#gargoyle lives matter

[heartofanenigma]

I feel like that gargoyle perched on the roof, silently screaming at them to tell me to crawl into their house so that I dont jump off of the ledge. The rains and the hail comes, but that voice never does. And anyway, instead of gods and goddesses why would people keep a gargoyle in their house.

[jalloweenknight]

Republicans Running For Office:

[foldingfittedsheets]

Before my beloved and I moved in together they were living with roommates in a place that didn't have a bathtub. Now, a reasonable person might conclude from this that baths would be out of the equation in a home with only one standing shower and no tub.

But these people weren't quitters. Naturopathic doctors and acupuncturists they were dedicated to treating their bodies well and one of the ways they liked to do that was hydrotherapy. Most people are familiar with this through things like polar bear plunges. You sit in a hot tub then jump in freezing water.

It's supposedly good for you and they were way into it. But again, no tub. They'd do hydro showers but it just wasn't the same. These people were not quitters, though. (One of them is the boob soap person, so it really isn't a surprise that she goes hard on everything). So they got what looked like two big metal old timey tubs but which were actually animal food troughs and set them up in the garage. They set up a water heater and god knows how they emptied the tub after, I think there was hoses involved? A pump maybe? I honestly can't remember. Anyway! Voila, hydrotherapy on demand.

I was not aware of this. So when I came over after a long day and my beloved said we should take a bath I was extremely puzzled. I only knew about the one shower. They showed me the garage tubs. I did want a bath and I wasn't really sure about the setup, but honestly I'll try anything once if only for the story, so I agreed.

Fun fact about me though. I haaaate being cold. I've been 0% body fat most of my life with skin barely keeping my bones enclosed. I'm always cold. My favorite activity at the time was sitting directly in front of space heaters. My shower temperatures turn me lobster red and make my beloved cringe. Willingly dunking myself into cold water is the antipathy of my entire deal.

On the night in question I happily submerged into the warm tank, pleasantly surprised by the big silly improvised tub. Which again was meant for livestock. My knees bumped companionably against my beloved as we soaked in the hot water. After a while they rose to go into the cold water. "You don't have to," they told me.

But I was haunted. I wouldn't be doing hydro if I just stayed in the warm tub. Maybe hydro was amazing. It has all these health benefits. I desperately didn't want to but I stood up with them. We were having this nice intimate evening in the garage, just us, I felt safe. I was gonna do it.

They stepped easily into the cold tub, dunking matter of factly into the frigid water. I went to step. I did. I really really tried. My foot went in and I started shrieking, my progress arrested by the total state of shock I entered when my warm toasty foot hit that smug arctic water tension. My beloved started laughing as my pitch ascended the deeper my foot went into the cold water.

I started loudly narrating my discomfort as my foot touched the bottom and I willed my other foot up to join it. "THIS IS VERY COLD," I yelled, "IT'S SO COLD I THINK I MIGHT DIE HOW ARE YOU JUST CASUALLY SITTING IN THIS FREEZING COLD WATER?! I'M DYING- I THINK I'M DYING! I'M DYING BUT WE'RE HERE, TOGETHER! I CAN DO THIS! I CAN DO THESE EVEN THOUGH IT'S SO COLD ALL MY MOLECULES HAVE COMPRESSED INTO A SOLID STATE!"

I ended up with both feet planted in the cold tub, water up to my shins, bellowing and panting while my beloved laughed so hard they couldn't breathe. I hunkered over the cold water, squatting like a frozen gargoyle.

My beloved was trying to psyche me up while I willed my body to obey me. In a sudden jerky drop like a puppet whose strings have been cut I plummeted my body into the cold and let out a shriek that I’m sure could have shattered glass and then leapt up out of the water at a speed relative to a rocket achieving space flight. I didn’t like it.

When we got back inside my beloved's roommates were collapsed on the ground with tears in the their eyes from how hard they'd been laughing. They and probably every neighbor down the block had heard my pterodactyl screeching and narration because the garage was not remotely soundproof.

[ivy-and-ivory]

Dick’s early years as Robin are just. You are ten years old. Tomorrow you have a math test. Last night you saved ten lives. You could not save the two that mattered most. Neither could he, which is why you are here. A year ago you spent your days in a trailer and your nights beneath the big top, and you were never more than 10 feet away from someone who loved you. Now you are adrift in a mansion full of ghosts. You want to go home. You climb up to the highest attic and scream as loud as you can just to see if anyone will hear you. For the crime of losing your parents, they put you in a cell. At night you leap from skyscrapers and remember how to fly. You go to bed and watch them fall. Sometimes you wake up and you are so full of anger you don’t know how you can survive it. You are trying to survive it. You want to kill a man. You rescue a baby from a burning building and his mother calls you an angel. You eat an ice cream cone on top of a gargoyle. You do not want another father. You need a friend. There is a secret only four people in the whole world know. You are one of them.

[lustlovehart]

Prologue Chapter, Beginnings

A/n: Non of the main cast are in this piece, this is just the prologue before the real writing starts buuut they are mentioned if that counts?

Pairing: Monster!Twst x Reader, Ft. Rollo Flamme & Crowley (Voice only).

Summary: Getting rid of things that go bump in the night has always been your job, yet, when the time comes to finally kill them, you can’t bring yourself to do it. Such mistakes, will return their grievances in full, and you’re now made to pay the price of letting monsters continue to live their wretched lives.

Warnings: Bruising, and like maybeeee hints of posseviness?? That’s it though.

Hands, dozens, are maybe more? So many words are being whispered into your ear as each finger practically possesses your body with a desperation akin to hunger.

A snake wraps around your arm, a gargoyle looks down at you, and heat encased your body until it practically swallows you, yet it feels like you're drowning at the same time when sand pours on you. You don’t know what any of it is signaling to you, you’re not even sure if you wish to understand.

“Off with their head!” “Let the tall grass swallow you.” “The deep isn’t so scary when you know what’s in it.” “Wishes are deceiving.” “Reach your full potential here” “… These joints, I can’t stop.” “Is it so bad to sleep in this castle with us?”

These voices sound scarily familiar. Yet, you don’t recall any of their voices despite feeling like you know them on some basis. You don’t move, even when one hand intertwines with your own as if you were a prize to be won, a want or need they must have.

A feint mantra of your name reaches out to you in your dream, a savior from this purgatory. But… there’s something wrong, their attempt to save you, is shrouded in danger. Even when their hand reaches to break you out, the under lying feeling of dread spreads through your body.

Whoever is saving you, is hiding something from you—

“[Name].” Your figure is quick to jump awake, your eyes immediately going blind from the morning sun shining through your windows. When you turn, you’re immediately met with Rollo at your bedside, a cup of tea and warm food in his palm. “Did you plan to sleep in?” It’s typical for him to invite himself into your home, it’s not like you’re opposed anyhow, he feeds you for free, and even cleans your house. When you told him why you don’t feel worry when he enters your abode, he compared you to a wild raccoon. “With your job, you should be more… precise…” his eyes had trailed down from your face to your arm.

His hand slowly gravitates towards you, ringed finger slowly tracing above your skin before grabbing onto you. If you were fully awake, you would’ve questioned why such a small action… was so sensual.

Alas, you’re still tired.

“Pray tell,” lifting the appendage into view, he reveals what it was that caught his attention, “How did you get… These?” Dark bruises have flourished into your skin. “I hope you didn’t lie about going to sleep early.”

“Wha…? I didn’t, I swear. I don’t know what these are…” he eyes you with suspicion before deciding against interrogation. Though that’s always the case, he has a habit of letting go of whatever you say or do with only a slap on the wrist.

“Well, I hope, it doesn’t matter. You’re going to have a very eventful couple of months, Crowley is sending us off for work again,” he takes a seat next to your bedside, patting your lap down to flatten your blanket before setting a tray down with your breakfast. “He says you’re going to those places. ” Before you even have the chance to drink, you’re already putting down the tea, looking back at him in utter confusion.

“… Hah?”

If he’s being truthful, which, he always is, unfortunately, those areas are notorious amongst people of your occupation, said to have the most violent of fiends.

And… Crowley is sending… you??

“I argued with him not to let you go. Jack was very adamant about not letting that happen either. In fact… He seemed more determined than me. Which is a cause for concern.”

“That is concerning… I only have room for one overbearing partner.” His face goes sour at your poorly placed joke, like some miscreant he’s met on the street, rather than one of the few people he doesn’t mind talking to. His expression quickly softens once more when he remembers who it is that said the joke, you “Sorry…”

“The point is, You’re going there, alone.” He emphasizes the word heavily, as if he really needed to remind you just how dire your situation is.

Alone. The words echo through your room like an unspoken curse, condemned to feed your suffrage. If you’re going to be alone, there’s no doubt you’ll go mad from solitude, void of communication for months.

In your state of conflict, a sharp pang is felt in your neck, as if a blade had gone through your skin and cut off all feeling from your body. A sense of foreboding makes your worry only increase.

“Eat now before you leave.” The feeling is gone as quickly as it came. You look back to Rollo, you wonder why Rollo goes out of his way to do what he does for you. He’s a nice distraction from the dreams that cling to your consciousness.

So is Jack… he's kind to you too.

He was stationed in Sunset Savana if you’re correct. Maybe you’ll see him again when you travel to the second location…

You’re pulled out of your trance when the warm feeling of tea dripping down the corner of your mouth is felt, Rollo, being the culprit as he forces you to drink the beverage. “I said eat now.”

You would’ve pinched him if it weren’t for how tired you were, all is forgiven when he wipes the drink from your jaw with that prized handkerchief of his.

The rocky terrain of the floor annoys you to no end, with each step you take a small pebble flies off somewhere to the side. Considering Crowley instructed you to be stealthy, you probably shouldn’t be flinging things around. You don’t care though, you keep doing it the thought of Crowley might’ve increased how much force you put into your kicks.

“Rules must be followed, I don’t appreciate those who don’t obey.”

A chill goes down your spine. Those words are so familiar, but you can’t place where you’ve heard them before…

Before you can keep dwelling on the disembodied memory, you’re suddenly struck by the unfortunate reminder of Crowley, and 7 high-class missions.

7 missions he’s barely compensating you for.

“Greedy bird…” Honestly, you only accept the transfer under Crowley because of Crewel. Your former boss may have been strict, but at least he paid you well and made you somewhat okay with your job. The thought makes you reminisce of simpler times before the sound of a crow echoes through the sky, and a scroll drops on the path in front of you.

You recognize it, it’s a special communicator used among hunters, it’s a bit outdated, but Crowley is insistent on using it. You kneel bunching the paper in your hand, unraveling the parchment.

It’s Crowley. You toss it away. The paper comes back to your feet, freakishly bouncing on the dirt. He’s calling again, and you throw the paper away again. He won’t stop coming back.

“Leave me alone” He’s your boss, you don’t exactly treat him like one though. Knowing the lack of people in the job field, you not dying on the first week of work is rare, making you an asset he can’t just throw away, so in revenge for every act of greed he commits, you return him the attitude of a snarky employee.

Along with that, you’re still spiteful that he made you do this alone rather than with someone like Rollo or Jack.

“Wait! Wait! Don’t hang up! After all my generosity you continue to disregard me, your own boss no less–!”

The sound of paper beginning to tear immediately sets the sheet to panic mode, aggressively shaking to avoid being ripped to shreds.

“Stop, Stop! I have something to tell you about your job, so don’t you dare, little one!” Chances are, he can sense your disappointment on the other side of the line, the both of you simultaneously sighing before he continues the rest of his talk. “Those seven locations, you don’t have to kill them, running them out of the area is all you’re required to do” You pause for a moment, moving off your intended path into a forest. Your connection gets a little choppy, but if it means you don’t have to listen to him anymore, it might be worth it.

“Run them out only? Are you sure that’s all I have to do, don’t we usually kill them?”

“Yes typically but, it seems our dear commissioners only asked to be rid of them, now why would we hunt them when we’re not being paid? That would just be a waste of time.” Your side is completely silent after his statement, concerned hellos beginning to leave Crowley's side of the paper.

“… So you’re stingy.”

“Not stingy! But, we are a business.” You leave him at that, not wanting to draw out an already lengthy conversation. “So, are you ready for your next assignment, little birdie?”

“Unlike you, I’m not cheap so,” snickers are heard from your boss, instead of a retort to such a blow, all he says is a smug “oh?” before the rest of your words spill. “I’ll really get rid of them. For the people.”

You had intended to waste time before heading to your first job, but luck isn’t on your side, as it turns out your off-course path was an accidental shortcut.

Crowley isn’t talking anymore, you must’ve lost connection. You quickly tear the paper in sweet relief… that’s short-lived. Your eyes are magnetized to the sign in front of the eroded building.

“Heartslaybul Hospital” a tinier sign in the corner with sloppy handwriting, which you can only assume to be from a child reads, “For wonderful and rule-abiding patients only!”

You take one glance back at where you came from, your last chance to truly walk away, before heading inside.

When you look back at it after finishing all 7 locations, you truly should’ve just run them out. For once, you wish you had listened to Crowley, maybe doing that, or maybe even sacrificing your pride would’ve worked, turning around and leaving the hospital might’ve been the optimal solution.

It would’ve saved you from your current predicament.

Trapped in a room filled with monstrosities that can no longer bear to let you go.

A/n: Heartslaybul chapter (hopefully) coming very soon *Insert emoji deviously rubbing hands together*. Originally, this Au was meant to be specifically Yandere, but the more I wrote, the more I realized, These monster counterparts, are well, monsters, so I decided, it’s entirely up to you whether or not you want to view it as Yandere or not. With that said, they will still be possessive in some right, so let that help you determine your choice.

[night-raven-tattler]

What's your ideal type?

Summary: What would be the best traits for their potential partner to have?

A/N: I didn't want to leave Lilia out of the series even though I only write platonic relationships with him, so I wrote about his ideal friend instead. Enjoy!

Characters: Diasomnia dorm (Malleus, Sebek, Silver) x GN!Reader (separate, romantic), Lilia and GN!Reader (platonic)

Other parts of the series: Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw, Octavinelle, Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde

Warnings: none

By opening the document, you agree to Mx Tattly's terms of source confidentiality.

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Malleus' ideal type would be...

Someone who playfully teases him. Malleus can be quite a tease himself, and enjoys seeing people squirm under his playful eyes. While he knows how it feels to be at the receiving end of that treatment thanks to Lilia, he'd still get surprised if you reciprocate.

Someone who can see beauty in the desolate. Being the goth king-to-be that he is, Malleus' tastes tend to gravitate towards darker aesthetics: abandoned buldings, antiques, vintage paintings and furniture, gargoyles... He can't help but be slightly upset when people mistake a grotesque for a gargoyle, but he's amazed when you correct them before he gets to.

Someone who can enjoy grand gestures. It's possible it is a byproduct of him being a prince, but Malleus and words such as "subtle" or "small" are from different worlds. He just wants to shower you with the best offerings to show his attention. Maybe his desire to put valuables with you is because dragons tend to hoard treasure?

Someone who isn't afraid to call him out on things. Malleus is many things: powerful, wise, capable and kind. But he's also stubborn, prideful and has a tendency to do things first and ask later. When he unintentionally crosses your boundaries, tell him. When he plans to do something before asking, tell him. Don't be his yes man. He'll respect you immensely for calling him out. After all, you ability to treat him like any other student is what drew him to you in the first place.

『••✎••』

Lilia's ideal friend would be...

Someone who appreciates cooking. Lilia is a creative person, and it really shows in his cooking (for better or for worse). While eating his food is... a bit of a challenge, your interest would not go unnoticed. Who knows, maybe enough interest would have him allow you join him for a cooking session! A perfect opportunity to stop him from being too creative.

Someone who can take his jokes and pranks. What can I say, Lilia loves having a good laugh, even if sometimes comes at the expense of pulling a prank or two. While harmless, his pranks can be annoying. Take them on as a challenge, and you'll never find your slippers again, or you will have all of your mugs laid on your kitchen floor face down once every 17 mornings. Depends on you if you find that fun or not.

Someone who gets along with Silver and Malleus. His sons are his pride and joy, no matter what. While Lilia knows that sometimes people just don't fit well together, he can recognise effort when he sees it. If you want that spot at the dinner table, you have to get along with his family first.

Someone who can still love the world, despite any hardships. Lilia has lived on this earth for long and faced heartbreak after heartbreak, uncertainty and grief. His healing is not over, and that's okay. He'll appreciate you talking to him about how the would doesn't suck that badly after all.

『••✎••』

Sebek's ideal type would be...

Someone who respects Malleus and Lilia. If you want any chance of even getting along with Sebek, you have to pay your respects to two of the people he respects the most. While you don't have to kiss the ground they walk on, a few nods of approval during Sebek's endless speeches about their glory and superiority would not go unnoticed.

Someone who likes praising him. I'm not saying Sebek is easily swayed by praise, but he'd be joyous to hear how well he's doing. He's a dedicated guard with perfect scores at school and a will strong enough to move mountains. While the praise directed at him would be something he's not really accustomed to, he'd stop trying to redirect the praise towards Malleus soon enough.

Someone who challenges him. Sebek is not the most agreeable person, but he's always open to learning and improving himself. He's just very, very stubborn. You don't have to dismantle his whole ideology about humans or anything like that. Instead, just give him the puzzle pieces: he'll enjoy the challenge to figure out your thought process while trying to prove you wrong. Whatever the outcome is, Sebek will always come out of the other side with a newfound respect for you.

Someone who can teach him how to be gentle. Yes, Sebek is loud, extra and arrogant. But, above all, he wants to do right by his loved ones. If you can teach him how to come from a place of compassion and genuine goodwill instead of having him default on his aggresive demeanor, he'd be quite amazed with you. His job was never to be kind and gentle, but he can still be those things while protecting the people around him. He'll treasure everything you'll teach him, and he'll hold you in his heart close to his idols.

『••✎••』

Silver's ideal type would be...

Someone who respects Malleus and Lilia. While Silver is not the type to sing their praises during every moment of the day, he respects his liege and his father more than anything. He can't have someone disrespect two of the most important people in his life. It's the bare minimum for him if you want him to pay you any mind.

Someone who is earnest. Silver is a kind and sweet boy. His help and advice are always genuine. His dedication to protect the people he loves come from a desire to pay back the goodwill of the people in his life. He might not notice when people don't have the most genuine intentions, but he can tell when you are a nice person, especially to the people around him. His wariness will quickly dwindle, and he will warm up to you in no time.

Someone who knows when to nudge him awake and when to let him sleep. Silver dislikes how often he falls asleep during the day, and has a lot of guilt from not being to stay awake. He really takes note of how people react when he falls asleep near them or when they wake him up. Even though he still feels very helpless against his curse, if you still treat him just the same then he'd feel the littlest bit less guilty about it.

Someone who shows him he's enough. Above all else, Silver believes in paying back the kindness he has received from the world. He works very hard, harder than needed. Sometimes he needs to be sat down and told that he is doing enough. He is enough. It will not change his hard working nature overnight, but acknowledging his efforts sure makes him feel like he's going in the right direction.

[souliebird]

[[and then I met you || ch. 12||

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

pt: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11

Words: 5k

banner thanks to the wonderful @theradioactivespidergwen

Even in the middle of the night, the heat of summer in Hell's Kitchen is oppressive. It doesn't help that there is a storm rolling in and it is so humid Matt feels like he's breathing in water. Sweat is pouring off of him and he's glad he opted out of wearing his red armor - he has the feeling he would have overheated within an hour.

The only good thing about it pushing eighty degrees at two am is that only people that have to be out are out. Even though it is Saturday night/ Sunday morning, the streets are empty and Matt has only encountered people on their way back home. He hasn't even needed to scare off any muggers or stop any break ins. In fact, all he has really done all night is track people to make sure they got to their destinations safely.

There was a small surge of people around midnight coming off the trains and they had been rowdy, but hadn't caused any problems. Matt quickly worked out they were part of the protesters who have been crowding outside the courthouse for the past few days and deemed they were not a threat to his beloved city.

He's spoken to a few of them while at the courthouse and he fully supports their cause and their right to protest. Admittedly, Matt is not one to stay on top of current events, but he thinks it is suspicious that the government will not reveal what caused the massive explosion in Connecticut. It's been weeks but instead of answers, it feels like everything about the incident is being shoved under the rug and Matt knows if it was closer to home, Karen would be chomping at the bit to investigate.

Over six hundred people lost their lives and no one is being brought to justice for it. They are saying it was an attack, but no one is claiming ownership or being blamed for the destruction. It makes him angry, and though this isn't his fight, he'll do his part protecting the voices in his community who demand the truth.

Tonight, it seems like his community is safe and Matt will be able to get more than two hours of sleep before he needs to go to Mass. He needs to do a final pass around the neighborhood before he turns in for the night, so he pushes himself up from where he has been crouching like a gargoyle and stretches his limbs. His knees pop and his back screams at him and he decides that despite the heat, he will take a scorching shower to soothe his muscles. He may not have gotten into any big fights the past few nights, but that doesn't matter to his body - it's always aching and throbbing in one way or another.

He pulls his mask down over his face, hating how it instantly makes his forehead sticky and wet, and starts his loop.

He starts at the top of 10th and weaves across and down until he passes Foggy and Marci’s apartment. He pauses across the street and crouches down as he tunes his ears to their bedroom. They are both in a deep sleep and there is no threat he can detect, but still he stays for a minute just to be sure. Daredevil may have complicated his best friend's life, but Foggy has never had trouble making his own enemies. He may not be a vigilante, but his sense of justice is just as strong as Matt's and that has caused people to come at him violently. Someone breaking in is not out of the question.

Marci has her own enemies but if anyone ever tries to come after her, well, Matt will pray for their soul because not even he is that self-destructive. She once made a joke about becoming a crime lord and he still has the occasional nightmare over it.

Matt scans the surrounding buildings for any problems once more before he starts off towards Karen's place. She was still awake when he last passed her building and the odds of her still being up are pretty even. He wouldn't be surprised to find her typing away at some article - stirring up the pot as always. He loves her for that personality trait, even if it mentally puts him through the ringer with worry over her - he supposes it is nothing compared to what he does to her.

But luckily, for the collective sanity of Nelson, Murdock, and Page, more people care about Karen's well-being than care about Matt's.

He knows she has Jessica's number on speed dial - letting them meet is one of his greatest regrets in life. He is well aware of the cameras set up by Frank's computer friend and while the Marine is out of town, he's left her with another layer of protection - his dog Max.

Not that Karen can't take care of herself.

If she and Marci teamed up to take over Manhattan, Matt doesn't know if he could stop them.

Maybe he'll tell her that for her birthday - it will make a better gift than anything he'd be able to think of.

Matt lands on the roof of Karen's building, relieved to find she has gone to sleep since he last checked on her. She must have let the dog get in bed with her, because it's snoring is making it hard for him to tune into her without concentration. She's safe and seemingly happy, so he lingers only a moment before resuming the last dredges of his patrol.

He heads down to the docks next. There are people there, but they are meant to be - prepping for the fish markets and early morning cargo ships. These are good, hard working men who don't dabble in things that would make the Devil hunt them. In fact, he's got a good contact in one of the fish mongers, who will let him know if there's been anything suspicious in the wee hours of the morning. He doesn't need to check in now, as there have been no whispers as of late, and he disappears back into the shadows of the city to head towards Clinton Church.

Matt's stomach turns as he gets closer to where he grew up. His feelings about the location and the people there have been a ridiculous rollercoaster since he found out he was a father.

He deeply misses Father Lantom. Despite what everyone has told him, he firmly blames himself for the man's death and does not understand why God made that choice. It hurts that he isn't here and Matt can barely bring himself to go into the church - he's only started to re-attend Mass since learning about Minnie to seek guidance from God about this new path. He'd give anything to be able to speak to the man who mentored him in life - to hear what he would say about Matt having a daughter.

It isn't that Matt dislikes the new priest - he just doesn't like him. He's resistant to change and it should be Father Lantom giving Communion and taking his Confession.

It should be Father Lantom who Baptizes Minnie, not this man Matt has never even spoken with.

Maggie is trying to get Matt to interact with the man, but his relationship with her is going through a rocky patch and he hasn't actually spoken with her in about two weeks. She hasn't done anything wrong - he is just having an internal crisis over how learning he is a parent changed him and his abandonment issues. He's spent a lot of time in reflection and understands why she left him and his father, but he now has a renewed anger at her for not telling him the truth sooner.

Did she not love him like he loves Minnie? Was it something he did wrong?

Will she love Minnie like she loved Matt? He trusts her to care for his daughter, but will she love her granddaughter the way she deserves to be loved?

Everything is made more complicated over how guilty he is over having these feelings and so, instead of talking to his mother, he's been avoiding her. He knows he needs to eventually address it, but for the moment Maggie is none the wiser about his mini-me.

He'll tell her after he tells you about her.

It is something he needs to do still - it just hasn't come up yet. Most of your conversations center around Minnie and you are still getting to know each other. You've shared few stories about your childhood - mostly about school - and Matt isn't so sure how your anxiety will handle Maggie. His mother is a good person, but she is a lot and he knows you have your own parent issues.

Like at the docks, there are people active at the Church. A few homeless patrons are seeking shelter before the rain and there is a nun tending to their needs. The kids are safely tucked into bed, and while it sounds like a few are having nightmares, there is nothing he can do for them at the moment.

If they wake and cry out, he prays their calls are answered.

Matt practically flees the sacred grounds and his anxiety only settles once he crosses into Chelsea.

As he runs, he hones his senses to the apartment building you live in. It is easy for him to lock onto - he's already spent countless hours perched on the boundaries of the two neighborhoods listening to you and Minnie sleep. He knows it is creepy, but he cannot help himself.

Minnie’s laugh is his new favorite sound, and not far behind it is your heartbeat. Much like his daughter, he's found himself focusing on it when things get too much and it is the perfect way to end patrols - winding down while you and Mouse dream.

You mumble in your sleep and it is the most endearing thing he's ever encountered. He likes to respond to your strange statements, imagining he's right there in bed with you. There has been a recurring theme of parrots and he is thinking that the bird exhibit will be off limits during Minnie’s birthday trip to the zoo, based on what he's heard.

But it isn't you mumbling in your apartment tonight - it's Minnie.

His daughter is awake and has moved from the bedroom to the living room. The television is on - playing what he thinks is Sesame Street - and she seems to be fussing with a toy. Context clues tell him she's playing with a doll or stuffed animal - dress up is one of her favorite games and he knows it is one of her Quiet Games.

“Nexts,” she says sweetly to her toy, “we gotta do your make ups.”

Matt decides to wait until he's landed on the roof before he makes her aware of his presence. He kneels and takes a moment to center himself, taking a deep breath to do so. He focuses on calming the Devil in his chest - this is the first time he's caught Minnie awake in the middle of the night and he needs to address it as Matt and not Daredevil.

He doesn't want to scare her, after all. She'll probably be very confused as to why he's there and being scared won't help anything.

“Minnie, sweetheart, can you hear me?” He asks, keeping his voice soft as possible as he does.

To her credit, she doesn't start at all. It takes her a moment to process, but then she questions, “Daddy?”

The name makes his heart soar - everytime she says it, he breaks into the biggest smile. It is the sweetest sound and the fact she switched to calling him that all on her own means the world to him.

She wants him to be her Daddy.

“Yeah, sweetheart, it's me. What are you doing awake?” he questions, smiling as he hears her get up and start to walk around. He wonders if she is looking for him and his guess is confirmed when he hears her start lifting things up to look under them.

“I'm watching Cookie Monsters,” she replies and Matt chuckles. He thinks it is so adorable she is also so direct with her answers. She always answers exactly what is asked.

“I don't think it is time for Cookie Monster, Mouse. I think it's sleep time. Mommy is sleeping.”

You are in a deep sleep, your breathing slow and even. He can tell you've been exhausted lately and probably need the sleep. More than once he's found you awake during his patrols. If Minnie tried to wake you up, you probably weren't responsive and she had left you to sleep.

She peters her way back to in front of the television and plops back down after checking under the dining table. Matt waits for her to respond, knowing sometimes it takes her time to form what she wants to say.

“I can't sleep,” she mumbles, upset clear in her voice, “there's a monster.”

The Devil flares up inside of him and he instantly scans the area for a threat. There are few people awake in the area and he focuses in on them - none of them appear to be any sort of danger to his daughter. At the moment.

But they could have been earlier. They could have woken her up by doing something horrible. A mugging. Domestic violence. Something worse.

He curls his lip into a snarl.

He'll find whoever upset his daughter and drive them from his city. The state.

It's a miracle he manages to keep his voice calm and gentle, “A monster?”

“A monster,” she confirms sadly. Her breathing becomes muffled and Matt figures she has shoved her hand into her mouth to self-comfort.

“Can you tell Daddy about the monster?”

She sucks on her fingers and with her free hand, pulls her toy into her lap. He wants to push her to tell him, but he knows he can't. She's not a witness or a suspect - she's his daughter trying her best. He can tell she wants to answer, he just needs to be patient.

“He ran really fast,” Minnie starts to say, barely taking her hand out of her mouth to do so, “and went eek-eek-eek and smelled like poopy-butt.”

The words baffle him and Matt knits his brows - this monster was close enough for Minnie to smell him? The monster in his chest snarls and he has to fight to keep his composure. He knows Minnie is locked onto him and if he lets his rage show, she will know and she will get scared.

He needs to protect his daughter. He needs to believe God will not test him in this.

“Minnie, sweetie, can you tell Daddy where the monster is?”

Her little head turns up to face exactly where he is standing, asking in a small voice, “are you gonna fight him?”

The Devil roars ‘yes’, but the Father in him says, “Do you want me to?”

“Mommy scares him away,” she advises hesitantly. He can practically feel the nerves radiating off of her and it makes him clench his fist.

Matt doesn't understand. This has happened before?

Then it beams him in the head like a baseball and Matt feels like a complete idiot.

Minnie is a toddler. Her monsters are shadows, creaky pipes, and the four legged creatures in the city. Those are things that no longer register on Matt's radar but she hasn't learned to tune them out yet. Of course she would be scared of those things - Matt was scared of those things when he first got his senses and he was much older than Minnie at the time.

He remembers his first phone call with you and how it ended - something about Monster Repellent.

“I can go scare off the monster - would you like that?” he asks, the Devil in him settling down now that he knows no one is trying to hurt his little girl.

He doesn't know if it's Minnie sensing his shift in mood or if she didn't want him to fight the monster and scaring it away is what she wants, but she untenses her shoulders and her hand comes out of her mouth.

“You'll scare him away?” She asks after hugging her toy right to her chest.

“I'll scare him away,” he quickly promises.

“He smells like poopy-butt,” she repeats and Matt wonders if she is making a stinky face. That is something you tell him he and Minnie share - a certain curl of their lips when they find something unappealing.

“That's okay, sweetie, I'll make him go smell bad somewhere else. He won't bother you,” he says. “Can you tell me where he went and I'll go chase him away.”

Finally, she points down towards the alleyway between her building and the neighboring one and adds, “He can climb walls. Like Spidey-Man.”

Matt resists the urge to huff over the mention of the other vigilante. He has met the kid twice before and his biggest take, besides it was a kid under the mask and that had been its own thing, was that he needed to learn how to throw a proper punch. It confirmed for him all that Avengers training and showboating really meant nothing and they really were better off fighting aliens and wizards than helping out real people.

“Don't worry, Mouse, I can climb the walls, too.” He's definitely letting his Pride show through, but if he can't show off for his daughter, who can he show off for?

He makes a quick map in his head, then goes to the edge of the roof. Minnie’s head is still angled up towards him and she ‘watches’ as he parkours down to street level. If he adds a few unnecessary flips, well, that is no one's business but his own.

Once he is on the pavement, he opens his senses to the things he normally blocks out. The city becomes far more lively around him - cats, raccoons, birds, dogs, all sorts of bugs and things he doesn't like to think about. There's yowling and chirps and suddenly so much more movement, most of it under his feet.

Mouse’s monster is easy to find. It is a disgustingly large rat that has built a nest of trash and grime under a dumpster. The thing has a respiratory infection, which has it wheezing and rattling and he very much understands why Minnie was scared of it. It is not a pleasant sound and the infection is not at all helping how the creature smells. Animals smell at the best of times, but this rat clearly enjoys the sewers and ‘poopy-butt’ doesn't begin to cover how rancid it is.

Matt starts to work out what he needs to do to make sure this sick rodent stays far away from his family. If it has a nest, it will come back, so he needs to destroy that - without damaging the animal. He doesn't have the heart to actually hurt the thing.

He pulls out his billy clubs and snaps them together to make a bo staff, then moves to crouch in front of the dumpster. “Okay, sir, I'm here to evict you,” he says, more for Minnie’s benefit than anything. “You gotta go.”

He jabs at the nest of wet cardboard and almost immediately, the rat scurries out and hisses at him. It snaps its jaws at him a few times instead of running away and Matt huffs at the display, turning his staff towards the creature and swatting at it. “Get out of here.” To its credit, it tries to fight him, biting at his billy clubs and screeching at him, but after a few good thwacks to its side, it realizes it has no chance against him and dashes toward a nearby grate.

He listens to it go down into some pipes and once it's out of range, he tilts his head up towards Minnie, a smile starting to form in his lips, “The monster has been vanquished, my princess.”

His words make her giggle and he can't help but chuckle as well. He hears her push up into standing and she toddles towards the window. There's a table in front of it, so he knows she can't see out of it, but he knows she's trying to find him.

“He's not gonna come back?” She questions and in response he starts to break up the nest. He spreads the trash around, knocking things down and away. It's not a big very big rat den, relying heavily on the dumpster.

“He's not, he's gonna go find a new home,” he promises as he works, and once he's satisfied with his destruction, he collapses his billy clubs and holsters them. He pushes up into standing and steps away from the trash can.

“Far away?” Minnie asks and his heart breaks for her. The stupid animal must have terrified her.

“Very, very far away.”

He locates the fire escape and starts to scale it back up to your apartment floor. As he does, he starts closing off his senses again. Things begin to fade into the background - the things he will need to start teaching Minnie. She's got a good handle on it already, having learned to function with it instead of needing to adapt.

He's so proud. So unbelievably proud.

She's such a good and pure child. She always wants to help and asks about other people. She may be shy, but she's empathetic.

You've taught her well.

Matt understands how Minnie is a mini-him in her abilities and mannerisms due to those abilities, but her sweet nature is from you.

He knows he's gone for you.

Foggy has pointed it out. Karen has pointed it out. God has smacked him in the face with signs.

His realization moment was hearing a man purchasing an engagement ring for a woman who shared your name. He had gotten so furiously jealous he had to go take it out on the punching bag.

Foggy laughed so hard at him.

He doesn't think you noticed at all. It is nothing against you, he completely understands. You are like him - you don't think you deserve love. You had been painfully shy your first night together, as well, and he had been charmed by it.

He's angry at himself for letting you be a one night stand.

He should have been there when you needed him most.

He's not going to fuck that up again.

He pulls off his mask before making a show off popping up in front of your window and Minnie dissolves into giggles.

“Hi, Daddy!” She waves at him and he can tell she is absolutely beaming. He eagerly waves back and he knows he's matching her smile.

“Hi, Mouse.”

“Why are you outside?”

He's planned for this. He has discussed this with Foggy and Karen at length. He did the unthinkable - he asked Frank - who apparently knew who Minnie was before either Foggy or Karen did. They had attacked the question from all sides. As the firm. As friends. As parents.

They couldn't lie to Minnie. Matt can see the signs she's picking up on what different heart beats mean. She's going to know and there's nothing they can do to hide it. She can hear all of Hell’s Kitchen just as well as he can. It may not happen until she's older, but she'll figure it out.

So, he's not going to lie to her. He thinks you would approve. You don't like lying to her - you soften the truth into something she can comprehend. He's going to follow your lead.

“I'm working,” Matt answers, crouching on the rails and resting his wrists on his knees. He's suddenly very glad he had a very boring night. “What are you doing inside?”

Mouse accepts the answer and hugs her toy to her chest, swaying side to side “I'm talking to you.”

He laughs at her utter sweetness. She giggles along with him.

He gives a fond shake of his lead, then leans forward so she can see him a bit better, “What should you be doing, sweetheart?”

She scrunches up her face as she thinks, then she falls into a pout, “Sleeping.”

“Yeah, you should be sleeping. You're going to be tired tomorrow. It's not going to be fun,” he gently warns. He knows it isn't her fault, but he knows it will eventually help her learn to push those noises to the background.

“Okay, I'll go bed. I gotta clean up first. Mommy says …Mommy says don't leave it until morning. You'll make morning you sad. Be nice to morning you,” she recites, patting her hands against her stuffed animal - it's not Scooby or Pig. (He doesn't know this one. His best guess is it's a Raggedy-Anne type princess doll. His little girl loves princesses - no specific one, just the concept and aesthetic.)

He loves the values you are instilling in her. He's going to steal this mantra and tell it to Foggy and Karen.

“Okay. I'll keep watch for any monsters,” he tells her. This is one of the reasons he wants her to know the truth. He wants her to know her Daddy will protect her from all of the monsters.

“Okay. Thank you. Love you!” She chants, then turns away.

“I love you, too, Mouse. So much.”

And he will tell her every chance he gets.

She carefully walks back to where she had been sitting and turns off the television, then goes to put her toys away. Like always, she's very methodical about what she does. He could spend hours watching her play. She fascinates him. She picks up one toy at a time and tells it good night as she puts it back into her toy chest.

She doesn't have much to clean up and when she finishes, she turns to face him.

“Will you tuck me in? Please? Thank you?” Minnie asks like he can say no.

“Of course, my love. Are you all ready for bed?” He questions as he hops down onto the fire escape - one of the screws holding it together shakes and he decides he'll come back another night with a wrench to tighten everything up.

“All ready!” she confirms and he can tell she's watching him with great curiosity.

He begins to run his fingers over the edges of the window, searching for a way in. You certainly don't make it easy - you invested in apartment security and it takes him a moment to disable it. He's careful as he slides the window up and pops out the screen. He slips into the apartment, then quickly closes the window behind him, leaving the screen on the floor.

Minnie has the decency to wait until that moment to run to him with open arms. Matt scoops her up, swinging her a little before putting her on his hip and once she is settled, he leans down to press his forehead to hers.

“We have to be quiet, okay? We can't wake up, Mommy,” he tells her and she quickly nods in understanding.

He doesn't know what he'll do if you wake up and find him in your home - but luckily you are still in a deep sleep. As long as Minnie keeps calm, you should stay lost in Dreamland.

He kisses her forehead then starts towards the bedroom. She returns the affection, planting a big kiss on his cheek before she gently smacks him in the face with her doll with a quiet, “mwah!” Then, she flops against his shoulder, using him as a pillow.

He has to fight back a pleased huff - his little angel is so sweet. He'll never get sick of getting kisses from her toys - it's so loving and innocent and he is greedy for any and all affection.

Your bedroom is a good twenty degrees cooler than the rest of the apartment - there's a fan going and accompanying it is a little window unit blowing in cold air. It feels like Heaven in the blistering heat that is the rest of the city. The chill seems to suck the consciousness from Mouse - she gives a big dramatic yawn, smacking her lips against his neck. Her body slumps into him and he rubs her back encouragingly.

He crosses the room carefully, hyper aware of any toys that may have found their way to the floor post-bedtime. It absolutely breaks his heart to have to pull her away from him and she does try to stay clinging to him - not fighting him just resistant - but she ends up in her bed and under her covers. He doesn't know if he would have had the strength to force her to let go if she really did want to stay in his arms.

He helps her adjust her sleeping headband so it is around her eyes and ears, then kisses her cheek one final time, “ready for sleep?”

The response is a barely there nod and Matt can't help but feel so much love for his daughter. Being able to conk right out as soon as she's comfortable shows how much she trusts him. His little girl is always so wary and subtly alert.

He's going to cherish this moment forever.

“Love you, Mouse.” He whispers.

“Luvo, Daffy,” is what it sounds like she says as she rolls to bury her face into her pillow. A moment later she is snoring.

Matt allows a few tears to fall before wiping them away and turning his attention to you. You have nested yourself under your blankets, breath hitching every so often. He's learned over time from various people this usually means bad dreams - not nightmares but things that can leave you shaken.

He doesn't dare move closer to try to soothe you with touch - that would certainly wake you up.

Instead, he promises, “I'll chase all your monsters away, too.”

tags:

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife 

 @petrovafire39 @allllium

@dorothleah @mattmurdocksstarlight @mars-on-vinyl @mywellspringoflife @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @simmilarly @soupyspence @darkened-writer @akila-twt

@murc0ckmurc0ck @groovycass @sumo-b98 @just3rowsing @tongueofcat @zoom1374

@theclassicvinyldragon @aoi-targaryen @lunaticgurly @nikitawolfxo @shireentapestry @snakevyro @yondiii @echos-muses @honeybug-victoria @the-bisaster @ristare @mrs-bellingham @eugene-emt-roe @cometenthusiast @stevenknightmarc @hunnybelha @

Specialagentjackbauer @yarrystyleeza @ofmusesandsecrets 

@mayp11-blog @danzer8705 @thinking-at-dusk @remuslupinwifee @akila-twt  @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @dil3mma @allllium 

@

two-unbeatable-beaters @kiwwia-wiwwia @1988-fiend @xblueriddlex @loves0phelia @ninacotte @lovelyygirl8 @littlenosoul @ednaaa-04  @ astridstark13

 @lovingkryptonitehideout @moongirlgodness @soocore @bluestuesday

[distant--shadow]

The Witch and the Widow – Chapter One – The Lake

Laudna Bradbury had murdered her husband.

Maybe murdered. Apparently. That is what brought Imogen here - indirectly, at least.

Not that she's with the law enforcement or anything. Not that, definitely, though ironically being an officer - an interrogator - would suit her well, at least on paper. Passion and enthusiasm would be a different question - and that's why she's here. Sorta. Indirectly, again, for a different question. Words travel, by means of mouth or ink or thoughts (apparently, she had found out), even though thoughts should not travel past the head that they were made in. But they did, and continue to do so, and Imogen had heard enough accounts about the man himself (the Lady’s husband, when he was alive and after the fact), had seen enough women squashed under the boots of the men they were tied to to intimately know and understand a flash decision made in a moment for self-preservation-

all too often women tempered their instincts to allow themselves to become the soil underfoot rather than the sole of the shoe

so much as to say that Imogen does not care much if Laudna Bradbury had murdered her husband.

She cares more about what the words whispered and weaved and waded in the time after wrote:

Laudna Bradbury had used witchcraft to murder her husband.

The only utterances of magic Imogen had heard of, had seen, had unexplainably received taken telegraphed by inner voice and grey matter before that rumour, were her own.

Imogen needs answers, desperately, as though a necessity purely imperative like breathing and eating, and so she brought herself to the source of the lake before it divided and weakened and meandered from river to muddy stream to drink directly from her-

(it.)

Laudna Bradbury is a widow, a widow who continues to live on the estate her husband’s heraldry and wealth had afforded them, company kept by a small team of housemaids and gardeners and the like.

and it is a large estate, a lot to look after, for sure, certainly, with its couple hundred maybe more years in age and just as many acres. There's hairline cracks in the stucco, a missing roof tile here and there

but there is no denying that it is a fine example of architecture, certainly was the highest of fashion at the time. A grand country house with an East Wing and a West, bay windows and towers and pleasing ratios between alcove and doorways and arches and walled topiaried gardens that extend from north to south, illustrations in stained glass ornately framed with flowering climbing ivy

statues that step out from domesticated bordering jungles, now appearing more as gargoyles thanks to the decay of time, noses eroded like they have rotted off, birds’ nests of briars thorned crowns or horns

rosemary bushes skirt the main building’s façade, perfuming the sometimes hot-and-humid, more often brisk-and-grey air carried through the opened lead-lined boiled sweet coloured window panes into the dark mahogany-panelled and silk-embroidered tapestried interiors.

Off of the West Wing there is an extension nearing the height of the gargoyled walls that surround the estate. This is the wall that fortifies the Lady Bradbury’s private garden; with doors adjoining directly to her study - both of which are off limits. Imogen doesn't know much of pretty and imported flowers, but she knows local common sense, knows what berries to pick and which weed’s sap causes a blister that will never heal again should it brush her skin.

Through small cracks in the masonry delicate tendrils curl out; leaves crawling, surfacing, small purple flowers with yellow tear-drop centres blooming.

Deadly nightshade.

She wonders what else grows behind the wall, patiently biding its time until the decay of such allows it through. 

It is in the stables that Imogen spends most of her own time; her years of experience working under Master Faramore awarded her an earnest recommendation, and it sure helped that a couple of the Lady’s mares and a stallion were from his own livery, that they had been raised and trained by Imogen's own hands before they left them.

She needs answers, so she has taken herself to them, to the lake to drink from. She observes from a distance, listens to any whisperings and wonderings that bed with her in the servants’ quarters.

The days are long, mostly spent between mucking and feeding and exercising and grooming the horses and watching the Lady Bradbury taking a walk around the herb garden with knees as muddied as the kitchen staff’s, or cutting bark segments from off of the trees that dot the grounds as if she were operating in front of an amphitheatre of flora and fauna students whilst Imogen brushes down one of the horses or shovels hay

and despite the distance and Imogen's best efforts to remain subtle, the Lady Bradbury’s eyes would sometimes catch hers observing (staring, admittedly), and she would smile, and perform a barely perceivable curtsey (one of many behaviours outside of expectations), and Imogen would tip her brimmed suede hat in return, and would think of how despite the fact that the Lady’s practices of class and boundaries and what is proper were different, a bit odd, nothing of the woman's behaviour suggested that of a killer - only the situation that she stood in - the peculiarly beautiful widow with a walled off poison garden. And so maybe the same is to be said of her magic, should she even be harbouring or practicing any (although admittedly her appearance certainly is bewitching…)

and it's like the instances before but unlike them - Imogen stealing glances of the Lady Bradbury as she potters about her estate (she probably really does potter, she fills so much of her time with crafting and making. Imogen wouldn't be surprised to see her pale skin elbow-deep in caked-on terracotta pigment digging out clay rich soil into old whisky barrels to have carried by willing hands to a throwing room with a secret kiln.) but on this day, when their eyes in new routine now inevitably meet across the wildflower-speckled field (that in itself is unusual, highly out of vogue, it isn't the acres of well-kept uniform lawn and paths laid with talking-point pebbles imported from the coast that the other estates boasted and Imogen had glanced when ferrying Master Faramore’s horses elsewhere) the Lady Bradbury takes pause, before she starts to make her advance towards Imogen.

shit.

She's been brushing the same patch of short thick hair on Foie Gras’ shoulder for so long that she's surprised there isn't a bald patch. Maybe the Lady Bradbury is worried as such. Maybe Imogen has been too obvious in her observing (admitted staring). Maybe she has been found out.

She feels her brow start to perspire, the muscles in her limbs wishing to move erratically and awkwardly and restlessly and to carry her to stand out of sight hidden behind the thick neck of the horse like an obvious child playing hide and seek behind a tree trunk, or to flatten the creases in her breaches and her linen tunic and pick out the strands of hair and hay that have lodged themselves into their weave, untwist the grasp of her suspenders over her shoulders - but she practices restraint - is trained and cautious and intentional and thorough she was only being thorough with the mare, casts her gaze in iron like the blacksmith hammering the horseshoes and steels herself for the Lady Bradbury’s approach.

Her skirts are full and structured and plumed by many layers of petticoats that hide the movement of her feet across the wildflower lawn, causing her to appear to be drifting like the bees do from petal to petal, pollen dusting her pleats though ghostly her skin in contrast to the fine fabrics that she dresses for the part, black in mourning, still, bodice tight and sleeve leg of mutton, an ornate decorative layer of black lace laying over each yard of textured textile like spider webs on porcelain patterns, her husband's tableware collecting dust in the kitchen cupboard.

real impractical for how tending towards practical the Lady dares to be, hands on, too busy for errant hairs in piano key ivory and ebony windswept and loose from the high bun she pins in place with a cameo broach, a memento mori engraved in silver and inlayed with ruby eyes and tied with red ribbons. Her skin also proudly displays the age and perhaps trauma that her hair does, lines from laughter and furrowed brows and the feet of the crows that cry from the top of the chimney pots

Imogen has heard her call them her children (the birds that is, not the wrinkles) - has heard her talk to them as if they are responding, oftentimes giving her own tampered voice to do so (and to Imogen’s amusement)

The Lady never had children of her own; those are their own rivers of rumours within themselves. Imogen did not care for that stream of gossip at all.

The Lady steps closer, and the yet-to-be familiar fog of her mind cocoons Imogen, water transmuted into mist against jutting rock at the plummet of rapids, relief from the laborious work and humidity, her previous restraint to keep her body in check breaking as she visibly swallows and licks her lips, suddenly aware of how dry they had been.

The Lady Bradbury rests her hand on the back of Foie Gras’ neck, fingers long and pale and decorated in black lace like mother of pearl inlay and marquetry on a lacquered curious curio cabinet that perhaps Imogen had eyed through a stained glass window standing in the corner of the out-of-bounds office.

“Good day. It's Imogen, correct?” her delicately veiled fingers comb through the mare’s mane, her dark mahogany eyes seeming to look over the gloss of Foie Gras’ coat to inspect the way the late morning sunlight rests upon its sandy hues before turning her attention back to Imogen with a smile.

She hadn't spoken much to the Lady since she was hired a few weeks back - not much being that this is the third time, after her interview and a brief acknowledgment when being shown around by one of the housemaids the day she started.

The Lady Bradbury’s lips are painted a deep purple, an unusual colour for sure; Imogen had only seen illustrations and paintings of the dignitary from era’s passed in shades of peach and pinks and reds, stencilled in exaggerated shapes, and as with the landscaping of grounds, to wear such obvious make up itself is frowned upon, old fashioned, conveniently equated with providing false fronts.

The Lady’s teeth are bright, especially in comparison to the purpled dark lips.

and sharp

especially in comparison to how soft-

“You must pardon me, have I got it wrong?”

shit, fuck-

“Oh! n-no-” Imogen was staring, definitely “I apologise m’lady. You are right, it is Imogen.”

God dammit - she’s gonna get herself fired, fired for daydreamin’ and giving the horses receding hairlines and ignoring the Lady of the Manor when she addresses her-

The Lady chuckles to herself delicately, an act displaying a markable absence of frustration and bewilderment.

“From Master Faramore’s, yes? How are you finding the new environment? I am sure the stables here pale in comparison to his, but I do not believe that they afforded such space and the opportunity for frequent walks around such a beautiful lake…”

“Certainly, m’lady. There are less of them so they get more attention, they can be well looked after-”

“Indeed, plenty of grooming at the very least-”

Imogen can feel the hot blood rush to the surface of her cheeks, unable this time to wrangle her body’s motor reflexes.

“I have yet to visit the lake m’self, I am sure they enjoy bein’ taken by you though, they always seem happier when they come back.”

“Is that so? Well, I must insist you see the lake for yourself, if not only to relish the fact that you took great part in an amount of their contentedness.”

The Lady Bradbury looks to her expectantly, Imogen expected to have a reply for the unexpected.

“Would you accompany me this afternoon?”

Imogen can read thoughts. She can read thoughts but what if the Lady Bradbury can too? Or what if she can tell that she is imposing? Would she find herself in the bottom of that lake on her very first visit? A drink more filling than what she had wanted, her lungs full and void of buoyancy. Imogen can read thoughts but she dares not to read the Lady’s.

She can feel them, though, that first and second and now third time in her vicinity, feel how they are different, an audible silence amongst the swarm of bees wings and small talk and anxieties

At some point the Lady had stepped around Foie Gras’ head to stand beside Imogen

She smells like sage and gunpowder

On the day of her interview she had smelled of eucalyptus and raw animal fat-

“You’re quite the thinker, aren’t you?”

Of that she is guilty, though usually she can argue that the majority of the thoughts that weigh her down are not her own.

“Apologies m’lady, I wasn’t sure I had heard you right. Did you want a horse saddled for you for this afternoon?”

Imogen had never thought that her accent sounded particularly thick or clunky, but it felt as heavy as her mind tends to be around other company when speaking with the Lady, her tongue all thick tangled muscle swelling against the roof of her mouth and her teeth.

Perhaps this is some sort of witchery. She waits for the molasses to take a hold on her muscles and limbs, for the her skull to be crushed concave from the inside

But it doesn’t happen.

The Lady smiles (again)

“Almost. One for you and one for me, if you would accompany me around the lake - there isn’t a cloud in the sky today and it would be a shame to keep the clear reflections of the mountains to myself and Foie Gras here.”

Imogen is thrown. Yes, y’all could argue that this is exactly what she came here for; time alone with the Lady Bradbury, the opportunity to form a rapport or to subtly pluck at her brain but there is something in the way that she carries herself, how she talks to Imogen with ease and lack of formality that is alarmingly disarming, and leaves Imogen cloudy on why she came here in the first place-

“C-certainly, if it’s what the Lady wants-” she chuckles (again, again) waving her hand dismissively before catching herself and laying it over the patch of hair on the mare’s shoulder that surprisingly hasn’t thinned from all of Imogen’s enthusiastic (distracted) brushing.

“I will take Ceviche; you seem to have formed quite the bond with Foie Gras.”

Imogen can only nod with lips parted in silenced protest as she feels her cheeks flush again.

~

The walls of the stable are thick and stone, absent of windows save for the upper halves of the handful of wooden doors that allow for the horses to pop their heads out in eager greeting to Imogen as she walks towards them with their buckets of feed.

It is a clear day, as the Lady Bradbury has said, hot and humid and Imogen is grateful for both the surroundings and the company of the stable.

As she rakes the trodden-in and dirtied hay across the flagstone floor she allows the earthy scents of the dried grass to remind her of the smell of the sage, the crumbling mortar imitating gunpowder.

She wipes the back of her shirt sleeve across her brow, skin also sweating at the wrist where the gloves wrap work-beaten leather over shielded skin

Soft skin, mostly - save for where her fingertips appear to be frost-bitten.

A fairly visible reminder of why Imogen is here, should she forget again in the Lady’s presence-

Not that she would dare to take off the gloves.

That would only lead to questions.

‘Jammed in between horse-drawn carriage and stable door’ - she used to say, before the purple bruised tips started to migrate further, splitting out like surfaced capillaries that encompassed her fingers one knuckle at a time

They mark half-way over her palms now – like someone had dipped fine dense vegetable roots in an inkwell and struck them in lashings across her hand, punishment obfuscating her palmistry.

She hears one of the horses whinny – Ceviche most likely, a little restless, the black stallion not having been let out onto the fields yet today, as Imogen was now preparing him for his ride to be taken shortly.

The Lady’s saddle is very ornate, the leather finely tooled and decorated with organic flowing arrangements that resemble leaves and petals and insects with patterned wings or many many limbs

Its material and stitching is kin to the other saddles, the ones for notable guests and stablehands alike, brands the same maker’s mark

After a short amount of time observing (staring), Imogen suspects that the Lady tooled it herself.

~

The Lady does not ride sidesaddle – she straddles the stallion proper.

Imogen can only assume that she changes from her garden-strolling undergarments to allow for this, having never worn a crinoline herself - that would both be out-of-class, and, more importantly (to Imogen at least) - real impractical.

She had noted as such about the Lady on the first day she had seen her taking one of the horses (it was Carpaccio, a black and white paint) out of field.

It was the first instance of out-of-expected behaviour that she had witnessed.

Imogen can admit to herself that such a small thing had ignited her warming to the widow.

~

Imogen allows the Lady Bradbury and her steed to take the lead, pace set by the older woman’s enthusiasms making themselves known in short enough time from pointing out ‘notable’ forms in the sloping rock faces lining the well-worn path, covered in blankets of moss and ferns and tall stems of bell-shaped pink and white foxgloves and pomanders of wild thistles.

“I just can’t help but imagine what tiny creatures would love to make home between the cracks in the rock and the tree-stumps.”

“’lotta mice and rats I imagine, probably squirrels-”

“Well, yes, certainly…”

Ceviche’s slow walk carries on ahead of Foie Gras’, and the Lady sways with his gate in the saddle, though despite this Imogen could just about read the slight deflation in her shoulders when she had replied to the Lady’s statement.

Her head turns over her shoulder, gaze searching and challenging Imogen’s, caught staring (again), dark eyes hollows of homes burrowed in rocks, the high sun exaggerating high cheekbone architecture, pleasing ratios of brow to bridge of nose.

“…I refuse to believe that there are no imps or fairies when the land is so perfectly carved for them.”

“I can only say I’ve heard stories…” Rumours, rivers.

“Certainly, else you would not be here, would you?”

The Lady holds her gaze a moment longer, as if expecting Imogen to have an answer worth vocalising for that. Imogen feels her pulse begin to thud at her temples, the sweat returning to her hairline and underneath the cuff of her gloves.

The Lady giggles melodically and dismissively, returning her attention to whatever catches its fancy on the path ahead.

“How ugly it is that we must quarry and build. I have thought more than once about leaving the manor to the animals and the girls and making my home in the cave by the lake- oh, I am so very thrilled to show it to you.”

Her excitement cuts the atmosphere, spring back in her step transposed through the steed’s, one hand off of his reins and gesturing in the air.

“You can see it from the upper floors of the house – though that is rather rude of me to say, isn’t it? If you will allow that injustice to fall upon the architect and how societal structure seems to love its walls and assigning basement dwelling.”

Imogen finds herself inadvertently allowing Foie Gras to fall at a pace beside the Lady and Ceviche.

“That’s alright, most nights I tend t’lodge in the stables; eases my mind that I’ll be near the horses should anythin’ happen.”

“Plenty of wild animals around, yes? They do get spooked so easily.”

“I like how you’ve named ‘em – it’s fun.”

“Oh!, You do? I am so glad! You are the one who has to be calling their names most often after all.” Imogen may be in early days (hours) of learning the Lady’s tells, but the smile that creases the skin around her nose and mouth and deepens the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes feels genuine.

“It does often make me chuckle, I assume you’re fond of raw meats?”

“I suppose you would think so, wouldn’t you?”

“Are y’not?”

The Lady takes pause, her look introspective.

“Have you ever eaten horse?”

“w-what? Of course not – do people actually do that?”

“Mmhmm, across the waters – in all directions. It is certainly a common custom. What makes horse any different from beef?”

“I could never – we share a bond, they let us- they give us-” Imogen's tongue is too thick and heavy again, blubbering with words that do not come easily to it as they do her head. She allows herself a deep breath, collects what little face she has, remembers the presence she is in (a Lady regardless of murder or witchcraft) “-in all honesty I rarely eat any meat, the more time ya spend with animals the more guilty ya feel about doing so.”

“How peculiar…maybe you need to spend more time around carnivores.” The Lady laughs at her own joke this time, hand patting at the side of Ceviche’s neck, the horse unaware of what words have been said. Imogen is thankful, in this instance, though she will admit she has tried more than once to see if her mind reading extended to her four-legged friends.

“But they’ve got no choice, that’s how they were made.”

She mimics the Lady’s movements, lovingly patting Foie Gras at the same spot on her neck.

“Made…yes…You have incisors don’t you? Canines?”

“I do, but I don’t have a mouth full of ‘em. Most of our teeth are as flat as these fellas over here…” she ruffles the mare’s mane “-though I won’t deny that gettin’ bitten still hurts something fierce.”

“Makes you wonder what sort of damage you could do if you so chose to, after all, your eyes are not on the sides of your head.”

~

The lake is beautiful.

Of course it is. It displays itself naturally basined, wrapped in the embrace of the mountains surrounding draped in forest cloak, walls both man-made and much older obfuscating its view from the ground floor of the estate.

The lilac and blue hues of the pebbles are familiar, lining the vegetable patch borders in the garden, larger stones used for holding stable doors open.

It is quiet over the lake. The terrain raised around it shutting out the winds, only the quiet breeze that drifts through the canopies on the mountain crests giving a gentle whistle to the waters below, an enjoyable confusement between what is wind and what is the crashing of the tender tides.

The waters are clear blue with a hint of turquoise, green given by either the surrounding plant life’s reflection or by the ones that live underwater.

It reminds Imogen of the lakes in the mountains from her childhood. It is something else new.

Their horses slow to a stop, on the Lady’s cue.

“Magnificent, isn’t it?”

“It really is - no wonder why the horses come back so happy.”

“And will you be as such on your return?”

“Certainly m’lady, thank you for allowing me such a privilege”

“It is not mine to give, though I will make it explicit that you may come down here whenever you wish – providing the horses are happy, of course. That is what I ask of you.”

Imogen thinks she is blushing again, but the feeling is further inside her than her veins, a warmth radiating.

“You take good care of the servants at the estate, don’t you?”

For the first time, the Lady seems thrown by what Imogen offers, a step behind instead of two larger-horsed paces ahead.

“They take better care of me.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone wish to leave their home to the help.”

“It would be the very least I could do.”

“You give ‘em food and a roof over their heads-”

“They sow the seeds, they tend to the animals, they butcher their meat and harvest the wheat to bake the bread. I have been so lucky that they have yet to poison me.”

“I can only say from ma short experience that I’d find that hard t’understand.”

Her face softens again. It feels both comforting like a blanket but then uneasing like having the lights blown out.

“Funny thing, perspective…”

Lady Bradbury slides off of her horse, heels of her fine boots falling into the gaps between the pebbles, though her footing remains certain, experienced.

On the surface of the lake the trees grow downwards, the birds fly with their bellies exposed to what lies in the waters.

The Lady halts, dropping to one knee as she makes short work of the laces on her shoes.

Imogen isn’t sure if she should be offering to remove them for her, jumps down from Foie Gras and jogs clumsily on uneven surface towards the Lady regardless. 

“There are old stories of this lake, you know-”

Lady Bradbury confesses a little breathlessly, lung capacity limited by the press of her thigh into her stomach. She swaps her knee for the other on the ground, starting on the other lace.

“I won’t tell of them just yet, I would hate for them to be off-putting.”

She stands straight again, the sieved remnants of harsher winds that have made it over the mountains’ embrace wishing to make field mouse nests of her hair, spiderwebs of the lace collar around her neck, footprints of birds’ feet fossilised in the marble cornering her eyes.

She looks at home at the lake, certainly a natural thing - flesh and blood and bones cocoons to silk cotton to yarn to lace – Imogen wonders what a marvel the Lady could paint and chisel into the mouth of an open cave.

Balancing, she pulls each shoe free, grin knowing, slightly manic, intensely catching Imogen before she gathers the length of layers of skirts into one hand and steps into the clear waters.

Imogen swears she sees something conjure beneath its surface to greet her.

Laudna Bradbury had (maybe) murdered her husband – (maybe) with witchcraft, most importantly - but Imogen has bigger questions that require her answers, and so she follows the Lady into the lake.

[harzilla]

Contains very minor spoilers for book 7(mentions Malleus' unique magic)

I keep thinking of the idea for a fic where, post book 7, Malleus shows up back to Ramshackle. Yuu is sitting outside on the porch just watching the stars and when they see Malleus, they're not really angry at him, but they seem to be just exhausted and sad. They invite him to sit with them and for a bit they're both silent until Yuu starts talking. Talking about the moon and the stars. How they're so similar to home but everything is different. How no matter how hard they try they can't recognize a single constellation.

The conversation turns to Yuu asking if Malleus every really thought of them as a friend, and if he did, why did he never think to tell them how he felt? With all the other overblots, they weren't friends with any of them before they overblotted. But Malleus was different, they were friends first. That maybe if Malleus had said something, maybe they could have helped him through his feelings and somehow prevented his overblot.

Yuu asks if Malleus would like to see what they truly desire, and ask him to use his UM on them as long as he enters the dream with them.

They slip into the dreamscape and Malleus finds himself in an unknown room. He soon realized that, they're back in Yuu's world, in their bedroom. He fills a sense of disappointment because he still thinks that Yuu wants to leave him. But Yuu takes him to their family, and the family is really nice to him. They're so happy they finally get to meet one of Yuu's friends. He sits down at the table and it's nice. The family is asking him questions, cracking jokes, everything feels so normal. He's not being treated like a prince, nobody is acting scared of him, it's feels.. nice.

Yuu takes him to different places around town. The park they played at as a little kid, the lil mom and pop ice cream shop, and the hill where they like to watch the sunset.

The two sit and watch the sunset, and talk about the fun they had and Yuu goes quiet, and talks about how when they first arrived in Twisted Wonderland, they just wanted to go home, but the longer they stayed there, the more they would think how much they'd miss everybody. Like who would take care of Grim? Who would help Ace and Deuce study for history of magic? Who would keep fixing up Ramshackle? And who would be there to listen to Malleus when he takes his late night walks to admire the ruins and gargoyles?

They've been in Twisted Wonderland so long now, they don't know if they could leave but it hurts so much because they want to see their world again, the family and friends back there. Is it selfish of them to want both?

As they sit together, Malleus asks them if they'd like to continue the dream, and Yuu tells him, no, because no matter how much reality hurts, they still wish to live it. Besides, how would they make sure the school doesn't fall apart if they were gone?

The dream world begins to fall apart and as it all begins disappearing, Yuu tells Malleus that it's time for them to wake up.

The two awaken from the dreamscape, and Yuu's been crying in their sleep. Yuu thanks Malleus for allowing them to go home again, even if it was just a dream.

The two sit in silence for a moment until Malleus apologizes for what he did to them, how he hurt them and hadn't considered how they felt. Yuu that they accept his apology, but they're still mad at him. But as long as they're still here, he has a chance to make things up to them, and if they can find it in their heart to work things out with the other overblots, then they suppose they COULD give him a chance as well.

They hold out their hand to him, and as long as he promises to talk to them first about things that are bothering him, instead of just deciding what's best. They want him to think like a friend, and not a prince because to them, he's Tsunotarou first, and Malleus Draconia, future King of Briar Valley second.

Malleus smiles before he agrees, taking their hand. The two make a promise together. To be better friends to each other, and no matter how much or as little time together they have, they'd be friends.

[atsucry]

Beyond The Thorn Vines

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝐈

Synopsis: A budding friendship between two magical beings, what could possibly go wrong?

tags: Childhood friends-->strangers-->enemies-->???

Malleus Draconia x gn!reader

Additional Info: Both Malleus and reader are children, atleast in this part. Ages 10-12 in fae years. I don't know how to translate that to human years so...you do the math. Also this might be a little ooc.

content: fluff (for now...)

"Who might you be?" The young nymph spoke, peeking their head out of the river to eye the fae, that seemed to be around the same age as them. They've never encountered another person of each other's species before. It seemed that it was their first interaction with another child. Both were pretty much isolated, so it would be awkward to get about how to do this.

The prince twiddled with his thumbs. Perhaps he should've stayed in the confines of his castle, to continue to be isolated…to be surrounded by only gargoyles and walls.

"I am…Malleus. The prince of Briar Valley." It was a sort of balance with confidence and shyness. He'd read about nymphs in storybooks from his grand library.

"Hm…" You hummed. "I am (Y/N)." The child stepped out of the body of water to face and properly converse with the dragon fae.

"So you say you're a Prince? What do you have to do outside your castle?"

"I was just curious." Malleus turned his head to scan his eyes around the area. "And this seems to be within the bounds of my castle…I'm sure I haven’t strayed off so far." This was the first time Malleus actually held a conversation fairly well. Other kids often refused to play with him, not that he knew anyone else at all for the matter. He was only surrounded by adults.

You attempt to approach the boy, he exuded an intimidating yet also timid aura. Continuing to cautiously walk towards him, you reached just a few feet away from him before sitting yourself down on the forest grass. "Do you ever get lonely in that palace you say you live in?"

Malleus watched you speak to him with almost no hesitation, even sitting in front of him to ground yourself. He wasn't used to anyone coming near him without fear or apprehension. So you'd expect this to surprise him. Which he is.

He took a long pause before following your lead to sit down to be on the same level as you—it was strange.

"I only have books and my guardian; Lillia to accompany me. So you can only imagine." He sighed. "I've read about you in one of them before, What can you do?"

"I don't know…what about you?"

Malleus pondered that question for a bit. He was still so young and learning about magic. "I don't know either."

You purse your lips, the awkward tension slowly growing between you two. The only thing that you could relate to him was being sort of isolated and had no one else to play with. "What kind of stories did you read?"

"All sorts."

"Did you enjoy them?"

"Some, yes."

You two continued on with this back and forth question and answer, though, you were the only one asking. It was all just about superficial subjects. some small talk here and there.

You questioned him so much that every sentence practically used every word in the dictionary. All about eachothers endeavours, though little. Simple contact with another person was enough.

You told him all that you knew about your living environment. You only had your mother as company after all, she let you wander off sometimes since she trusted that you wouldn't get yourself in trouble. You knew your way back to her anyways, so it was all just fine. But you rarely get to meet someone else of your age of the same species. Which led to the other nymph ladies to treat you as somewhat royalty.

He seemed unsure whether or not to start asking. He gathered the courage and opened his mouth:

"...Are you the same as me? from the looks of it you don't have any friends either."

"I guess…I mean I can technically talk to water but…It's not really the same as talking to someone…who can talk back."

This information amused the young Prince. "I see." he paused in between. "I take it you live in this river? or some nearby lake?"

"No…I just so happened to be here when you came. I have free reign to explore as much as I want."

You lean back into the soft grass, tapping your fingers against the mushy soil, waiting for him to speak up.

"Free reign and no supervision from anyone else?" He inquired, his eyebrows raised as he leant forward in response.

"Your mom must know that you're somewhat a responsible person."

"I guess so."

"Well, I am a prince—almost all my actions are supervised."

He crosses his arms, looking down. He holds his title up highly of course and knows the responsibility that comes with it and accepts it. But that very same thing he holds proudly is what drives others away, to revere him.

"...So how are you out here then?" You sprung right back into questioning mode.

"The castle is quite large. And the guards know it, of course. They probably still think I'm in my room…studying…" he propped his elbow up on his knee, holding his head in his palm.

When he looked up, he saw that his companion was staring at him peculiarly. What was their deal? He couldn't tell whether they had all or nothing in their head. They looked similar to an owl, it made him almost feel embarrassed.

"I like your company."

He flinched at that sentence, why did he flinch? It wasn't anything scary or anything similar of the sort…just unfamiliar.

"I'd like to play again sometime." You suddenly said outloud. Gathering yourself to stand up with a grunt.

"...Is this your idea of 'playing'?"

"Of course not!" you chuckled, reaching out a hand for him to take. "I'll tell you all the games I know tomorrow…If you're up for it."

A bewildered face looked back up at you, his eyes blinking a few times before finally taking your hand so he could stand, too. He dusted off his pants to clean off any dirt that could give away the idea that he's been outside.

"...I agree to your request. I'll meet you here again, same time tomorrow, that is, if I know my way back to this place…I'll make sure I know my way back here." He promised. "A fae always keeps their word."

"I've seen mortals make 'pinky promises' to solidify the deal. They interlock eachothers smallest fingers at the end of their palm." You curled all fingers but your pinky, holding it out.

"Oh, I see…"

As you both proceeded to pinky promise, the wind around you seems to turn, then calm down. As if the orbit of the world has been reversed with one simple, childish action.

You waved to each other goodbye as you retreated to your respective residence. Disappearing in the shades of the trees and the dark of night. The sound of your footsteps fading away as the moon marked the time of slumber.

Note: scariest experience of my life bru I'm actually writing a series.

Another note if I made any errors please excuse them, this was made on a school night😓

[h2llish]

⁀➷ ˖ constellations

notes ─── happy birthday mootie!! @atticoratticus

ROLLO FLAMME ─ late nights and quiet feelings.

warnings ♡ fluff, mutual pining, unestablished relationship, male reader, reader is not mc, i made up some stuff about stars, not proofread

"i knew i'd find you up here!"

climbing the bell tower was a workout you always dreaded. it didn't matter your physique, because the stairs that led to the top were your labeled enemy (dramatic, perhaps, but you truly hated the climb). you favored the shortcut you had been so graciously shown by the group of gargoyles who lived at the top, but even with that cut in climbing, you still loathed the height of the tower.

and yet you find that you torture yourself with how often you climb it. perhaps a loathing part of you has decided to succumb yourself to a life of misery for your choices. ─ in actuality, you know it's because you climb the tower for the person who hardly seemed to mind the number. feelings have led you to make choices you know you'll regret come next morning when your legs ache and you have to force yourself to leave your bed to attend classes. (so, maybe it is true that some part of you is disappointed in you for your choices if you find yourself always climbing despite the consequences you know will come. perhaps it's because of the person who you climb for.)

he didn't look at you, but you know he heard you when he let out that familiar sigh reserved just for you. (you think he enjoys your presence, persistent as you are, despite how annoyed he often appears.)

"why are you here?" he asked as you joined him in front of the bell. you know how much he takes care of it; the bell shined under the moonlight ─ from the cleaning he does every morning of the city's most prized relic. he was punctual and steady; you'd learned that the moment you decided you just had to get to know him.

you smiled, "i thought you might be lonely."

rollo has never been the most for conservation, he often chose to sit alone lest he was required to do otherwise. you see it in how he often tried to get away from his own peers on the council, when he returned their attempts at conversation with short sentences. ─ but that didn't do much to deter you during your own conversations with him. (you like to think he's more involved when you talk, but maybe you're just being hopeful; maybe it's just your feelings covering your eyes.)

you don't quite know when your feelings had become so twisted from only wanting to befriend the aloof and reserved council president. now you found that being around him was almost heart-racing (not so much literally, but sometimes, you think that would be easier to handle if it was). you knew his habits and his likes so well; his lunch he ate that was unchanging every day; his favorite stationery that he used to write to his parents; and his morning routine of getting up to clean the bell of solace and the gargoyles who guarded the relic.

"you know," you interrupted the silence that had fallen over the two of you ─ it wasn't that long, you doubt you had been in silence for more than five minutes, but nonetheless, you still felt like you needed to break it.

the stars were rather bright that night, as if they wanted to be on par with the moon. you pointed at the stars, focusing on one of the brighter ones you'd dubbed among most interesting. "it's said that the groom of a princess from the sea had gifted a star to her. he named it after her and everything."

rollo grunted, and your eyes squinted in delight, knowing he was listening to you. "i don't really know if that's true. the name's been twisted over the years, so the real name has been lost, but a lot of people refer to it as the mer's star."

your arm moved to point at a group of stars, tracing your finger to form the constellation they made up. "don't you think that group of stars almost looks like, say, a contract?" you chuckled, "it's a constellation people connect to the sea witch."

rollo finally looked at you since you'd arrived, and you turned your head to meet his eyes, smiling. his eyes squinted, but he didn't seem annoyed with you, "you're rather knowledgeable about stars."

"i guess i am." you shrugged, "i just happen to like them."

rollo hummed, looking back at the sky, frowning in such a way that hardly ever changed when you seen him (sometimes, you wondered if his face was stuck that way). your smile threatened to waver, and you almost worried you had upset him (it was always so hard to tell if you'd pushed a line with him; his face was always the same).

"and," he said, to which you perked up. he cleared his throat, his attention remaining on the night, "is there, anything else?"

you tried to hide your excitement at the question, sucking in a breath that you were sure would've come out a gasp as you looked back up at the sky. your finger was already tracing another constellation for rollo to follow (and you hoped rollo didn't notice how overjoyed you were at someone asking about your interest).

"this was one is said to form a rose. it's been connected to the queen of hearts!" you pointed at another star, "that's the thorn fairy's star. everyone says it's as old as she."

you don't know quite how long you'd rambled, pointing out stars and constellations you'd studied for years. rollo didn't say much, he nodded and hummed but seemed to listen to what you had to say, nonetheless. (and if you weren't so lost in sharing something you so loved, you think you'd be overthinking and joyed at the thought of him actually listening as you rambled on.)

eventually, your throat began to dry, and you realized you'd been going on. you paused and cleared your throat, grinning almost awkwardly, despite rollo's attention remaining above.

"sorry." you sighed, "i guess i got a bit excited."

rollo looked at you again, reserved and frowning as his expression always was. he nodded, not in agreement you realized when he spoke; "i did not know of any of this until now, thank you."

"well," you blinked, "you're welcome?" ─ you don't understand what he's thinking you for, but you suppose you're still learning about him, and that's just one thing more.

rollo nodded again, but he didn't say anything as he turned back to watch the stars. you noted how out of touch he seemed ─ distracted. you wondered what he was thinking, if perhaps this was your que to get lost, if you overstayed your welcome.

"the moon is beautiful, isn't it?"

your shoulders raised to your ears, and you tried not to show your surprise, "what?" ─ it was stupid, you knew that. he didn't know anything about the stars, he'd said so himself; but some part of you soared at the thought of such a question meaning something else.

"the moon," he repeated himself, "it's quite beautiful tonight, don't you think?"

you paused, looking back at the moon that spotlighted the bell you stood beside. it was nice to look at, so close to its full as it shadowed the sun so brightly. you sighed, and nodded, "yeah, it is."

sorry atticus, i intended on writing for azul as well, but that kinda wasn't going so well. maybe next time!! hope you enjoyed it <3

do not repost, translate, copy, or run my writing through ai.

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

Of Truths & Dreams; Malleus Draconia

Dreams can tell you a lot about a person. Their wants, their fears. But sometimes they can tell you the truth, and sometimes it isn't pretty.

Supporting Characters; Lilia Vanrouge & Malenoa Draconia

Content; Soulmate AU (I call them soul matches), gender-neutral reader, can be read as familial, platonic, or romantic, Chapter 7 spoilers, canon divergence, hurt/comfort

Content Warnings; Chapter 7 spoilers, overblot stuff, swearing

Word Count; 5 K

Don't put my work into AI, I will hunt you for sport.

Prologue & Lilia's Story | Sebek's Story

Malleus was born into this world alone. His mother, dead, and his father, missing. It was a miracle that he even hatched, as Draconia eggs required love to hatch. And his grandmother was ridden with grief, over losing her only child. It was no wonder why he was delayed by several centuries. And despite everything, he hatched. But despite his hatching, the love and adoration that people gave him, he was alone. Malleus didn’t feel loved, not in the way that mattered.

His subjects, his guards, his teachers, even his own grandmother loved the idea of him. And he was raised away from the outside world, within the dark halls of Briar Castle. Malleus was an idea, and the hope for the future rather than his own person. It was a lot for a child to handle. So, of course, he would sneak out when he thought no one was looking. The guards would realize rather quickly that the sole heir to Briar Valley, their most treasured royal, was missing. But Malleus didn’t care.

“Good evening,” he greeted the raven gargoyle that was at the westernmost turret of the outside wall. Malleus looked in the direction that the raven did, looking out into the moors. A dense fog had rolled in, covering everything in a white haze. “Do you ever wonder what’s out there?”

He knew that the stone wouldn’t answer him, but he asked anyways. “Grandmother tells me stories you know,” he sighed, taking a seat in one of the carved-out alcoves in the ancient stone. “That Briar Valley will one day be mine to keep. But I cannot rule without a soul match.”

Soul matches were quintessential for the Draconias, after all, it was their own ancestor the Thorn Fairy, who had gifted the fae the blessing. But Malleus had yet to find any trace of them in his dreams. Typically, members of his family were born with their soul match already in their dreams, but Malleus had yet to meet them, his dreams still being black and white, and no blurry stranger to speak of in sight. It was distressing, and he heard the whispered concerns of his grandmother when she thought he was in bed.

And those whispers played in his head. “Is there something the matter with me?” All the young prince got for an answer though was the distant cawing of ravens, and the approaching sounds of footsteps. “Did I do something wrong?”

It felt like he did something wrong. Why else would the Thorn Fairy withhold his birthright to a soul match? Why would she punish him? Had he already not been punished enough?

“So that’s where you were hiding,” the familiar voice of Lilia pulled Malleus from his thoughts. “Come now, young prince, you can’t hide away forever.” Lilia offered his hand for the young boy to take. 

Malleus looked at his outstretched hand to his face, and placed his hand in Lilia’s. “Did I upset everyone again?” His voice was quiet as the two of them walked hand and hand down the uneven steps of the turret’s staircase.

Lilia hummed, “Upset? No. Worry? A little bit.” He was used to barking out orders in the battlefield, not looking after children, let alone one so precious to the Valley. But Lilia felt that he needed to, for both his Queen, and the late princess. He had a duty to keep, an oath that he lived by; to protect the royal line.

Malleus frowned, giving the moors a final look before he and his keeper descended into the heart of the castle. “I just wanted to find them.”

“And you will,” Lilia gave the prince a practised smile, as it was still something he was getting used to. “It may just take some time is all.”

“But mother and grandmother both were born with their soul matches already in their dreams. Why is mine not with me now?” Malleus was starting to spit a bit of fire, clearly becoming upset with his own frustration. “Why must they keep me waiting?”

Lilia took a knee, and gently placed his hands on Malleus’s shoulders, looking into his eyes. “Good things come to those who wait. It must mean that the Thorn Fairy is taking her time in finding the best match for you.” Lilia’s eyes searched Malleus’s and he propped himself back up. “So since it is taking a while, they must be very special.”

Malleus was still upset, but that put him at ease. Good things come to those who wait. So the longer he had to wait, the better his soul match should be, and that put his turbulent mind at ease… for now.

…

…

Malleus was standing in the thick fog of the moors. And it was deathly silent, not even the crickets or the throaty calls of frogs filled in the silent din. “Another dream,” he sighed to himself. 

Of course it was a dream, which was obvious due to everything being in various shades of grey, white, and black, but also because he wasn’t allowed past the castle’s outer walls without someone else accompanying him.

“Why have you brought me here,” Malleus quietly asked the fog.

It is said that the Thorn Fairy lived in the moors, that she protected the moors. She put up an impenetrable wall of thorns, to protect her people from those who wished to destroy them. But the moors remained silent, and barren of colour or life. Malleus hummed to himself the lullaby that his grandmother sang to him while he was still a baby, and still in his egg. He has heard this song over the centuries as he lay dormant. Permanently etched into the deepest recesses of his mind. The lullaby was crafted solely for the fae to learn of soul matches.

Malleus stopped humming. He hadn’t met them yet, so it didn’t feel right to hum the original lyrics. “I’ll know you. I will walk with you once upon a dream,” he sang slowly, walking to nowhere in particular, the fog moving gently with his movements. “I’ll know you, that look in your eyes will be so a familiar a gleam.” 

He started dancing by himself, making the fog swirl around him. “And I know it’s true that visions are seldom all they seem. But if I’ll know you, I know what you’ll do.” Malleus made one large twirl, and all the emotions he had were summoned as fire, setting the dry grass of the moors ablaze, yet he was untouched as his dream was slowly being reduced to ashes.

“You’ll love me at once,” he whispered quietly, “the way you did once upon a dream.” Smoke filled the air, and where there was once light, white fog, there was now heavy, black smoke.

It was simply a dream though, nothing more. But dreams reveal truths, even if we don’t want to confront them.

…

…

…

Malleus had missed the entrance ceremony… again, at least Lilia was all over it, but it still rubbed Malleus in all of the wrong ways. But was it really his fault? He had never received an invitation… due to his electronics acting up again due to his own magic, so maybe it was his fault. Maybe next year! … Oh right, he would be a fourth year and not studying within the confines of Night Raven College, so in actuality, there was no next year.

At least there was a familiar face that was new to the dorm, and Sebek was overjoyed and followed Malleus dutifully. But that didn’t really change his own inner turmoil; he is next in line to be king, and yet he wasn’t able to attend something as simple as an annual recurring event? It troubled him, even as he was preparing himself for bed, adjusting his custom pillow just so.

I just wish I were invited? A proper letter. He mused in his own head, before finding himself back in the moors. It was always the moors. By this point he had traversed the entirety of it, and seen everything it had to offer, all of its little secrets. Not hard when he’s had nearly a century of time to do so.

He started humming his version of the lullaby, as he mindlessly floated along a path that he had made with his own footsteps, well trodden. Good things come to those who wait. That’s what he’s told himself, night after night. That’s what he told himself every morning when he woke up. He was getting tired of waiting. He was supposed to have been born with his soul match already in his dreams, but no one had ever appeared in Malleus’s dreams. He was always alone in the moors, with not even animals to keep him company. He was not only isolated in his waking world, the real world, but he was also isolated in his dreams.

Malleus was all alone, he had been alone for a while. Yes, he may have guards, and loyal servants, but above all else, they saw him as their next king, not Malleus; they didn’t see him for him. So maybe it was fitting that he didn’t have a soul match either. Maybe the Thorn Fairy wanted him alone.

Right as those feelings surfaced though, his dream changed. Malleus was very much still in the moors, but the silence was gone. The soft chirping of crickets filled the void. There was life, and it was all at once. The fog was still there, but Malleus could also see the faint lights of fireflies, glowing softly. This, this was new, and he didn’t know what to make of it. The once still moor was now gently rustling, breathing.

In front of him, the fog became dense, and a figure slowly emerged from it, looking around in a confused state. But they then turned their full attention to Malleus, and everything became saturated in violet.

Good things come to those who wait. They were here, they were finally here. Malleus was finally not alone.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you,” he greeted with a slight bow of his head. He did not know who they were, did not know of their upbringing or social status, but none of that mattered. They were his soul match, which usurped everything else. 

He watched curiously as his words floated in front of him, a harsh, neon green. His soul match did the same, watching as the words faded away.

“Uh, nice to meet you too?” Their words, your words, floated in front of Malleus, the same shade of green as his. “Who are you? Where am I?”

Malleus hummed, intrigued by their reaction. Perhaps they were not taught of soul match bonds, which would be understandable, as not all families knew of the bonds the Thorn Fairy had gifted them. “I will explain all in time, for now though, let us walk together, and enjoy this moment. Shall we?”

He extended his hand, waiting for you to take it, but right as your hands were about to meet, your form turned back into mist, leaving Malleus alone yet again in his dream. “Hmm, they must have woken up suddenly… perhaps tomorrow night then…” He murmured to himself, and continued down his footpath, watching the fireflies blink in the distance.

…

…

That was a weird ass dream, and you were kinda thankful that Grim had rudely woken you up. Kinda being the key word. And you couldn’t really get back to sleep, instead just staring up at the decaying ceiling above you, just wishing that you could go back to sleep. But what was up with the formal-speaking stranger? Why were you in some sort of swamp? Why was everything purple? And why were your words floating in front of you and a bright ass neon green? It was only your first night too… maybe this was just your brain coming up with weird scenarios to distract you from the weirdness you experience while awake? Maybe some inter-dimensional travel side effects? Like some form of jet lag that messed with your dreams? Sure, let’s pin it on that.

“Ughhhh, I hate it here,” you groaned. It would be a few hours before classes even began, so you had plenty of time for utter boredom, how fun. At least you had borrowed some books from the library, a mix of general information — since that ‘headmage’ hadn’t given you a proper welcome or a lowdown on how this world functioned — and just some interesting looking cover. Don’t judge a book by its cover. Sure, but when the book was a deep violet leather-bound book, with green metallic filigree? How could you not be curious about it? It was stunning.

“Of Truths and Dreams,” you whispered to yourself, that was the title of the book, the font in the style of calligraphy from medieval texts. How old was it? Were you actually allowed to touch it, let alone read it? It looked like it belonged in a museum.

You carefully undid the metal clasp, in the shape of a dragon’s claw. Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. And you began reading.

Dreams can reveal much about a person; their wants, their fears, their memories. Dreams also hold power, and such power has been bestowed to the Draconia family. And this power comes from our ancestor, the Thorn Fairy.

You snapped the book shut. This wasn’t just a book, it was a diary. You shouldn’t be reading this… but this was a chance to learn more about this world. Learn about it from… You open up the diary again, and find the owner’s name written in the same calligraphy as the title. Maleficia Draconia. 

-

As with all fae, our family too is blessed with soul matches who enter our dreams as we sleep. Our family is different though, as we are born with them already in our minds; our dreams tinted in a colour that represents both of us. They are of utmost importance to us. Without them, we cannot rule. They may become an advisor, a confidant, and in some cases, a lover. That is for both parties to decide though, we cannot use our power or status to influence their decision, no matter how we feel about them, Malenoa. Do not let our draconic greed dictate the relationship. It surfaces as a song. I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream. I know you, that look in your eye is so familiar a gleam. And I know it’s true, that visions are seldom what they seem. But if I know you, I’ll know what you’ll do. You’ll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream. Ignore that song, my love, for that is the greed speaking, and not the truth. Ignore it at all costs, for it will stain the heart…

The rest of the diary was left blank, the edges of the paper charred. Turning it back over, you noticed that the entire back of the book was blackened, blackened by fire. And even though you didn’t know who Maleficia was, she had helped you a great lot. Whatever that dream was, that was no ordinary stranger. They were your… soul match? Yeah, whatever that meant.

…

…

Malleus found himself walking outside of his old haunting grounds, Ramshackle dorm. He was surprised to find it now occupied, but his sadness had morphed into something far more pleasant. He had gained a friend. He had gained you.

“Good evening, Child of Man,” he greeted you, taking notice of the large yawn that escaped your mouth. “More tired than usual I see. You do not need to walk with me tonight if rest is what you need.”

Malleus meant well, in his own odd and formal way. “Eh, it’s nothing, Tsunotarou. I’ll get some shut eye in a bit,” you waved off his concern, and shot him a small smile.

He gave you back a tiny smile, remembering the last time that he gave someone a full smile, they were left scared, not happy. He didn’t want to scare you off. That’s why he let you decide on a nickname for him, that but also names hold power… but he trusted you, he just didn’t know how to bring it up. He didn’t want your friendship to change just because you found out he was the Malleus Draconia, but he also knew that you wouldn’t really care. You didn’t seem like the type to treat him any differently just because of his title. He didn’t want to risk it though.

So the two of you walked around the outskirts of Ramshackle, fireflies lighting the way. Something about them felt familiar though, and it wasn’t from just your nightly walks with your horned friend. You could have sworn you saw them in a dream… now wasn’t the time for that, now was the time to enjoy what time you could get with your friend.

“Hey, Tsunotarou,” you asked him, turning a bit so you faced him. “Do you have a soul match?”

Malleus’s pupils dilated outwards, becoming more rounded rather than harsh slits. “Yes I do, Child of Man. I am rather surprised that you know of the subject,” he breathed out. You really were full of surprises, weren’t you?

Surprised? “How so?”

Malleus hummed to himself, a melody that sounded familiar, but it evaded you. “The bonds of soul matches of fae are only known by fae, which is why I was caught by surprise of you knowing of the term. That is all.” Do you have one, Child of Man? But why does the thought make my tongue go bitter?

“Found it in a book in the library,” you mused. You mentally kicked yourself, you could have given it to him, he may know the family of the previous owner. Maybe you could go hunting for it the next time you found yourself in the cramped halls of the library. A rather large yawn escaped from you, and that was your, and Malleus’s, queue that it was time for you to head off to the land of dreams. “Any who, night, Tsunotarou! Sweet dreams!” You waved him goodbye as he vanished into a puff of fireflies, off into the night.

…

…

And they were both asleep again, but something felt off. Like there was something dark tainting the dream. It was a familiar sensation, one that made the hairs on your neck stand on end; blot. There was blot in the dream.

“Are you alright,” you asked your soul match, carefully watching their reaction.

They hummed, and turned to look at you curiously, green eyes practically glowing in the dark violet lighting, pupils relaxing from their tight slits into more relaxed ovals. “I am alright, just thinking is all,” their words floated in front of them, still the neon green they were in the beginning.

But the alarm bells were screaming in your head. Screaming at you that everything was definitely not alright. This, this was being calculated, being considered. “You just seem preoccupied… like your mind is elsewhere is all.”

They tilted their head, “I am right here with you.” Their words were blunt, as they typically were. “However,” the lighting darkened, being tainted with more hints of blot, “are you planning on going anywhere?” Are you planning on leaving me, like everyone else?

The words hang heavily in the air. It was no use lying to them, as it would only worsen the situation to lie. “Eventually I have to… I have to go back,” you said carefully, gauging their reaction.

Malleus’s pupils turned into slits again, but he remained calm on the outside. “Go back to what? Do you not like it here?” Do you not like me?

You looked around the bog, “That’s not the case. I have responsibilities back home. I need to go back. I’m …” Sorry. But the word didn’t come out of your mouth. What did you have to apologise for? It was not your fault that you came here, but why did it feel like it?

“I too have responsibilities,” Malleus said quietly, words barely visible. “You cannot go back.” All of the pleasantries were gone, this was a command. “You are staying here with me.”

The blot thickened. Could someone overblot in their dreams? And they started singing, and it was the tune that they’ve been humming since their first shared dream.

“I know you, that look in your eye is so familiar a gleam,” they cupped your face, looking softly into your eyes. “And I know it’s true, that visions are seldom all they seem. But if I know you, I know what you’ll do…” The violet lighting of the dream had turned almost black, the only lighting being the neon green words dancing around you. “You’ll love me at once, they way you did once-”

You shot up awake, heart beating so fast that you could feel and hear it. You didn’t need your soul match to finish the lyric, for you knew it already… for you had read it in that fire-charred diary. “… upon a dream,” you breathed out.

Your soul match is Malleus Draconia, Tsunotarou, and this was bad. The greed had taken over… alongside the blot. 

…

…

Malleus looked over the forms of his sleeping classmates, singing the lullaby again. He could see everybody’s dreams, except for yours, and it was equally as annoying as it was endearing. Of course his Child of Man would be filled with surprises. Malleus only wished that his soul match was here, for he wished to see their deepest desires, to see how they would be the hero of their own tale. But when he closed his eyes, and tried to teleport to their dreams, he saw nothing. It distressed him too, he knew they were asleep, but he couldn’t see anything.

“Where are you,” he chuckled darkly, a mix of anger but also fear. He should be able to see them, but he saw nothing, nothing except for the moors now engulfed in ink. Devoid of colour and life. 

Soul match bonds cannot break, at least not easily. Either they were no longer of this world — which they were not, Malleus could sense that much — or they were underneath a sleeping spell, a Draconia’s sleeping spell.

It meant that they were on the island. They have been so close this entire time. “Now, wherever could you be hiding,” Malleus sighed, looking into every single person’s dreams, looking for his soul match. Their dream should be tinted violet, singling them out to him. And as Malleus hopped from dream to dream, not once did he find the familiar colour. But they were here… he just couldn’t see them. He couldn’t see their dreams.

That left one option. There was only one person who he couldn’t see the dreams of. “You are full of surprises, aren’t you,” he floated over to your sleeping form, coming to sit next to you with a fond look in his eyes, “my dear Child of Man.” And he started humming that song of his, trying to pry into your mind, trying to get back into your dreams, where he could keep a diligent eye on you. “Looks like we have indeed met once upon a dream… that must be why your eyes are so familiar a gleam.”

…

“Yeah, this, this is beyond bad,” you muttered to yourself. You were back in the swamp, up to your chest in thick ink. The once pleasant dream was now, effectively, a trap; a giant glue trap if you will. 

A boom of thunder overhead underscored your statement and brilliant flashes of bright purple and green lightning provided the only light for you, everything else was shrouded in darkness caused by the blot. Caused by Malleus. But why, why did he overblot?

“They found a way for me to go back home.” Oh. You're leaving, and add onto that, Lilia coming out from nowhere and saying that he was also leaving because his magic had dried out… That’s why.

“TSUNOTAROU!” You yelled out into the swamp, but all you got as an answer was your own voice causing ripples in the ink. “TSUNOTAROU?!” You tried again. Nothing.

Names hold power, Child of Man, do remember that. You took in a deep breath, steeling yourself for when he manifested himself here. “MALLEUS DRACONIA?!”

A bolt of lightning hit a few metres in front of you, morphing into bright green fire, and then Malleus was standing in front of you, or rather, a part of him. “You called?”  He glided easily over the ink, and looked down at you, assessing you.

“What have you done, Malleus,” you refused to tilt your head upwards, instead looking up with your eyes, head remaining level.

Malleus knelt down in front of you, despite him being vastly stronger and of higher status, he still viewed you as his equal. “I did what needed to be done.” He said it so matter of factly, like it made perfect sense. “Now everyone will be happy.”

“You can’t force people to be happy,” you said back, looking into his eyes, searching for the Malleus you knew, searching for your friend. “That’s not for you to decide, Malleus.” 

Malleus just hummed at your comment, and he tried to change your dream to something more pleasant, but you remained stuck in the ink. Why can I not change it? I should be able to change it. “They deserve to be happy… You deserve to be happy. Do you not?”

I mean, yeah it would be nice, but I would rather it be because of something other than an overblot, but ya know how it is. “Yes, but not like this… Let me help you, Malleus.”

“I do not need help,” he hissed, tilting your chin up. “Let me make you happy.” 

The ink rose, and it was now up to your neck, and you were floating in it. You spared a quick glance down and saw a gentle lilac light shining down from the bottom. This may just be a crazy idea, but it was one worth taking.

You looked back into Malleus’s eyes. “Do you promise?”

Malleus smiled at you, “Of course I do.”

You grabbed him by the arm and pulled the both of you under the surface of the ink, making your eye towards the lilac light.

…

You crawled out of the ink and found yourself, and Malleus, on the outside walls of a grand castle, roses vining their way up the facade in full bloom. Everything was in a gentle lilac light, and fireflies glowed green despite it being daytime. It was idyllic, it was peaceful, the only thing out of place being the blot that dripped off Malleus. Yet it was contained to him, disappearing into a gentle puff of green sparkles when it hit the ground.

“How,” Malleus whispered, his words now a light green, no longer a harsh neon. “How are we here?”

You didn’t know, all you did was follow the light from the bottom of the inky depths. “Do you know this place?” You had no idea where you were, but you weren’t complaining, since you were no longer up to your neck in blot.

Malleus looked up, and there was the familiar raven gargoyle from his childhood. “This is my home,” he turned to look at you curiously. “How did you bring us here, Child of Man?”

“They didn’t,” a velvety voice said. And coming down the stairs was a woman, who looked like Malleus except older, looking like she was probably in her thirties. “I did, my love.”

She gracefully walked over, and cupped his face, looking over his features. And you could have sworn that you saw her absorb some of the blot. “You have grown into a fine young man. But you have let greed overshadow you.”

Malleus looked like he had seen a ghost, and he was frozen in place. “Mother?” His voice was quiet, barely even coming out. “But how?”

The woman, Malleus’s mother, hummed gently, combing her fingers through her son’s hair, slowly absorbing the blot from him. “You can thank them,” she turned to you and gave you a mischievous smile, “all thanks to your soul match.”

She turned back to her son, her face shifting into a more solemn expression. “My love, let me bestow a gift on you… but you won’t see me again. This is the last thing I can do for you. Let me do this though; for you and everyone you love.”

You can’t force people to be happy. 

Keep everyone you love close to you, guard them, hoard them.

You’re my friend, I’ll always be with you, even if we’re far apart!

You’ll love me at once-

This was wrong, and Malleus choked on his own blot. The greed, the dark parts of the dragon had won. “Please,” he coughed. 

His mother embraced him into a hug, “Spinning wheel of fate, undo this thread of darkness. As Queen of Briar, I shall bestow upon you this gift.” She placed a kiss on his forehead, and all of the blot was gone. “I love you,” she whispered, before her form vanished gently into green and lilac sparkles.

“I’m sorry,” the words floated over to you. Malleus looked tired, exhausted. How much magic had the blot taken from him? He opened his mouth again, but closed it, at a loss for words. “And I understand if… if you want nothing to do with me.”

From your times dealing with overblot, you knew this wasn’t his fault. Overblots are due to trauma, from bottling it all up until someone broke. “Why would I not want anything to do with you? I’m still friends with the others.”

Malleus looked into your eyes, but all he found was honesty… and love, love for a friend. A genuine love. 

You extended your hand, “So come on, Tsunotarou. Let’s move forward together.”

And he took your hand. The path forward was sure to be bumpy, but he knew that you would stick by his side, even after this.

Fin!

Author's Note; And this concludes the Soul Match AU! I know in my poll people voted for a fluffy ending, but uhhh, I was possessed by a vision. I might continue this AU for other characters in the future, but for now this is where I've leave it. Thank you for reading!

Tags; @xxoomiii @eynnwwyjth @twistwonderlanddevotee @savanaclaw1996 @krenenbaker

If you like my work, please check out my masterlist [there are 9 other Soul Match works btw]

[writing-house-of-m]

Cold hands, Warm hearts

Natasha Romanoff x GN!Reader

Summary: Natasha warms you up on a cold day with an impromptu date

A/N: This is for @esouliie ! You can all thank her for this because I don't know when I would have gotten something new finished. This was also the result of there being way too many 'missing Natasha hours' recently (I've also been having a lot of 'missing Wanda hours' too and have re-watched WandaVision because of it). But, everyone... this fic... is so freaking cute and I hope you all think so too. Happy reading and let me know who you think!

"Hey," you hear a familiar rasp from over your shoulder. 

You didn't think you would hear from her so soon. She told you she was going to be busy, which is code for ‘away on a mission’, so have kept yourself occupied for the last few weeks trying not to think of the red head. Which is easier said than done. 

Every morning when you wake up disappointment fills you not seeing her there. Your intertwined lives are now routine. 

It is hard to adjust when she is away, especially when it is for weeks and what feels like no end in sight. On top of that, with missions like these, there is no communication between you to fill the Natasha shaped hole in your life. 

Sometimes you wonder if it would be easier to be involved with someone else, anyone else for that matter, but the thought is gone as quick as it comes because no one could ever replace the way she makes you feel. 

The first week of her absence you filled your free time as much as you could by catching up with friends and family. You constantly found yourself avoiding the question about why you have been so distant recently. It was the one thing Natasha requested from you - not telling anyone about your relationship with her - to, in her words ‘keep you safe'. 

You still remember the way she looked at you. It was the first time you could see past the facade she held, seeing the worry linger in her eyes for a split second. The intensity of her gaze and her hesitance was a strange thing to witness. When you nodded your head in agreement her smile was soft, almost relieved. In that moment you realized you would agree to anything she asked just to see that vulnerable side again. You felt privileged. 

This second and third week have been much slower, a lot of your time has been spent in the four walls of your apartment because of last minute canceled plans and much needed maintenance needed around your home. 

So you decide today, cold be damned, you will be taking a walk through your local park. You shared this little wonder of a place with Natasha in your fourth month of being together, happy to be able to reveal a bit more of you and your life. 

It is a public place, more people pass by here than in the street where you live. But you got to show Natasha all the overlooked secrets; little winding paths that lead to flower gardens, a pond hidden behind some bushes and the gargoyles you can see from one spot when standing in a specific angle by a monument in the center. You even pointed out some regulars you see because of all your time here. From the confined elderly wanting a bit of liberation from their mundane lives to daring children trying to climb the tallest tree they can find. 

A breeze rushes past, the cold chilling you to your bones and you inwardly curse at yourself. Trust you to have picked the coldest day for some freedom. Initially, the brisk air was making you regret your decision, that was until the sun came out. It didn't do a whole lot against the freezing temperature, but it did look pretty against the frost and ice distracting you from the chilly weather. 

The way the sun's rays shine between the branches that stretched out over your head reminded you of spring time and how much you couldn’t wait for the season to change. 

Just as you were about to get out from the clearing for some much needed sunlight and heat on your face, that’s when you heard Natasha. 

It has been so long you think you are hearing things, that is until you turn your head and see her. The long army green coat she is wearing almost makes her look taller. 

Almost. 

Strands of red hair peek out from the beanie Natasha is wearing, a braid is tucked into her pulled up collar and she has a soft smile on her face. One you have noticed she reserves for you. 

It takes everything in you to not run over and jump into her arms, to press your nose into her neck to get a smell of the home you have been craving. 

Big scenes are not her thing, you’ve learnt. 

Instead your eyes drop to her gloved hands holding two hot drinks which takes you out of your stupor and smiling brighter in return. You almost want to ask how she knew where you were but then remember her profession. 

"You look cold," there is a playfulness to Natasha’s voice matching her smirk. 

Regardless of how wrapped up you are, you know your scarf hasn't done much to stop your face from getting cold, it must be covered in a light blush. 

"I could say the same about you," you raise an eyebrow with your own smirk. A noticeable pink tint is adorning her cheeks and nose from the cold bite of the air. You wonder how long she has been trailing you. 

Natasha's smile widens as closes in and hands you one of the cups. You take off your gloves, shoving them into your pocket to allow the heat to bring back the feeling in your frozen hands as you bring it to your nose to take a whiff. Your favorite, of course it is. 

She leans in and pecks you on the lips, her still warm palm from the drink sinks into your cheek making you forget about the kiss of the sun you were walking towards. Natasha disappoints you with how short her lips are on yours, you were hoping for something that was more than just a split second considering how long it has been. 

Although Natasha pulls back it is only by an inch as she remains close to ask, "Where are you going?" 

Her voice is low and her warm breath is a nice contrast to the icy wind. 

Your eyes flutter close as you revel in her presence and soak up the warmth she brings. Brushing your nose against hers you reply, "Wherever my feet take me," you smile and open your eyes to the green ones you selfishly wish to keep to yourself. "I'm glad I have some company now," you whisper. 

"I hope you weren't expecting anyone else," Natasha says with a twitch of an eyebrow. 

You shake your head. "Definitely not," you say, pressing a small kiss to her lips, one that lasts longer than the mediocre one she gave you. "I missed you." 

You like seeing her like this. Carefree. Soft. Unguarded. 

Well as unguarded as can be, it was something you picked up in your first few months of spending time together - Natasha is always alert. The way her eyes flint around every so often, looking around to quickly survey her surroundings, always cautious of any lingering threats. To the untrained eye it looks like she is taking in the scenery, but you know after knowing her for as long as you have. 

Over time it is a habit you have even picked up from her, making you wonder if there are things she has picked up from you. 

Natasha stands by your side allowing you to loop an arm around her waist while you take a sip of your beverage. It leaves a warm trail as it makes its way down your throat. It still isn't as warm as the way Natasha makes you feel though as cheesy as that may sound. 

"Thank you for this, I didn't realize how much I needed it," you say, signaling the paper cup. 

She smiles at you to acknowledge your gratitude. "You're never one to think ahead, plus I saw you shiver," Natasha remarks. 

You scoff, shaking your head, "I did not shiver." 

Some children are laughing not too far in front of you which distracts both of your attentions away from your conversation. A large puddle of water has frozen over and seems to be the main source of entertainment for the little gang. 

The two of you stop to watch their innocence, a pang of jealousy hits you because of how carefree and innocent they are. Not a single worry showing on their faces in this cruel world. 

You have been fortunate to only hear about the atrocities always going on. More so since you started to date Natasha. She doesn't go into detail about her line of work but the faraway look she has on her face sometimes after certain assignments tells you all you need to know. It fills you with pride knowing you are Natasha’s source of domestic normalcy. 

One of the snuggly wrapped up boys slips and tries to regain his footing before he falls to the ground making you let out a breath of laughter. The scene is something straight from a cartoon as the boy tries to find balance when trying to stand again while the rest laugh at him. A boy in a puffy gray coat, who is howling with laughter, loses his feet from under him sending him straight to the ground landing on his butt making the rest of them exclaim even louder. 

The smile you see in your peripheral vision tells you Natasha is enjoying this too. 

"How long had you been watching me before you decided to come over, stalker?" You ask, curiosity getting the better of you. 

"Long enough to see you shiver," Natasha accuses in her husky voice. 

You bark out a laugh, "I do not shiver!" 

"Yeah, yeah, you keep lying to yourself," Natasha smirks. 

You spend long minutes, people watching while sipping on your drinks and basking in this precious stolen time you get to spend with each other. 

The children are fewer now, some of them have left with their parents while the rest stay. They have started a game to see who can stay on their feet the longest as they try to knock each other down. 

Sometimes you forget Natasha’s past, what little you know of it, and almost ask about her childhood. You bite your tongue to stop yourself from asking 'What did you get up to as a kid?’ 

Instead, you face Natasha as she continues to stare on at the scene; her side profile is enough to show her fatigue. You place your empty cup on the wall beside you so you can take her face in your hands. 

Natasha takes your lead to turn in your direction allowing you to take in all of her features. 

"You look tired," you whisper in concern as your thumb rubs along her cheekbone. 

"Gee, thanks(!)" Natasha chuckles at her own sarcasm. 

"Nat," you start, ready to reprimand her for not being serious. 

"We’ve had some long days. But don’t worry, I'll be off for the holidays,” Natasha replies. “You'll have me for two weeks. That’s enough time for you to get sick of having me around. By the end of it you’re going to want to be rid of me." 

"Impossible," you say without thinking then lean in to press a kiss to the corner of her lips. 

Natasha turns her head slightly to meet your lips, sighing when she allows herself a moment of being wrapped up in you. 

A buzzing sound makes you stop before you can deepen the kiss any further. You let out a breath of disdain from Natasha’s phone ruining your moment. Natasha smiles at you apologetically, taking the device from her pocket. 

While Natasha checks the notification you give her some privacy, picking up both empty cups to discard them. 

When you return and meet Natasha's eyes, the sparkle that was there just moments ago has faded as regret takes over. She is being called back. 

"Three more days, then you're all mine, Romanoff,” you smile. “And for a whole two weeks!" you exaggerate in hopes to lessen the blow of her having to leave. "How did I get so lucky? I guess I'm being spoiled this season." 

You know you succeed when you see the corners of Natasha's lips raise slightly before she holds onto your coat and pulls you in kissing you again. 

Her phone buzzes impatiently, interrupting you again . 

"I have to go," Natasha says, her warm breath fanning over your face as she rests her forehead against yours. ”But just know, I’m the lucky one here.” 

You smile at her confession and revel once more in the warmth she provides before you have to face the harsh cold that comes with the Winter months alone. 

Kissing Natasha’s forehead you meet her loving green gaze once more. "Come back to me," you breathe out as light as the breeze chilling you. 

"Always," Natasha says, sweetly and just as quiet. Her voice carries the weight of more than the one worded sentence she has spoken. 

Taking a breath, Natasha gives you a final peck before she drags herself away from you. 

Your arm stretches out as Natasha walks away, your hand lingering in hers for those extra few seconds of comfort. But mostly because you don't want to let her go. 

Saying goodbye is always difficult no matter how short the visit. 

As you watch her walk away you think about the first time you met the assassin. 

Out of all the windows in the city Natasha crashed through yours. Your shock had you frozen in place until she tried to stumble out of your apartment but collapsed from fatigue because of the fight she had just endured. 

After getting over the fact an Avenger covered in dirt and blood had ruined your new rug, you used your limited first aid knowledge to nurse her back to health. When she awoke a few hours later, she told you just how crappy of a job you had done. 

What got Natasha’s attention was when you quipped back saying you should have let her bleed out to make a quick buck off of all of her equipment to pay for the damages she caused. 

When she left a short while later you didn’t think you would ever see her in person again. You were looking forward to being able to tell all the people in your life about the encounter with an actual superhero. 

Reality hit you in the gut with the name of ‘Non Disclosure Agreement’ and a clean up crew which you couldn’t be mad about. 

Unbeknownst to you, after your first meeting Natasha couldn't stop herself from wanting to see you again. Her mind drifted to the ‘kind’ (your words not hers) stranger who applied sloppy bandages to her arm and stomach. The messy job would have gotten infected if she hadn’t woken up. Natasha caught herself smiling at the memory too often and had to force herself to be present for work. 

Life went on and your encounter felt less and less real as each day passed. Until one evening, while in your office building working late, you received a call telling you you were needed on the roof. Skeptical as you were, you obeyed thinking of the promotion you had been working so hard toward. 

What you hadn’t expected was a fully healed Black Widow to emerge from the shadows, playfully schooling you to not comply with shady orders received late at night. Then insulting you with how boring your life was and how you should learn to cook for yourself instead of wasting all your money on take-out. 

Surprise was an understatement and instead of letting that show, like your mouth wasn’t already slightly hanging open from the shock while she spoke, you decided to play Natasha’s game and call her out for the stalker that she was. 

Since then your meetings have been sporadic but it didn’t stop you both from falling for each other. Who knew a year and a half on you would be in a relationship with each other, life would have made more sense if you had stopped talking. But you have defied the odds and are still going strong. 

When you make it back to your apartment you find flowers waiting for you on the kitchen counter making you smile. A card attached to them with a message in Natasha’s handwriting that reads ‘3 more days ♡’ makes you feel like your heart is going to burst from emotion. 

Needless to say that smile never left your face throughout you making dinner all the way up until the moment you go to bed that night. Natasha somehow always has a habit of making you feel like a giddy teenager. 

You couldn’t wait to see her again. The gift you have been wanting to give to her for a few weeks has been hidden under your towels in the kitchen cabinet. You can only hope she doesn't already know about it. 

The next time you are together you are going to give her a key to your apartment so that she knows she will always have a place to come back to. 

A place she can call home. 

[yen-sids-tournament]

Favorite Fairies Tournament

It is said a fairy is born with a baby's first laugh. Disney had brought many laughs and fairies into this world, and now it is time to find our favorite.

There are many fairies, pixies, and other fae across the Disney canon to submit below. From the classic Golden Age to the Modern Era, from hand drawn to computer generated to living humans. If they are on screen for a quick show of magic or to perpetually guide (read: meddle with) the protagonists, it does not matter. We accept submissions for both solo acts (the Blue Fairy) and clearly indivisible teams (Flora, Fauna, & Merryweather).

This is a mini-tournament, so we plan to have an official bracket of 16, and no one is guaranteed a spot (not even Tink) so please submit. You are allowed to submit as many different fairies as you wish so long as they have their own forms. And please don't bombard us with the same character. The rounds themselves will be 24 hours and each has a day between. Propaganda and a picture are not required, but are highly encouraged.

We also need to say that because there are so many characters from the Disney Fairies, these characters will be maxed out at half the bracket and could face harder criteria to get in depending on the overall submissions.

We reserve the ability to change these rules (we will inform you about them) as we see necessary.

credits: pictured are Tinkerbell from the 1953 movie, Nova from "Once Upon A Time," Dewdrop from "Onward," Lily from "Disney Fairies" books, Silvermist from "Disney Fairies" series, sugar plum fairies from "Fantasia," Puck from "Gargoyles," the Tooth fairy from "The Santa Clause 2," and the Blue Fairy from the 1940 film. Our first sentence is referencing peter pan.

[plainclothesdisaster]

Red Knight - Chapter 5

DP x DC | Dead on Main

Jason Todd encounters one Danny Fenton in the streets of Gotham and suddenly he's thrown into a world of ghosts and monsters. Will he embrace this life? Or will it just end up with him dead again?

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1

---

“Gargoyles,” Danny proclaimed one night after theyʼd successfully captured a curse ghost.

Jason replied with an eloquent, “Huh?”

“Thatʼs what they kinda remind me of,” Danny spun the thermos in his hands. “The curse ghosts. They're like really messed up gargoyles.”

Jason thought about it and he was right. The curse ghosts were like if the gargoyles on Gothamʼs buildings had 20% more limbs and teeth and were made of goo instead of stone. Fitting really, for the embodiment of a curse on Gotham.

They perched on the roof of a building not far from an old tire shop where the curse ghost had reared its ugly head. A few gargoyles perched with them, thankfully all stone and completely motionless and definitely not cursed. Shadows crawled across them as occasional car headlights passed in the street below.

“The real question is if they're less nasty or more nasty than other curses you've fought?” Jason didnʼt know if Danny even had fought curse ghosts specifically before, but it seemed likely all things considered.

Danny paused, contemplating. “Every city has ghosts that haunt it. But none as bad as this, at least that I’ve seen. None that have such a distinct form. And none that have had such a strong effect on the living.”

“Arenʼt we special,” Jason grumbled.

Danny chuckled. “Very.”

“Good thing you came here to stop them.”

Danny frowned. “Well. Not exactly. If Stanford had accepted me Iʼd be bumping heads with the ghoulies under Alcatraz, but GU was my next choice.”

Jason’s train of thought came to a skittering halt. Danny wasn’t here to fight these ghosts specifically? He made it seem like taming the curse was the only way to keep Gotham from eating itself inside out. And it was clear that he was the only one actually trying to do something about it. Maybe the only one that could.

“Wait. Fixing the worst curse ever is just what you do in your free time between lectures?” Jason folded his arms.

Danny sighed. “Iʼm not a hero, remember? And I’m trying not to do ghost stuff full time. To do that I need to do human things. Like get a degree.”

“Who says you need a degree?” Jason’s voice pitched up, betraying his incredulity.

“NASA, definitely.” Danny wasn’t looking at him anymore. Instead he tilted his head up to the sky, toward the few stars that dared to poke through the fog.

Jason bit back a laugh. He couldn’t be serious. Crime fighting- ghost hunting- whatever, it wasn’t something that you just did on the side. If there’s one thing Bruce taught him it was that civilian life was an afterthought, a persona that they had to play. Their real life, the life that mattered, was what happened once they donned their masks. And after Jason died he’d been freed from the responsibility of being a civilian at all.

Yet looking at the melancholy on Danny’s face he knew he was being sincere. It struck Jason that Danny had dreams, like real dreams, ones that didn’t involve stopping crime and saving cities and meting out justice.

It twisted something in his stomach. Dreams were a luxury Jason hadnʼt ever been able to afford. Not when he was young and fighting and stealing his way through the streets of Crime Alley. Not when he was fighting beside Bruce, desperately eager to fill the mantle of Robin. Not now, especially not now, when there was only the work of purging the rot from this city. The work that sent him back to the gutters and the alleys night after night, always looking down.

And there Danny was beside him, just as capable of fixing Gotham (or even more capable, he did begrudgingly admit), and it hadnʼt completely consumed him. He was still selfish enough to dream.

He was still looking up at the sky.

A pang of something like hatred smacked at the back of Jason’s teeth, ugly and hot. He couldn’t believe Danny’s selfishness. His naivety. Both incredibly stupid things to have in this line of work. And still Jason felt something else– a rumbling and an ache from the place under his heart. A pulling that tried to stretch across the space between them. He bit his tongue and shoved that feeling down.

//

Later that night when Jason couldn’t sleep he scoured the net for any more hits on Danny. He knew it would be easier if he just asked Tim for help. He bet that little creep could have the full dossier delivered within an hour, everything he wanted to know about Danny Fenton, but that would open Jason up to way more questions than he wanted to deal with. He still needed to keep this as far away from Bruce as possible for as long as possible.

His less than ideal search methods still yielded him a yearbook photo he hadn’t seen yet. The sister Danny mentioned– Jasmine Fenton. Turns out she was attending Stanford, psychology major. Stanford, where Danny could have been instead of Gotham. Fighting some other city’s ghosts. And Jason would have continued to be unaware of and unable to do anything about Gotham’s curse. Or his own.

He turned his attention to digging up anything he could on the Fenton parents. No real estate records, no taxes, not even driver’s licenses. But no death certificates either. Jason didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. What he did know is that they were equally as erased as their son.

He found himself drifting away from Fenton research and on to the question that nagged at him in a different way– how to predict where the curse ghosts would show up. The data from Danny’s thumb drive was already on his computer and he dutifully logged the coordinates and relevant details from that night’s encounter, another dot among hundreds on the map of Gotham.

Jason had already whittled through all the possible easy connections. Haunted places, typical goon hide outs, historic sites, even fucking ley lines– none of them had enough correlation to be a valuable predictor. Or even a decent lead.

As much as he had practiced taming his frustration, another fruitless night with no answers had him sulking. He felt certain that figuring out the curse ghosts would also help him figure out Danny. And figure out himself. He couldn’t deny that he hadn’t felt even a hint of the Pit’s clawing rage since his nightly escapades with Danny became more frequent. He considered Danny’s offer– to make the fix permanent. And Jason believed him now, that he actually did want to help.

But he couldn’t accept that offer. He wouldn’t. Not until he was sure what it really meant. Maybe if and when they solved the curse problem for good, maybe then he would accept Danny’s help.

But not yet.

//

“Try something for me.”

Danny stopped mid patrol loop of known curse hotspots. Jason followed his gaze and saw a curse ghost rummaging through a demolition site where a condemned apartment once stood.

“Blast it-” Jason pulled a gun, finger ready at the trigger- “Wait!” Danny held up his hands to stop him. “First, see if you can hold the energy back before you release it.”

Danny held his palms out over one another and a ball of familiar green energy formed between them in demonstration. “Let it build up and grow.”

He focused for a moment and the ball grew larger, spun faster. He widened his palms as the ball grew, crackling with potential energy. He let it linger just a moment before— a twist of his wrist and it dissipated.

“I don’t think it works like that for me.”

“Just try it,” Danny cajoled. “I’d be a bad ghost mentor if I didn’t try to teach you how these powers work.”

Jason rolled his eyes. This felt like some kind of test, and the way Danny looked at him with rapt attention all but confirmed that. Did he truly want to help? Or Did he want to gauge how much Jason could push the limits of this power? Still, Jason’s own curiosity won out in the end.

He began by focusing on the feeling he got when he shot his usual energy bullets, allowing it to prickle through his chest and underneath his skin. Rather than let it out immediately, as he’d always done, he did as Danny instructed and held it back. He focused on his pistol. As he did, a small green sphere formed at the end of the gun.

Slowly he fed more energy to it. It grew, just as Danny’s had, spinning faster. His heart accelerated at the same pace, straining against the pull of the power. He gritted his teeth. His head felt hot, like it did when he let his rage get the better of him. Danny’s eyes glinted, reflecting the green glow with impish delight.

The sphere grew to baseball size, then basketball. Then it grew larger than that, so large he couldn’t even see the beast he was aiming at anymore. Danny said simply, “Now.”

Jason pulled the trigger. A massive green fireball exploded out of the end of his pistol, burning across the pile of wreckage. The ghost finally looked up just in time to take the blast directly to its side. It wailed in terrible unearthly tones as the green fire swallowed it.

Danny whooped in triumph. Meanwhile, Jason’s knees wobbled and he fell to all fours in the dirt. He felt suddenly cold, in that terrible clammy way right after a fever breaks.

Danny looked over as if to share the celebration but his face fell as he saw Jason.

“Shit,” he said, kneeling next to him. “You okay?”

“Yeah I— yeah.” Jason panted, swallowing a few dry breaths.

Every time he’d used this power before, he’d let it out instantly, through his guns or his gadgets. He’d never actually let it sit or take the time to feel it properly. Now he wished he hadn’t.

Using that power felt like his worst memories of the Pit, unnatural and cloying like he could still feel the waters dripping off of him. It tasted like grave dirt in his mouth.

But as he raised his head he saw the damage he’d done. There was a fucking crater the size of his living room blasted through the remains of a concrete foundation. No sign of the curse ghost. He did that.

He laughed, all shaky breath. Maybe he could get used to it. He’d have to. He didn’t have a choice but to use it against the curse ghosts. He’d be useless in fights against them otherwise.

“Let’s head back,” Danny offered.

“Yeah.” Jason ignored the small tremor in his hand as he holstered his pistol and started to get his feet back underneath himself.

Jason was halfway to standing when out of nowhere he took a hit. A force crashed into his gut from behind like a cannonball and he barely registered a curse ghost underneath him- it looked like a rhino with way way too many horns- before it flung him ten feet across the demo site and sent him careening into the rubble. He tumbled over broken concrete and snarled rebar, hard-trained muscle memory kicking in to relax his muscles enough to not take the worst of it anywhere he didn’t want to.

He blinked the dizziness from his eyes as he settled. Fuck that hurt. He felt a trickle of blood running down his face. The helmet was padded just enough to protect him from concussions. Didn’t help much with the biological nightmare that was the human nose though. He took the helmet off to keep the blood from pooling in his mouth, leaving him in just his domino mask.

“Jason?” He heard Danny shout.

“Mmfine,” was what he managed to reply as he pushed himself up. It took him a few tries to find his legs. They were still wobbly from the expenditure of power before.

Across the demo field Danny fought the new curse ghost with his usual evasive style. His mouth a hard set line as he ducked beneath swipes from many-angled horns and he responded with blasts of his own, cornering the ghost handily.

Then his gaze landed on Jason and he paused, eyes wide.

His stance went rigid. He snapped around unnaturally fast to face the curse ghost, a total shift from his flighty movements from a moment before. His gaze was sharp, cast in stark shadows from the streetlights, and impossibly, dangerously green. He raised a palm toward the ghost, slowly. And then a nuclear blast went off.

Or at least thatʼs what it felt like. Jason lifted an elbow to shield his eyes from the blinding green light. Surprisingly it wasn’t hot. Instead it felt like the air pressure had been turned up, as if the whole atmosphere was somehow heavier around them, pressing in from all sides, making it harder to breathe.

It lasted only a moment. When Jason lowered his shielding arm there was no sign of the curse ghost. No other damage from the blast either. Just scraps of shadow floating on the wind, dissipating as they rose up.

Danny lowered his hand. A bit of a glow still lingered around him like a halo, a silver outline that shimmered on top of his skin. Jason’s heart raced drunkenly as he stayed rooted to his spot. He wasn’t sure he trusted his legs to move. Danny still looked at the empty space where the ghost had been, his gaze still burning with an overwhelming power. One that Jason was very thankful to not have directed at him. Still, something stirred in his chest like a tug on a wire. The sweet sharp tang of adrenaline saturated his fear. He wasn’t sure if he could stomach that oppressive attention, but a reckless part of him craved it.

Then Danny shifted his stance again. He seemed to shrink back into himself, the glow dimming to a level that passed as human. He turned to Jason with something like guilt on his face, no hint of the commanding presence he held a moment earlier.

“Are you okay?” Danny spoke gently, but his fists were still clenched.

“Yeah. Yeah Iʼm fine,” Jason replied before he even really took stock of his injuries, but as he did he saw he hadn’t lied. The bleeding from his nose had mostly stopped. It hadnʼt been that bad in the first place.

“I think thatʼs enough for tonight.” Danny breathed, finally, releasing the last of his tension. He wouldnʼt meet Jasonʼs eyes.

It had been a while since anyone had saved him. He didn’t have anyone who watched his back, hadn’t for a long time. Strictly speaking, tonight he would have been fine even without the save. Probably.

While he was thankful that Danny covered his ass, it also annoyed him that he thought he had to.

“Thanks,” he grumbled, and then finally Danny looked at him with soft attention.

“You’re sure you’re okay? If it’s a concussion-“

“I’m fine,” Jason said, using his thumb to brush away the drying blood under his nose.

Danny just looked at him with naked concern, his fingers twitching like he didn’t know what to do with them, mouth pressed in a firm line. He took a breath as if to voice another worry but Jason cut him off with a resigned sigh.

“Look, if you're so worried why donʼt you come back to mine.” If it got Danny to stop nagging he didn’t mind burning a safehouse.

Danny nodded, mutely accepting the invite.

Jason led him back to his latest safehouse, a corner loft of an abandoned building, only accessible by rooftop. The walk there had proved that Jason wasn’t hurt bad, though Danny’s eyes kept going back to the blood on his face.

Once inside, Danny sat down on the couch. It was the only real piece of furniture in the house besides his half-broken bed. Jason felt less like a shitty host because truly it was equally as dingy as the one in Danny’s own apartment.

“Want a beer?” Jason asked from the kitchen, as he finished up rummaging his way through some makeshift first aid. The slapdash brace on his nose wasn’t his finest work, but eh. It would heal fine. It always did.

“You drink?” Danny seemed suspiciously surprised. “For me the accelerated healing makes any normal alcohol consumption pretty pointless.”

Jason froze with his hand on the fridge. “Oh. Huh.” That would explain why he had to down a whole handle and a half to feel anything. “No shit.”

Zombie-like he pulled a six pack out of the fridge. He set it down on the coffee table in front of Danny as he fell onto the couch next to him.

A part of him had still not fully believed the whole half ghost thing. Fighting ghosts was one thing. Being one was another. The tech helped maintain the illusion quite well- he had ghost power cuffs that made him invisible and ghost power socks that let him float. That explanation was easy to swallow.

But no gadget could explain why wounds that should take weeks to recover from only took him days. Couldn’t explain why he didn’t get drunk.

But there was a good explanation. A simple one too.

He wasnʼt fully human.

Shit.

Jason grabbed a beer from the coffee table, popped it with his thumb, and downed it in one long pull.

“Batman doesnʼt like metas in Gotham.” He didn’t look at Danny. He wasn’t really even talking to him. He tossed the beer bottle to the floor.

“Weʼre not metas,” Danny said, a gentle echo of what he’d said the first night they met.

“It doesn’t matter. Meta, supernatural, itʼs all the same. All are a dangerous liability in this city. You- we- count.” Jason opened another beer. Downed it. Waited to feel any hint of the alcohol hitting him. Nothing.

He could, however, feel Danny looking at him. “Iʼm not afraid of Batman.”

Jason didnʼt look back. He fiddled with the empty beer bottle, tossed it on the floor with the other one. Of course Danny wasnʼt afraid of Batman. Jason had no doubts which way that fight would go if it ever came to it.

That was an awful image to consider– Batman getting his ass handed to him by some nobody punk in jeans– and all the more reason that Bruce should never know about any of this. The curse ghosts, Danny, Jason’s own burgeoning ghost powers- more secrets he had to keep. More reasons to keep all the Bats at arm's length.

And if they ever did find out? No way their shaky truce could weather that. It’d be another war.

“Heʼs- well, they all are I guess- kind of my family. All Iʼve got left of one, anyway.” The words spilled out. He didn’t want a war with them. He never had.

Danny let out a long breath. “Oh. Family.” He laughed a sad laugh. “My parents tried to kill me. Multiple times actually. I donʼt blame them– theyʼre ghost hunters and well, they looked at me and saw a ghost.”

Danny reached for a beer. He pulled out two and handed one to Jason. He took it. “So at least it canʼt be as bad as that with yours?”

Jason grumbled. “Judging by how it went the first time I came back from the dead? It will be an absolute shitshow.”

Danny clinked his beer against Jasonʼs and took a long swig. “I dunno. I think Bruce might come around if you give him a chance.”

Jason straightened his spine, suddenly alert, alarm bells ringing in his head. “Bruce?”

Danny deflated, suddenly sheepish. “Ah. Whoops.”

That all but confirmed it. Jason groaned. Just when he thought it couldn’t get worse, Danny somehow knew one of Gotham’s most dangerous secrets. “How did you find out?”

“You can probably guess.” Danny rubbed the back of his neck. “It wasnʼt hard with a little ghostly snooping. It was one of the first things I did when I got to Gotham. I wanted to know just to double avoid him, honest.”

It wasnʼt hard to imagine any number of ways Danny could have uncovered Batman’s identity. Heʼd recognized Jason with and without his mask, but he figured that was because Danny had a sense for ghosts and, well, whatever he was. He hadnʼt considered how easy unmasking the Batman would be for him even without that trick.

“If he finds out you know, you’re dead.”

“I already am. Besides, I thought Batman had a strict no-kill policy?”

Ultimately this changed very little. Just another nail in the coffin of the strict Batman avoidance protocol. Still, he wished Danny would be a little less blase about the whole thing.

Fuck it. In for a penny, he couldn’t un-learn all the ghost shit that had turned his life upside down. He downed the beer. Danny was right the first time. It didnʼt matter what Bruce thought. He couldnʼt stop them from fighting curse ghosts. And it was truly none of his business. Danny sipped his beer with a grimace. Jasonʼs heart twisted.

“How do you stand the taste of this stuff?” Danny asked, a hint of a smile.

“It’s not about the taste. It's about the feeling.” Or lack of one. Jason thought maybe he felt the slightest tingle of tipsiness, but it could just be placebo.

Danny looked at him with that same casual intensity. He could tell his eyes lingered on his half-broken nose. Still worrying over him. Why? Why did he care if Jason got hurt? Jason stared back, trying to get a read on any of the real thoughts behind Danny’s eyes.

The silence stretched out, wide open.

Danny broke it first. “Sorry, uh. I guess I should get going.”

Jason took a beat and remembered how to breathe. “You good? Donʼt drink and fly.”

“I donʼt feel a thing,” Danny smirked. “Still, Iʼll walk.”

“You sure? You could always just crash here tonight.” The words spilled out of him before he could think better of it. He and Danny both froze, like the air has been sucked from the room. He stared at the empty six pack on the coffee table, swatting away any thoughts that dared surface, fighting the rising heat in his cheeks and desperately trying to keep his face blank.

“Itʼs okay,” Danny said finally, quietly releasing Jason from his turmoil. “Iʼll see you tomorrow?” Jason dared a look at Danny then. Warmth in his half smile like a sweater, a glint in his eye that made him feel lightheaded.

Danny stood and left, closing the door gently behind himself. Jason breathed out into the empty apartment. It felt suddenly cavernous and dead without Danny in it.

It shouldn’t mean anything but it did. Friends crashed on each other’s couches regularly, didn’t they? Jason didn’t have much experience with friends, if that’s what he and Danny were. This invitation certainly crossed that threshold. But he’d been careless. All the unknowns were still dangerous. He couldn’t let this be more than a working relationship. A partnership of convenience.

He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. Pain, tender and sharp, sprung up beneath them. He sighed at the comforting familiarity of it. Then he flopped face first onto his bed, alone.

[rayroseu]

HELP DEUCE JUST GOT FRENCHIFIED 🤣🤣🤣🤣 I really love the unique dynamics from this event lol

🥲🥲🥲 This made me sob... No one really can understand them like they do with each other... 😭😭

Outsiders like Azul and Idia thinks theyre just overreacting but considering how Malleus, Silver and Sebek ONLY has each other as they grew up...

(Malleus and Silver being isolated because of their status and obviously Sebek wasnt that accepted by his own grandpa either...)

So Of course any type of peril happening between them —no matter how trivial— would cause them all to immediately worry😭✨ I love it I love how they always try to care for each other at all times.😭😭💖💖

Yuu and Grim can relate XD

No but seriously the gargoyle and Malleus meeting reminds me of Yuu and Malleus meeting lolol 🥺💞💕💞Maybe I'm just reaching.... 😂😂

but I remember a long comment that Malleus most especially notices with us because were similar to a gargoyle— avoided because we're strange and our efforts and "function"(as prefect) are barely recognized.

It also doesnt help that the gargoyle's language sounds like Grim lol 😂 Gargoyle says he lives for eons now and that he never left the tower bcs he's a stone.... so why he speaks such a modern form of language??😂😂 He's using more slang than Malleus who's trying to learn to socialize.... 😂

Ohhh this part made me sad as well because We know in SSR Rollo's vignette that he was hating the gargoyles as he cleans them 😭😭😭😭

I want this text pasted on my study incase I'm guving up on the grind lolol

AAAAAAAHHHHHH HE SAID IT HE SAID IT‼️‼️‼️‼️ THE LINE WHERE THE GARGOYLES WAS ENCOURAGING QUASIMODO TO SAVE ESMERALDA BUT QUASIMODO WAS CONVINCED SHE DOESNT NEED HIM AJDJAJD 😭😭😭😭‼️‼️‼️

On another note, I think the gargoyle DOES REMIND me of Lilia because of these last lines .....🥲🥲🥲🥲

"He runs on little magic so losing a little power is fatal for him" Lilia running out of magic 😭😭😭

"He was worried about him till the very end even though Hes the one responsible" I CANT KNOWING THAT LILIA *WILL* CONFRONT MALLEUS ABOUT HIS OVERBLOT...😭😭

I hope he'll be the one to understand him 🥲🥲💞💞💞