#all the wild family she knew is dead

[orcinus-veterinarius]

You know my feelings on California’s orca law, but if it keeps Corky safe, then it might be worth it.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[hedgehog-moss]

The first episode of our shearing saga ended with Poldine being freed and happily running towards her family (who, let me remind you, had abandoned her and refused to provide any emotional support during her first ever shearing.)

I followed her, hoping to snap pictures of a heartwarming family reunion. Which didn't happen. Poldine's mum and grandma mostly looked perplexed.

Then horrified.

Poldine was, understandably, driven to existential despair by her mother's reaction to her new haircut.

Needless to say, when I tried to catch Pampérigouste to shear her, it was next to impossible. She knew what awaited her and wouldn't go anywhere near me, even when I made the Muesli Whistle (which usually draws a Pavlovian response out of her), even when I threw a handful of actual muesli in her direction to attract her. If anything she looked vexed that I could think she was no smarter than a pigeon.

But I have a PhD in catching Pampe. I decided to try something I'd never tried before: lie in wait by the watering hole like a hyena. You see, there's a gate near the water trough that can open all the way in either direction, and I figured I could simply trap my llama between the gate and a tree.

I waited, I waited, and eventually, finally, Pampe got thirsty.

Once she was trapped behind the gate it was very easy to halter her, and then she grumpily followed me to the corral, where I tied her to a post to shear her.

As soon as I switched on the electric shears, she freaked out. She reared up like a wild stallion, started foaming at the mouth, desperately pulling on the rope, it was awful! I tried to turn on the shears some distance away then get progressively closer when she got used to the noise, but she didn't get used to the noise. I tried to sing her favourite protest song over the noise, I tried everything; she kept acting like I was an exorcist and she was possessed by a swarm of demons. Eventually I thought I should just start shearing and get it over with as quickly as possible.

Pampe was so good with the llama shearer two years ago! She was perfectly calm and relaxed! She didn't care at all about the noise of the shears even when they were right behind her ears!! What is the explanation for this?

(when I expressed surprise at her good behaviour with the shearer back then, someone said she reminded them of the type of brat who's well-behaved with their teacher at school but insufferable with their parents)

Pampoldine stayed right next to her mum the whole time her ordeal lasted. Poldine, you are too good for this world.

These are my only two photos of Pampe being shorn, because my photographer was busy trying to soothe her by petting her, or distract her by offering her a hazel branch to eat. At some point Pampe tried to lie down and play dead, which made shearing her neck complicated, so my photographer was promoted (or demoted?) to Llama Scaffolding—she had to lean against Pampe with all her weight to prevent her from lying down. The last time I'd seen a llama play dead was when Pyrgus was sent away, which was pretty heartbreaking...

(Pampe possibly expected to receive the same amount of sympathy, but we had to remind her that Pyrgus was a child being separated from his mother forever while she was an adult getting a haircut.)

Since I sheared her as fast as I could, Pampe looks worse than her daughter—much less smooth, with some remaining woolly spots here and there that I wasn't able to go back to because she kept shaking her head, kicking her feet, squirming and generally acting like she was being tortured. It's now clear to me that she was only well-behaved last time out of spite, because I'd warned the shearer that I had one Difficult Llama. I sort of already suspected it at the time:

Please note that as soon as I released her, all the fuss and drama ended. In an instant. I thought she was going to jump away from me when I took off her halter, and run like hell, or stand there shaking from stress, but no—she ate a few hazel leaves from the branch (no longer panting, no longer drooling) then scratched her neck with her back hoof looking very composed, then trotted away lightly and happily.

[clockwayswrites]

Birdritch part 2 Yeah, there's a subscription post now...

Danny pulled another sweet potato fry from his bag before refolding the top to keep it warm. He’d finish all the fries before he even got home, he knew that, but that was future him’s problem. Right then being able to munch on the sweet, salty goodness as he took a shortcut through the park was just what he needed. There was something about Robinson park that always settled him.

It was probably because of the park’s wild, otherworldly nature that came from Poison Ivy’s control. It almost felt ghostly in how unreal it was. It was another thing Danny tried not to think too hard on and just enjoyed. It wasn’t that Danny was ignoring the fact that he was half ghost (as he always tried to convince himself), he just wasn’t dwelling on it anymore. Ghosts had consumed his life for so long and he needed a break.

Even before his accident (it was easier to just call it an accident when people asked about his scars), his parent’s obsession controlled their house, family, and lives. He got now that it wasn’t normal to grow up not cooking because the food might eat you. Or because your parents were too busy in the basement lab to remember. His time away from Amity Park in college made Danny realize that Jazz and his childhood had been at best unsafe and at worst negligent.

It had taken Danny a lot of therapy to be able to say those words.

Being honest, Danny still needed a lot of therapy, but there was only so much progress he could make when he couldn’t really explain that he was half dead and had spent the end of his childhood fighting ghosts, the government, and his parents. He was half tempted to try and track down Harley Quinn and see if she was up to taking on a new patient. (Danny was pretty sure that she wouldn’t rat him out to the authorities.)

A vine thrashed suddenly in front of Danny, hitting the sidewalk with a meaty thump.

Danny froze.

Fuck.

His phone was out of power.

He couldn’t check if something was going on in the park.

While Poison Ivy was much more Pamela Isley than rogue these days, as seen by the city just letting her have control of much of the park, she was still temperamental and the right— or wrong— sort of thing could set her and her plants off. (Sometimes the plants went off on their own. Everyone knew not to be a sleaze bag in Robinson park.)

Slowly Danny started to back up.

Several more vines wretched themselves out of the ground around him.

He could hear shouting somewhere off to his left. Out of the corner of his eye he could see movement from the plants that direction.

Alright, not angry at him then.

Danny crept forward slowly, keeping his motions as calm and small as possible. Just because they plants weren’t angry at him it didn’t mean they weren’t a threat to him. His best chance was to stay on the path and head in the direction away from the noise.

And away from the over sized flowers.

Well fuckity fuck.

Most things Poison Ivy could do weren’t really a threat to Danny. He could phase away from vines, after all. But the flowers? The flowers had pollen and pollen was an unknown; one that Danny didn’t want to be known. Sam was rather certain that the pollens could effect Danny in odd and unknown ways due to his half ghost nature.

He had refused to let Sam experiment on him to figure it out. Comparing her fervor to his parent’s helped shut that idea down for good. Danny didn’t regret avoiding being a lab rat, even as he was staring down the ruby red flowers to his right. He still just had to keep his motions as calm and small as possible.

The flowers were only an issue if they let their pollen out.

Danny started to move in as wide of an arc as he could around the flowers.

While they were closed up he was safe.

Danny’s left hand spasmed.

The paper bag of food crinkled.

The flower petals unfurled.

Fuck.

---

AN: I know there are issues, another no read through late night post, but I'm getting my serotonin where I can. Stay delightful, darlings.

[bumblesimagines]

Obsessions and Cruelty

Request: Yes or No

Summary: Despite the love Princess Alyssa and Prince Baelon had for their twins, Prince (Y/N) and Prince Aegon, Daemon never truly forgave (Y/N) for causing the death of their mother; but he'll never genuinely hate him either.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical HOTD warnings, Targcest/Incest (Brother-Brother), mention of childbirth caused death, mentioned death of a sibling (Lil Aegon), toxic behavior?, Daemon stop insulting women challenge (impossible)

~~~

Princess Alyssa and Prince Baelon had been overjoyed when (after a long and excruciatingly painful childbirth) the Mother bestowed them with the gift of twin boys whom they happily named Prince Aegon and Prince (Y/N). Their two older brothers, Viserys and Daemon, welcomed them into the family with ease, making plans of all the things they'd teach the boys.

All had been well, until six months later when Alyssa passed after being unable to fully recover from having the twins, her body too weakened from the hours of pain and blood loss. Tragedy struck again with the weaker of the twins, Prince Aegon, passed just shy of his first nameday, leaving the family in distress and an ocean of grief.

Prince (Y/N) had been born sickly as well, and the boy had hardly cried or fussed when he'd been born; so much so that the midwife and maester present feared he'd been stillborn until Baelon took his boy into his arms and the little one finally kicked off with some wails. His health fluctuated throughout his first few years of life, having its highs when he raced down the hall with his little legs and a flurry of maids following as well as its lows when he could hardly get out of bed. 

While his father deeply grieved the loss of his beloved sister-wife and child, he refused to allow it to push him away from his youngest boy. He ensured to assign (Y/N) a personal maester, one who'd only tend to the boy when asked and would give him all the attention he needed.

Others assumed (Y/N) would pass before becoming man-grown, but the prince proved them all wrong, much to the relief and glee of his father and eldest brother, Viserys. His second eldest brother, Daemon, stewed in his grief and growing resentment. 

Daemon had loved their mother wholeheartedly. Alyssa had been a fierce, determined, daring princess who taught Daemon much of what he knew. He loved her, from her blonde hair to her mismatched eyes to the fact she rode the beautiful Red Queen, Meleys, because she'd been denied of riding Balerion. Alyssa's wild spirit had passed down to her son but she'd been stolen from him before she'd ever get to see him in action.

He despised it, despised how much they coddled him, how much they fretted over a weak little thing. Daemon spent much of his time avoiding the boy, for the sight of him alone reminded him of the night he learned of his mother's passing. Perhaps it was guilt too, that made him ignore his brother, for he also reminded him of the thought that he screamed in his mind during the funeral.

I wish they'd died instead.

Daemon hadn't looked anyone in the eye when little Aegon had been pronounced dead from a harsh fever; an inevitable death, the maester had claimed, for the boy had been weak for months. But Daemon believed the Gods had done it to remind him they were always listening. 

(Y/N) had been around four when Daemon's resentment first spilled over into actions. The younger prince had been left without a playmate after their brother left for training lessons, and (Y/N) had refused to play with the willing maids in favor of stumbling out of his room in his stubby toddler legs to search for his other brother.

When he approached the seven-year-old in his bedchambers, Daemon snatched the wooden toy wolf and snapped its head clean off with the threat of doing the same to the rest of his toys if he ever approached him again. (Y/N), of course, bursted into tears and Daemon awkwardly watched until their father arrived to scoop the little one into his arms and give Daemon a scolding. 

Baelon attempted to get the two to reconcile a few days later with a hug. When Daemon extended his arms out toward (Y/N), the little boy made a face and ran right back to their older brother who immediately gathered him up into his arms. It'd been then that Daemon felt a twinge of bitterness, not at (Y/N) for having Visery's attention but at Viserys for being chosen over him. He forced it away and told himself it was what he wanted. He hated him after all. Or so, it was what he told himself in the years that followed. 

Without fail, the weeks leading up to each of (Y/N)'s namedays seemed to set something off in Daemon and he'd make it his life's mission to bother the boy into tears. The first few years resulted in many wails and scoldings from their father, brother, and eventually even their new sister, Lady Aemma. His life had resulted in the death of the woman Daemon loved most, and he'd never forget it. But, Daemon soon learned everyone, even sickly weaklings, had their limits. 

On (Y/N)'s tenth nameday, Baelon had settled (Y/N) on his knee after the celebration and began recalling stories of Alyssa, starting with the fact she'd always followed him around in their youth like a shadow. (Y/N) had been enthralled, eyes big and wide and head eagerly nodding for more tales of the woman he'd never get to meet. Grief made Daemon's chest constrict, and without thinking, he'd blurted out: "There'd be more stories if you and Aegon hadn't killed her." 

The room had fallen deathly silent afterward, only family members lingering around who all turned to stare at the boy wide-eyed. His grandparents and father seemed on the verge of lecturing him when (Y/N) slipped off Baelon's knees, walked right up to the spot on the floor Daemon was sitting on, and landed one good punch to his nose that left a heavy flow of blood. Some in the room laughed, others shook their heads but Viserys had ensured to swoop in and separate the two until the maesters arrived. 

And while Daemon had a maester tend to his bleeding nose (luckily dismissing the possibility of it being broken), (Y/N) sent him a triumphant grin from across the room that made Daemon seethe. Still, he couldn't deny the hint of pride that swelled in him, as well as a new bubbling feeling. 

From then on, fighting and bickering were the only thing the boys seemed to do together, mostly because picking on (Y/N) was the only way to get him to pay Daemon any sort of attention. His accusation had been enough to permanently cement him as the enemy, even with all the coaxings and reminders of blood being thicker than water. He leaned into it, even if it meant having to sit back and grumpily watch (Y/N) happily cozy up to Viserys and sometimes even Lady Aemma. 

The Gods had cursed him for wishing the Stranger on (Y/N), he was certain of it. Why else would he care so much?

By the time the two were in their teens, Queen Alysanne had wed Daemon to Lady Rhea Royce of Runestone. He'd been sent off to live with her in the Vale, perhaps the most boring place in Westeros and annoyingly far from home. When he'd returned home for a visit, he'd learned from Viserys that the soon-to-be seventeen-year-old (Y/N) had many marriage prospects. Daemon had hoped to find himself thrilled at the idea of (Y/N) moving far away to become the new lord of some noble house but it only soured his mood whenever someone brought it up.

"I hear Lady Lusia is quite beautiful." Lady Aemma told (Y/N) one afternoon, a cup of sweetened milk in hand and a gentle smile on her face. Daemon scoffed quietly at her words, a bitter taste forming in his mouth that made him angrily swallow the piece of apple he'd been chewing. Lady Aemma seemingly ignored him. "I hear she has a fascination for dragons. I'm certain she'll love Sōna." 

"Or Sōna will eat her in a single bite the moment she lays eyes on her." Daemon piped in, pushing himself up from the couch he'd sprawled himself across and smirking at the eye-roll (Y/N) sent his way. Truthfully, Sōna was exactly like her rider in more ways than one: spoilt, easily annoyed, and downright bratty at times. The pretty beast had certain food preferences, for Gods' sake. Lady Aemma merely shook her head and sipped on her drink whilst Viserys finally tore his attention away from the book in hand. 

"Perhaps you have someone in mind then, Brother. You seemed against Lady Katherine and Lady Breyna as well." Viserys's finger dragged along the edge of the book, an amused twinkle in his eyes as he regarded his brother in a way that seemed to say I know. Daemon scowled at him, unable to resist the heat creeping up along his neck. 

"I'm saving those ladies from a lifetime of misery, more like. (Y/N) would probably drop dead if he saw a woman naked." 

At that, (Y/N) whirled around to look at him with a sneer. "It wouldn't be my first time!" He snapped at him, and irritation rolled over Daemon like a crashing wave. He'd been gone from court for a little less than a year and had already missed so much. His new wife's family had insisted he stay in Runestone with her despite her indifference, but he hardly cared for her or the Vale of Arryn. She was plain-faced, boring, and never bothered to converse with him. He much preferred the bustle and hustle of the Red Keep.

But nobody mentioning his little brother had bedded someone while he was away? It shouldn't have annoyed him as much as it did but the thought of some lousy little lady - or anyone, truly - laying hands on his brother in a less-than-friendly way made his blood boil. Had she even done it right? Had she even kissed him with passion or just with the desire to boast about lying with a Targaryen prince? 

"Who?" Daemon demanded, springing up to his feet and chucking the apple aside so hard it slammed into the wall and broke apart. Lady Aemma flinched at the noise and gave her husband a bewildered look that was met with a quiet sigh. Daemon's long silver hair spilled over his shoulders as he grasped the back of (Y/N)'s chair and leaned down to glower at him. "What dumb bitch decided you were worth laying with?" 

(Y/N) bristled like an enraged stray cat and shot up from his seat, planting his hands on Daemon's chest and shoving him back. Daemon stumbled backward, nearly tripping over his boots, and scowling immediately but before he could cut the distance, Viserys planted himself firmly between the two. At twenty-four, Viserys had no business being forced to stop fights between the two, but he believed it to be his job as eldest much to their annoyance. Daemon opened his mouth to spout some more things but he bit his tongue when he noticed the way (Y/N)'s eyes glistened. 

"Nyke vēdros ao." (Y/N) spat venomously, and Daemon's shoulders sagged, his body reeling back as if he'd been struck. (Y/N) stormed past the two of them, the doors shaking violently when he slammed them close behind him. Lady Aemma frowned at him, shaking her head with a soft sigh of disappointment. 

I hate you. 

He'd meant it, Daemon was sure of it. He'd been a bother since (Y/N) had been born, just a baby prone to illness who had no memories of their beautiful mother. The birth had impacted Alyssa severely, sure, but the twins had never asked to be born. Daemon had realized that early in his teenhood, but most of the damage had been done and he'd never been one to apologize or admit wrongdoing, to begin with. But as he stood there, staring into nothingness while the words replayed over and over in his head, he swore he felt his heart cracking. 

"Go apologize," Viserys told him softly, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving it an encouraging squeeze. "Make things right before it's too late. Father intends on having him wed before the winter."

Silently, Daemon turned on his heel and left the couple alone in their room to make his way down the hall. He'd upset (Y/N) enough to make him cry, something he hadn't done in years, so he felt certain the teen had rushed off to his bedroom before he could be seen. The servants and guards he encountered along the way were quick to step out of his way, and the ones stationed at (Y/N)'s bedchambers opened the doors for him without having to be asked. 

(Y/N) sat at the edge of his bed, legs crossed and lips pouting like a child but Daemon could only wince at the tear stains on his cheeks. His hands messed with his boots, undoing the laces of one and throwing it onto the floor. When he spotted Daemon lingering by the doors, he threw the other one at him, nearly hitting him in the thigh. "Go away," He demanded. 

"Your aim's better." Daemon simply told him, slipping off the holster holding Dark Sister to his waist, and leaning the sword against the wall. (Y/N) reached down for the boot he'd tossed on the floor, scooping it back into his hand and throwing it at Daemon. His brother caught it with ease before it could slam into his chest, causing (Y/N)'s cheeks to puff out in annoyance and Daemon to smirk.

"Come to laugh at me some more?" (Y/N) asked bitterly, his eyes following Daemon as he made his way further into the room. With nothing else within grabbing distance to throw, he remained seated on the bed with a glare and curled hands ready to hit him. Daemon eyed his tense form and took a seat beside him, scoffing when (Y/N) scooted away.

"You act like a child." Daemon sighed, snatching (Y/N)'s wrist into his hand and squeezing the skin exposed when his sleeve rode up. (Y/N) struggled at first, angered muttering falling from his lips, but he slowly relented and gave in with a heavy sigh. Daemon gave him a hard tug that forced (Y/N) to fall onto his side, a grin gracing his lips at (Y/N)'s narrowed eyes. 

"And you act like an arse." He replied, shifting around to sit up straight again. 

"I didn't..." Daemon pursed his lips. Viserys knew how to apologise, knew all the right things to say to make things better. Daemon only knew how to hurt and break things. "I didn't mean to-... to make you cry." 

"Liar." (Y/N) huffed and Daemon's jaw clenched, his temper flaring up with ease. "You like seeing me cry. You probably get off on it." 

Daemon bit his tongue, this time literally, so he could fight the wicked smirk from spreading on his face. "Yes," Daemon exhaled, the breathy, amused tone making (Y/N) grow still with suspicion. "I get off on the thought of you crying from how much you desire me." He said lowly, moving an inch closer so their noses would bump together. He relished the quiet hitch of (Y/N)'s breath.

"I- I- You- I would never- What-" (Y/N) sputtered, tongue twisting so violently he almost choked on his words. Daemon's free hand rose to grab his jaws, fingers digging into the heated skin of his cheeks. He delighted in the heat, for he believed it meant there was a chance of his feelings being mutual. 

"Who did you lay with?" Daemon questioned, his fingertips digging into the skin of (Y/N)'s cheeks and pulling his face ever so closer. He dragged his lips over his cheekbones, trailing them over his little brother's nose and brows and any part of his face he could reach. (Y/N) squirmed in his grip, his closed hand pressing against Daemon's chest in a half-hearted attempt at pushing him back. "Tell me."

"No." (Y/N) grumbled, ever the disobedient one. 

"Was she worth it?" Daemon prodded, pushing his brother back onto the bed until his back was flat against the covers. He swung one leg over (Y/N)'s hips to straddle him, laying his weight down on the prince's thighs to prevent him from getting up. (Y/N) glared up at him, lips forming a deeper, more pronounced pout. He pinned the wrist in his hand beside his head, ensuring to keep a steady grip on him. 

"Better than you'll ever be!" (Y/N) spat, the challenging tone in his voice only making Daemon's desire flourish, the overwhelming feeling pumping through his veins. He swooped down and slammed their lips together, swallowing the squeak that escaped (Y/N) and shoveling his tongue into his mouth when (Y/N)'s lips parted. He suckled his bottom lip into his mouth, biting down on it until he tasted a hint of metallic. 

"You should've come to me, sweet brother." Daemon sighed, tongue lapping up the small trickle of blood that stained both their lips red. (Y/N)'s fingers curled around the collar of Daemon's tunic, battling between pushing him back and drawing him closer. "You need not for anyone else. I will take care of you, regardless of what anyone else dares to say." He cooed, pressing a sloppy, bloody kiss to his cheek. 

"You hate me." (Y/N) murmured, his nose crinkling at the taste of blood dancing on his taste buds. Daemon frowned at him, hands harshly squeezing (Y/N)'s jaw and wrist for his words. When (Y/N) grimaced, he released his jaw and instead tenderly stroked his knuckles over his cheek. 

"I do not." He assured, nuzzling their nose together and kissing him again, savoring the shudder that went through (Y/N) when he pressed down on the small cut. "I care for you. More than you'll ever know, little brother."

[starshipsofstarlord]

lap girl (1)

summary. a series of unchronological scenarios of y/n being in daryl’s lap within part of their journey (part 1 - the first night in alexandria)

warnings. fluff, daryl’s lap (as that should be a warning in itself), sleepy!y/n, 3rd person - that’s all the warnings for this chapter

divider credits @cafekitsune

alexandria

It was miserably quiet on the streets of alexandria, aside from the clanging against the metal walls from the prowling walkers, but those inside their homes were ignorant to their hungry fuss. The journey to find the community that had invited them within their borders was a tiresome one, Daryl sat sceptically against the wall of the living space of the house that they had all huddled within, watching over his friends as they shuffled sheets upon the ground to make their slumber in the new place a little more comfortable.

He wouldn’t sleep, he was well aware of that fact. The archer was volunteering to keep watch, as he had done so countless times on the difficult road. His eyes were heavy, but it was an expense to make sure the family that was far more loyal than from that he had came were safe, and able to rest without a threat having the opportunity to creep within the large residency in the middle of the night, and take a sullen advantage of their exhausted state.

His eyes wandered up as he caught a sight of y/n, who’s hair was wet from the shower that she had been far too excited to endure. Her skin was warm to the touch, he could tell that as her pores were swollen from the foreign heat of the scalding water. He hadn’t seen her in such an almost relaxed state since the prison, and even then her eyes were always obscured to the fences, spying on the dead that rattled against the metal fences.

Daryl felt his lips twitch to the sight as he realised she was creeping closer to him, dragging a blanket along the ground until she reached him, a languid sluggishness to each of her steps. “We on watch?” She asked almost comically as she fought the desire to rub her drained eyes whilst she simultaneously fought the battle of keeping them open. Her shirt was a little damp from where her tresses were still wet from her shower, but he didn’t care that he felt a few drops smack down on his hand as she sat beside him, coaxing herself to lean her head against his shoulder.

“I ‘m.” He replied sternly, understanding that she was in dire need of a long nap, and thus he grasped her waist, caring not for the eyes of their friends as she released a surprised squeal, and placed her body over his own, so that she was seated perfectly atop of his lap. He grasped the material of the blanket, curling it around her shoulder and tightly holding it against her front. Her nose nuzzled into the middle of his throat, absorbing the wild scent that living outside of a home had inhabited him with, however she found comfort in the familiarity of it.

“We are.” She sluggishly replied, her pupils dancing with frugal resistance to remain upon him, he knew she was stubborn, and so Daryl dragged her in closer to his body, cradling her preciously as he placed a kiss on her forehead, wrinkling his nose at the strong scent of coconut that had soothed her scalp. “Let me stay up with you Dar, you shouldn’t have to be the only one that is watching over everyone.” What she didn’t realise was that he really didn’t mind, he just wanted her to gain some of her strength back.

“How ‘bout i wake you as soon as someone else takes over?” Daryl knew she’d only rest if she had confirmation that he too would get some shut eye, and so he surrendered to being cared for, deep down understanding that he was in need of rest, even if it be eventually, in order to protect her. He wouldn’t allow a single soul to lay harm to her, he had taken it upon himself as his own duty to protect her, he had done so when and before the prison had fallen, and had every intention of continuing on his love smothered path of being the catalyst to keep them together.

[an-gothamite-aka-zannalial]

I like to think if Jason was really adopted by Talia and was an official Al ghul, he would tell everyone about his Mastermind plans at a family dinner without any shame.

And no one wants to stop him because they all know it's easier to kill half the heroes in America than to stop Jason from doing what he's doing alive, even if he's actually dead It won't affect anything

To them it was just the emo phase of a teenager with too much hormones, so they just let him run wild in Gotham. Because they clearly knew that in the end he would come back crying

So when he comes back nay's failure is just a sign that he's finally out of his rebellious and emo phase, and means there's new blackmail material.

Talia: you know I Will still love you Habibi, don't worry your failure is nothing for me. You still my baby boy

Jason: mom stop, I'm not-

Talia: I know I know you are sad that bruce didnt choose you, Don't worry, I will always love you

Jason: please stop mom

Ra's: I'm disappointed in you but this is something I expected from the start

Jason: I don't care about your opinion old man

Ra's: but you do care about other assassin opinion on your crying picture Right

Jason: I hate you

Damian: I don't understand why you didn't just kill that clown

Jason: Damian please not you to

Damian: sorry akhi but since you told me about your plan I already think that so stupid

Jason: you wont understand it habibi

Damian: tell me so I can understand it then akhi

Jason: no

Mara: sometimes I forget that you can be so stupid

Jason: don't you dare mara

Mara: You know if you give up on being the heir to the demon head I won't spread the photo of you crying in Miss Talia's arms

Jason: this why I hate you all

Nyssa: you look like your mother when she also get out of her emo phase

Jason: I'm not emo motherfucker

Nyssa: I think you just Denying the truth my dear nephew

Jason: NU uh

Some random assassins: hey how about you-

Jason: finish that sentence and you'll regret being born

The random assassin:

Jason: good

[demonicbaby666]

i. A late night text

Feelings Are Fatal Masterlist | Masterlists | ii

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Jennifer Jareau x fem!Reader

Words: 5.4k+

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, fingering, oral sex, alcohol mentioned

It was a single text. 

‘What are you doing?’ 

It was nothing of significance. 

‘What are you doing?’

It painted light on your blackened phone in the dead of that Friday night. When you should have been out with friends and not rotting in bed with Netflix pulled up on your laptop and a family-sized pack of Doritos nestled at your side. The city roared with life. The hustle and bustle of busybodies dancing, shouting and singing called so desperately for your attention. The universe begged you to live for once, not for anyone else but for yourself. 

‘What are you doing?’

You knew what it meant–the true meaning behind messages sent after dusk and before dawn. They pulled uncomfortably at the muscles in the stomach, forced gooseflesh to pebble the expanse of your arms and raised the hairs on your skin to stand tall. They made you weak, ripped your resolve to shreds and forced the self-preservation you built for yourself to melt. 

Regardless of the outcome always being the same, every night, you told yourself, would be the night you’d be strong. You’d put your phone on silent, place it to the side facing down, and recommence a wild evening of trash TV in which you would think nothing of debauchery. 

‘What are you doing?’

Ten minutes. It was your max. Ten fucking minutes and the blasted, overpriced hunk of metal was in your hands as you nervously stared at the three dots that seemed to be taunting you, flickering back and forth until another grey bubble burst into light. 

‘Case is closed. I’m back home.’ 

You were better than this; you had enough respect for yourself not to do this. You didn't need to answer someone’s beck and all. 

The clattering of words typed out on your phone filled the sorrowful silence. 

‘I’m outttttttt at the mo. Gimme 20 and I’ll make my way over.’

The necessary number of Ts needed was one, but it didn't hurt to overplay the whole ‘out on a Friday night’ thing, and it wouldn’t be the first time either of you had liquor running through your systems during one of your nightcaps, even if it was a lie this time. It was a needed lie. The tattered pyjamas you wore and the mess on your head wouldn’t paint the image you wanted in JJ’s mind. Dancing amongst friends and strangers, hot and horny, that was better suited to your dynamic–which, simply put, was emotionless fucking. 

Time, it would seem, was not on your side. This was unfortunate because, even if your clothes were to end up on JJ’s floor, you still had to think through what to wear to both give the illusion you were flitting from club to club and impress JJ enough to have her distracted from the fact you were so quick to drop everything and come crawling. 

It was exhausting–the need to make her want you more than she supposedly already did, the hollowness that accompanied every late-night visit you paid her, the following mornings you spent in a taxi crying on the way home, smelling the sweetness of her perfume on whatever article of clothing you'd borrowed from her. Most painful of all was knowing she’d never feel the same. 

You needed it to stop. This needed to stop. 

She was your best friend, for Christ's sake. You were, in plain and simple terms, your best friend’s fucking booty call. Your best friend with whom you were so stupidly and utterly infatuated, it’d been a miracle you hadn’t outright admitted you loved her amid a mind-blowing orgasm—which she had given you several. 

All it would take was one text. Your fingers itched to type the words out as you stood over your unmade bed, teeth mindlessly nibbling at your bottom lip. 

‘It's over. I can’t do this anymore.’

A single finger hovered over that blue arrow. You’d only have to click send, and all of this would be over. You could go back to pretending you were JJ’s friend, that it didn’t hurt when she was away on a case and most likely sharing a bed with a far more attractive woman than yourself, because needs must and all, that it didn’t affect you that she only looked at you with such fervency when she needed an outlet for her stress and that you most certainly did not want anything more than unembellished platonic love from her. 

Your body’s need for her won out with the selection and subsequent deletion of the message.

The only dress available was one far too short for the evening air, and frantically searching for another was not an option when you were already lost in half sets of lingerie. So, you settled, even if it meant risking your legs to hypothermia. Even if it meant wearing a g-string in favour of finishing your makeup because that was the only pair of underwear you could find with a matching bra. It didn’t necessarily aid you in any way that the rightly impatient Uber driver outside was threatening to wake the whole block with a blaring horn. 

It was pathetic. You knew it. The driver knew it from the second you tumbled into the car out of breath and dressed like a hooker. Still, he was kind enough to greet you with a grunt and murmur of your name, instead choosing to silently judge you through his rearview mirror and remain silent for the duration of the drive. 

The city lights glinted defiantly against the blighting dark. You watched, mesmerised, as street lamps, neon signs, and lone candles swaying in closing restaurants bled into one. They morphed into one big blur until they were slowly replaced by the quiet stirring of TV screens and dwindling dimmed bedroom lights. 

The area housing JJ’s apartment was quiet, eerily so. Only the hum of the engine, the distant shrill of a car horn, and the crunch of tyres against asphalt as everything came to a halt could be heard through the dense silence. 

Another glare from the rearview mirror afforded you no extra time to prepare for what was to come. Your only comfort was a deep breath and a silent prayer that your emotions wouldn’t step out of line as you reached for the handle and pushed the door open. 

Blonde hair greeted you as you exited the stuffy Uber, and immediately, you were pulled into a warm embrace so tight you could smell the familiar scent of JJ’s shampoo–honey and home. You’d missed this. You’d missed her. With hands at your waist eagerly pulling you in, you lost yourself in the feel of the warm body pressed against your front. 

Occasions like these kept you coming; you were a scavenger, living off scraps. Pitiful was what it was, yet you couldn’t find the strength not to come running when JJ called. It was easy to pretend that evenings like these meant more than they did, that JJ wanted you more than just for your body, that you wouldn’t meet up with her in a couple of days for a coffee and act like none of this had happened. 

When your bodies perfectly slotted against each other outside her apartment complex, your head nestled in her neck, and her lips hovering over your cheek, it was hard to think of yourself as anything other than made for one another. They were the type of thoughts you kept under lock and key, aware but discontent that they’d always exist for you and you alone. 

You’d learnt to live that way because you knew your feelings were woven so deep into the fabric of your being that it was hard to imagine a life without them. Somehow, you knew JJ had always been there, rooted so deep in your heart, that having her infinitesimally, compared to how you wanted her, was better than not having her at all—even if it hurt, even if it turned your tears to acid as they burned your cheeks. 

“You smell nice,” you mindlessly sighed into the warmth of JJ’s neck. It couldn’t be helped. Slips always happened when she was affectionate. 

“You smell like vodka,” She chuckled. 

So what if you had a shot or three before racing down to the Uber? After all, you had a lie to sell and were nothing if not committed to the gambit. 

“Yes, well, I was out,” You muttered. 

Shaking yourself out of your love-fueled daze, you attempted, and subsequently failed, to peel yourself out of JJ’s embrace. Her hands were stellar on your waist, refusing to budge. However, you couldn’t say you minded, not when she slowly walked backwards and spun the both of you so your back was to the wall. A thin smirk lined her rosy lips, and you settled on lightly slapping her chest when she wouldn’t release you in reprimand for her earlier comment. 

“But then I got a tempting text from a certain somebody.” 

“Pray tell, what was so tempting about this text?” 

You reminded yourself why you were here and, more importantly, what you were here for. 

“It wasn’t the text itself. It was how wet I got when I realised who it was from,” you replied, running your tongue along your lip. 

“Fuck,” JJ growled, her pupils dilating. The release of your waist was quickly remedied by the grip of her hand sliding into yours and the eager jerk of her pulling you through the complex’s doors.

Unlike your own, JJ’s apartment was spacious. Despite there being a certain emptiness in the place, it had character. There was the mustard couch you’d spent many evenings eating ice cream on, binge-watching whatever JJ decided to throw on. There was the vintage coffee table you’d helped pick out and carry back from the local thrift store that had honestly seen better days now that it was marked with one too many wine stains. There were the pictures that dotted stone grey walls bright with happy memories—a couple with the team, some with just the BAU girls and the ones you most treasured, the ones with only the two of you. 

In a delicately carved rustic frame was the picture of you and JJ at Sandbridge Beach. She was buried up to the neck in sand and had on her goofy smile, the one that showed all her teeth. You stood proudly above her, plastic shovel in hand, with an equally goofy smile of your own tugging at your lips. You looked happy. 

It was packed that day, but after the three-hour drive filled with 2000s tunes and an unhealthy amount of Cheetos that JJ demanded she be fed, you weren’t about to turn back around. She was adamant about that. So you pretended that no one else was at that beach, that the people next to you weren’t rolling their eyes at your childish antics, that the water wasn’t polluted with the masses when JJ lifted you, slinging your legs around her waist and died with laughter as she dunked the both of you under cold salty shores. You were happy.

There was something so bittersweet about staring at these memories built on friendship. The reminder of what your relationship truly was tugged at your chest each time you burst through those apartment doors. Of course, you wouldn't have it the other way. Your place was no better; if anything, it was worse; in the foundations of every nook and cranny, there was a memory of your and JJ’s friendship. No, being here was more manageable. At JJ’s, you could - as you always did - leave in the morning and find solace in your empty bed, find peace in soaking your pillow with tears, relish in the shame of knowing in only a few nights, you’d do it all again in a heartbeat. 

“Tell me you weren’t out for long,” JJ groaned from behind you, hands mapping a path down your back, resting on the curve of your ass. You could feel the frustration bubbling in her chest. “Dressed like this.”

You only just about managed to say, “An hour or two,” before the blonde had you turned around, lips turning your brain to mush as she kissed you for the first time that evening. Though sudden, it was entirely welcome, and how could it not have been when she tasted so sweet? 

The first time you sampled her was five months prior. It was after you hosted a small gathering at your place, where drinks flowed freely, and laughter was heard from every corner. She stayed that evening when the place wasn’t nearly messy enough to need help. With a bin bag in her hand and conversation light on her tongue, she collected cups and wrappers, wiped surfaces down, and when there was nothing else to do, she crept up behind you and whispered all the sinful things she wanted to do to you the second she saw you in that dress. 

Garcia introduced the two of you five years before; for most of those years, you’d pined for JJ, longed for her, and loved her. It started small, like falling in love with how she looked after Garcia. Then, when the two of you began to spend more time alone, it was the way her eyes shone under low lights, the way her hair looked after it was windswept and slightly knotted. 

After that night, it was the smell she left on your pillow, the tingling she left between your legs, and the smile she plastered on your face. Then, as all things go, because happiness was not a thing you got to experience for long, life took it away. 

The following day, she was gone. The right side of your bed was empty and cold. 

You didn’t think much of that morning. Bursting through Garcia’s door, sitting on her couch and crying your eyes out wasn’t a fond memory. The blonde was kind enough not to pry, kinder to let you stay the day, then night. By the following day, you’d built your walls back up and reminded yourself that what you felt for JJ was one-sided and what she wanted from you would never be what you wanted from her. 

“I’ve missed you.” 

This. She meant this, surely. She’d missed the sex. Not you, never you. Telling yourself that was supposed to help, yet it only intensified the sting of longing caged within your chest. 

When JJ’s tongue pushed eagerly into your mouth, the small squeak that echoed in your throat morphed into a liquid moan, and you thought nothing more of her admission. If you did, with most things regarding JJ, it’d have driven you crazy. Instead, you focussed on the fingers skimming down the back of your dress, curling at its hem and delving under. Her touch was feather light at your thigh, and whilst you appreciated her being gentle any other time, now was not the time. 

You didn’t want her to treat you like a glass figurine, like you were something she could break, because she’s already broken you, and her light touches and soft kisses would never be enough to put you back together. 

No. Only crushing you over and over with an iron fist and sex-addled savagery would compensate. 

With one hand firmly placed on JJ’s shoulder, you moved the other to her questing fingers. Tearing them away from their tender endeavours, you rose them higher and higher till they were ghosting over your sex, mere millimetres away from your soaked panties. 

“Someone’s in a rush,” JJ laughed, nipping down the length of your throat. 

“Well, I assumed I wasn’t summoned here for casual banter.”

“The kitten has claws,” the blonde mumbled, continuing her descent to your neck. There, her pearly teeth nibbled at your thudding pulse point while her fingers remained vexingly still. 

“Stop talking.” 

Somewhere between dragging JJ out of the longue and into her bedroom, she had managed to unzip your dress and gift it to the corridor floor. You were equal in your endeavours, ridding her of her t-shirt, unbuckling and pulling leather through belt loops. Between all the kissing, it was an impressive yet chaotic sight. 

By the time you arrived at the foot of her bed, you both had quite the view, JJ more so. 

The look she got in her eyes was something you’d never forget. It was as though she was trying to take every part of you in at once. You were the open spread at an all-you-can-eat buffet, and she didn’t know what to begin with. That look was scorched into the back of your eyes and ingrained into every late-night fantasy. This time, however, it was shadowed by a look of something darker. 

“Were you planning on meeting someone?” she asked, taking a small step back and frowning. 

“What?” 

You looked down, admiring your lingerie set with great pride, until realisation dawned on you. Before coming to JJ’s, you were ‘out’ without knowing where you would end the night. The red lace cladding your breast and sparse over your cunt would have led anyone to believe you wanted to entertain a particular type of company, and whilst any willing participant would have no qualms with seeing you in such a set, the look in JJ’s judgemental eyes told you she was not partial to that thought. 

“That is not a night out with the girls' set of underwear.” Her eyes were back to roaming your body, only now the attention seemed more desperate. 

“Would you rather I take them off?” You tried to rid the room of tension with a sprinkle of seductive humour. Entertaining the thought she felt she had some claim over you was moronic. 

Maybe it wasn’t the answer she was looking for. Or perhaps it was. Maybe this was all a game of chess, and she would always remain two steps ahead. 

Whatever it was, you knew your part in it was a mere pawn. Your job would always be to heed and obey but put up a bit of a fight, come when called, but don’t let it be known you’re desperate, take and give pleasure, but don’t let any memories of it fester inside you and bring up feelings of true significance. 

At the latter, you’d failed - even if love blossomed in your heart years ago - but you could do the rest. 

“Or I could go put my dress back on. If the image isn’t to your liking?” You look over her shoulder into the corridor, where your dress lay in wait.

“Don’t even think about it,” she warned, voice low and gravelly, fingers pinching your chin to force your gaze back to her. 

Her eyes were two glaziers, flecks of grey pebbling her irises like raindrops on a sheet of water. Surely, you committed a heinous crime in a previous life, and this was your penance–to be tortured over and over again by your own heart, to kiss this beautiful and kind woman, have opened the depths of your soul to her, and have her see nothing but a body in which she could use to decompress and view as nothing more than a friend come morning. 

These evenings, blanketed by the cover of night and veiled under the guise of necessity, would be the most you would ever have of her. And, yes, it was selfish to take and take, trick her into believing you were using her in the same way she was using you, but your punishment came swiftly. It was delivered to you on a tray of coal the mornings after, and time and time again, you invited the sordid torment into your home with an enveloping hug and salty tears. 

Fingers dipping into your panties drew your attention away from the tempests of JJ’s eyes, and through the lump in your throat came a gasp, morphing into a moan when JJ slid down to your sex. 

“You weren’t kidding about how wet you got.” JJ tilted your head ever so slightly to the side to nibble at your earlobe, sending a single electric current running down your spine. It was joined shortly by a second when the blonde sucked her shimmering fingers to her mouth. 

“When have I ever lied to you?” You asked, somewhat winded. Except a couple of minutes ago, alongside every time I pretend not to hold you in my heart. “This is what you do to me.” At least that wasn’t a lie. 

While JJ was momentarily distracted by your admission, you took the opportunity to level your state of undress. Dropping to your knees, you tugged her trousers down and over her ankles, pressing kisses into the meat of her thighs. She showed no reservation or aversion. If anything, her fingers threading through your hair was a cue to offer her more from your auspicious position. 

And offer, you did. 

Moving her underwear to the side, you breathed in the sugared scent of her and felt saliva gather at the sides of your mouth as plain want turned to ardent need. Somehow, by some miracle, you were allowed to do this—taste the most intimate area of JJ’s body, hear her moan above you and watch the gentle push and pull of her chest grow rapid. 

Restraint was not something your nighttime companion liked to exercise, so it came as no shock when she used her sturdy grip to urge you closer. Despite her silent request for more, JJ’s head still jerked back and let out a rather loud ‘oh my god’ when you followed instructions and sucked her clit into your mouth. But her reactions had never previously bothered you, and they weren’t suddenly about to. 

You let them guide you. 

When her moans became strained and whiny, you knew to slow down. When her left knee twitched ever so slightly, you knew to move a smidge to the right. And when one of her legs hooked over your shoulder, you knew to bury as many fingers as she could take inside her and pump till her throat was raw and cum was dripping down your chin. 

“You’re too good at that,” JJ happily sighed, dropping her thigh down from your shoulder and mustering the strength to pull you to your feet. 

Happy to taste herself on your tongue, the blonde leaned forward, slotting your lips together and letting loose a contented hum. You matched her vocal bliss, growing nosier with the removal of your bra and the playful tweaking of your nipples. Her touch was addictive, and your hips pledged to reveal as much. They slaved away, trying to locate anything to grind down on, first the sticky material of your ruined panties, then, with great relief, the toned length of JJ’s thigh. 

The inner turmoil settled down, quieted by the hastening pumping of your heart. You welcomed the fall onto JJ’s bed with a mere squeak and watched enamoured as she rid herself of her bra and underwear, then moved onto the mere strip of material keeping her from seeing you fully and gloriously bare. 

You smirked at the wolfish glint in JJ’s eyes, the slight parting of her lips as she let out a shaky breath and spread your legs–an invitation to fill the vacant space with her body. 

It seemed that JJ had other plans. In one swooping move, she had you flipped on your stomach, manoeuvring your body till your cheek was pressed against crumpled sheets, ass raised high in the air, and ankles hanging off the bottom of her bed. 

“You’re perfect,” JJ breathlessly whispered, crouching down and using the pads of her thumbs to part your folds. The casualness of voicing such a thought left you dizzy. 

Why did she always have to do that? Take your breath away with words alone, and on top of that, act like it meant nothing. It meant something to you. It vexingly meant too much to you. She threw these compliments about, always sounding so sure, so firm in her belief that they were fact and not opinion. 

“JJ,” you whined, growing restless with the influx of poignant thoughts, desperate for more than her warm breath hovering over your sex. 

“Yes?” she feigned innocence, taunting you with her candied tone. 

You grit your teeth, taking a deep breath to alleviate some of the tension growing taunt in your stomach. “I swear to god if you don’t-”

Your own drawn-out cry cut you off. JJ’s tongue was back on you, only now it was consistently moving up and down the length of your pussy, occasionally circling the bundle of your nerves waiting at the apex of your sex. Even if it had only been slightly under a week since you last tumbled under bed sheets with the blonde or two days since you stuck your hand beneath pyjama bottoms and tended to your own needs, you were convinced the releasing tension burrowed deep into your bones had been gathering for not days, but months or years, waiting to be granted this kind of attention. 

Her tongue was insistent, steadfast on your clit from the moment she suckled it into her mouth like a starving baby to its mother's tit. She moved feverishly fast, then lulled her pace. The press of her tongue was harsh on you, then so light you barely felt the echo of it on your clit. Over and over, fast then slow, concrete then pillow soft until finally, she had you dribbling between whines and moans, your knuckles white with the force of your hold on bedsheets. 

The fiery inferno intensifying deep within your gut was utterly unruly. Its heat burned from your core up to your chest, down to the tips of your toes, which hung precariously off the end of the bed. Every word leaving your mouth was incomprehensible. They came out muffled, embedding themselves deep into crinkled cotton, and honestly, you were thankful. Between your senses leaving your body the moment JJ touched you and the disappearance of any inclination to keep things platonic between you, you knew what you wanted to say, or rather were trying to say, would have thrown a wrench into this delicate dynamic you both shared. 

A cry resembling JJ’s name echoed in your ears as she picked up her pace, ceasing her teasing touches and now favouring consistent flicks of her tongue. 

Abruptly, she stood up, and you would have vocalised your annoyance had it not been for what she did next. Using the full force of her body, she slotted her fingers in and out of you at what could only be deemed a brutal pace. Each thrust ended with fingertips grazing your g-spot, something the blonde never failed to hit, edging you closer to the summit of your release. 

“Touch yourself,” JJ panted from behind you, sounding almost as wrecked as you felt. 

You let out a hiss, your nipples so very sensitive as they brushed against cotton sheets in a desperate attempt to work your hand down to your clit. It was an outward struggle to maintain a repetitive pattern, the slip and slide of arousal making it impossible to work the set of nerves for any longer than a few seconds, but your efforts were not in vain. 

The flutters of pleasure rolling around in your stomach were hastening, the shuddering of your canal walls around slender fingers was intensifying, and all the while, JJ’s misshaped voice echoed in your ears, becoming more and more muffled. 

Pinpricks of light burst behind your eyelids, a fire roared in your stomach, and your hips caved to carnal need, uncontrollably rutting forward and back with the careful aid of JJ’s unoccupied hand. 

Your body was being ripped apart. Every inch of you stretched so thin that you were sure this would be when you’d break with ‘Jennifer’ on your tongue and adoration heavy in your heart. 

JJ did not let you lose yourself as you plummeted into the fiery pits of your orgasm. Her fingers, still tucked inside your twitching cunt, swept back and forth, hell-bent on prolonging the undulating pleasure coursing through your core. Her lips, pressed against your neck, moved lower to your arched spine where she lay kiss after gentle kiss. And her words, a second ago, hot and demanding, were now kind and coaxing. 

She tended to do this–piece you back together without having ever known she tore you apart, often until you were spent and your limbs immobilised. That night was no exception. You gave as good as you got, ignoring the orange and yellow hues painting the horizon outside the window and the cruel reality they brought with them. It was when you could no longer keep your eyes open that you succumbed to the pull of sleep. 

—

Most mornings, you’d wake up alone. Whilst it was a depressing reality to some to turn and find your sheets cold, it was what you’d learnt to prefer. There was, of course, merit to opening your eyes and being greeted by the luminous sight of blonde hair and copious amounts of nakedness. The sight would always be welcome, that remained undisputed. It was the urges you quarrelled with in the early hours of dawn that you had an issue with. You’d think that months of sleeping together would teach you some restraint. Alas, whenever you woke up to the sight of JJ, all you wanted to do was curl into her, wake her with soft, affectionate kisses and beg her to make you her signature chocolate chip pancakes. 

That wasn’t written into your invisible contract. What was agreed, or what you decided was non-verbally agreed, was that you’d have sex, sometimes you’d stay for the night, and in the event you did, you’d be out of her hair before she started her day, so both of you and JJ were spared from any spontaneous love declarations. 

Still, it didn’t make it any easier to remove JJ’s arms from around your waist, to quietly slip out of bed and force yourself not to look back lest you fall right back into her arms. 

There was no chance you were returning home in the clothes you’d worn the night before; comfort was always essential for your walk of shame. So, you tip-toed over to JJ’s closet and slowly pulled the doors open. No matter how gentle you were, the hinges refused to allow you a peaceful exit, sending a painful squeak out into the morning quiet. 

“Where are you going?” JJ grumbled, and you tried so fucking hard not to fall more in love with her when she did that. When she acted as though it was weird for you to leave before breakfast, like she wanted you to stay. It was helpless; when her droopy eyes locked onto yours, you felt your heart race and your stomach flutter. How could anyone look so perfect, having only just woken up? 

“I’ve got a thing,” you muttered, throwing one of her sweatshirts over your head. 

“A thing?” She gave you a cautionary look when she once again managed to catch your attention, her disbelief cutting a crease between her eyebrows. “It’s too early for a thing. Come back to bed.” 

Why did she have to do that? Force you to break your heart by denying yourself the very thing you’d yearned for since the moment you met her. 

“I’m having coffee with Pen.” 

She begrudgingly sat up and levelled you with another condescending glare, “At this time?”

“Well, you see,” you said, staring back at JJ unstirred as you pulled on a pair of stolen leggings. “I have to go home and do this thing called having a shower so I don't meet our beloved friend looking and smelling like I spent a great portion of last night between your legs.”

“But-” 

You strode over, bending at the hip to cut her off with a chaste kiss, ignoring the pull of your heart to fall back into bed and pick up where you left off last night. For a bit longer, pretend that this was a real relationship where you could kiss the woman you loved whenever and wherever you wanted. 

“I’m going now,” you mumbled over her lips, ripping away to grab your phone and walk straight out of her bedroom. 

You heard a heavy sigh, the thud of her head defeatedly falling back on a pillow as you clambered out of the apartment, heart tucked under your sleeve, tears stinging the backs of your eyes. 

Taglist: @sincerestlove @hot4milfs @chestnutninny @theoneforhobbies @lez-talk1 @obsessedwjill | Click here to be added to the series taglist

[scentedpepper]

Missing | TWD

MALE READER X S5 GROUP

Summary: The group reverberates with a somberness upon your potential death

Content Warnings: Mention of Major Character Deaths from previous seasons, S5 and below spoilers

AUTHOR NOTE(S):

Not too sure how I feel about this one

Could be read as GN for the most part (he/him used a few times, 'Father' used once, 'Brother' used once)

Was originally supposed to be centered around Daryl and Rick, but somewhere along the writing process, I devlled into just about every other member of the group

Ya'll know how many last names I had to look up for these tags

Enjoy?

_________________________________________

7 days.

Seven days of them searching for their found family member who went out to investigate and never came back.

Glenn thought for sure that maybe with all the shit they have been through, the apocalypse must have treated you a little kinder.

That was assuming you were already dead.

Which Rick, in all his glory, continued to remind everyone that until there is evidence, there are just as many possibilities as there are stars in the sky.

He thought it was a strange fit, all doom and gloom, it wasn't like Glenn to carry around the carcasses of such negative presumptions about his loved ones, but nonetheless, he had just the same.

An ever present reminder as the fire was stoked by Glenn's constant fidgets, his spaced-out breaths being released with the baggage of endless possibilities.

"Glenn's gonna lose it when he sees this one. "

Is what Daryl said to Rick on the night of day 5, your shirt clenched in hand, approaching the church with footsteps so heavy you could mistake them for Walkers.

The worst part, Rick thought, was how he had found it, which further fueled the possibility that couldn't help but arise.

A decaying Walker's den where there was a mass majority of bodies wearing clothes; Not Walker corpses.

Hopeless and without explanation Rick approached camp with a grim expression that took root in his features.

And when Daryl had handed the shirt to Glenn after he feverishly chanted let me see it, let me see it, over and over, Daryl observed the way his hand shook when he snatched it and how the same hand came up to rub his face after he confirmed in his own mind that, without a doubt, it was yours.

Maggie had to take the shirt from his hands and when she felt the dirt and grime ragged against her skin, she almost burst at the seams, Rick knew by the strain in her brows and the way her hands turned into fists at her side.

She was the first person Rick had questioned upon your missing presence, wanting to know who you had walked out with last night and who stayed behind, wanting to pinpoint possible places you might be, or routes you could've taken.

Her response was ridden with anxious adrenaline, her lips chewed raw in worry, bouncing on her toes before stomping off and pulling everyone together to go looking for you.

There was no conversation within the group but a mutual agreement.

Naturally, the first person they looked to for some account of wrongdoing was Gabriel.

You had always been so intuitive, like you were the one who could read minds not him.

The others felt so comforted by you, Gabriel assumed.

He was only too accustomed to the fact that everyone saw the good in you, the positive, and while that brought him a modicum of solace, there were times where he couldn't help but wallow in envy.

A man of God and yet, it was you who they looked to, as if you were Christ himself.

As if you were his light.

Gabriel couldn't understand this fascination.

When he had confronted you about it, rather presumptuously, Gabriel was too quick to gauge the situation and allow his ego to speak for him. Said confrontation also happened to occur right before Maggie and Sasha who shared pointed looks with each other as they watched the scene unfold before them.

You were quick on your toes, always had been. Back on the farm, when Shane had been more akin to a wild boar, you were always the first to confront him. Always calm, or whenever you spoke you at least had the appearance of it, always matter of fact. Even when your voice raised or when anger was seething through you, it seemed like everyone just stopped, and listened.

It was one of your redeeming traits, sharp tongue laced with facts that wouldn't hesitate to point out things that were missing, contradictions, positions and beliefs.

It left some satisfaction amongst the ton when Gabriel pushed out of Judith's designated room, nearly knocking Carl off his feet as the door came with his exit.

A flustered look had replaced him, no doubt having felt the embarrassment, as if he had been burning inside.

After a beat, he had apologized under his breath and carried himself in haste towards you.

Unfortunately, this incident occurred the last night anyone had seen you.

When everyone had risen that morning, one by one coming off the floors of the church and stirring awake those who remained sleeping, you were the only one who hadn't stirred. Because your body wasn't even of prescence.

Almost immediately, everybody went on an emotional and mental frenzy.

Even when the conversation with Gabriel didn't bode well for him. He refuted, if a little pathetically, that you weren't very friendly towards him.

Upon hearing of what had happened just hours before they woke, Daryl seemed to retreat back to the deepest of his old roots.

Begrudgingly, Rick knew this was what they called "fight or flight."

Luckily for everyone involved, Daryl never moved unless there was something to fight for. The man had gained some sort of control over the years of personal development but like a dog, he'd jumped on Gabriel the second tensions rose.

There was a knife pressed against Gabriel's throat when Drayl pushed him into the nearest wall and the preacher did nothing but pray to himself and accept his fate.

Minuets later of interrogation and threatening, Michonne and Tara intervenned, though Daryl seemed none too eager to back off the smaller man, not until he was physically being dragged back and Rick telling him to get a hold of himself.

"He's lucky I didn't slit his fuckin' throat! It was him!" Because back in the day, with Merle at his side, he would've and to hell with anyone who said differently.

Rick saw Carol's lips part to say something, as did Abraham, but nothing came out. That was because Rick cut them off by clearing his throat loudly, hands rising in demand to appease the tension in the church.

"We are going to look for him. It's no secret that we're standing on a ticking time bomb. " He was blunt and direct, his head turning sharply towards everyone and waiting a beat before he continued. "Everybody gets paired off. No one leaves each other's sides. And yes, Daryl, that includes Gabriel. “

His gaze softened upon the archer as he came around to see the anger and frustration but most of all, the pain in his eyes. He wanted to assure him, they were going to find you. But he couldn't find the words to, as his own fingertips surged with doubt and as the rest of the days proceeded, his whole body seemed to become encapsulated by it.

They all began out at once, weapons gathered, determination and grievance fused into them as they exited the church in pairs. The only 2 persons staying behind being Judith and Abraham.

Before the front doors fell, Rick sought out Gabriel, his fingers ghosting over the knob as his stomach tied in knots.

"If you so much as touch a hair on her head, " he was referring to Michonne who'd gotten the unlucky job of catering to Gabriel, "I swear it'll be the last thing you do. " He watched Gabriel swallow a lump in his throat in response. "And if I find out you had an inkling of any wrongdoing, God won't be able to save you. "

It wasn't an empty threat and the conviction in his tone let Gabriel know.

It wasn't just Daryl that was shaken by the fear of your abduction or death, there wasn't a moment where Rick could stop to inhale without thinking about you. How tightly you had embraced him 2 nights prior, when he'd confided that maybe he wasn't suited for this leader job anymore, that he didn't know where you all would go, or if you'd even make it past these religious grounds before succumbing to hunger.

There was warmth radiating off you like a furnace and he couldn't shake the soothing way your fingertips gilded against his forearm as you told him that things would fall into place in time, no matter how difficult it got.

But Daryl was a damn firecracker, this way of his to emote through hostility and intimidation was a way for him to cope with the potential loss of his brother.

You were not Shane.

There's so much Rick could rationalize before he no longer had the will to counter how much he wished you were there now to quell the savagery within his best friend.

Carl couldn't care less at this point, as the rage within him seemed to blaze each step closer to the forest. It burned at his eyes, tearing his hands into fists that felt as if their own knuckles may shatter within the grasp.

Rosita had to stop him.

"What?" He initially sneered at her, pushing out of her grip and continuing to stomp forward until he could feel her nipping at his heels.

"Carl, now is not the time to get some kind of revenge, alright? We'll find the fucker, but getting ourselves killed is not going to help. "

Eventually, she got him to sit down and collect himself which consisted of roughly pacing and rubbing his face with his palms in attempt to scrub the hostility right out of him. He wanted to scream, to fucking yell the earth apart because this wasn't fair, none of this was. He was fueled by Daryl's rage.

Carl found it somewhat easier to sit there and allow his teeth to sink into his knuckles while he suppressed tears.

Eugene and Tara had wandered the farthest the fastest, the church began to slowly disappear the deeper they strayed into the density of the trees until there was no distinguishable church at all, or street or houses for that matter.

They were silent the entire way, like speaking would somehow shatter the chances of finding you, safe, sound and alive.

So then when Tara did speak, Eugene nearly jumped.

He halted immediately, his body turning as he looked every which way as if you may suddenly appear behind a tree.

"We should turn around and just make our way back. " She whispered.

That was her biggest concern, because with the route they had taken, any further into the unknown, she knew there were no way to familiarize themselves with where they were.

"Rick said to keep searching til sun down and that's just what I intend to do. " There was an anger in his expression and an agony to his voice that confirmed his intentions were anything but logical.

"Eugene. "

And again his body suddenly felt like it wasn't his, or maybe his bones weren't aligned and he was a puppet, a stranger, someone entirely else.

"Eugene, we won't get anywhere trying to force out this search. Please. The sun is already setting, it's near impossible to see 10 feet ahead and even if we were to press further in the dark, they're-"

She didn't need to finish her sentence to know what she wanted to say, the image was still clear in her mind as if she had just watched the last interaction you'd had with her and Rosita. The absolute dejection you allowed her to see in your eyes, the hesitation and restraint you had felt in giving your hugs. She took one and wrapped herself around you and you didn't dare do more than reciprocate the tightness, afraid to hurt her. As if.

After some minuets, Eugene came to and they turned back.

When they got to the church, Abraham was pacing back and forth, doing circles around the confinements of the holy sanctuary with Judith in his arms.

"Where's Gabriel?" Eugene spoke cautiously, realizing the weight in his voice when he did so.

"He's locked in his office. Said to leave him to rot or somethin'. Not a bad idea, the bastards a fuckin killer. "

Abraham was just as convinced as Daryl. No one asked to elaborate because they somehow knew the moment he did, he'd lose his shit. Like a bomb that's set to a timer, ticking away until it explodes into your ears.

"Find anything?" He asked as Tara slid down the wall she had been leaning against since they returned and brought her legs to her chest. Eugene shook his head at him which made the soldier nod back bitterly.

By day two, Michonne decided to conduct a one man search party for the nights. When the moon came out, she snuck off to the woods and scouted the area she had previously searched, for any evidence that may have been missed on the 1st visitation. Which would prove to cause strife amongst the group when Carl found her out four days later.

"What are you doing?" He challenged harshly as he forced himself into the dark brush behind her with Michonne's body jolting at the abrupt arrival of company.

"Carl-"

"Are you crazy?”

The boy wasn't the only person who she'd receive these questions from, Tyrese had found himself wandering her way as well.

"Why would you come out here on your own? Have you lost it?" He griped under his breath, tone laced with disapproval as if the woods had just come to eat them alive.

"Well, what are you doing out here?" She retorted back in a whisper yell with a forceful gesture to the man who was just as armed, just as ready as her.

Her efforts were fruitless, though, and no response was heard, which left her walking the same way she came.

Rick wasn't happy about it.

At first, when Carl appeared through the door in the night, he thought his son was the culprit of the secret night searches, but soon realized what has transpired when he saw Michonne making her way inside.

"Everyone is on edge, alright? Everyone is doing exactly what is expected of them, they have been looking and looking and Michonne, it's about time you pulled your head from your ass and sat down for the night. " Rick had said 5 minuets after they'd settled in the privacy of Judiths room. Their voices were lowered considerably so as not to wake the others, but Rick's tone wasn't anything less than a demand.

"So we should just sit around?" She had, then, the urge to spit at him and remind him that you could be dead in the next second. Gone. Poof.

"We are not–" Rick's voice began to rise in octaves but he took a moment to lower the volume. "We are *not* just sitting around. "

There was an enervation in Rick's stance that Michonne could feel pricking her heart strings. He looked exhausted, absolutely strained.

"He could– he could be in trouble. " Michonne attempted to keep her voice leveled as she looked around in disdain, her lip trembling and Rick saw this, that she could not come to accept the way things were."I can't bury him." She hissed as a tear streamed down her face.

Rick knew exactly the terror Michonne felt in the pit of her gut and he knew that she was seeing the vision of a funeral and everyone in a heavy sweat of depression and rage. A few dead bodies surrounding the fire pit in the woods while everyone circled around you and Daryl cried.

He had already envisioned it all, envisioned the way Glenn would crack at your loss. While Maggie was reduced to hiccups and broken speeches, she had somehow found the strength to collapse to the floor and refuse help.

Bobs face would fall, for once, it would fall and Sasha wouldn't be able to handle the breath leaving her body, clutching Tyrese, who looked just as devastated, to her to bring her solace.

Carol would gasp but it wouldn't matter because no one would hear her over Daryl's sobs, no one would see the way her lips pulled down at the corners and the lines in her face would tighten.

Rick didn't like to think about how he might react. He imagined it be something similar to crazed. But beyond that, he didn't want to picture it.

And what about his son? Carl who hadn't even fully grown yet. Rick couldn't stomach the thought, the sheer utter torment he'd experience watching his sons body begin to wither. He didn't want to know.

You'd been there while he was unconscious in that hospital bed, through every storm, everything, by his side. You were a father to Carl as much as he was and you'd been nothing short of a supporting role to Rick. There's been times when you just drove the both of them off in the car, taking trips to lakes and nearby parks, anywhere that offered a semblance of normalcy.

You'd scout the places out days before, cleaned the place free of Walker's and set up a picnic on the cool greens of grass or tables. Even once or twice when the fire burned out at night or if Carl's blood started to burn so hot, you'd give them a midnight rendezvous, all three of you climbing up a tree or anything that fit the current circumstances in which the group resided.

Rick had to run a hand through his hair and all he could do was grab Michonne by her shoulders, look her forcefully in the eyes and say:

"We are going to find him. And anyone who gets in the way of that will pay. "

Because he wasn't going to accept anything else.

Which is why he didn't stop Tyrese or Daryl or anybody who wanted a chunk out of Gabriel the morning of day eight when he suggested that they move on.

He even went as far as leaving the church entirely, not caring to put aside personal feelings, not caring how he may look. His expression was sour and drained and at this rate, the only thing he cared about was finding you.

He would have no problem burying his tomahawk right into the preachers skull.

Daryl kept watch most of the nights, refusing rest for the past week because every time he tried, he felt as if it were a ploy. He became distressed each time he was reminded you weren't going to walk in and slumber on the floor next to him or Carol. You weren't anywhere.

It pissed Daryl off beyond belief to know there was an actual possibility that you weren't breathing anymore, weren't thinking, feeling.

His anger had to be one of the few things driving him into the same track less search the next day as he pushed through the forest ahead of Rick.

Things were starting to feel all too familiar and he thought he might find you in a barn just the same as Sofia. But you didn't pop out the doors in any walkers veil, you weren't bloodied nor torn apart. There were no traces of anyone or anything in those forests.

You simply disappeared.

And it left them in another night of quiet.

Spoons scraping agaisnt cans, the faint sound of chewing. A tiny droplet of rain hitting a window pane or two.

That was all.

No one spoke, yet they all sat around a room cramped with anxious bodies.

Sasha's leg brushed against her guns outline, her boots rubbed together, her tongue flicked at her teeth and she felt as if her thoughts were vibrating the inside of her skull, riling her from the depths. There was an eerily absence of anything positive, because at this point no one was expecting good news.

Gabriel's execution was more or less inevitable as each of the nights rolled by. There'd be the lingering aura of danger and anticipation due to the preachers remaining presence. But no one ever mentioned it, let alone had the will to.

It was hard to digest the concept of your loss because not a single one of them wanted to bury you, the group preferred to be broken and you had become like an integral part of what bound them.

Food was beginning to dwindle down the line of low and low to nonexistent.

And as they sat there, in silence, there was collective knowing resonating around them that this would be the last night they spent in the church.

Not that anyone dared to speak it, not even Rick, who gazed afar into the burning light of a candle and contemplated.

Carol noticed first, maybe it was her nose, fine tuned for the scent of trouble and like a dog trailing a rabbit, she jumped up with a clatter and darted towards the front door.

But she didn't even get halfway across the church, with Rick trailing closely behind her, along with the others who were all clammering to their feet, when the doors burst open on their own, the cool whip of wind entering the room as the room itself seemed to rise up in temperature.

There, with a trail of blood drops, a scarily dehydrated and filthy body fell into her arms.

It was you.

And the sigh of relief felt as if you breathed the air back into everyones lungs. It reanimated the whole church.

[aelenavelaryon]

THE GREENS NIGHTMARE

IN WHICH AERA TARGARYEN IN THE KARMA OF TEAM GREEN

Daemon Targaryen x Aera Targaryen

Aera Targaryen was a woman to fear. She was Visenya and Maegor come again. When the war between Rhaenyra and Aegon began, the realm divided into two. The Blacks for Rhaenyra and the Greens for Aegon. Aera Targaryen was a distant relative yet she had been close to Rhaenyra growing up. Once, long ago Aera had been Daemon'a love and once the love of his life. Some would even argue that she was still the love of his life, even when the two were still married.

Aera Targaryen gave Daemon Targaryen four children in their first few years of marriage. Maegor, Baelon, Aemon, and Rhaegar Targaryen. Otto Hightower deemed them bastards because Aera was daughter of Saera Targaryen and Maegor Targaryen, son of Maegor and Rhaena Targaryen. Aera didn't want to return to King's Landing where she was not welcomed. Viserys always allowed Otto to fill his head with lies about her and what she was capable of. Daemon, whilst being married to Rhaenyra, which was a favor that Area had granted her.  Daemon did not see her as more than another family member. Daemon and Aera still had their own late night adventures when she would come visit, seeing as she spent most of her time in Pentos with her mother's family. 

But, from time to time she visited Rhaenyra and Daemon in Dragonstone. Daemon's sons were men grown. Some in their twenties. Not married but with bastard children of their own. Daemon and Aera shared three other children together who were born over the years. He had taken not only Aera as his wife but Rhaenyra too. Area who he had been married to since she was ten and five and he twenty and five. Daemon Targaryen loved his wife, despite what many believed. Aera much to anyone's dismay was a free spirit, bringing not only men into her bed but women too. Alexander Rivers was a bastard son she had with Harwin Strong alongside him, his twin, Alys Rivers who many believed was the daughter of Lyonel but everyone at court knew who were the parents. Alys Rivers would be a important peace for Rhaenyra during the dance.

The Hightowers thought them gone, thinking they would never step a foot in Westeros. But, as soon as Rhaenyra sent a raven to inform her cousin of the news, Aera flew on dragon back to support her girl. The news of Lucerys' death reached her before she made it to Dragonstone, and soon after, the news of Aegon's celebration for his death reached her as well and that was truly what started the fire. 

Instead of keeping route to Dragonstone like she promised, Aera flew to Old Town and set the Hightower's home ablaze for Lucerys's death and celebration of his death. She then, rode to King's Landing where the usurper thought he was coming to bend the knee. Otto nor his spies knew she knew, until from the skies she dropped the heads of every Hightower she killed, Gwayne Hightower being one of the dead. It was said that Alicent Hightower cried, screams were heard all over the Keep as the doweger queen wept over her dead family. They knew then that Aera Targaryen was the blood of the dragon. She was coming for Rhaenyra*s stolen throne. 

'she loves Rhaenyra. Did you truly think she was coming to bend the knew?' Alicent asked Aegon. Otto sat in silence saying nothing. Daeron Targaryen had return to King's Landing the same day he received the letter of his father's death. Daeron was smarter than anyone gave him credit for. He knew, Aera was the real threat, not Rhaenyra, not Daemon but Aera Targaryen was a wild dragon. He knew she was not scared to be known as a kinslayer, specially when it came to him and his siblings. But, he didn't know how far she was willing to go. 

Her arrival at Dragonstone was expected, her children had arrived the day before expecting to see their mother back with their father.  Aera Targaryen arrived and everyone gathered out to greet her. She was covered in blood, they thought she had been attack or something of that mattered. "Mother!" her eldest son ran to her. "I am fine" she told. "I did something bad" she began. Rhaenyra cared very little for what she had to say at that moment.  They retuned back inside the castle, everyone who sided with Rhaenyra was there, well, most of them. 

"I burned those Hightower's to the ground" she said loud enough for everyone to hear. The room went quiet right after that. The war had just begun. Which side will prevail?

[diejager]

I have a fucking insane idea based on a DnD thing I saw once lmao. So basically, if someone went through an immense amount of trauma, it could sort of manifest into another being used for self defense. This being was literally only limited by their imagination. It could be a damn house cat or a fucking dragon. It was basically an extension of their body that was a result of a dangerous or traumatic situation. It could help with other tasks as well, but its main purpose is defense. I need to see the men react to this, I’m begging

Monster au. Plz

~🧋

Cw: trauma, inaccurate magic, tell me if I missed any.

They were familiar with all kind of magic. Be it Old Magics and Magiks, enchantments, hexes, curses, dark arts, and everything known to the world, yours was…. peculiar. Quite peculiar for a person without any ties to a magical lineage or prior knowledge of powers. You were just a normal human - as normal as you could be with all your fearlessness towards monsters and hybrids alike - with a few unique perks and qualities, but a human no less. You weren’t any different from your parents, your extended family or any friends. A mortal with soft flesh, resilient and persevering, wild imaginations and genial abilities to adapt and conquer, and yet, were so, so fragile. 

They hadn’t expected it, with Farah - the only witch they personally knew - tied to Alex by the hip and always on the move, their repertoire of magical knowledge was lacking. So, there was a mass of confusion between them, one that made understanding your strange ability difficult, but not impossible. They had Laswell’s help to sift through all existing records, some confidential, hidden under red tapes and confidentiality regulations, and others public, open to any curious eyes and prying noses. 

The black Maine Coon that seemed to follow you, her lumbering figure and elegantly, curled fur that stood out among patches of grey and military green and browns of the base brought many questions, but all shrugged away at the mere sight of those piercing green eyes, vibrant lime that seemed to glow in darkness. She could light up the room with a single glance. It was as odd as it was menacing, and she was fiercely protective of you, shadowing your steps, curling her tail around your leg, laying on your lap when you sat and glaring at anyone who tried to approach you. 

A spirit animal someone had commented, a guardian in the shape of a cat another had hushed. She was all speculations and would stay that way until someone found out more about your Maine Coon, or if someone grew a pair and actually asked you rather than treating it like a secret mission conducted behind your back. A mystery to resolve, a like game they thought it be amusing to play until you found them out or someone gave up after grueling weeks of hitting a brocade —a dead end. 

It was fun and all, at least while it lasted. They felt like they were so close to figuring it out by themselves - pride and ego, you’d cackle. You’d have a field day laughing at them for them, then praise them for holding out so long - and Soap went out and begged for an answer. 

“I was wondering when one of you would crack,” you smiled, running your fingers through her fur, brushing away knots and tangles, “Took you longer than I expected.”

You had known of their investigation, but never spoke up. It riled them up, a thrill at finally being given the knowledge they’re hungered for, an adrenaline that pumped from their hearts to know the answer. And you stalled, teasing them with the pretty curl of your lips, taking all the time you needed to have them squirm in their seats and hang at every word that fell from your mouth.

“She’s a… trauma response, of some kind. I don’t really know how or why, but she just appeared one day while I was recovering. I was confused,” you laughed, nuzzling her scruff when she sat up to lick your chin, “Really confused. But I did some tests, experiments out of sheer boredom and discovered she came from my mind- or a product of it.”

“Your mind..?”

“You know humans have vivid imaginations, as physically unfortunate we are, our minds are a… strange thing, and she came right out of it.”

“So she could be… anything?”

You threw your head back, pulling her up in your arms as if she was the lightest kitten ever, your smile so wide it was infectiously making them smile.

“Anything that my mind can conjure up.”

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @angelcakes-22 @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mul-pi @danielle143 @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @luvecarson @petwifed @randominstake @heartelysia @jggykhug09090 @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @sans-chara @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @thigh-o-saur @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce @sobbingnshtting

[minkdelovely]

love and power

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

chapter ten: part one

“i won’t die for love

but ever since i met you,

you could have my heart

and i would break it for you.”

Alastor x Fem!Reader ; MDNI 18+ ; [y/n] used sparingly ; Alias in Hell is Sylvie

tags/warnings: vibes are not good y’all — it’s a blizzard in this here hotel 🥶 angst, crying, descriptions of sadness/loneliness, valentino mention lol, alcohol abuse and drug usage, mentions of bruising and bite wound recovery, power dynamics

word count: 5.8k

author’s note: okay, i was really hoping to have this all completed today but between some family obligations and graduations i didn’t have all the time i wanted to wrap this up in one go. but i really couldn’t keep this to myself anymore — i am so desperate to share what i have ready for you. i am still hacking away at the rest but for now, please accept part one of this finale with my gratitude and love 🙏🏻💖 @hazelfoureyes & @sugoi-writes come and get it my darlings ❤️‍🔥

prelude ; chapter one ; chapter two ; chapter three ; chapter four ; chapter five ; chapter six ; chapter seven ; chapter eight ; chapter nine ; chapter ten: part one ; chapter ten: part two

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The week that passed was long. Undoubtedly the way weeks in Hell were supposed to feel — grueling and bleak, devoid of joy. Hours passing like decades, leaving its casualties wrung out and aged.

Despite the rift only being between the two of you, it was felt by everyone in the hotel. Much to their misfortune, neither of you were spending hardly (if any) time in your rooms. No one knew exactly why, of course, but understood well enough to suffer in silence and bear the brunt for now. The weight of what transpired hanging in the air of whichever room either of you entered. 

Yours took the form of an icy draft, reminiscent of past winters that could only be felt again here in a manner such as this. Wandering the halls of the hotel, save for one, like a specter. Leaving sinners in your wake grateful once you had finally passed through; the natural heat of Hell returning in your absence to soothe their frostbite as if apologizing on your behalf.

And if your melancholy was that of a cold wind, Alastor’s was the storm that bore it. Blustering and wild in its unpredictability, an exposed nerve waiting for a catalyst. Always he was in the eye of it. Not even knowing himself which direction it may take — malice, apathy, vengeance — but claiming victims nonetheless, despite his efforts to maintain his air of refinement around the hotel. The hairline cracks in his guise couldn’t help but leak.

Even Niffty was proceeding with caution; not daring to climb the length of his body as she so often did without care. She had only made one attempt in the interim of the argument and had yet to fully recover from the murderous glare Alastor had threatened her with. His tense, bloody smile was still the first thing she saw when she closed her eyes at night. But she was warming up to it.

Husk was particularly displeased with the whole affair, having to deal with each of you as you took turns sulking at the bar in between bouts of sucking the life out of anyone you passed. Something had to be done about it. Not only for his whiskey supply, but he just also wished Alastor would mope somewhere else. And there was no telling which mood he would be in by the time he was ready to go back upstairs. Making it dangerous for anyone still roaming around in the late hours of the night. 

Asking Alastor about what was wrong was a dead end, and thankfully no one was naive enough to try. But you were still so despondent, nursing your drinks at one of the booths in a dark corner of the bar, that no one dared approach you yet. Though Angel was getting close. In fact, an idea was forming in his mind right now as he watched you sulking from his usual seat at the counter. 

“I can’t fuckin’ take much more’a this,” he grumbled lowly to Husker, frowning over his drink. “It’s startin’ to rub off on me! I’ve been infected.” His histrionic expression of woe only mildly overdone.

It really was wearing on him, as much as he tried not to let it. But between the atmosphere at the studio and now this… Angel could only be so resilient. Though he did his best to ensure it wasn’t bleeding into his work. Not an easy feat, especially when he thought back to that weird voicemail he got from Valentino about a week ago. 

Tell our little Sylvie I said ‘you’re welcome’ — God knows she really fucking needed it. Such a repressed thing… really wish I could have kept her longer.

The implication had actually made Angel lose sleep. Even knowing that Alastor had been with you, when it came to Val the possibilities were endless. And clearly whatever he instigated between you and Alastor had ended in disaster. Angel hadn’t relayed the message, of course. Nor had he given Valentino even a hint of what was going on at the hotel, much to his chagrin. He’d sooner face the Exorcists again than give Val the satisfaction, and it was fun being able to piss him off, whatever the consequence. Still…

“Have you tried talk—”

“Not a fuckin’ chance,” Husk said definitively, an unimpressed look on his face. “I ain’t gettin’ mixed up in this shit. The less I know about what’s going on between the two of ’em, the better.” He shuddered just at the thought.

Angel sighed, but understood Husk’s resistance to the idea as he obviously wasn’t prepared to try and speak to the Radio Demon about it himself. Getting a peak behind Alastor’s curtain was an intriguing, but ultimately deadly, risk — especially for the bartender. Meaning there was only one way out. 

He glanced back over his shoulder at you, taking in the distant look in your eyes as you absently played with the two small straws in your glass. Feeling resolved, Angel downed what was left of his drink and gave Husk a quick wish me luck before walking over. 

“All right, doll face, you’re comin’ with me. We’re overdue for a gab sesh,” Angel said, leaning over the table to grab your drink. His tone of voice was kind, though a little irked, and left no room for argument. “It’s uh… about that time anyway,” he added softly, offering a hand to help you out of the booth when you didn’t move.

That time… There was no need for him to say more; you knew Alastor was coming down here after you went up to your room for the night. Was it getting that late already? The bar didn’t have windows so it was impossible to tell how long you had been sitting there in the dark, counting only the number of drinks you consumed. Four wasn’t too bad. Yesterday it had been more. Maybe almost double. But it was hard to remember.

You took his hand and scooted yourself out of the corner, grateful to feel someone holding you steady again. It nearly brought you to tears in your drunken state, but you managed to blink them back and focused on the impending journey to the elevators. All your concentration going to your feet as your arm gripped his for support, which he didn’t falter in providing. Angel had plenty of experience in this, after all. You weren’t the first drunk he had helped home and you wouldn’t be the last.

A chill ran through you as you crossed the lobby. When you looked over your shoulder you could’ve sworn you saw a shadow flitting across the carpet… but it was gone as soon as you blinked.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Husk groaned as Alastor materialized at the stool he’d adopted at the bar counter — dead center, wouldn’t you know it. Muttering to himself about how Angel had just barely rid him of one problem only to be replaced with an even bigger one; turning to the shelf behind him to grab the whiskey he already knew the son-of-a-bitch wanted. 

“Quit your bitching and just give me the bottle,” Alastor grumbled, rubbing at his temples as Husk unceremoniously obeyed. Slamming it down in front of his keeper and earning a tight, unamused look in response. “Bastard…”

“Never said I wasn’t,” Husk scoffed as he set down an accompanying drinking glass. Amused by the display of decorum Alastor subjected himself to, as if he wasn’t about to drown himself in liquor for the fifth night in a row. 

It was starting to catch up to him, though Husk wouldn’t dream of letting him know. It was obvious if you looked at the Overlord long enough, which most people didn’t. And they were smart not to. 

Husk, however, had no choice other than to spend hours hanging around the otherwise empty bar waiting for Alastor to finish sinking his sorrows bottle after bottle. So finding the tells was inevitable. Dark circles under worn eyes, a few hairs out of place. Counterfeit smile reaching a level of mania the bartender would have thought impossible before this week. 

But that was none of his business.

Alastor ignored him then, pulling the cork out of the bottleneck before pouring into his glass and downing it with a single swallow. He repeated this two more times before deciding to pace himself.

It didn’t take passing you in the lobby to know you had been here. Your scent permeated the room, mingling with liquor and tobacco, smelling closer now to cyanide than your usual floral almond and cherry; surpassing the bitterness Alastor had ever assumed it could reach. He detested how much he enjoyed it, especially when it was hanging fresh in the air as it was now, though he didn’t know whether it was an outward or inner loathing. The aromatics of the bar helped cut through the ache. Made it tolerable. But…

“It smells awful in here,” Alastor sighed bitterly. Eyes faraway as he let his nose hover over the glass before taking another sip. 

If he said it out loud it could be true.

About as awful as you fuckin’ look, Husk thought to himself before casually responding, “Well this is a bar in Hell. None of ’em smell like roses.”

Alastor merely hummed in response; a disconnected sound. Most likely the last sound the bartender would manage to get out of the Overlord for the rest of the night. 

It wouldn’t be wise for Husk to let on that he knew exactly what Alastor meant by the smell, but he did agree. That was part of the reason he was getting to the end of his rope with the both of you. Although you kept to yourself, the scent you were emitting was harsh and it lingered. Husk was beginning to wonder if it had actually started seeping into the wallpaper.

As difficult as it was to stay neutral, especially since he could understand certain aspects of your plight, getting involved was simply too dangerous. He thought he had a good grasp on his keeper’s moods and behavior, but this was all new territory. Tread lightly.

And so, he reserved himself to suffering through your poisoned aroma and Alastor’s moods. Hoping to whatever benevolent entity that could hear his silent pleas that Angel Dust would manage a breakthrough.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

You were sitting crossed-legged on Angel’s bed as he rummaged through his specially made walk-in closet. Doing your best to fight off the sleep that was beginning to weigh on your eyelids, but it was a test of will that you were rapidly losing. The temptation to lay down and nestle yourself into the comfortable pink pillows and duvet growing stronger with each passing second. 

Angel must have been able to tell when he finally emerged, turning on some music to a volume that was just loud enough you couldn’t dismiss it as background noise before revealing a joint from behind his back with a flourish.

“Ta-da! Those bitches really think they got the last of it, but they’ll never find my break in case of emergency stash,” he mused with pride, nearly jumping on the bed to wake you up. 

He wasted no time in lighting a match from a pack on his nightstand, igniting the paper and taking a couple hits until a sufficient burn was glowing in a thin line of red. At which point he passed it to you, exhaling with a turn of his head. So polite.

This was far from your first time, but it had been a while since you last done this with a friend. You opted for a long drag and held in the smoke, nearly sighing as you felt the drug kick in after a second. Welcoming the warm, floating feeling in your head with a lazy smile as you emptied your lungs.

Angel whistled, impressed. “Not even the tiniest cough! My kinda gal. We shoulda done this ages ago.”

You nodded your head, passing it back to him as you laid down; sinking into the plush pillows with a hum. He followed suit, taking another hit and blowing the smoke your way with a teasing look on his face. You couldn’t help but giggle, both from the high and Angel’s comforting presence. Time passed for a while this way, taking turns with the joint and listening to music. Little laughing fits when you made eye contact for too long or muttered Val’s hat. Cuddling with his darling little pet pig, Fat Nuggets.

But once you had taken the last drag there was a shift. He was staring at you, waiting with the most open and soft face. The question on it the one you could no longer avoid. So what happened?

It took all you had not to cry. In fact, you were amazed at the capacity of tears your body had rendered over the past week. How could there still be any more left to give? But there was. At this point you weren’t sure whether they were coming from a place of anger, shame, or heartbreak. When it came to Alastor, you found your emotions had chasms deeper than you ever conceived. And they were more oppressive the further you went.

“Valentino didn’t tell you anything?”

Angel shook his head and made a face, landing somewhere between exhaustion and exasperation. “Sort of. You know how those fuckers like to play their little games. He keeps waitin’ for me to say somethin’, but I prefer to watch him squirm.”

Though you worried for him and hoped some part of Alastor’s deal held up in his favor, starting there would be a good place to start; leading him through the whole affair at the penthouse that you were present for. Not missing the sad look in Angel’s eyes when you finally got around to Valentino licking your neck. 

When you began to tell him about what happened once you got back to the hotel his eyes went wide. The scandalized scoff and I can’t fucking believe you sparkle in his eyes made you blush before you both erupted in a cackle, a form of pride shining through storm clouds of melancholy. You knew he would have burning questions and answered them as they came up.

Is he big? Yes.

Rough? No, until he was. 

Maybe even just a tad over. There were still some decent bruises to show for it. On top of which, the bite was taking a little longer to heal than expected…

You were snapped back by Angel’s next question.

Was it good? …the best. In fact, had you ever experienced that in life you would’ve found yourself here immediately after.

The last one had you both squealing. But he could see the tears blurring your eyes afterward, holding your hands as you continued. From waking up in his bed that evening, what happened in it, all the way through the fight the following morning.

“Fuck,” he sighed, the empathy on his face threatening to make you break down all over again. “Would you have done it without the pheromones?” 

Your lips quivered a bit, and you let out a shaky breath as you fought to remain composed before answering with a nod. “But he wouldn’t have… and now…”

The sob that followed took you by force, fueled by the loneliness you’ve been losing battles to all week. Angel hushed you when you tried to apologize, holding your hands until you were done. He left you momentarily to get you tissues and returned in pajamas; a box and large t-shirt in hand.

You took them, going for the tissues first. Turning away to clean your face and blow your nose. It was not a bodily function you ever cared for, so of course it was something you still had to deal with in Hell. Afterward you undressed and put on the oversized shirt, immediately feeling much better by the time you rejoined Angel in your former positions.

“Keep goin’,” he said, shifting some pillows to get more comfortable. “We gotta get this off that sweet chest’a yours.”

“Are you sure…? I don’t wanna bum you out too much.” 

He waved his hand, and raised his eyebrows. The expectant look on his face practically shouting get on with it. You put a hand up in defeat and exhaled.

“I just… wish he would let me leave, you know? Even though I can’t imagine not being here with you and everyone else but… I can barely make it to the garden before I start to feel the tug.” Your hand went up to your throat as you swallowed. 

You hadn’t meant to, but you didn’t mention the chain during your recall of the fight. He would understand, you knew, but… you kept it to yourself. It was hard to reason why. All you knew was that for now, it wasn’t something you wanted anyone to know about.

“He’s got me trapped here and I swear it’s like I can feel him all the time even though we’ve been avoiding each other all week,” you bemoaned, squeezing your eyes shut to fight back another wave of tears. The look on Angel’s face told you all you needed to know when you opened them again. He knew. “Is it bad that I miss him? I’m… fucking mad at him too, but… I miss him more than I thought I would…”

It was a painful admission, but an honest one. 

Angel wiped a stray tear from your cheek before running his fingers through your hair. Sighing before he said, just above a whisper, “No. It’s not bad that you miss him. But you know it’s…,” he sighed again searching for the right words. An almost tired look on his face. “Guys like them… they think they can just treat us like toys. But we ain’t. Alastor might be pissed off now but it’s only a matter of time before he’ll want you for something. That’s how it works.”

He practically spat the word out, voice rising slightly with indignant fire. 

“I can’t say I know what he’s thinkin’ — no one understands that mind’a his. But he’s been… different since the fight. We all thought he was startin’ to come around! I think you’ve been a nice little distraction.”

The pinch to your cheek was a welcome dose of levity, and your chest bloomed with warmth at the sight of Angel’s mischievous face. Though his eyes were still a bit somber as his mouth relaxed into a soft smile.

“I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is, as long as you know what you want and what you’re gettin’ into… No one here would think any less of you for it. There’s only so much you can do. I know.”

You let the words sink in as you wriggled closer to him, sighing a thank you into the comforting fluff of his chest as his arms wrapped around you. Not that you needed permission, but his blessing and understanding of your feelings carried a weight you weren’t sure he fully realized. The sun breaking through the clouds.

Angel played with your hair as the two of you changed topics, talking aimlessly about other things going on around the hotel that you had been too tired to notice. Gossiping and laughing until sleep finally crept up on you. For the first time in a week, your dreams had been light and kind. Dancing with static, familiar red eyes, and a radiant fanged smile.

Oblivious to the idea that was hatching in Angel’s mind as you fell asleep, the glint in his eye was wicked and determined. Overlords weren’t the only ones who knew how to play games.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Days of the week didn’t hold the same kind of power in Hell as they did on Earth. But for the first time in years Alastor found himself growing impatient for evening’s approach. Akin to an itch, there had been a persistent irritation running through him. Something he managed to push to his feet at first but was steadily crawling up, leaving pinpricks of restlessness it its wake.

The nervousness was finding outlets in peculiar ways. Mindlessly shaking his leg for unknowable amounts of time, snapping pencils as he tried to focus on work. Clothes strewn about his room like the vines that adorned the radio tower.

Weekends weren’t a concept that existed here, and even if they did, they would mean quite little to the Overlord as his work was never finished. Splitting time between his duties to the hotel and his radio segments kept him more than occupied. Well… when he wanted them too, at least. He had been letting the side down these past couple weeks. Following his flights of fancy was one of the lingering pieces of his humanity that refused to leave him even after all this time. In fact, it was a trait that found more enabling here than it ever had in life.

All of this to say, Alastor didn’t place significance in time or days of the week unless there was an event or some tiresome chore tied to it. 

Tonight was one of those times. 

Charlie and Vaggie had gathered the residents yesterday to announce that they had a surprise planned — a Friday night out, since the pair had missed it the last time due to their appointment in Heaven. Alastor had been listening from the banister a few floors up, watching as everyone reacted with relative enthusiasm. Except for you.

Had he not heard the words with his own ears, he’d have thought you’d been told you were attending a funeral. This hadn’t been the first time he’d eavesdropped on the daily activities gathering, but it was the first time he’d had his interest peaked. Not because he was concerned with you going out — you weren’t allowed that right now. And knew it.

Watching you squirm was something he’d never tire of. It was a subtle tell, which is why Alastor appreciated it. Just a touch of additional tension between your brows and a fiddling of fingers. That perpetual pout and concentrated look in your eyes were distracting enough to maintain focus, easily deterring others from picking up on your nervous fidgeting.

Still marinating in the bitterness of the week, it brought him a keen satisfaction seeing you struggle to think up an excuse as to why you couldn’t join them on their evening out. Would you blame it on him? Or put it upon yourself? 

“I hope you all have a great time! But I think I’ll hang back… I’d hate to be the sad drunk at the sex club.”

Is that what the establishment Consent was? 

If Alastor hadn’t already shortened your leash, he would have done it now. Not even realizing his claws had dug into the bannister until he felt the recoil when he tried to walk away. An irritated growl reverberating in his throat as the heat of his shortened temper fogged his mind. So he melted into shadow to retreat back to the privacy of his room to let off steam.

And so, Friday evening had plagued him ever since. The hotel now empty save for the two of you.

It was a thought that shouldn’t have riled him up the way it did. He was still rather cross with you for instigating that fight, after all. You had laid misery at his feet and he’d be remiss to not return the favor. It had been warranted.

The intention of isolating you from him was supposed to be your punishment, but had somehow become his as well. It was infuriating. Another example of how his plans of late continued to backfire and leave him scrambling to figure out a clean escape.

It hadn’t come to him as easily this time. Drowning his agitation in liquor, hours of pointless gardening in his sanctuary just to keep his hands busy. Listlessly sitting at the bench of his piano, staring at the keys with hesitant hands. Any music he did manage to play, while passionate, was acrid and only further soured his mood. The bitter notes mingling in the air with what was left of your scent. Mocking.

Exhausting.

He felt now very much the same as he had right after the battle with Heaven, recovering from the ghastly wound Adam had landed on him. Alone. Made aimless in recovery. Back to square one. 

Alastor’s antlers branched out at the memory, a snarl on his lips as he paced through trees and shrubbery. It was a low point he thought he’d never suffer again, yet here he was. A sulking menace, same as you.

Despite best efforts, he had combed over the fight more times than he could count these last few days. Which of his actions had mislead you to such a conclusion that the copulation had been nothing but a game? Is that the kind of man you took him for? His blood burned again at the very notion, eyes radiating with such a heat he couldn’t believe the grass in its wake hadn’t shriveled from it.

He had taken advantage of your offer, but his desire to have you was something he had already been struggling with. Was that not apparent in how hard he fought to maintain a gentle touch? At least until he couldn’t? Even if your docile face hadn’t told him how needed that was, it was something he could feel. And something he more than willing to indulge. He had always been a hunter.

But his hand had been forced that time, and that was something he couldn’t forgive. No matter your willingness to participate nor the pleasure he had felt in claiming your body. 

The second time…

That had been his decision. Though your laugh was the trigger. 

Alastor wasn’t lying when he said he thought you didn’t know how. Yet there it was, hiding in your chest, those sweet chords of mirth falling from your mouth with a nonchalance that was almost offensive. Your lips turned up in an equally rare display, eyes sparkling in his partially lit room as you sat in his bed, bundled up in his housecoat.

It haunted him now.

But in the moment, his mind had gone blank, so surprised by the honest show of emotion from you. He himself was prone to a more orchestrated laugh, so he knew. It had been real. You had laughed for him. Let him burrow just a little further into your soul that you kept so guarded, despite the fact that he owned it.

You were the goldfish enticing him behind your glass bowl as if he were a cat that was afraid to get wet. 

He wasn’t.

Honestly, he hadn’t planned to bed you again so soon. In fact, he had felt rather sated from the exploits of the afternoon, despite his reservations for how it came about; more than content to let you sleep while he read his book. Knowing you’d eventually be waking up from the pain of his bite, he kept you close. Glancing over every now and then between passages to look at your sleeping face.

Even in sleep those downturned lips of yours taunted him. He had even touched them. The plush softness under his thumb a sensation he didn’t think he’d enjoy as much as he did with a clear head. He watched as the knot in your brow melted away, the swell in his chest giving him little reason not to do it again. So he did. You looked so peaceful it almost made him want to join you, but he wasn’t ready to entertain that just yet. Eventually rewarded for his abstinence with being able to watch you come back to life, petulance and all. 

And then you laughed. 

Laughter was something he heard all the time around this fatuous hotel. And he had certainly heard more than his fair share of cackles. None of which had moved him. Well… 

Getting Husker to laugh for the first time was an accomplishment. Those were still hard to come by, despite the amount of time they’ve known each other.

But that had been a game Alastor was actively playing. He had never set out to make you laugh (even when he said he was). Being the spoilsport — childish but true — you were, you were too much fun to tease to put an effort into making you laugh.  

What a golden little sound it was; lighthearted but just incredulous enough to make his cock twitch. So… no. It hadn’t been the pheromones the second time.

He wanted that. He… enjoyed that. 

He still wanted that, though he didn’t fully understand why. You just seemed to… set something off in him. A difficult thing to articulate, as he hadn’t ever really felt something like it before. Not this acutely.

Possessiveness, sure. Alastor wasn’t ashamed to admit to that. Was it so wrong to want to hold tightly to what was so hard-earned? He had broken his back to gain the reputation he had, and would never regret the choices made to get here. Save for one. But that was beside the point. For now.

What he felt for you was different, again, just in a way he was unsure of. Not love… he wasn’t a boy. It was much too soon for a word like that. But there was certainly a longing… a fondness. 

It had been your scent that intrigued him at first. He had made his peace with that. Enjoyed his little games in testing how your mood would change it, which aided in his desire to wipe that frown off your face. A flash of how you looked laying beneath him came to the front of his mind then, and Alastor gave his head a harsh jerk to vanish it. Though it didn’t help clear the phantom echos of your cries and moans now ringing in his ears.

You had surrendered to him so completely, given him your trust so fully that afternoon that you even endured that ferocious bite with nothing but a scream into the pillows. Letting him claim you in the way he needed to in that moment was no small feat. But you did. He didn’t whisper apologies on a whim. You had earned it.

Irritation was building up in him again, a growl rumbling in his chest as his jaw tightened and antlers creaked with growth. But he persevered, continuing down his train of thought as his legs kept up their restless strides. It was the closest he had felt to something akin to clarity all week.

While he had definitely enjoyed fucking you, there was more to it than that. He wouldn’t have given himself to you in the first place if you hadn’t appealed to him in other ways leading up to it.

Rigidity, diligence, sullenness. Pride, even. 

Despite the more irksome traits, one thing he could always count on was that you would complete the tasks given to you well. A hard thing to come by in this godforsaken place.

But there was a fierceness hiding underneath that you refused to let loose, unless of course you were giving him attitude. That, in particular, drove him rather mad but he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed it. He had grown rather accustomed to navigating you in such a short span of time. It wasn’t lost on him that you had done the same.

You had shown him quite a few times how willing you were to accept even the harsher side of his moods. That evening in his room when Angel had told him about Valentino was a prime example. You had been absolutely terrified — something he was able to see on your face and smell — yet you still showed up the following morning. Impressing him, in a way, with the gall you had to actually enter his suite without permission. He would have chuckled at the memory if he wasn’t on the verge of punching something.

That morning had been the first time he took notice of how you went about cleaning his room, taking extra care with how you made his bed that he hardly ever slept in. So much wasted effort for the both of you, but Alastor didn’t regret it. Even though that bed had become the bane of his existence, mocking him any time he was in the room.

Why did you care so much? 

Irritation turned to anger at the thought, meaning he was on the right track. You were asking him the wrong questions the morning you fought, but you had been justified on some fronts. He had done nothing but push your buttons since bringing you here. Made you do pointless things just to see if you would and test how long he could get away with it before you snapped; purposeful choices made so that he could in turn punish you for being disobedient.

Not that his desire to punish you was your fault. It wasn’t. And if he was being honest, you hadn’t presented him many opportunities to do so anyway. Diligence.

He wanted to move past it, but he was still so twisted up about how everything happened with the battle against Adam and the Exorcists a few weeks ago. To the point where sometimes he wished Adam actually had taken him out. To be nothing but a discorporated soul clinging to life in some inanimate object, indulging in the peace of such an existence. No more fighting, no more posturing, no more leash. 

But he retreated before Adam could finish the job. His instinct to survive persevering once again. No… It was his ego, not his instinct, that had made that choice. Though if it hadn’t well… He wouldn’t have been able to go to Rosie’s that fated afternoon, would he? You were a burden he hadn’t wanted to undertake and had no choice but to. And yet you fit yourself into his routine as if you’d been tending to him for decades.

Why did you care so much?

Could you tell that he was struggling in the never-ending war against his own vanity? That he was dejected from losing a fight in what seemed like near self-sacrifice from the outside? Some part of you must have. Why else would you let him bully you, only to turn around and address his needs with a consistency that alarmed him. Let him prod and hold and touch you at his whim, much like the microphone that never left his side. 

Another loss he hadn’t recovered from. Its splintered form now buried at the base of a tree in his secondary room. The shame of seeing it lying around his suite or the radio tower while he failed to mend it too much to bear. A contemptuous symbol of who he was and what he had been reduced to.

Exhausting…

He hadn’t even noticed that he was walking to your room before he was standing in front of the door. Alastor would be lying if he said he thought you would be the one to come to him.

You always took the wrong things to heart.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

tag list: @fairyv-ice, @wat4r, @midorichoco, @raynerrold, @krak-jj, @tremendoushearttaco, @redfoxwritesstuff, @chibistar45, @kaylopolis, @cutiebimbo, @lousypotatoes, @rfox1998, @cosmiccandydreamer, @stardustandbrimstone, @cherry-cola-100, @wonderlandangelsposts, @catticora, @velvette3, @sailorsmouth, @alastorthirsty, @reath-solia, @junieshohoho

[thr0wnawayy]

Chapter 429 has been my Dabi's Dance

I can't stop smiling.

I wanted to start off by saying thank you. Not to Hori, but to you all. Every last one of you in these tags for your contributions. Be it analysis, re-reads, fan works or simply your perspectives. I look forward to seeing what you will make in the future.

So, Thank you.

I suppose I should start at the beginning. MHA was always in the background of my life and I hated it. I don't watch anime and yet still MHA related media would make it's way onto my socials in all it's obnoxious forms. This went on for years.

And then suddenly, it stopped. It seemed like MHA's craze had died down, I'd still see it from time to time through merchandise but never to the consistency it had prior.

That was until Dabi's Dance was published and the net went wild.

I knew a few things about Endeavor from my past exposure, he was universally hated and abused his kids and wife (to the point she scalded her son in a fit of psychosis).

Deciding I had nothing better to do, I found myself searching to see what kind of consequences would befall such a monstrous character.

Would he fall like Icarus, be torn apart by the public, how would the family he ruined react to the news?.

And then, nothing. No punishment, no reaction. Just dead air.

I recall that my face dropped internally. My blank expression mirrored my phone screen's sterile nature, as it displayed the information in front of me.

He got away with it. So I did some digging and it got so much worse.

Bakugo's evasion of any consequences or damages, coddled and shielded by Hori's inability to go through on anything.

Hawks who murdered a near crippled man on a hypothesis, for the mere crime of having the "wrong" quirk, for not giving up, for being "unlucky"

Aizawa, Hori's little mouthpiece. who decides to play judge, jury and executioner with the futures of students he's supposed to be teaching. Only for the Nedzu and the narrative to allow him, his friends turned into lapdogs that agree to the letter.

The Commission who strive to keep theirrotting husk of a system alive through assasins, child soldiers and indoctrination.

Even if it's gears must be lubricated with blood, even if it means lying to the world and having them clean up the mess. They MUST stay on top, the illusion must be upheld.

I just couldn't fathom how this was seen as a good thing.

And somewhere along the way I began to feel something akin to hate. Not your typical ire, one powered by anger, no.

I wanted to see how low Hori would go, just how horrifically he would mangle a series that everyone had once praised.

I wanted to witness what wonders a jaded community would create, to show what they were capable of (to create and understand MHA in a manner Hori wishes he could even emulate a fraction of)

I wished to see your own expressions of love and hatred.

The thought of witnessing the breaking point, the dust settling to expose all the glaring flaws and infested wounds of MHA. It buzzed in my brain like electricity.

The idea that when all was said and done, you, the people would do what Hori couldn't/wouldn't and forge the bones and salvagble bits of MHA into a story worth remembering.

One where abusers are punished for their crimes instead of rewarded

Where victims can have a voice, feel and grow, carve their own paths and move forward from their trauma.

Where the implications of MHA's rotting and disingenuous society get explored instead of swept under the rug

Where people get a chance.

I waited eagerly for the day it would all fall apart.

So, do you know what I did when I logged onto the tag and saw your posts!?.

I laughed, the shrill giggle in the back of my throat quickly surging into an almost manic cackle. It was like lightning, vindicating and sobering all at once. My face was stretched to it's absolute limits with how wide my grin was. I could almost hear the shattering of MHA's last bit of integrity and I loved it.

The realization MHA's greatest threat was the author himself, It's one that I grasped long ago (as far back as the Dark Dekiru Arc) and I'm sure most of you understood this as well.

But to see that more of you are starting to get it, to realize there's no going back. That as the curtains draw near and the lights begin to dim, there is no other side here. Violence begets violence and Hori's gone past the event horizon.

It feels, hopeful. Perhaps we can build something worth saving.

It's been a wild ride so far and it's still ongoing. Hori's time is long over, it has been for a while now, so I suppose what I'm asking Is:

Now It's Your Turn, what's your play?

_______________________________________

Update:

IT'S FINALLY HAPPENING!

[coupleoffanfics]

Part 2 of Batfam and batsis y/n headcons

Masterlist

It was a surprise to see y/n at the of the manor one night after her "outburst" that was a couple months ago. Alfred is happy to see her but notices her troubled expression. She greets him and asks if Bruce was here.

Entering the Batcave for the first time in years, it hasn't changed too much from what y/n remembers. The first to notice her walk in is Damian. "Sister, what are you doing here?" It's always so weird hearing him call her that now. He's never called he that until her "outburst".

This gets the attention of Tim and Babs, making them look away from the monitor. Tim is glad to see her again and hopefully, she is here to mend their broken, not completely burnt, bridges. Babs is also glad to see her as they haven't been communicating as much this past week, but concerned as to what brought her here. She has a feeling that y/n wouldn't come here without a reason.

"I need to talk to Bruce." Damian is almost upset that y/n didn't say she came to see him. He doesn't even have to open his mouth as Bruce is right behind her. Bruce makes his presence known which made y/n jolt up a bit.

Turns around to see him suited up just like the others. Not seeing his full face made her more comfortable oddly.

She takes a deep breath before talking, "I want to clarify that I'm talking to Batman and not Bruce Wayne. I have some information and I desperately need your help." Everyone's interest was already peaked before she said anything.

Bruce watches her pointer finger curl around her hair, her eyes shifted away from him, and her shoulders somehow become even more tense. "Jerome is looking for someone, not me, but I'm worried about them. Wait not looking for he's found them and I- ugh, I'm sure you've already done a background check on him. He has a twin brother and he supposedly wants him dead. I'm…"

All their eyes on her were worsening her anxiety. "I'm best friends with him, Jeremiah Valeska." Babs is already putting the pieces together that Xander Wilde was just an alias. She does remember thinking that they look similar, but she's only met y/n's boyfriend a handful of times and never looked that deep into Jerome's relatives. There wasn't any need to look at his family as long as they aren't committing illegal acts with him.

"Jerome, he did something to Jeremiah. There was this gas and it messed him up. He…" y/n was trying not to get too emotional from talking about a topic that was sensitive to her. "He's not right in the head anymore. It's almost like he's turning into Jerome. He's losing control, he knew a week ago that something is wrong but now he's saying…"

Their eyes and her various feelings on the matter were making her feel that this was a dead end. It's been nearly three months and things have been getting progressively worse. As she looks at Bruce and all she expects is to be rejected. To tell her that she was overreacting and that time was going to heal whatever this mess was.

y/n looked Bruce in the eyes and for the first desperately begged, "Please. Please help find a cure or something to end Jeremiah's madness. I…" She choked back the urge to say that she loved him. There wasn't a need for that and she'd rather keep them in the dark about her life. "…I don't want to lose my best friend. I know you're busy, but I had try asking. Just tell me now if you'd be able to help in any way possible and I'll leave you alone."

This came out of nowhere, but with y/n looking Bruce in the eye with glassy and a scared look in her eyes. How could he say no? "I'll do everything I can, but I'll need a blood sample."

Anything that he said after that went in and out of y/n's ears. She was just relieved that she had the greatest detective help her. "Yeah, um, I can do that." Her voice was softer than a few seconds ago. She wiped the tears of relief with her palm and quickly made her way out of the cave.

Tim wanted to go after her, but Damian was already following behind her and Babs gave him a discouraging look. Babs finally understood why y/n has been so quiet these past weeks. She also knew that y/n needed time to herself and she'd hope that Damian would understand that. She thinks Bruce knew that as well as he stared at the exit for a moment before swiftly going back to work.

Damian kept calling out to his sister before grabbing her wrist. y/n really wanted to shake off his hand and tell him to just leave her alone. Though feeling how firm his grip is she knew it would probably be best to go with whatever to not trigger another meltdown. That was the last thing she ever wanted to see or deal with.

Genuinely though she didn't know why he followed her. It didn't matter if he was trying to repave their relationship, she always expects the worst to come out of his mouth. As a shield, she says what he thinks he'll say. Putting herself down before he or anyone can do it.

"Yeah, I know I shouldn't be down there. It's no place for me and I get in the way. I'm not going to lie and say I'm fully sorry. I am, but I need to try everything to save him, and if that means you'll all have to bear witness to a living failure once more then so be it."

Damian is stuck by her words again and lets go of her as if her skin burns him. He was unsure of how to respond to that, but that wasn't the reason he was there. He tells her with full confidence, "Father will find a cure. Your friend will be okay."

She doesn't look at him. Surprised that he didn't degrade her and slightly smiling that he was comforting her. "Thank you, Damian, that was nice of you to say." Then walks out of the manor just like last time, but this night Damian can fall asleep without regretting eating him alive.

Bruce hires a team of toxicologists. Buys a whole new laboratory for the team. Making sure that there is progress being made while he's not working on it. Tim is the one who spends the most time searching for a cure.

The day after y/n would make her regular trip to the psychiatric hospital with Tim watching from a distance. Tim wasn't stalking y/n he'd claim fully knowing that's exactly what he's doing. He just felt that something was missing and he just wanted to know. He was sick of all her secretiveness. He's given y/n some space after her "outburst" unlike Damian and Dick. So he feels like he could do this because it's not like he forcing her to be around him like the other two.

But regardless the stalking. He was concerned about seeing y/n walk into a mental hospital. It wasn't Arkham, but personally knowing her track record of depressive episodes made him wonder why she was here. Was she admitting herself again?

y/n going through a mental low is difficult no matter how many times Tim sees and helps her through it. She'd stop having this bubbly aura around her. Not being able to get out of bed. There were few times she talked of how hopeless and empty she felt. When she had these episodes they'd never last a few days. They'd always be a week and the worse he's personally seen it last for 2 months. Then the mental image of her dealing with this on her own and coming to the point that she felt the need to admit herself was devastating to him in many ways.

Disguised as part of the staff, Tim followed y/n. Quickly realizing that she wasn't admitting herself, but visiting. He stood by the door of the patient's room that she dispersed in and closed the door. Interestingly Echo walked out of the room at one point and went back.

Seeing y/n standing by the door and about to leave, Tim quickly put some distance between himself and her. Watching y/n, Echo, and a man wearing a hat walk out. Following close behind as they left the hospital and entered the parking garage. He noticed how closely y/n and the man were walking together while Echo walked behind them.

Suddenly Echo came to a halt making the others stop and look at her. Then she ran full force toward Tim and pushed him against the concrete wall. A sharp knife pressed against his throat.

The handful of times Tim has seen Echo he's never seen her exhibit any emotion. There was a sort of underlying anger as she calmly ask who he was and why he following them. He's not able to get his mouth open because y/n runs up panicked while the man walks slowly.

y/n doesn't even need a second to see that it was Tim. Makes Echo let go of him before asking what he was even doing there. There is no good lie that he can come up with on the spot and he knew lying was just going to make y/n more upset than she already was.

"You never talk or are around anymore. You're so secretive now that it makes me worried." Tim would continue if he didn't notice y/n clench her jaw. He would have to be blind to not see y/n trying to keep her cool.

That's when the man placed his gloved hand on her shoulder. Just that simple action alone got rid of any tension in y/n. The man would introduce himself as Jeremiah.

Tim felt uncomfortable by Jeremiah. It could have been the fact that y/n did say his mental sanity has deteriorated, but Tim could just feel something was off with him. His bright green eyes remind Tim of someone. His face also looked to be caked with makeup and the way he talked was unnerving.

The three leave Tim behind. y/n stating that they'll talk about 'this' later. He goes back to the manor even more perplexed by everything.

Later that day y/n drops by the manor. Trying to be discreet as possible because she doesn't want to trigger Damian jumping out. Handing the blood sample to Bruce then turning her attention to Tim.

They have a long drawn-out conversation about what transpired earlier. Explaining why he felt the need to follow her and how he wants her to be open with him.

"— I want us to friends again." That made y/n's heart and mind stop for a moment. Just a moment because she immediately rebuttals. Not trying to mean when saying she doesn't want to be near any of them. That just things change, that they've changed, and they drifted apart. That he had nothing to worry about, but to also never do that again.

y/n spends most of her time with Jeremiah until she has classes and takes a minute to drop by the manor for any updates. Now that y/n is visiting the manor, Damian doesn't surprise her with visits anymore. Since she comes over quite often, daily almost.

He always tries to prolong her time there. He remembers the few things she's interested in. Art and fencing. He'll try almost bribe her to spend more time with him. Mentioning that he's going to an art museum or that he's done with his latest painting. It doesn't get her attention. Talks about how he's got tickets for a fencing match, but that doesn't interest y/n in the slightest.

It's like she's purposefully ignoring him. It's not the case, but that's beside the point. One day when y/n drops by and gets ready to leave, Damian walks up to her with one question. "Can you teach me how to fence?"

Taken aback the question y/n has to take a moment to register it. She sighs, "You're better off getting a professional trainer because I haven't held a saber or epee in a hot minute." She's not even trying to avoid Damian even though he just reminds her how much of a failure she is. She's just being honest.

The boy is becoming visibly frustrated. Panicking and remembering his last tantrum, y/n quickly says that she'll teach him the basics after her classes. Seeing that he was calming down y/n makes a quick escape.

After her last class, she sees Damian waiting right outside of her classroom. Once she's in his peripheral vision he tries to drag her back to the manor and into the newly established fencing room, but she needs to make a quick stop.

Will not let her go alone no matter what. So she kinda has no choice but to bring him along. It's nothing new. She makes a quick call informing someone that she'll have someone with her before jumping into her car. They take a long ride out of Gotham and into the woods. Making Damian wonder where the hell y/n is going.

The second one to meet Jeremiah is Damian. Jeremiah only politely greets him before leaving to talk with y/n in another room. The first impression Damian has of Jeremiah is not a good one. Highly suspicious of him and is not comfortable letting y/n be alone in a room with him. Low-key impressed by the labyrinth that Jeremiah calls his house and likes the interior of the living room. Every classy.

Would have put his ear against the door to hear what they were saying if it wasn't for Echo. She was staring him down. He's pretty sure she hasn't blinked since they got here. Going off what Tim said to the others about Echo possibly being y/n's lover, Damian wonders what y/n sees in Echo.

When they leave and get back into the car Damian brings up Echo. "Your girlfriend should learn how to blink." y/n almost stomped on the breaks. "Girlfriend...? Echo?" She's very confused. "Who else am I talking about." This is when she learns that the whole family thinks she's dating Echo. The idea is funny but also irked her because that was far from the truth. Calmly explains to Damian that isn't the case and that she was simply Jeremiah's bodyguard. Damian can't wait to tell Tim that he was wrong.

Once they get back to the manor y/n teaches Damian about fencing. First going over the rules and the 4 types of fencing before doing anything physical. Surprisingly time flew by. They probably would have been fencing all night if Alfred didn't interrupt them for dinner. y/n planned on leaving, but Damian convinced her to at least stay for dinner because Alfred made her favorite dish and dessert.

This is around the time y/n starts to think that Damian isn't too bad. Out of everyone in the family, Damian is probably the one she'd be the most lenient towards. She's lenient towards the whole family, but Damian is still relatively young. He was able to move on from his horrible childhood, even though that resulted in him lashing out, y/n can forgive that to an extent. Deep down she sees him as her little brother even after their rough patch.

The fact that he isn't breaking into her apartment and trying to connect with her, makes her think that it's safe to be around him. That she isn't going to be verbally reminded that she's one of the most worthless human beings to be alive.

She starts straying a little longer at the manor to mentor Damian a few times. He starts to worry when she easily has the wind knocked out of her and has a cough that doesn't go away. She tells him that it's nothing to worry about. Might lie to him if doesn't give up on the topic by saying she's developed asthma. The lie isn't implausible since anyone can develops asthma at any age and it is hereditary.

It calms Damian down a little. Now he constantly carries an inhaler just in case y/n needs it. She feels so bad lying to him, but she thinks it's for the best that everyone should stay in the dark about her medical condition.

Seeing y/n willingly hang out with Damian gets under Tim's skin. He's given her space unlike Damian, except for that one time but it was only one time. The little gremlin has been harassing her since that one "outburst". He'd want to pull out the 'I knew her longer' card, but he knows how petty it would be. Who she hangs out with isn't his problem and he should mind his own business.

He does mind his own business, but he may occasionally check the cameras to see what y/n and Damian are up to. That's all he swears. Oh, my god, they're going to orchestral concerts and museums together now!? This is so unfair Tim thinks to himself.

They use to be so close.

Honestly, Bruce is thankful for Damian. He's keeping y/n around the manor longer so she can be completely safe from the madness of Gotham. It's also good to know that she's willingly interacting with one of her brothers. It almost warms his heart to see her not be so anxious while in the manor. Just almost because she shouldn't have to feel anxious in the first place. This was the place she once called home, it should make her feel safe not anxious.

Remember the team of toxicologists?

If you don't that's fine. They were killed by the bomb placed in the laboratory, so it's not like they'd be brought up again.

Everyone thinks it's Jerome. The loss of innocent life and y/n suddenly going missing seems like a Jerome thing to do. When they hunt down Jerome, he just kinda shrugs his shoulders while doing a poor job at hiding his smile. Damian wants to scratch his face off or rip his face off depending on the state of it. Dick has to hold back the little monster while Bruce interrogates the ginger.

It goes nowhere until Jerome gets bored of interrogation and tells them, "I'm tired of him thinking that he's better than me. We're quite the same, but I'm the better one. I just had to give him a fresh air of courage to be his true self." Everyone understands what he's say and also groaning that they have to deal with another fucking Valeska.

BONUS

Jerome, Jeremiah, Joker, and Harley being a sort of dysfunctional family is a fun idea. (Inspired by this) Joker and Harley enable the twins' unhealthy love for y/n Wayne.

Harley is more "innocent" in her enabling because she sees nothing wrong with it. The staking, the murder, it's nothing when it's the name of love. (When she leaves Joker for Ivy, she might feel guilty for egging them on. That she played a part in instating y/n into a toxic relationship. Out of anyone, she'd be the one to understand what's it like to be in one. This might motivate her to help keep y/n safe in the future.) Out of the two Harley is rooting for Jerome. He just seems like the lesser evil for y/n.

Joker finds the whole thing funny and pathetic at the same time. The twins are destroying half of the city for a girl, it almost makes him want to roll his eyes. Almost because of the lengths they'll go to. How they're always butting heads and seeing how distraught the girl gets is fun. He can't help but laugh at it. He'll be putting his money on Jeremiah because he sees potential. He's not reckless like Jerome or impatient, Jeremiah is in it for the long haul.

[archaeologysucks]

Yesterday I broke through a long-standing brick wall in my family tree, and was finally able to connect one of my ancestors with her parents and siblings, which is pretty damn satisfying. It was a case of women getting lost in the records when they remarry and change their names, which is unfortunately extremely common. I also got to add another wild story involving bigamy and legal turmoil to my family history, and that's always fun.

I knew a lot about my great-great-great grandmother Mary Emeline Brown (1833-1910), but unfortunately the earliest proven record I had for her was her marriage in 1848 at the age of about 15 to John M. Armstrong in Jerseyville, Illinois. This meant that on the earliest census record (1850) that lists every person by name, she was already married, with no clues about her family of origin.

All I knew was that her maiden name was the extremely common Brown, and that her death certificate named her parents as John Brown and Ruth Nelson, with no indication who had given that information or whether they knew it to be accurate.

There was a prominent Brown family in Jersey County, Illinois, however, and I was sure Mary was connected to them somehow, but I couldn't quite prove it. I knew where her husband's grandfather and uncle's land was, and where the Brown lands were, so I made a map to see if that would help. I was able to prove that the Armstrong lands lay on the same major roadway as those of a John Brown (1790-1872), a few miles to the east, and for a while, I thought that might be Mary's father.

The only problem? There was no Mary listed among this John's children, and no obvious gap she might have fit into. Also, his wife's name was Margaret Piper, which is not very similar to Ruth Nelson. Well, maybe Ruth Nelson was not John's wife. Maybe Mary was born out of wedlock. Such things weren't uncommon. Damned if I could prove it, though, without doing some complicated DNA work, or finding some court documents that stated her paternity.

For a long time, I was stuck there, at the same dead end my grandmother had arrived at when she first started working on our genealogy in the 1980s. Just about everyone who listed Mary on their family tree on Ancestry.com gave her parents either as this John Brown, without offering any corroborating evidence, or else simply as John Brown with no additional information at all.

Well, the other day, I decided to dig a little deeper. I went through every single family tree that included Mary, to see if I could find even one clue that might point me in a useful direction. And I found one: a single ancestry tree that listed Mary's parents as Vincent Brown (c. 1805-1834) and Elizabeth Wilson (1810-1892). And more importantly, the researcher had explained their conclusions, which is something surprisingly few people on Ancestry.com ever do.

When Vincent Brown died in about 1834, he left a wife and a few young children, but because he was a young man, he left no will naming his heirs. However, court documents for his estate mention a child with the initials M. E. Brown as one of his heirs. This is not proof, but ….

In 1839, when Mary would have been about 6 years old, Elizabeth Wilson Brown remarried to Jonathan Routh, whose surname some sometimes spelled Roth or Ruth. It's not impossible to think a later relative might have heard the name Grandma Ruth, wife of Jon, associated with Mary's mother, and assumed that was her first name, confusing Wilson for Nelson as her maiden name, and also assuming Jon was Jon Brown, since that was Mary's maiden name. This is also not proof, but ….

On the 1840 census, which only lists the head of household by name, with numbers for each sex and age bracket for all other household members, all the known children of Elizabeth Brown and Jonathan Routh (spelled Ruthe on this record) are accounted for, and one is a girl between the ages of 5 and 9, who could be Mary. This is also not proof, but ….

Jonathan Routh and Elizabeth had three more children, but he decided not stick around. In 1845, he left Illinois for Texas with no intention of returning, and he did not bother to grant Elizabeth a divorce first. In 1852, he remarried in Texas, and had several more children. He served in the Confederate Army during the Civil War and died in 1864. In 1871, Elizabeth sued his heirs in Texas for half of his estate, because she was still his legal wife. The case went to the Texas Supreme Court, and she was ultimately awarded 1/4 of his estate ($750) in 1883.

When Elizabeth Wilson Brown Routh died in 1892, her estate probate documents named all of her heirs, which at that time included many grandchildren, one great-grandchild, and one surviving daughter: Mary Ernest. By this time, Mary E. Armstrong had divorced my great-great-great-grandfather John M. Armstrong (and good for her, because he was a piece of work), and remarried to Albert Ernst, a man 20 years her junior who owned a brewery. Well done, grandma.

Is that proof that my Mary Emeline Brown Armstrong Ernst was the child of Vincent Brown and Elizabeth Wilson Brown Routh? Well, no, not really. But it is compelling evidence, and a strong lead that I can follow up on by digging deeper into Jersey County, Illinois court records, and looking into what became of her theoretical siblings for additional clues. Importantly, there is nothing here to contradict the idea that this was her family. I am fairly confident that this is them, and that it's only a matter of time before I can prove it definitively. I love solving historical mysteries and puzzles!

[two-white-butterflies]

parallel lines | d. targaryen | part seven

Description: An ordinary middle school teacher moves to a desolate town with her fiancee. After suffering episodes of vivid nightmares, she realizes that his uncle looks exactly like the man in her dreams.

Pairings: daemon targaryen/reader, aemond targaryen/reader

Trope: Reincarnation

series masterlist |

“When one is in love, one always begins by deceiving one's self, and one always ends by deceiving others. That is what the world calls a romance.” 

― Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

"Rhaenyra, you are an angel." you chuckled settling into the passenger seat. Her car was luxurious on the inside, one of those minivans that could comfortably seat all her sons. "Oh, it's nothing, your apartment is on the way anyways." she replied with a smile.

You couldn't help but recognize the similarities between her and your boyfriend. They were half-siblings but judging from their faces, they could be mother and son. She glances at you, sensing your silence. "Are you alright?" she asked in a motherly tone.

"It's just - you look like Aemond." you blurted out, a thin-lipped smile ghosts her lips. It was a compliment, but she didn't appreciate it. "We both look like our grandmother, Alyssa." she shakes her head. You had no idea about the past.

She wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt.

"So that's the name of his grandmother! He never told me. He never tells me about his family." you looked down, realizing that you've probably shared too much.

"There's a possibility that he didn't know - our father never shared about the family anyways. I learnt all of this from Daemon." Rhaenyra reluctantly defended her brother.

For a second you contemplated asking her about their father. Aemond has told you stories about the abuse that he befell, could Rhaenyra provide more insight on your boyfriend's past? You shake those thoughts away, he told you that Rhaenyra was their father's favorite. She wouldn't understand.

"You know - the family's glad that Aemond has you. He's been unsociable these past few years. He never gives us updates, never talks to us, we thought that he was dead - or worst, in prison." Rhaenyra breathed, there was still a part of her heart that loved her baby brother - though that love was buried deep now.

"Prison?" you raised an eyebrow, laughing at the notion. "He was in prison before Tirano. Two-years, and for a crime he didn't commit." she continued not fully sure if Aemond was all that innocent. "He's never told me 'bout that before." you mumbled.

Was there another side of your boyfriend that you didn't know about?

"Well, according to the court documents. He found out that his girlfriend was cheating on him. He beat her up then the paramour went marching to our house. The paramour died. Alicent was strangely calm then," Rhaenyra narrated, as if it was something that the entire town already knew about.

"You told me that he was innocent. What really happened?" you inquired and she shrugs. "- I don't know what really happened, but he had the perfect alibi. He says that he already broke up with the girl and she came to him all bruised up. The paramour allegedly killed the girlfriend. Aegon was a witness. It all happened down at our old house." she informed.

You slumped on your seat.

You didn't know what to believe.

"- when my brother was younger, he used to be so kind. He'd make me cereal and prepare the uniform that I used for school. I don't know what happened to us, why we grew apart." she pondered with a bitter chuckle, reminiscing a past where you weren't present.

"I thought after that trip to Tirano, our family would grow closer, but we all grew estranged. I'm glad that you're here, that he's here too." she turned to look at you, speaking with the mind of a sister, one that grew up Aemond - not with the mind of a Queen whose son was slaughtered by the same man.

Aemond stared at the mirror, feeling the blood trickle down his nose. He got into a fight with some losers in some random alleyway.

He scoffs, aware that he looked pathetic. How long has it been since adrenaline pumped through his veins?

It was tiring, constantly having to hide himself in a facade of self-righteousness. It was hard pretending to be perfect!

Perfection was different for every woman. To a Plath-Orwell loving maiden, the perfect man was a guy who read Nietzsche and occasionally watched the Godfather. He perfected himself for a woman like you to come by.

It wasn't difficult to have you, but it was difficult to maintain you.

He washes his face with water, observing the crimson fluid go down the drain. There was a time, he remembers, when you were happy with each other. You didn't mind doing the laundry while he played his video games. He was aware of your beauty, but he was at peace because he knew that your loyalty was his. That you were his.

But Daemon's arrival changed something in you.

He could see that.

He sees the way that your eyes fill with emptiness when you realize that he's done nothing the entire day. He sees the way that you shrug when he asks you a simple question, instead choosing to browse through social media instead of speaking to him.

Has he lost you to Daemon?

He takes a deep breath.

He knows the outcome of this battle. He knows that in due time, he'd lose you to his uncle. Who was he to stand against fate? The past was a mirror of the future. He was just a mere bridge.

He turns the faucet off.

He'd love you for as long as you'd stay.

He'd love you, even if you were slipping through the cracks.

Only a lampshade in the middle of the living room illuminated your humble apartment. Aemond was slumped on the Victorian sofa, unbothered by the blood that trickled down his chin and gathered on his chest. He felt numb.

"Jesus, you're bleeding." you say, concerned.

"I got into a fight with some randos back in town." he mumbled, disassociated from reality. Your eyebrows merged into each other. "What?" you paused, giving him time to repeat himself. This was the first time he's ever gotten into a fight - he'd usually take the higher ground and apologize even when it wasn't his mistake.

"- they made fun of my eye." he breathed.

He was thrown back into the past, when his nephews and the other kids made fun of him - for this disability that wasn't his fault.

"Oh, Aemond, I'm so sorry." you wrapped your arms around him. Allowing him to rest his head on your chest. There were tears falling down his eye, mixing with the blood. "If I was there, I would've beat them up with you." you humored, earning a chuckle.

He felt vulnerable.

"My father made fun of my eye too, when I was younger." he admitted, lifting his feet off the ground, placing it on the sofa until he was in a cross-legged position. "- he said that someone who looks this way would never be happy in life." he stared off to the horizon.

Your breath hitched, allowing him to speak about his past. Preventing yourself from interrupting, just in case the trance would break - and he'd return back to his hermit-like self.

"When we got together, I wanted to laugh at his face because someone like you chose to love me - despite the fact that I wasn't perfect. But my dad was right." he rose to his feet, ignoring your attempts to chase after him.

He locks himself in the bathroom.

Aemond opened his eyes again, transported back to the Summer of 2016. His arms were wrapped around his girlfriend, Margaux, he could feel the heat gathering in his back for laying down too long.

"Nick is just a friend. I don't know why you're jealous." she lied through gritted teeth. He wanted to choke her for making him seem like a goddamn idiot. He saw the hickeys on her neck, the smell of another man's perfume on her uniform. "I'm not fucking stupid." his grip on her neck tightened, his eyes turning crazy.

He rose to his feet, pushing her hands away when she tried to pull him back. "Ae, stop making a big deal out of this." she chuckled nervously, while he reached for the pistol hidden in his floorboard. An inheritance from his father.

"You cheated on me with that dirtbag loser." he yelled at her.

"I didn't please stop acting like a fucking asshole." she screamed.

He slaps her on the face. The sound echoing throughout the room. Leaving the both of them in shock. "What the fuck? So what if I did cheat on you with him? You're a loser. Do you have any idea what you look like?" she insulted him, but her words were not entering his brain

He placed the bullets inside of the pistol, aiming it at her. Margaux tries to run for the door, but he grabs her forearm - stopping her.

"Aemond!" your voice breaks him free from the trance.

A gasp escapes his mouth seeing the pistol on his hand. He remembers everything that happened with Margaux. He didn't kill her. Something snapped him out of it. He sees the fear behind your eyes. He drops the gun on the floor, and it goes off.

It hits your ankle.

Everything fades into black.

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