#day 08

[messenger-of-babel]

Reborn

Summary: Jason did what he swore he'd never curse upon anyone. It just so happened to be you he cursed in the process.

Word Count: 2.3K

Notes: Character death, greivous injury, language. I was actually so happy writing this one, I was thinking I was going to struggle with the prompt but it actually came to me with a lot less struggle than I was expecting. I'm a big Jason girlie so maybe this had a trace of self indulgence in there.

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"Hurry the fuck up!" Jason yells at Tim, hands pressed on the centre of your chest, blood trickling through his fingers. He hates the way the warm liquid seeps into the fabric of his gloves, sticky and wet.

"I'm trying the best I can," Tim grits back out, relaying something through their coms line while he runs to your side, dropping to his knees beside your body in the car wreckage. "Holy…" he breathes out, eyes flicking over your form in concern. Your eyes are hazy and your face is ashy, paling from the blood loss.

"Jason, I don't think we-" he says, picking up one of your limp hands in his own, looking to his adoptive brother with pity.

"Shut up and do it." Jason grits back.

He wasn't going to lose you. Not like this. Not before him, not because of him.

Drop you to work, that's all he was going to do. That's all he was going to do. It was late at night, and he had patrol anyways. You were going in for a trial shift that night at the security company, something that could land you an executive manager role and get you out of that shitty job waiting tables. Something that could get both of you into a better apartment, more independent, the start of your life together. When you first started dating he was more than happy to throw Bruce's money around, the billionaire had more than he needed anyways, he wasn't going to miss it. Yet you had begun refusing after the first month, saying you wanted to be independent, and he fell in love right there.

And is this where it got you?

No. That was still all him. He had picked you up in a simple car since he was staking out some gang causing issues around West End and needed to go on stakeout. No reinforced glass, no secret bat gadget hidden in the glove compartment, just some tinted windows. So, who even saw you getting into his car? Well, what was supposed to be just dropping you at work turned into a car chase while you held onto anything you could, screaming in terror. It wasn't often that Jason would be the one getting chased, and under any other circumstances he would have thrown the car into gear and flipped the tables on them.

But you were in the car.

So, he threw it into reverse and ran as fast as he could. It had all been for vain, a burst tire and shattered windshield sent the car spinning out to a side street, flipping as it hit the curb. The screech of metal was deafening to his ears, the crunch of glass ringing out around him as the world flipped one… two…three…times.

His lungs burnt as he struggled to escape from the seatbelt, head throbbing from the collision on the dash before he looked over to you. His heart stopped in his chest, unable to even respond to the calls of Red Robin over his com link, who he had contacted the moment a gun had been fired at the two of you. "Sweetheart?" his voice cracked slightly, unable to go louder over the ball of fear in his throat. You didn’t respond as he clambered from his seat, arms coming around your back to support you and drag you from the car. he hated the way the image of you, splayed over the glass covered dash, had burnt into the deepest part of his mind. He had dragged you to the shelter of the car, blood boiling in his veins.

Anyone who had come to follow up was laid across the floor in seconds, Jason standing in front of your body like a guard dog. He blocked as much of your features as he could, taking out each gang member that came to inspect the crash with frightening efficiency. By the time Red Robin had arrived on the scene, Jason was already cradling your body in the shadow of the car, desperately trying to stop the bleeding from the bullet wound in your sternum. The bullet wound that he might as well have put there himself.

This was his fault.

"This isn't your fault, Hood." Tim says, laying his other hand on Jason's shoulder, muscled tensed and ready to snap. "None of us could have predicted-"

"Shut up and help," he hissed, fighting to stop himself from crying behind his mask. He hadn't felt this terrified since he was a kid, back in that warehouse. He was stronger than that now. Strong enough that surely, he could help you.

Jason wasn’t oblivious to the pained and pitiful look cast his way. "Hood, they're already gone." he whispers softly, hands coming down to gently cover his still compressed on your chest. Jason shakes his head. "No." he chokes out. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no."

"Yes." Tim says firmly. "I've…I've got the car. I'll bring it round before the GCPD shows. We can handle this. We can take them back to the cave, clean them up like they deserve-"

"I said No." Jason snaps, blood rushing in his ears. He knew you were gone. He could tell from the way your blood went tacky on your chest, the stream trickling into a standstill. The way your face was devoid of colour, making you look shades lighter than he knew you were. Your hands were limp, head tilted. What was the worst was the way your eyes stared up into him, glassy and fogged, as if cracking open his soul.

Why did you kill me?

Why me?

Why didn't you save me?

He knew you wanted to live, god, he knew you loved life. Loved life with him, and he loved it back in return. If only you had been given the chance he once was. "Bring the car." he chokes out, eyes burning with a fierce determination.

"What are you planning?" Tim asks, hesitant as he sees the way Jason's body is coiled, ready to strike.

"We're going to save them." He says softly, hand squeezing your lax one tightly.

God, he just hoped you weren't going to hate him.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

"So, you tracked us down to ask for our services?" Thalia scoffs, circling the two of them. "Didn't think I'd have two birds on our doorstep, didn't your mentor teach you better?" she says disdainfully, eyes raking over Tim and Jason. Jason just holds your body closer, wrapped in a white sheet and cradled in his arms. Tim shifts uncomfortably, making Thalia's eyes gleam when she detects the weakness. "Oh," she purrs, almost delighted, crowding into Tim’s space. "You're off the record."

"This doesn't involve Batman." Jason gruffly says. "This involves me. This is my request."

Thalia's eyes flick back to him, but Jason doesn't flinch. He'd dragged Tim along as an accomplice, going dark on the radar as he returned to the alps, the one place he had sworn to never return to. To do the one thing he had told himself he would never force on anyone.

But he couldn't lose you.

"So, you think you can just show back up and ask to use the pits?" She asks, eyes flicking to your form in his arms. "My, you really are as dumb as you are bold, aren't you?" She hums. Jason remains still, eyes focused on the hooded woman in front of him.

"I'll owe you a favour." he says, without a beat of hesitation.

Red Robin's eyes widen behind him, domino mask unable to hide his surprise. "Hood, are you kidding? you can't just-"

"Shut it." Jason hisses back. "This isn't your decision. This is mine, consequences included."

Tim backs down only slightly. "You know what Batman will say. We can't trust these people; they'll use that favour to burn down Gotham. Think."

Jason tries to, he really does. He tries to see the big picture, but all he can see is fragments of you and your life together that was smashed the second he put you in that passenger seat. "I am." he says softly.

He could walk away now and save Gotham for sure, or he could stay and save his world.

Thalia sidles up to him, lips pulled into a smirk, like a snake rearing its head. "I could do you a deal if that's the case." she says, eyes sparkling like emeralds. "But you have to make good on it. You of all should know how we handle broken promises in the League."

Jason considers it for a second, before steeling himself. There was no other option for him.

"You have a deal."

"I knew bringing you back would be worth it." she smiles, like a cat batting a mouse between its paws. She turns, gesturing for them to follow her with two fingers. "Come." she commands, beginning a clipping pace through the carved stone hideout. Jason follows wordlessly, and Tim soon does a moment after.

"How long have they been dead?" she calls, not even looking back.

"Less than a week." he replies almost immediately. Thalia smiles at that, dark and curious.

"Oh? Snappy, I see. Who exactly is under that blanket to make you run to this corner of the world so quickly?" she grins, stopping at the entrance of a deep set of stairs. She stalks closer, steps echoing and deliberate. With a quick motion she pulls back the sheet from your stiff corpse, eyes raking over your face.

"A lover?" she asks, eyebrows raised at the way Jason holds you closer instinctively.

"None of your business." he replies gruffly, making her roll her eyes.

"We should've taught you how to be subtle." she murmurs, beginning to descend the stairs. He follows into the darkness, shadows beginning to give way to a soft green glow, bouncing off the carved stone walls. Tim takes in the room they step in to at the bottom, a grand, ornate space, yet somehow still appearing crude. Death clings to the atmosphere, cold and uninviting.

"Hood, is this where-" he begins quietly, but Jason cuts him off.

"Yes." he says as he follows Thalia deeper, feet stopping by the edge of the glowing green pool. Panic swirls in his gut, making his senses set themselves on fire. His mind races as he tries to control his own fear, to stop the metallic taste from rising in his throat. Flashes of his own time in the pool pry themselves into the forefront of his memory, making his fists clench in your sheet. He pushes them all down, taking a deep and shaky breath.

This was for you.

"Don't forget, you owe me." Thalia warns, gaze haughty as he kneels by the pool, unwrapping you from your blanket. His heart wrenches seeing your stiff body, eyes still open as if to judge him. When he's untangled the sheet from you, he slowly begins to slip your body into the water, Tim running his hands through his hair in worry behind him.

"Jesus…" Tim breathes, anxiety radiating off him as he watches your body submerge under the green glow of the Lazarus Pit. Jason doesn't move from his kneeling position, Thalia beside him as he scans the water for a sign of life, a sign of movement. A sign of you. After a few tense moments, it happens. A hand breaks through the surface, making Tim jump. Your fingers are clawed in pain, but he chooses to focus on the way your colour returns to the digits. You appear from the pit like you're drowning, eyes rolled into the back of your head as you breach the water. Your mouth is open in a wide gasp, screaming in unmeasurable pain. His heart tears itself in two and his stomach is in knots hearing you make that kind of noise, writhing and clawing at your face.

Thalia watches you scream and double over in the pit, making a mocking pout as madness clouds your eyes. "Aww, how cute. You're just like each other, a match made in hell."

"Shit…" Tim exhales, pacing back and forwards behind him. "Batman isn't going to like this. This isn't right, this isn't right…" he mutters, panic written all over him. Jason drowns both of them out, extending his hand softly towards you, leaning precariously over the waters to gently grip your wrist and guide you his way. He could fix you. he could fix this. He could make it all better.

He guides you until you're in front of him, the familiar burning smell of the Lazarus pit stinging his nose, a smell he struggled to describe yet it haunted him on random nights. His eyes soften under the mask as he sees the panic in your eyes, the shock of coming back paired with the madness fighting to grip your mind. The sound of your cries and screams echoed around the room, a sound so full of pain and fear that he couldn't help but flinch.

He could teach you, the way he was taught. He could help you get your feet back the soft way, a way he wished he could have been offered. He'd do everything in his power to make your second chance as painless as possible. He'd nurse your mind back if that's what it needed, calm the rages late at night if you had them. He'd take you in any form you came to him, growing pains and all. He'd teach you how to live again.

He only hoped that you wouldn't hate him forever for bringing you back.

[crossingthedreams]

growing pains — aemond targaryen x niece!reader

a/n: i know i’m late. shit happens. i’m having so much fun with this writing challenge that the lateness isn’t even bothering me anymore, lol. here’s day 08 — growing pains. of course i had to keep it in the family for this one (got it? hehehehehe)

a/n 2: hey! just posted day 10 - humiliation, which can be read as a prequel to this. check it out!  

summary: the daughter of the Realm’s Delight and the Rogue Prince was a valuable trade coin. amidst the chaos, and fortunately for her, there was one who saw her as a person and not a merchandise.

word count: 1.7k 

warnings: angst. targaryen incest (uncle/niece). mentions of death. slight ooc!aemond.

As a little kid in the Red Keep, you were under the constant eye of your mother’s step-mother. Your parents were always coming and going, and your siblings were all boys, who had the privileges that came with it. Your uncles and aunt were most often than not more than willing to ignore you, as well as your grandfather, the King. 

Your uncle Daeron was sent away when you were very young, which was very painful, as he was very kind. The only one out of your entire extended family who could be considered as such. 

From then on, with two grown sons and one far away, the Queen seemed to have more time with you. She always praised your silver hair, saying it differed you from your older brothers.

You weren’t even a woman, hadn’t even bled yet, when Aegon made his first pass on you. He was to be married to his younger sister, the Princess Helaena, and he knew very well your father, the Rogue Prince, would gut him if he ever laid a finger on you. Still, he made his remarks and made sure it was known throughout the Keep that he could have you any time he chose to. 

Your mother spent most of her time in Dragonstone with your older brothers, sisters and father, and you got news from a raven that she was with child once more. Joyous news, of course. 

However, even in happiness, you still felt a little left out. With the Blacks, you were the distant sister, kept away by the politics of it all. With the Greens, you were the first trueborn child of an heir who would never be, your legacy tarnished by the constant discussions of your brothers’ legitimacy. 

Your Uncle, the Prince Aemond, was a constant in your life. Ever since birth, the two of you were always in each others’ camp of vision. Sometimes a bully, sometimes an enemy, sometimes a friendly face in tedious functions, Aemond was always there. You had danced with each other a million times in events, not only in King’s Landing, but all throughout Westeros. 

As the second son of the King and the first daughter of the Princess, you both were disposable enough to be sent wherever the Crown needed an appearance, but the royal family wouldn’t be able to attend in its entirety. 

He wasn’t always a dragonrider, much like yourself. You only claimed a dragon as an adolescent, and he made sure you knew how proud he was.

The Cannibal, your dragon. Never before mounted, always thought to be a wild, untameable beast. 

You proved them all wrong, and when you did it, their faces showed nothing but horror, except for Aemond. 

Aemond was there, and Aemond was proud. 

It was the dead of night in King’s Landing, but you couldn’t sleep. It was when you heard the muffling and quiet running of servants from outside your door. 

You knew you were in danger before anyone walked in, even though the reason was unclear to you. 

You changed out of your nightgown and hid a small dagger in your clothing. Something was coming, of that you were sure, and you wouldn’t stick around to find out. Women, even royalty, only had two fates in a crisis: death or marriage. You refused both. 

You didn’t fear for your life as much as you did for the second option. No one was insane enough to put a child of the Princess to the sword. 

It was then and there you knew you had to go to your parents, in Dragonstone. 

Aegon was married already, but there was nothing stopping him from taking a second wife to strengthen his claim. Queen Alicent was arduous when she needed be, and you had no doubt she would whore you out in order to protect her own children. 

Your uncle Aemond loved you, of that you were sure. He would marry you gladly and he would make sure you were happy. When you were younger, the thought made your stomach fill with butterflies. You didn’t need the Iron Throne, you were more than content with your beautiful uncle, who rode the largest dragon and was educated enough to carry a conversation for hours. 

Even with his quarrel with your siblings, he saw you as a valuable member of the family. The main reason for that, you now understood, was because  your allegiance was questionable. You were loyal to your parents, but you were also living with the Queen Alicent and her children. 

In your mind, all the family bickering and fighting could have been solved if Jace and Helaena were to wed each other, but the Queen refused, of course. A marriage between you and Jacaerys would’ve been the second option, and it probably would’ve happened, if Luke’s claim to Driftmark wasn’t so controversial. There was no doubt as to your heritage, silver hair and lilac eyes. You were the spitting image of your parents, and a perfect Targaryen Princess. 

Such were the growing pains of life. The nostalgia and longing for better days, even though the days past were just as tumultuous. Above all, you missed the innocence you lost. 

You looked around your room, and it pained you to realize there was nothing to take but yourself. 

There was a secret passageway in the backs of your room that would either take you to the Small Council or outside. Leaving now seemed like the only sane option.

As you made your way very quietly down the spiral stairs, you couldn’t help but wonder what your life would've been like if your mother and her stepmother had simply gotten along. Maybe you would not be fleeting King’s Landing in the middle of the night like a criminal. 

It was then that you felt an arm involve you, paralyzing you, and a hand fly up to your mouth to keep you quiet. You began to react, but the soothing shh made you calm down. You recognized that voice, and you knew who you’d see even before you turned around. 

Aemond was hiding beneath a cloak, much like yourself. He looked around to make sure the two of you were alone, even though you were in a deserted, secret, ancient passeaway.

“Uncle…”, you wanted to be honest and simply ask him what was the matter, but you had to play your cards right. 

“Rȳbagon naejot issa (Listen to me)”. Your parents made sure you were fluent in Valyrian even before you fully understood the common tongue, and you were thankful for that. On the rare occasions you and Aemond spoke High Valyrian to one another, it was because something very funny or very important was happening. Now, you doubted it was the first.  

Aemond’s one eye had so many emotions in them you couldn’t focus on one alone, and his hand still held your arm tightly. You had no idea what he was about to tell you.

“Gūrogon aōha zaldrīzes se jikagon. Se dārys iksos morghe, Aegon jāhor sagon vēttan dārys sir se ao issi nykeā trade gelebo hae se tala hen Rhaenyra. ȳdra daor sōvegon se route naejot zaldrīzesdōron, jikagon naejot Dorne nykeā naejot se Arryn's. Aōha kepa jāhor ao adhirikydho. (Take your dragon and go. The King is dead, Aegon will be made King now and you are a valuable trade coin as the daughter of Rhaenyra. Don't fly the usual route to Dragonstone, go to Dorne or to the Arryn's. Your father will surely find you quickly)”, he spoke quietly, but intensely. 

“Why are you telling me this, Uncle?”, the frown was inevitable. Aemond had too many reasons to take you back, kicking and screaming, and present you to his mother. He was never kind, and this made no sense other than he was trying to lure you into a trap.

For the first time in your life, you looked at Aemond and saw exhaustion.

“Nyke bē ao daor naejot gūrogon aōha hen ao (I care about you enough not to take your choices from you)”, he said, not looking directly at your eyes. 

Years ago, you would have believed him in a heartbeat. He had just said the most perfect words a prince could ever say. Now, a woman grown, you didn’t fully believe it, even though your heart wanted to, desperately. 

You approached him, and your hand met his, that was still on your arm. The other cupped his cheek, making him look at you as you firmly said, “Gūrogon issa naejot se shores, mazverdagon issa aōha ābrazȳrys. Vīlībāzma hen iksos jāhor mōris istin īlon dīnagon īlva ēlī āzma tala naejot Jaehaerys (Take me to the shores, make me your wife. Whatever war of succession is happening will end once we marry our first born daughter to Jaehaerys)”.

You didn’t know how much your words resembled your mother’s. You would never know just how much it affected Aemond, making his manhood twitch with the thought of spilling in you and seeing your body grow with a little Targaryen princeling. 

In another life, maybe, Aemond made you his. But now, as he well knew, the two of you had dance the dance to the choreography that was made for you. 

He could still steal one moment, as all this was already borrowed time. Just one more.

So, he pulled you by your waist, closer to him, and pressed his lips to yours. First, your eyes widened, and then closed. You melted in his arms, and you kissed him back. The good feeling lasted only for a second before he was pushing you away.  

“Jikagon se ȳdra daor jurnegon arlī (Go quietly and don't look back)”. 

He was already turning back and motioning for you to go, leaving behind not only him, but the life you made for yourself, quietly. It broke your heart, but you knew where your loyalty lied: with your mother, the only heir to the now late King Viserys. Soon, you’d be back at the Red Keep, and hopefully Aemond would be forgiven. Hopefully, the two of you could pick up where you left off. 

Even with hope still in your heart, you knew the truth. You knew Aemond was just a memory now, even if you could still listen to his footsteps. You were older, wiser, and it ached, but such were the growing pains in life. 

[daisymerollingg]

#8— untold

—Angstober day 8: growing pains

Pairing; Genos x reader

Warning(s); established relationship, unhealthy selflessness

Synopsis; As someone so dear to his soul, it’s only fair that you know every change he does to his body. But as Genos presents his new, drastically differing, installments to you, he doesn’t miss the silent sadness behind your forced unbothered facade.

✎Word count; 0.7k

♪ Playlist; Sarah

"Woah- hey, what's all this...?" A wobbly smile etched at your lips as you blinked at Genos. The newly modified, Genos. Your slightly dilated gaze fanned over his arm, eyeing every sharp bump of metal encasing it, installed for the sole purpose of vengeance and destruction.

Genos stood still before you, trying to ignore the small apprehension inside him as he observed you vigilantly, absorbing every movement or faint reaction you let slip.

"New upgrades. I thought I should show you." He simply stated, not wanting to bore you with his long rants, at least not when his mechanical irises were trained so acutely at you, analyzing every twitch and motion. You let out a dry, and painfully strained, laugh.

"So that's what you've been up to." Your arm rose gently to reach for his hand, hesitantly tugging it toward you by cupping his palm.

The tips of his fingers were sharp, the rest of his hand ragged with spikes and slicing cracks, you could only hold him by his palm, but even then you had to be careful with your touch.

Something in you settled as your eyes lingered on his hand, your fingers exploring the cold, smooth surface of his pointed knuckles. You peered up to glance at his shoulder. A large, pointed metal plate covered his side, shielding it completely. The unpleasantness in you bottomed further.

You can't intertwine your hands anymore. You can't lean against his shoulder, or even the whole of his arm for that matter, unless you're willing to be probed and sliced by the knives along his frame.

A bitter taste pooled in the back of your throat as your eyes flickered to his features, eyeing the metal scraps along his cheekbones.

You had to admit, it made him look cool and quite handsome, however, it just made him all the more distant to you.

He fixated on that ghostly crease in your brow. He could read the disappointment in your figure with the way your shoulders fell slightly. There it was again, the same deflated posture you tried to restrain.

A part of him cracks every time he catches that longing look behind your forced content, the craving for something mutual, something warm. He can see the quiet want on your face whilst you're holding him-- his hands, his face. him. He's right there, but you still crave him, a part of his that doesn't exist.

You're so human. So alive. Seeking the warmth of humanity in the way you diligently cup your warm cup of tea on cold mornings, or in the way your fingers loosely comb through your strands. When you think he's not looking, you leer down at your palms, itching with desire. Your hands slowly make contact, fingers deliberately gliding against each other before curling around each knuckle, intertwining together. And as you exhale a soft breath, he holds his own.

His core feels like it builds up with pressure whenever you shiver at his cold being. On the rare occasions when you sleep beside him, he hurts as he watches you shift in your slumber, hands reaching out to seek support. Yet once your skin makes contact with the sensitive metal of his arm, he senses you shudder then pull away. Retreating into your own closure.

It was only natural for you to want something soft, tender, and reassuring. But then there was him- hard, Mechanical, and indifferent. He can't help but feel he's holding you back from the same serenity you provide with your breathing contact.

As your eyes continue to take in his new look, your strained smile never faltering, your jaw clenches a little.

When you entered this relationship, you knew he would never fully prioritize you, and you were willing to live with that because he had somehow managed to rip out every ounce of care you could possibly harbor for someone with his unrelenting force.

Every time he comes back to you, it's like a little more of the human in him is taken away, the part of him you constantly yearned for. 

You wanted to tell him to stop. Was that so selfish?

He feels his core slightly heat up as he wordlessly watches you chase something he can never give you. As your lips part and twitch, he hears you draw out the syllables he felt from your beating heart.

'I wish you were human. I wish you'd just let yourself be with me.'

"They're sick!" You beam up at him, then turn to walk into your room, carefully tugging him along. "Tell me all about them."

His throat flexed as he gulped, lips pressing together. It's fine. He's fine. He'll just continue to give you whatever is left of him to offer.

[dazaidoodle-daily]

𝙳𝚊𝚢 : 𝟶𝟾

𝘛𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘻𝘢𝘪 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘱

[pictopye]

Stinktober Day 08: Bat-Dan

@chrispiascik

I had no clue if this was a reference to something I was absolutely not in the know of despite a pretty solid googling to try & figure it out... I chose instead to display my confusion with the usage of Alex & Lindsay Small-Butera's 'Baman & Piderman' from MondoMedia.

[221beloved]

Chopping & Piling Wood

(Link to ao3)

“Cluedo?” Sherlock looked hopefully at John from where he was sprawled on his black chair, bum almost touching the ground. The light was retreating for the day and a fire was crackling peacefully in the fireplace.

“Nope,” John took a sip of his tea. “We had this discussion.”

“Chess?” Sherlock wriggled up his chair a bit, just to slide down the smooth leather again, his feet stretched out in front of him, almost touching John’s chair.

“You’d be bored playing against me.”

“No,” Sherlock retorted promptly. “I could look at you. Watch you think.”

John shook his head, chuckling lightly. “There wouldn’t come much out of it.”

Sherlock groaned in agony, sliding even closer towards the floor.

“On holiday!” he moaned. “Why would a Detective Inspector do something so tedious as a holiday?! With a woman!”

“Um, I’d say a holiday is a good possibility to see if things are working out with the person you’re dating. And I’d also say that this kind of stuff is important for Greg, after the ugly divorce he just had. Better take your time, right?”

“But now he’s gone and I’ve got nothing to do,” the detective drawled.

Then he sat up abruptly.

“Wait, why were we never on a holiday then?! Aren’t we sure yet? I thought we were certain. Do I have to worry? Let’s go on a holiday.”

“Alright, Sherlock, wait a minute.” John laughed, holding up a hand to stop the flow of words.

Sherlock looked at him with wide eyes.

“We don’t need a holiday. At least not for that purpose. Don’t you agree? I think we lived together long enough now to know that we can, indeed, share a life.”

Sherlock flopped back against the back of his chair and crossed his arms.

“Well, yes. Obviously.”

John looked at him thoughtfully. “But the idea isn’t so bad, is it?”

Sherlock sat up again like a spring bouncing back to it’s natural position.

“What, to check if we fit together?”

“No, just a holiday,” John clarified. “For the sake of a holiday. Would be nice, don’t you think? Getting out of this grey town for a week?”

Sherlock just frowned.

“Something warmer maybe, warm enough to go for a swim in the sea,” John mused.

“No.” Sherlock shook his head and collapsed back again. “I’m not going to travel to a country where the sun is trying to bring my blood to boil. It’s too warm, too sunny, and too crowded, anyway. What about something less frequented. Norway.”

John laughed. “Less frequented? What are you thinking about, a deserted hut by the fjord, far away from the cities? Forest animals watching you on your morning stroll about the site, chopping and piling your wood for the oven?”

Sherlock scowled. “So then not. What other possibilities are there then?”

John got up and went over to kneel in front of the sulking man.

“Hey, it was just a silly idea. We don’t need a holiday, I don’t feel the need for it, you definitely don’t want to leave either. So we just stay here, spend our days on and about, and our evenings in front of the fire, with a nice cuppa and a cuddle, right? I do know you don’t like leaving your city.”

Sherlock reached down and pulled John up to straddle his lap.

“We can just put a bit more serious thought to it, we’ll find something if you want to have a break,” he mumbled against John’s neck.

John smiled. “I can get a break anytime I want. I can just take your hand and lead you to the bed, and you will give me the cuddle I needed.”

“Ugh, romantic.”

John smiled brightly and leaned in, his lips touching Sherlock’s.

“I’m learning from the best.”

Then he pressed his mouth firmly against Sherlock’s, and the detective was considerably less bored.

--

Please tell me if you want to be added or removed from the list!

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@quiscustodiet @willamholmeswatson

[scaryfangirl2001]

Stay Sharp (fanfic, 787 WC)

@flufftober

The cold autumn air nips at Jane's cheeks as she stands at the edge of the clearing, her bowstring taut and ready. The woods around them are a tapestry of gold, amber, and crimson, the leaves rustling softly in the breeze. She watches Gunther with a fond smile, her eyes following the rhythmic swing of his axe as he chops down firewood for the pit in the small, weathered shack they've found. Jane and Gunther, both knights in training, have been tasked with a mission to scout the area and ensure it is safe for their lord's upcoming visit. Despite their young ages — Jane is 15 and Gunther is 17 — they are skilled and determined, their bond forged through countless hours of training and shared adventures.

Gunther pauses for a moment, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve. He looks up and meets Jane's gaze, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a warm smile. "How's the lookout going, Jane?"

She nods, her eyes scanning the trees. "All clear so far. Keep an eye out for any signs of trouble, though. We don't want any surprises."

Gunther returns to his task, his axe biting into the wood with practiced precision. The sound of the chopping is a comforting rhythm, a reminder of their shared purpose and the bond they share. Jane's bow remains drawn, her eyes sharp and alert. She isn't just a knight in training; she's a skilled archer, and her role is to keep them both safe. The sun is beginning to set, casting long shadows across the clearing. The air grows colder, and Jane can see her breath in the air. She shifts her weight, her muscles coiled and ready for action. She knows that their mission is not just about gathering firewood; it's about ensuring that the area is secure and that they can provide for themselves in the wild.

Gunther finishes chopping a large log and drags it over to the pit. He stacks the wood neatly, his movements efficient and strong. Jane can't help but feel a surge of pride. Gunther has grown so much since they first started training together. He is brave, loyal, and always ready to face any challenge.

"Think you can find us some dinner while I finish up here?" Gunther asks, his voice carrying a note of hope.

Jane smiles and nods. "I'll see what I can do. Stay sharp."

She lowers her bow and moves silently into the woods, her steps light and sure. She scans the underbrush for any signs of game, her eyes and ears attuned to the slightest movement. The forest is quiet, but she knows that the quiet can be deceptive. She moves deeper into the woods, her senses on high alert.

After a few moments, she spots a small rabbit nibbling on some leaves. She raises her bow, her movements fluid and practiced. The arrow flies true, and the rabbit falls with a soft thud. Jane approaches it, her heart racing with the thrill of the hunt. She retrieves the arrow and the rabbit, securing them in her belt. As she makes her way back to the clearing, she hears a faint rustling in the bushes. She stops, her bowstring drawn once more. Her heart pounds in her chest, but she remains calm and focused. The rustling grows louder, and a small fox emerges, its eyes wide and cautious.

Jane lowers her bow. "Easy, little one," she murmurs

The fox hesitates, then darts away, disappearing into the underbrush. Jane breathes a sigh of relief and continues back to the clearing. When she returns, Gunther is finishing up the fire pit.

He looks up and grins when he sees the rabbit. "Nice catch, Jane. We'll have a good meal tonight."

Jane smiles and sets the rabbit down. "Let's get it cleaned and ready for the fire. We need to stay alert, but a good meal will do us both good."

Together, they prepare the rabbit and start the fire. The flames dance and crackle, casting a warm glow over the clearing. They sit by the fire, sharing the meal and the silence, their bond stronger than ever in the face of the cold, autumn night.

As they eat, Jane looks at Gunther, her heart full of gratitude and affection. "We make a good team, don't we?"

Gunther nods, his eyes reflecting the firelight. "The best. We'll get through anything together."

Jane smiles, feeling a sense of peace and belonging. In this moment, surrounded by the cold, autumn woods and the warmth of the fire, she knows that they're more than just knights in training. They are friends, partners, and a team that can face any challenge.

[kamryn1963]

Summary: When Hank gets out of jail and starts running Intelligence, the strain in his friendship with Al and Trudy becomes more prominent.

One night Al and Trudy talk about it, as Al tries to make sense of his feelings.

TW: Implied\referenced suicide attempt

@angstober Prompt 8: Growing Pains

Trudy wasn’t surprised when Al showed up at her door that night. He’d been doing that a lot recently since Hank started running Intelligence. 

Their relationship with Hank had been… tense recently, to put it lightly. 

Trudy would always love Hank, she just didn’t love his actions sometimes, like right now, and she knew Al felt the same way. Except Al had always felt things differently than her and Hank. He felt them more deeply while also keeping everything to himself. 

At least this time he was actually opening up to her. Trudy would take what she could get. 

She let Al in who headed into her living room while Trudy went to pour them both a glass of wine before joining him. 

“I don’t know why I’m so mad at him, Dee. We’ve done worst things before, especially for our kids”. Al stated after a few minutes of silence. He didn’t meet her eyes as he spoke. 

“You have every right to be mad at him, Alvin. Yes, we’ve done worst things and you guys have, especially when your kids were involved. But this is different and we both know it”. Trudy replied, taking another sip of her wine before continuing. 

“We both read the file. Justin, regardless if he meant to or not, left a boy paralyzed because he was drunk. Al, we both know Justin deserved whatever punishment was deemed fit. And I think deep inside, Hank did too but he couldn’t risk losing his son. Not so soon after Camille died”. Trudy added. She glanced over at Al who was still not looking at her. 

“He wasn’t here, Trudy. I needed him and he wasn’t here”. Al whispered and they both knew exactly what Al was referring to. 

They hadn’t talked about it. Not since that night almost eight months ago now. Not since Trudy had found Al sitting on the railing of a bridge, and it hadn’t taken a genius to figure out what he was going to do. 

Trudy had coaxed him off eventually and for reasons she still wasn’t sure of herself, let him convince her not to take him to a hospital. Trudy ended up taking Al back to her apartment where he slept on her couch for two days. 

Trudy had ended up telling Meredith, but that was all. Trudy had written to Hank, not telling him everything but enough, though she never received an answer. 

Trudy knew that’s what the root cause of all this was. It was never about Hank running Intelligence or outranking Al now, or even his stupid decision of taking the blame for Justin. 

It was him not being around when Al, and Trudy needed him. 

“You should talk to him. This is just some growing pains right now until you guys talk”. Trudy responded, as she reached out and grabbed Al’s hand. 

Al didn’t respond, just gave her what he hoped was a smile, as they sat there together, both hoping this could be fixed.

[babygirl-diaz]

Samtember Day 08: Figaro | Sick Day

((I chose "Figaro" for Day 8 of @samsseptember))

Story: Sam moves from Delacroix to Harlem and after a fight with a bad guy, he adopts his kitten and names him Figaro. Together the two of them go on many adventures.

[weilaverdui]

Angstober Day 08: Dark Days

Fall of the nation without gods.

[soophia-studies]

100 days of code - day 8

Hi! Today I finished the chapter 6 of the rust book.

This chapter talks about "enums" and pattern matching. Enum is another way rust allow us to define a new type.

Enums in Rust are a bit different from enums in C, in C you can only store integer values, while in Rust you can use basically any type you want, and also you can implement methods in enums, like in structs.

Also learned about the match operator, which is like a switch case. You have a value to compare and some options, the one that matches the value will execute.

An interesting thing is that match forces you to cover all matching possibilities or, it won't compile.

Match and enums are often used together.

Here I define this enum "Instruments" that has the four variants, Piano, Guitar, Drums, Violin.

Now I can use this for pattern matching, like so:

enums in rust are quite powerful, I like it. Also, I think this kind of pattern match is so clean and concise.

Where's the NULL ??

Wow, Rust doesn't have a NULL value, this shocked me 😯, instead of a NULL value it has an enum called Option, that can hold some data, or a None value, then you can use a pattern matching like above to deal with the "None" case. I don't know if I understood correctly about the Option type, so I'll read more about and try to use in practice.

I don't know if I get wrong, but rust is safe, not just because "rust is safe", but because rust literally forces you to write safe code and to avoid errors. idk.

Also, I did a leetcode today, I couldn't solve it alone, so I got a hint, and then solved it.

That's it :)

[merlinfromberlin]

Smiling On The Outside

After Optimus' frame is restored with the help of the Forge of Solus Prime, he contemplates the physical cost of Primehood.

Warnings: Chronic Pain, Hurt/No Comfort Chronology: S03E04 - Rebellion Wordcount: 881 words

Written for @angstober - Day 08: Growing Pains. Prompt list can be found here: X

Story below the cut or on AO3.

Frame upgrades were usually not a particularly painful procedure. They were not supposed to be, either. At least not if your spark was strong enough for the frame it was supposed to be moved into. And as frames were built to match the maturity level and frame type of the spark they were housing, pain was not to be expected. Quite to the contrary, actually: pain, especially if it lasted, was usually a symptom of underlying issues.

None of Optimus’ frame upgrades had been painful when he had still been Orion Pax. They had, in fact, been exceptionally peaceful. Orion’s spark had slipped from one frame to the next eagerly, always keen to fit itself into its new housing, curious to explore the world through a new set of optics and sensors. He had, of course, still known that there could be pain in upgrades if frame and spark did not match each other well enough. That had, however, been a distant sort of knowledge. Mismatching of frame and spark as well as the type of ache that accompanied it was the kind of thing Orion would read about in a book or hear about from the friend of a friend, most often Megatronus as miners and other lower caste bots were more likely to be afflicted due to their mass produced frames.

Still, even if he knew about and pitied those tormented by it, Spark-Frame-Dissonance was not something that happened to Orion. His frame fit his spark perfectly.

That had, of course, changed once Orion Pax had become Optimus Prime. His first primal frame upgrade had been the single most painful experience of the formers archivist's life. At least until Optimus had had his first almost lethal encounter with Megatron's blade. The subtle, simmering aching in his frame had turned negligible in comparison to the sharp sting of a stab wound that had pierced the spark chamber.

Still, he could never quite shake off that burning pain Spark-Frame-Dissonance brought with it. While most of his injuries healed with time, the discrepancy between Orion’s spark and Optimus’ primal frame that was disturbing his protoform could not be fixed. And thus the ache persisted as Optimus' little eternal companion—never quite gone, yet never strong enough to warrant complaints and concern his troops, friends or bonded. 

With time, Optimus had, maybe not quite got used to it, but at least learned to live with the constant pain tormenting his protoform as best as he could. He knew now, how to identify the bad and the better cycle, what little he could do to alleviate the aching and how to hide the worst of his flare ups. By the time the Prime and his team reached Earth, not even Ratchet had been able to assess his current pain levels correctly anymore.

His time on Earth, had thus not been particularly pleasant or enjoyable, but it had not needed to be in order for Optimus to protect the organic planet from Megatron. There had been good things, too: the companionship Optimus felt with his team—his family, the quiet moments he had been able to share with his sparkling, their friendships with the human children and the reprieve from War and fighting they brought with them. It was the best it was probably ever going to get for Optimus Prime, especially as a guest on an organic alien planet caught in the throes of the Cybertronian Civil War. It was, quite honestly, more than he had dared to hope for after leaving Cybertron. So Optimus managed. Until Megatron blew up Autobot Outpost Omega One and with it—unknowingly, perhaps—the leader of the Autobots.

Being blown up, quite unsurprisingly once Optimus thought about it without the disorienting thrall of delirium clouding his judgement, turned out to be a quite painful experience. More surprisingly, however, it did not compare to the agony his second primal reframing turned out to be.

Later, the Prime tried, rather unsuccessfully, to rationalise this revelation to himself: While lying in the debris of his family’s home, his pain sensors must have been damaged, thus dulling the pain of dying that was already sweetened by the soft, tantalising call of relief. Once Smokescreen restored and, though inadvertently, upgraded his frame, not only were his pain receptors restored to full functionality all at once, but the surge of new pain also came directly in the wake of his short reunion with Alpha Trion—his brief visit to the All Spark the first truly peaceful and pain-free moment the Prime had experienced in eons.

Therefore, the pain of restoration and life obviously must have, in the moment, appeared to him to be worse than that of dying. It would, probably—unlikely if Optimus considered his first experience with painful frame upgrades—get better as some time passed. At least he was still hoping, praying to Primus even, for that. Still, if nothing else, with enough time passed, he would probably... he would be able to get back to being almost used to the incessant aching of his protoform, plating and processor.

He would have to. There was no room for the Prime to rest or stop as long as Megatron was still threatening this—and all other—planets with his dreams of domination.

[windalchemist001]

Wondertober 2024 - Day 08: terror movie

Ocs: mona ashengrotto, mauz bells, Rama howl, meri should, Henry Schoenheit, Brigitte zigvolt, chaim al-asim

a loud scream came from the screen, as the characters begun running from the creature running after her.

The group seemed be feeling diffrent ways about what was going on but all kept quiet. Some mumbles here and there as for some damn reason the bird of a headmage decided they as housewarden needed to get along (which from as far as they understood they did more so than past generations of housewardens anyway)

None the less they were all forced to watch a scary movie, well sort of. since it seemed mona and mauz were dealing with paperwork for the respective side hobbies.

While Rama was trying to read a book, he was getting spooked by the sounds from the TV, every once in a while.

Meri had long since put in headphones and was playing a game. But it was clear that every once I a while she heard the sounds from the TV and glanced up to see what was going on before going back to her game.

Brigitte was actually watching the movie not feeling to frighten, while she might jump here and there. she didn't find it to frighting, what with having to deal with her grandfather's scary face every Halloween, or wonder why the characters were letting themselves be defenseless.

And Henry seemed to be playing with meri's hair after asking if it would be alright to do so, and was carefully and lovingly runing his hands though itwhile making it into a braid.

All thw while Chaim was in a conor with his head buried in a trash can as he was doing his best to quietly throw up (a silencing charm does wonders), and not trying to freak out since he was trying to keep from showing others he had been sent onto a panic attack. His gloves having turn golden at some point, but luckily no one had notice quite yet.

All in all it was going quite well. At least till the most unsettling part of the movie when the main character was trying to get away and all was quiet the music was made in a way to put all on edge and just as it picked up the door to the that had been locked before was slammed open.

The bang caused everyone to jump. Mona had spit out ink doing her best to keep from ruining her paper work, while Mauz cursed after the bang caused him to draw a line across the page. As well as some ink spots from the ink that escaped from the other girl's mouth.

Rama had jump and had growled in defense. While meri who had her headphones in took them out, whole Henry had moved to make sure meri was protected.

Brigitte had her sword and pointed it at the figure who had entered the room. And chiam whose head was still buried in in trashcan looked up and broke the silence charm he had on himself and spoke.

His voice was groggy and raspy "Sir, can I recommend that... you not slam in like that? and perhaps to never... lock us in a room or else you might..." chaim paused in his speaking as he threw up again before groaning again before he continued to speak. "be losing some money from the al-asim family"

Brigitte and meri have just noticed their friend in the far conor sitting away from everyone moved over to check if he was ok since honestly he didn't look it.

Mona was trying to clean herself both Rama and Henry were glaring at the headmage. Mauz spoke this time.

"While I don't have as much influence, I know a few lawyers and I would like to state what you did can have you in deep trouble." Mauz adjusted his glasses. "In fact I have a few papers with what you did wrong and the possible outcomes." The Heartslabyul housewarden moved to hand over the papers to the headmage.

Said head mage seemed to freat over everything ans making excuses, which no one in the room actually bought and it made them all wonder how NRC was still standing with this man in charge. None the less this day was sort of a mess and they all hopes they can at least get a bit of revenge on the man at some later date.

[221beloved]

Dark Days

Sherlock was sitting in his chair when he heard the door downstairs. Just seconds later, there was the excited jabbering of little Watson and Mrs Hudson's fussing. He rose from the chair and went into the kitchen to fill the kettle, while trying to catch some bits of the conversation, trying to determine whether it was a good or a bad day.

John was doing better, definitely. Most of the days he was doing fine. He was a good doctor with patience and commitment, he was a loving father, always caring for Rosie, and he was a good friend, visiting Sherlock and Mrs Hudson to spend some time with them, drinking tea, exchanging news and gossip. He wasn't giving his daughter from one hand to another, wasn't spending his time home alone. He was living again, or at least on his way to do so.

But sometimes, there were dark days... Some days, he would give Rosie to Mrs Hudson and stomp up the stairs, his expression tense and closed. If Sherlock had already prepared tea, he would demand a cup harshly, when there wasn't a pot waiting, he would loose himself in the process of making some, but he would clatter and clinker as much and as loud as possible. Then he would slump in his chair and remain silent. The first times, Sherlock had tried to talk to him, to make some conversation, but that had not been a very good idea. They weren't good days. On these days, John suffered from old memories, painful memories. He would think about all the times he suffered because of Sherlock. He would remember the dark and lonely hours, the anger and fury that came with them. And he would think of Sherlock, who caused all this. On these days, he would blame all the things that went wrong on him, he would blame Sherlock for all the misery in the world. And this was okay, it was fine, it really was. He had his right to blame Sherlock. But it wasn't making it any better for John. And it was painful for both of them. So Sherlock would simply sit down, on the sofa or in his chair across from John, and wait. Wait, whether John would say something or remain silent. He would simply wait, until these dark days pass by.

Sherlock poured the tea and took out milk and sugar, pricking up his ears to hear something from downstairs. He heard Mrs Hudson giggle. Either Rosie had done something delightful, she was doing it all the time, or John had ��... He could hear John joining in, his light echoing winding up the stairs. John had made a joke. It was a good day. Sherlock smiled and placed some biscuits on the tray. John was having a good day.

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@angstober

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[sushimango]

Day 08 of Whumptober!

This might not seem too bad at first glance but you really cannot separate Marina and Marcus...

She won't be able to eat or sleep at all and be slowly turning a bit more mad with each day

[annaofthenorthernlights]

for @fluffbruary

Life is happening… Gaston and Paulette face an unexpected offer

day 08 - road

Adam waits for Belle's reaction to his idea. She seems to consider her words and taps his forearm with her finger. After what seems like an eternity, she lifts her eyes to his with a beaming smile.

Read on AO3