#every small mistake every misstep ended in a screaming match

[honeyviscera]

hi i want to murder

[jessipalooza]

Nightmares

She stands at the bow of the ship, unhindered by the safety rails meant for passengers and less sure-footed members of the crew. The wind is strong and cold, biting down to the bone as it whips her wild hair this way and that. Strands of sunset-orange cut against her face, but she does not mind. Her gaze, green like the sea, does what they always tell people not to do: she looks down. 

They sail slowly through the air, cutting through clouds and undeterred by the smaller gusts of winds that come with them. The clouds are like the foam to the sea that is the sky, but they are more than that. They are the glaciers, the patches of rocks that may one day become islands. Depending on the shapes the clouds can take, they can be anything, especially as they can take any shape. 

Step by step, she moves further along the carved bow, and with every fulm, the space she has to work with grows slimmer. A gust of wind too strong and a single misstep might kill her. All it takes is one strong blow, a too-fast twist to right the wrong balance, and the result would be her plummeting down to her death. There is no surviving the drop. Not at the height they sail at. 

Truthfully, the air is too thin for her to breathe without assistance, but she is doing fine and so the thought slips from her mind as smooth and quick as silk. Any fear slips away just as fast. For this is what she is built for. Strong, slender legs. A taut core. A long, fluffy tail for balance. A keen sense of exactly where her feet should go and how far she might need to lean. She reads the winds as fluently as she reads any other language. She has no fear. She has nothing to fear, not up here above the clouds. 

“That’s why you came here, wasn’t it?”

Her fluff-tufted ears slick up and swivel around, but she turns slower. Her hair whips across her face and slides back behind her shoulders. 

Porchaux. The elezen is as she remembers him. He wears his nightshirt and his dark hair is brushed over his too-pale skin. Death does that to a person. It makes a person pale, as though it sucks the color from them as well as their life. Vomit is crusted on the side of his blue lips and trails down his chin, staining his gaudy blouse. 

Twelve, even his eyes are pale.

“Yes,” she answers easily. He should not hear her. She does not speak loud enough to be heard over the strong winds, but then again, neither should she have heard him. It is as though the air takes the words of one and hand delivers it to the other, making it sound as though they are standing side by side.

“You should have stayed back where you came from. Too much trouble. Women shouldn’t be so much trouble.”

“Say what you want. You are dead.”

“As I said, ma petite: too much trouble.”

She smirks, but the smug gesture is short-lived. One moment, the captain is there. The next, he is gone. She accepts this disappearance as easy as she had accepted that a dead man had come to speak and turns. But as soon as she turns, another voice is carried to her ears.

“Should’ve stayed doin’ what ye were good at.”

Again, her ears flick and swivel. She turns a little faster than she should, but rights herself against the gusts of wind easily enough.

Desmond. He too looks as she remembers him. Rounded hyur ears, deep-set wrinkles from years at sea and general years being alive. Dark hair has turned grey, matching the grey of his eyes. He does not look kind, but he looks comforting, much like a stiff drink at the end of a terrible day. He burns, he hurts, but he is solid and true. As true as a pirate can be anyway.

“I should have,” she agrees, her voice more pained than she cares to admit. “I would have.”

“But ye killed me.”

“I did not kill you.”

“It’s the same thing either way, ain’t it?”

Her brows pull together. Over the winds, she hears the thumping of her heart in her chest. It pounds harder. “No,” she protests. “Karsteth killed you.”

“Ye didn’t do anything about it, did ye?”

A strong gust of wind nearly takes her off of her feet, but she rights herself with a lean to one side that she does not want to admit might have been a little too far. She is too sure-footed for this. She is too skilled to make such a small mistake. Still, she stays on the tip of the bow, over the clouds, and stares at Desmond.

“Ye let me die, kid.”

“No,” she says firmer. “No, Karsteth--”

“That son of a bitch put a knife in my back, but ye let him.” Demond shakes his head. His wrinkles are more pronounced. They are crusted with blood. His white shirt is blooming red.

“No!” Her heart is racing.

“Ye ran.” His shirt is soaked with blood. While there is color on his shirt, the color is draining from his face. Tan to pink to grey. Grey like his hair. Grey like his eyes.

“--No!” Her heart is beating so hard she feels it might break through her chest.

“Ye ran and never looked back.” He is sallow and thinning and wasting away. Pieces of him are crumbling into dust and caught in the wind. She watches his jaw crumble, his hand reach out before his fingers crack and fade one by one.

And directly in her ear, Karsteth’s voice like gravel and hate: “Jump.”

She does not scream. Her voice is ripped from her throat before she can. She turns too fast to try and see that cursed man’s face. She tries to grab for him to balance her, but he is not there. Nobody is there. It is just her, slipping off the bow and plummeting down through the clouds - her breath and stomach and wits left behind.

--

Es’mena woke with a start. She gasped and shot up in bed, instantly regretting the action. Her head throbbed and she suddenly became aware of how sticky her body was with sweat. Grimacing, she rubbed at her head. Too much whiskey and not enough sleep to rid herself of it. 

Snoring sounded behind her and to her right. Faeravel could sleep through anything. 

A groan sounded behind her and to her left. Jaran’s smooth voice was bumpy with sleep as he murmured something like, “Y’alruh.” She assumed it was supposed to be, Are you alright?, and so she nodded and patted him as she carefully and deftly moved over one of her fiances in such a way that would not wake him further.

“I am fine,” she whispered and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. 

He nodded and moved into the place she left behind, soaking up the warmth and throwing his arm around slumbering Faeravel’s midsection.

Es’mena tugged on a robe. Her body felt heavy from sleepy.

Heavy as it falls.

Shaking her head, she slipped out of the bedroom and into the sitting area of her quarters. Another glass of whiskey would soothe the pounding of her head and the racing of her heart. Perhaps she might take a walk too. 

Just not to the top deck.

-----

@rn-rp | @pyrar | @treyu for mentions

[rynne311]

23 & US

Request: Hmm. Well how about the reader and Jason are trying to get to know each other but it isint going so well. He keeps pushing her out of her comfort zone and she keeps to her self. Then maybe Jason finds out the reader is a part of a group that is isn’t really taken seriously ( like doom patrol or legends of tomorrow) and that causes a big fight between them.  Or the reader could be the kind that is pro gun control and does not like vigilantes because they abuse the law or something and Jason is the red hood so he gets irked and then she finds out he is the red hood so then there’s a fight. But either route you take maybe they resolve their difference and fights when the reader gets kidnapped or something and is lowkey traumatized . Oh or she faced fear gas.

Requested by: Anon

Part 1

Word Count: 1,093

Requests are Open

You wanted to blame it on not knowing how to be someone’s sister after spending most of your life as an only child, but you knew this was more than that.  You were quick to anger and Jason was no exception to this rule, especially when you found out he’d been lying to you.  That was one thing, blood or not, that would set you off, and it had.  It had sent you storming out of his apartment building, walking home trying to blow off steam and not paying attention to your surroundings.

You weren’t sure where you were now, but the bag thrown over your head was mostly to blame for that.  You wanted to blame Jason, but this was your own fault.  You were the one stomping around Gotham alone, at night.  You were the one focusing on your anger, and not watching what was happening around you only to be grabbed and stuffed into the back of a van.

You had nothing to do but sit there and replay the hours before your abduction.  You didn’t know if Jason realized or even cared that you’d been kidnapped after the way you blew up at him.  You wouldn’t blame him if he thought this was karma coming back for you, in some ways you thought that yourself.

Just a few hours ago you had been sitting in Jason’s apartment for your weekly hang out time completely unaware of the events to come.  You were trying to decide on what to order and Jason had given you his phone to take a look at your delivery options.  He forgot that he and Tim were actively texting about a case when he handed you the phone and only realized his mistake when the look of shock painted your face.

The shock melted away into anger.  You were the product of one man’s secret life, and you didn’t want to be adjacent to another.  Your eyes narrowed on the screen as you spat. “‘I just do a bit of this and that,’ huh?”

“I couldn’t just tell you right away,” he tried to defend himself. “It’s not just a black and white matter, there’s a lot of gray area.”

“There’s nothing gray about lying to me, Jason.  And that’s what you did!” you refuted. “I didn’t ask to be anyone’s sister, I was doing fine on my own.  You were the one who wanted a relationship and absolve your guilt, but that’s supposed to begin with being honest!”

“My guilt?” he mocked. “The only one guilty there was Willis, and you know that.”

Maybe it was in your blood to be so hot headed, judging by Jason’s reaction.

“That doesn’t absolve you from lying to me,” you shouted.  “So what you break plans, that you insisted on just to run around playing vigilante hero? Get over yourself!”

You had stormed out of the building, ready to turn around and scream at him if he dared follow you.  Three blocks later when you were shoved into the back of a van as a bag was pulled over your head, you wished he had actually tried to stop you.

Now you knew you were cold, scared, and alone.  As you replayed every last misstep in your mind, you cried silently to yourself.  You hadn’t realized how important Jason had become in your life, he made sure you weren’t alone in the world anymore, and right now you just wanted someone who cared there with you.

You were resigned to wallow in your pathetic circumstance.  Maybe if you stopped fighting it, your captors might be merciful and not draw out this entire sickening encounter.  Through your hushed and choked out sobs you could hear something making its way to where you were being held.  There was a new tension in the room as even your captors grew nervous.

When you heard what sounded like gunfire, you did everything you could to make yourself as small as possible.  You didn’t want to die alone and scared, especially knowing your last interaction with probably the only person in the world who cared about you ended in a shouting match.  You couldn’t hold back the sobs that escaped your throat as the fighting ensued around you.

You were so scared, you didn’t even recoil from the hands that came to remove the dark bag from over your head before moving to cut the restraints around your wrists.  After a few breaths, you looked up with tear stained cheeks to see a red helmet looking back at you.

“Thank you,” you squeaked as you surveyed the room to only to see beaten down goons scattering the floor.

Red Hood lifted his helmet, revealing your brother’s face.  You’d figured out from that text he was a vigilante, but Red Hood? That was more than you ever expected.  You thought he was some small time vigilante out for thrills, not somebody actually keeping neighborhoods safe.

“I’m so sorry,” you cried as you launched yourself into him.  Immediately, his arms were around you, reminding you that he was there and you were safe now.

“No, I’m sorry,” he retorted. “I should have been honest with you, and at the very least, I should have stopped this from happening.”

“Sorry I’m a hothead,” you said as he began to lead you out of the building.

“Sorry I am too, but I guess that DNA kit wasn’t going to tell us about that,” Jason joked.  He helped you onto his motorcycle, making sure you weren’t still in too much shock for the ride. “I’m going to take you back to my apartment so I can keep an eye on you for a bit.”

You nodded silently as you wrapped your arms around his waist.  The ride was longer than you expected, but as Jason hid his bike and gear, you made your way up to his apartment.  Before you could even settle yourself in, he was already there getting you a blanket and some hot food.

“Y/N, I’m going to do everything I can to make sure nothing like this happens to you again.  I’ve really been enjoying having a little sister in my life, and I’m not going to let some thugs take that away,” he said as he set the plate of leftovers in front of you.

You finally cracked a small smile.  “I think you’ve already won brother of year now, and you haven’t been my brother that long, but I don’t think I can really imagine my life anymore without you.”

Tags:

Everything: @societiesholyskittle @pickyblue12 @icycoldbeanieweanies @thoughtfullychaoticdreamer @bloatedandlonly

Jason: @jason-todd-rh @princessowly1234 @manymanyenvelopes

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