:  The eyes don't enter into it. He's stone dead.

ST fandom: 'Course not. He's just taking a nap before the next season.

Duffers: He's not taking a nap! He's passed on! This character is no more! He has ceased to be! He's expired and gone to meet his maker! He's a stiff! Bereft of life, he rests in peace! If you hadn't resurrected him in hundreds of fanfics he'd be pushing up the daisies! His metabolic processes are now history! He's off the twig! He's kicked the bucket, he's shuffled off his mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisible!! THIS IS AN EX-CHARACTER!!

ST fandom: ...

Duffers: ...

ST fandom: So you're saying he isn't alive anymore but he's getting resurrected. Cool!

Duffers: weep in the distance