#its the only mechanism she has to help her sleep at night

[vibratingskull]

You reopen your request! You must be drowning with requests.

Can I ask for Thrawn xF!reader.

Reader Is born mute, and because of their she had been tormented by her father for a very long time, and because of this she doesn't trust men.

Thrawn falls in love with her and gains her trust, helping her heal. Maybe eventually smut?or just some fluff?

I do have a good number of them indeed ! I will do my best to honor them all!

Thrawn x F!reader

Tags : Non-speaking reader, abusive and violent past, little hurt/a lot of comfort, tooth rotting fluff

You recoil in fear... 

You can hear the footsteps approaching and the sound of the belt. You can still feel its bites on your skin the last time he used it! You cover your ears, knee pressed against your chest, trying to squeeze in your hiding spot. 

If only you could scream and alert the neighbors... 

“I know you are hiding around here (Y/n). If you go out now I promise not to be too harsh on you...” Your father calls walking in the room you are in. 

Don’t open the closet. Don’t open the closet. Don’t open the clos- 

“There you are you useless little...!” 

You wake up in a split second, breathless and sweating. 

Another nightmare... 

You sigh, they have been recurrent lately. It’s the stress. You are in a new campaign with new enemies. New battlefields and risk of dying... 

But you knew what you signed up for by enlisting in the Navy, trying to escape your violent father. But he kept following you in your dreams. 

You rise from your bed. It is not time for your shift but you won’t be able to sleep for the rest of the night. Might as well rise early. 

Grand Admiral Thrawn asked your help for a task anyway... 

----------------------------------------------------  

You focus on your datapad. 

This art piece should go in this section, while this one goes there... 

Your mind is focused on your task, categorizing art pieces for Grand Admiral Thrawn for his next campaign. Usually, he does it himself but he picked up on your knowledge of the region’s art and asked you for help. 

You don’t mind, it’s easy for you. 

His art collection has extended lately, a lot of presents and auctions won. But mostly a lot of holographic ones that you need to categorize by species, civilizations, time periods, and planets. 

“A cup of caff, Senior Lieutenant?” A melodious voice rises behind your back making you jump. 

Thrawn appears slightly amused by your reaction. When did he enter the storage room? 

“You should learn to focus without sacrificing your awareness of your surroundings, (F/n).” He preaches, handing you a fuming cup. 

Oh... That is nice of him to bring you a hot drink. You take the cup, bowing down your head in gratitude. You lift the cup to your lips, black with the lightest touch of sweetener as you love it. 

“While you are here, Senior Lieutenant, I need your expertise on some signs I learned recently.” He asks, his amused expression letting place to his professional demeanor. 

One thing you are grateful for is that Grand Admiral Thrawn is actually taking the time to learn sign language. You do not always have the occasion or the time to type your words in your datapad to express yourself and he started learning to understand your signing. 

Until now he was the only one to do it. 

“What does this sign signify?” He asks, signing. 

You take your datapad and type something on it, and a mechanical voice rises from the speakers. 

 [Iridescent] 

He signs another one. 

You frown, wrinkling your nose. 

[You are a pagoda?] 

He modifies his sign. You smile, understanding what he means. 

[Assertion] 

He nods, satisfied with the addition to his vocabulary.  

Every day he takes an hour off his packed schedule to describe some art pieces to you to practice his signing and you correct him, showing him the good signs or formulation. He made spectacular progress in very little time, sometimes signing entire conversations with you while speaking the words out loud. You spent a lot of time discussing art and enjoying virtual expositions during some of his really rare times off. 

Art is one of the only comforts you had for decades and discovering that your Grand Admiral shared your admiration really helped you relax around him. 

Because Marker’s know how distrusting of men you are... 

You sign ‘Thank you.’ 

“Why?” He tilts his head. 

‘For learning the language, little people bother with it.’ 

“I need to be able to communicate with all of my officers at any given time. And a new language, whatever it is, is always useful.” He speaks and signs. 

You nod with a thankful smile. 

You quite like this man. 

He is one of the very, very few you are comfortable with. 

But since Commander Vanto disappeared out of nowhere, everyone has been on edge. You too, to be frank, but you were more worried about your reckless colleagues than the Grand Admiral. A lot were prone to judge him guilty for that disappearance, that he executed Vanto in some way... 

To you, it didn’t make any sense.  

At the depth of your being you know Vanto found his path and Thrawn didn’t endanger the life of his commander! 

But that’s just a you thing, no one would take you seriously here. 

You look up at Grand Admiral Thrawn, looking at his datapad, sorting his own list of art. He looks nothing like your tormentor, so much so that you have difficulties imagining them being part of the same category of person. 

Your father was an Army officer and wanted a son. 

But he got a non-speaking daughter. 

And you pay the price since then... 

You thought that going into the Navy he would look at you with pride for the first time in your life. 

No. 

To him, you were only good to marry off. 

So you packed and left. He didn’t try to stop you.  

You have been wary of any male approaching you since then. From the brutes to the ones aroused by your speech impairment you navigate life avoiding men and problems. Of course, once on an Imperial ship, you could never truly avoid them. Thanks to the Maker men's and women’s quarters are separated. Even today your two other roommates are women and you are thankful for that. 

“A problem, Senior Lieutenant (F/n)?” Thrawn’s voice resonates in the room. 

You blink, realizing that he is looking at you and that you are still fixing him intently. He must have felt your gaze on him. You shake your head and sign ‘Nothing’ and ‘Sorry.’ 

His gaze is clear and inquisitive, gauging you up and down. 

“All is well.” He answers enigmatically. 

He is aloof and professional as always but you don’t feel him... displeased? Like he truly is unbothered. You lower your gaze to your screen, he is patient with you but no need to push his buttons uselessly! 

“I did not expect to see you this early.” He continues mundanely, focused on the hologram projected on his screen “Your shift is not supposed to start before four hours, why sacrificing your sleep?” 

You breathe deeply and type on your datapad. 

[Nightmares] 

His gaze travels from his datapad to you, looking deep into your soul with his burning gaze. His face is neutral but a flicker of emotions seems to flash in his gaze before disappearing just as quickly. 

“I understand.” He nods with a grave expression. “We are all grappling with our demons, you are not alone with fears.” 

Is he... trying to comfort you? Why would he do that? 

[Do you have nightmares too, Grand Admiral Thrawn?] You cannot help but ask. 

He seems to think about it for a little moment. For a second you are afraid he will take offense to you prying into his personal life, 

“In some ways. I can have unpleasant dreams like everyone else. This is the lot of warriors and those who set high goals for themself.” He finally responds with a focused tone. 

Oh... So a man like Thrawn can also have nightmares? You would have never guessed that, he always appears so in control and... peaceful in some ways. Nothing ever comes troubling the inner balance of this man. 

[How do you deal with nightmares when they become too much?] You ask full of hope for advice on how to let them consume you entirely. 

“They never become too much. I never let irrational dreams hinder me in any way, those are simple remnants of your subconscious rising to the surface. No need to dwell on them unnecessarily, you only need a sharp mind to pursue your goals and mission.” He answers resolutely. 

Oh... 

Okay... 

Not exactly the answer you hoped for. For some reason, you hoped he would reveal he does get affected by nightmares and would sympathize with you. But apparently, nothing can reach that man. 

You sulk, feeling hopeless against the anxiety in your veins and the bad dreams plaguing your mind. 

Thrawn notices. 

“Nightmares are only figments of thoughts, they cannot harm you Senior Lieutenant. Do not give them the power to dictate your actions. You will find the strength to surpass them.” He tries, laying his hand on your shoulder. 

This simple touch sends shivers down your spine, forcing the memory of your father’s hand on your skin, the bites of his knuckles on your fragile body. By pure reflex you slap his hand away, looking at him furiously. 

Until the realization of your error flashes in your mind. What did you just do?! 

Thrawn’s eyes flicker with surprise at your harsh reaction to his attempt to comfort you. But his aloof expression is back in a mere millisecond. 

“Apologies, Senior Lieutenant (F/n). I did not want to make you uncomfortable. I trespassed my rights.” 

You immediately shake your head in a panic, signing ‘Sorry’ multiple times. Fuck! What if he takes it badly? What if he gets angry? What if he decides to punish you? What if- 

“There is no harm, (F/n). Everything is all right.” He informs you as you kept signing your apologies.  

You raise your gaze to meet his, seeing he appears sincere, that he truly is not mad at you. You tentatively nod at him, trembling as fear slowly settles down away.  

He looks at you intently, with his piercing red gaze that ties your stomach in knots. Your mouth stretches in a single thin line, awaiting your judgment. 

“I will let you work in peace. Thank you for your help.” He courteously bows his head to you and leaves you alone to get a grip of yourself and calm down your anxiety. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

“Fancy finding someone here.” A deep melodious voice rose in the silence of the gallery. 

Your breath got stuck in your throat. You who came hiding in the art gallery of the hotel to avoid guests, here’s one now! A man... You tried to calm down your heart. 

It was one of your first official military parties as a Junior Lieutenant, and there was a lot of top hats here. A lot of ego and loud voices, unconsidering and detached from the common experience. You preferred to take refuge in the adjacent art gallery for peace and quiet. 

You turned your head to observe the new visitor and gauge his intention. You discover a blue alien in an admiral regalia, a glass of champagne in his hand. You tilted your head in surprise, an alien officer of the Empire? 

You never heard of such a thing... 

Except for one person. 

The blue alien approaches you, his gaze traveling to the immense canvas you were observing. His sharp cheekbones drew haughty features and the light accentuated the edges of his symmetrical face. His eyes are of a deep, burning red emitting a glow in the dim light.  

You dug your nails in your arm and lowered your gaze as he placed himself next to you to better observe the canvas. He remains silent, looking into the details of the painting with a carefully fascinated expression. 

“It is quite rare to encounter art enjoyers in those soirees, do you not think?” He addressed you again, “I did not expect someone else preferring the peace of the art gallery to the discussions and dances of the ballroom.” 

You risk a glance at him. It must be him. 

Admiral Thrawn. 

“I am sorry if I disrupted your peace. I will leave you undisturbed to appreciate the paintings if you prefer.”He proposes before your resounding silence. 

Honestly? Yes, you would prefer. You’re never really at peace alone with a man, but he is clearly an admiral and you are a simple Junior Lieutenant. If he ever catches your name and speaks of the fact that you refused to humor him, it could go bad for you. 

[It is alright. You can stay, Admiral.] You type on your datapad. 

His gaze lowers to your datapad with an interested gaze. 

“Fascinating. Can it mimic inflections and emotions?” He asked. 

You typed a random phrase and chose the laugh setting. The robotic voice exploded laughing, repeating your words, making the Admiral tilt his head, curious. 

“Interesting. This is quite ingenious, is it used a lot in the impaired-speech community?” 

You shake your head. 

“Will you allow me a quick glance?” He asks softly. 

You froze for a split second. This software is your buoy to communicate. Almost nobody knows sign language, especially in those settings. You held down your datapad before forcing yourself to lend it to him. 

He is an Admiral and you... 

He gently took it and started scrolling down the software, tampering with it. You gulp as he tested and observed your little software. 

“It seems well built. How much time did it take you to code it” He turned back his head to you. 

How did he know you coded it yourself? You frowned incredulously by reflex. 

“You seem a talented coder, ma’am. I could use someone of your talents at my side.” He gives you back your datapad. 

You feel your skin heating up. You’re not used to compliments. 

[It is nothing too complicated really.] 

“To you maybe, but for some other people coding is as nebulous as the never-ending universe. Did you code something else?” 

You slowly nodded. You did know your way around coding and liked tampering with your electronic toys when you started to get really interested in it. 

[I slightly improved the machinery of my father’s squad. Like canon sights, but nothing groundbreaking.] 

“Really? What do you think of the current programming of tie fighters?”  

What would he want to know your opinion on that? You’re a nobody. 

[I would have done things differently.] 

“I agree.” He nodded solemnly, “I am more of an amateur engineer than a coder but I have projects for a new kind of TIE fighter to propel the Navy’s fleet towards new heights. I am searching the galaxy for new talents to help me. If you allow me to test and judge your level would you be interested in participating in a military revolution?” 

Was this man for real? You just entered your post a Senior Lieutenant and he jumps on you to propose you a new post? 

[I just received my new affectation. I cannot just go against the Navy’s wishes and ask to change like that.] 

“Of course. But if an admiral personally asks for your affectation to change, the Navy would probably oblige.” 

You almost took a step back. 

You know the reputation of this man. A genius in battle but a complete clown in politics, you heard he recently allied himself with the likes of Governor Price and rumors circulate that he invited a witch in his fleet? 

He seemed quite the character and you had enough of those types of people in your life. 

On the other hand, coding is your passion. Maybe a post dedicated to coding wan’t that bad? 

|How would it go?] 

“Simple. Your task would be to rewrite the pre-existing TIE code to sharpen it. You will have your own space on the ISD to test and modify the ships to your heart’s content. I will only ask you to follow my directives. 

Your own space? Like... Away from other people? You being alone and free to give yourself fully to coding all day long? You being away from other’s peskiness and sharp-tongues? 

That does sound enticing. 

[I will think about it.] 

“I thank you for considering my offer.” He extended his hand again, “I am Admiral Thrawn.” 

You shook his hand after a hesitation, resisting the shudder coursing your body as your hands touched. 

[Junior Lieutenant (Y/n) (F/n).] You typed. 

He nodded a slight expression of satisfaction starting to paint on his face. 

“I am pleased to have crossed your path tonight, Junior Lieutenant. I hope this is the beginning of a fruitful relationship.” 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

“Will you come to my suite tonight, Junior Lieutenant (F/n)?” Thrawn asks. 

He observes as you almost choke hearing that proposition. He knows this is quite forward of him. He doesn’t leave you guessing for long. 

“I recently acquired new pieces for my private collection, and I recall you especially enjoying this period in art history. We could discuss those pieces peacefully together.” 

Usually, your daily art talk happens in his office or around a cup of caff at the mess hall when he, rarely, descends to that room. 

“I received a particular mirror that I think will especially flatter your taste, I am curious to know your opinion on it.” He pursues. 

You nod with a small smile, visibly relieved and now interested before typing on your datapad. 

[Of course Grand Admiral, I always enjoy talking art with you.] 

“I am glad to hear it. I will not take too much of your time, do not worry.” He nods with a slightly satisfied expression. 

As he awaits for you he tidies up his salon, displaying his latest acquisitions on pedestals. Those pieces are not for war but his personal enjoyment, and yours too he hopes. His heart clenches slightly at the thought of you joining him tonight. 

He always had immense respect for your coding abilities. You spoke of it like it was nothing but he discovered you had a real talent for it, a natural jewel that he helped carve and sharpen since the first day he found it in you. He absolutely needed you on his team and congratulated himself when you announced to him you would join him in this adventure. And since that day your presence in the team only has been beneficial. 

He never had to complain about you. 

You worked diligently, for long hours and found the solution to most problems he threw at you. You even helped Vanto build a better Excel sheet software in your free time after you witnessed him losing his mind on the older version.  Thrawn and Eli took the liberty to train their supply officers and data analysts with it and witnessed progress in productivity and speed by 20%. 

And those 20% can be crucial during battles... 

You received a reward of course! All people improving his ISD deserve a high reward for their deeds. 

You are an invaluable member of Thrawn’s team, even of his close circle, even if he didn’t realize it right away and you never realized it ever. 

But it is true. 

He sees you as a true friend. You bring him so much in work and share his passion for art, something he is grateful for. 

People never understood him on this level, and in some aspects, you don’t either. Your talents lie somewhere else than military strategizing, but your common passion allows him to stim off and share his special interest with someone actually interested. 

Vanto could never, despite all his will, understand. As Thrawn never understood numbers like he did. 

This is why he is also deeply happy to have you around. To share and receive in art. It allowed him to communicate better about his ideas and strategies. 

When he thinks back that he almost decided not to come to that party... He only came because he learned the hotel had a small art gallery and he discovered a young lady in a fine dress, eyes glued to the painting in front of her. 

He almost didn’t dare enter to disturb your moment. He understood the pleasure of being alone in a gallery to observe art on your terms. But the urge to share proved itself stronger and he entered the room. 

He just wanted to speak about art with another aficionado and he left with a little genius coder in his team. 

He saw how uncomfortable you were around him and didn't want to impose himself too much. Once you exchanged names and numbers he left you in peace. He didn’t get to enjoy the gallery himself but he came out better off after this exchange. 

He welcomed you to his ISD three months later for the tests and you walked out victorious. You changed affectation and joined the Chimaera two weeks top after that. 

He quickly picked up on your shy, or rather cautious nature around others, especially males and him. It was not his place to question you, all he could do was to remain polite, courteous, and professional to make things more comfortable for the both of you. 

You saw each other at least one time a day for him to learn to sign and talk about art. You have quite an extensive knowledge about art and he was truly impressed. You taught him a lot about certain regions he didn’t have the time to visit and he learned a lot at your side, as you learned a lot at his side. 

A truly beneficial relationship. 

You slowly relaxed around him, getting less jumpy and stressed in his presence, to the point that sometimes you seemed to forget his presence when you focused on something. You never forgot any other male presence, always having an eye on them. 

But not him. 

Not anymore. 

And that strangely delighted him. He doesn’t know why. He is just pleased by that fact, he takes some pride in it. He always prided himself in the fact to be safe for women to be around, when he thinks about all the things men do to women daily, he feels like being a decent person really shouldn’t be that hard and not such a high demand. He always appreciated the trust his female friends and colleagues had in him, and he just wanted you to feel the same. 

For you to not see him as any kind of predator. 

A tight smile comes stretch his mouth as he thinks back about the number of times he had to carry you to your cabin. How many times did he came to visit your office to witness your advancement to discover you sleeping on your desk after an obvious night crush? He took your precious datapad and carried you to your bed. 

You never knew about that. 

And he doesn’t really intend to tell you, as long as you rest that beautiful brain of yours to come back fresh the next day he can carry you to bed without a fuss. 

He signals the droid to leave the champagne bottle in the ice bucket and on the coffee table. He remembers Ar’alani complaining about the lack of drinks when he brought her to the art gallery. You will not have to complain about that when admiring his personal museum. 

He is strangely excited by that prospect, his heart beats strangely fast at the idea of letting you see his personal collection. He never shared it with anyone else, he feels like metaphorically stripping naked before you. 

Overall he just hopes you will have a nice time. 

With him. 

He checks his display one last time. He gave the mirror he thinks you’ll love a special place, well visible and under a beautiful light. 

[Grand Admiral Thrawn?] a mechanical voice he learned to love rises in his back. 

He turns, his hand clasped behind his back, a small smile to welcome you. 

“Ah! Senior Lieutenant, right on time as always. Please approach, I have several pieces for you to see.” 

------------------------------------------------------------------- 

You were a little bit nervous about the idea of joining Thrawn in his suite, but he promised it was about art so you came.  

But until now he hasn’t been anything else but courteous and professional with you, never an inappropriate move or word, always respectful of our personal space and headspace. 

You realized recently that you actually quite like him. He is quite a gentleman all things considered. 

Nothing like your father... 

Right now he stands next to you, at a respectable distance, to explain a statuette to you. 

“It is a goddess of love and fertility of the Lokma region. A fine work isn’t it?” 

You nod enthusiastically. It is indeed a very beautiful statuette, well-carved and polished.  

You’re quite happy the Grand Admiral appreciates art as you do. You used to bury yourself in art books to escape your violent reality back home. Nobody liked art at home especially not your father. You had to hide all those books from his view or he would burn them before you. 

But Grand Admiral Thrawn is a man of elegance and taste, enjoying art as a real connoisseur. His knowledge of the subject would put any encyclopedia to shame! 

You reacted badly last time but you had time to rationalize that he simply tried to comfort you. You clearly overreacted. He had no bad intentions towards you, quite the contrary. 

You look up to him, explaining the origin of the sculpture to you with a light smile floating on your lips. 

------------------------------------------------------- 

His heart is beating so fast. You are looking straight at him, smiling so genuinely. He could almost lose track of what he is saying if dared look into your eyes.  

So he remains focused on the art piece, to not start stammering in front of you. 

He doesn’t know how it happened but you both end up on the couch, drinking champagne and chit-chatting about everything and nothing. Right now you are trying to keep a straight face as he retells his political mishaps. It is no news to anybody that he is a clown in this department, but he never took the time to explain the finer details to someone and you have difficulties not exploding laughing. 

Obviously, no sound escapes your lips but the simple expression, how you try to contain your stretching smile to grow too much, how your dimples appear on your skin, how you bite your lower lips to control yourself, how utterly relaxed you appear... 

He details this spectacle, absolutely fascinated. He saw plenty of people laugh before but none appeared as... Radiant as you are right now. You are just so solar and magnetic with this elated expression. 

For some reason, his throat goes dry when his gaze lends on your lips. They are plump and carefully drawn with a pencil of color in nude tones, adorning your mouth deliciously. He fights the urge to lick his own lips at that sight. 

And your eyes... 

Utterly gorgeous. 

They can say everything your vocal cords cannot. They are just expressive, there is no second-guessing your mood or character, he just has to look into your sparkly eyes and unravel your entire being before him. 

It is not that you are easy to guess, it is that your body is so completely honest with him, he doesn’t need to walk on eggshells like with the Emperor or any political figures, with you he can act and feel like himself. 

Something that hasn’t happened since... 

Forever. 

In fact. 

He always had to mask a part of himself to go his own way peacefully but he feels like he can open up to you. 

That you wouldn’t judge. 

That you would understand him, like Thrass did. 

But he never looked at Thrass like that. He always was his brother but you are no Chiss. Is he looking at you as a sister...? 

No... that doesn’t sound right to him. 

Like a friend perhaps, like Ar’alani? 

Neither... 

He tilts his head as he watches you retelling him one of your stories with signs, a large smile on your beautiful face. 

Because you do have a beautiful face, he realizes. Very symmetrical and... harmonious. It is a weird thought crossing his mind, he met plenty of objectively beautiful people in his life and he was able to tell that they were handsome but he never knew it in his gut. Just a passive acknowledgment of their well-made features. 

But you are the first one striking him as truly gorgeous. His eyes seem to open up for the very first time and he is discovering true beauty. 

What curious train of thoughts he has right now, observing you hiding your elated expression behind your hand. 

He loves that expression, it suits you so much better than this worried, tense one you always were around your colleagues or that you had with him at first. 

He had the occasion to witness different facets of your personality while learning sign language, but it feels like meeting the true you for the first time. You have so many things to say you don’t lose time typing it on your datapad, you just sign everything at lightspeed with enthusiasm. 

Such a wonderful expression... 

He wants to get lost in your eyes. 

He wants you to smile more, to smile everyday. 

His breath gets stuck in his throat as he realizes he wants to be the reason for your smile. Every day and forever. 

Is he...? 

He has to know! 

He details your blissful expression while decoding your signing. He doesn’t get everything but he knows the important one. You are telling him that you love working on this project, that you feel useful and part of a real team thanks to him, and that he doesn’t reject you for being non-speaking but that he makes true efforts to involve and welcomes you. 

“That is nothing, Senior Lieutenant.” A small grin grows on his lips, “You are too valuable for me to lose. I must make sure you are well cared for or you will leave me for greener lands.” 

You bite your lips, lowering your gaze before the compliment. How adorable. 

“Since you entered the project we made fantastic advancements. You wrote an almost perfect code and still keep working to improve it days and nights. We would not have gone so far without your input.” 

Your face heat signals worsen, proof of your embarrassment. You sign ‘It is nothing’ without daring to look at him.  

He leaves his slouching position to lean forward,  closer to you, legs almost brushing. 

“It is not ‘nothing’ as you pretend (Y/n). This is incredible work and you should be properly recognized and rewarded for that.” He ditch the ranks for a more warm approach. 

You seem a little confused by the sudden use of your name so casually. 

“Does it displease you?” He asks. 

‘What?’ you sign, dubious. 

“Me, using your name. I quite like it, you wear it perfectly.” 

You smile, embarrassed. 

“I am not joking. It has a wonderful sound to it, it suits you wonderfully.” 

You push a strand of hair behind your ear to try to put up a front, but your heat signals are all over the place. You are very obviously melting. 

On his hand, he realizes he enjoys complimenting you. It feels right to do it. For absolutely nothing too. For you just being here, for your hair style that enhances your natural charm, this absolutely adorable behavior, the list is infinite! 

For you to keep that endearing look too. 

He gently raises his hand towards you, slowly for you to see it and stop him if needs be. You look at him with round eyes and freeze entirely. He incredibly gently brushes your cheek with his knuckle. 

A very soft, very light touch. He’s just testing the water, where you will put your boundaries. 

You seem to release your breath when you realize he didn’t intend to hit you. 

Why would you ever think that? He wonders. 

What happened to you to always live in a fight or flight mode? He is dying to know, but that would be improper to pry. If you want him to know, you will reveal it in due time. 

You blink several times as he resumes his gentle caress, like you don’t know how to react to tenderness. He couldn’t know either, to be honest. He just felt like giving you physical affection was the right call.  

You are so pretty after all tonight, he needs to physically convey the tenderness he harbors towards you. Or he feels like he is going to implose or spontaneously combust. 

"You are beautiful, (Y/n).” He simply lets you know his truth in a whisper. 

You turn your head to avoid his gaze like it is too much. Your face heat signals are the worst they ever have been he notices.  

“Are you uncomfortable?” He asks softly, “Would you prefer if I stopped?”  

You go to type something on your datapad but stop mid-movement before putting it on the coffee table and spin away from him. He listens carefully. No sobs can be heard, to his relief. 

“I am sorry if I was too forward, (Y/n).” He presents his excuses, “But I find myself in a weird head space tonight.” 

You slightly turn your head towards him. Not enough for him to see your face, just enough to signify that you are listening. 

He gently caresses your arm, avoiding pressing himself against you to leave you your space. 

“(Y/n), I will not try anything you will not allow me to. I just want you to look at me.” 

You shake your head, pressing your knees against your chest, boots on the expensive sofa. 

“(Y/n), please do not deprive me of your sight.” He breathes, getting slightly desperate as you disposess him of your beautiful gaze “I am confused and need to know. Only you can help me. Look at me, my friend.” 

This is the first time he calls you friend out loud and it doesn't feel stong enough for his feelings. 

Is he really...? 

“I need your help. Just this time, will you allow it?” He asks. “Let me look at you.” 

His hand gently grasps your chin to invite you to turn to him, he does it softly, if you truly don't want it he will let you escape no question asked.  

But you do turn towards him, eyes wet and glistening but without tears rolling down your cheeks. He releases your chin to gently cup your cheek, caressing it with his thumb. 

“You are beauty incarnated.” He murmurs like he cannot believe you are in front of him, “I need only one thing and I will let you in peace. Will you allow me?” 

He lets your hands free for you to sign but you just gulp and tentatively nod. You are clearly unsure but are ready to let him try whatever he has in mind? 

But he doesn’t want to force you, your consent is the most important thing to him at this instant. 

“I am about to kiss you. Will you allow it?” He looks straight into your soul through your eyes. 

Your breath gets visibly stuck in your throat and your eyes get rounder. He keeps caressing your cheek gently, ready to face your rejection. 

But you remain mute, not signing, nor shaking your head to escape him. You just look at him like you cannot believe you heard him right. 

“I need your consent to continue.” He insists. 

Your throat contracts as you dig your nails into the fabric of your pants.  

Finally, you sign something. 

‘Why?’ 

He cannot help a light chuckle escaping him. Is it that hard to imagine? 

“I want to make sure if I am in love or not.” He very clearly explains, no sugarcoating it. 

You appear even more lost. 

‘Why?’ 

“Why would I be in love with you?” He tilts his head like your question didn’t make any sense, “You have plenty of qualities and virtues, why would you not be loved by others? Why would I not love you?” 

Your face in no more but a deeply red spot in his infrared vision. 

“What about you, (Y/n)? What are your sentiments? Do you feel something or am I alone in the storm?”  

You try to sign something but your hands tremble so much your signs are unrecognizable. 

He gently kisses your forehead before looking back into your gorgeous eyes. 

“I only ask for one kiss to settle everything once and for all. Do I have your permission?” 

You gulp before weakly nodding. You appear so tense, are you that estranged to tenderness? That pains him immensely, whatever comes out of that kiss he wants you comfortable and feeling safe at his side. 

He slowly leans forward, leaving you time to dodge if you change your mind. You close your eyes shut like you can’t face him right this instant but let him do. He gently closes the gap and softly kisses your lips. 

This is soft and light. 

But he feels a firework lighting in his chest, his heart beating at lightspeed, pumping his blood like a machine. He feels his very soul rejoice and sing blissed verses. This chast kiss sends fire to his very being. 

Not a lustful fire but a warm, comforting fire, like everything was clicking into place at last. Like he just found his other-half that he searched for so long. 

And he is so euphoric that it is you. 

He releases your lips, feeling your short breath on his lips. He opens his bright red eyes to discover you, eyes still closed but with a serene expression. You reopen your eyes slowly like you’re going down from a high. 

You gasp, stupefied. 

He awaits your judgment with anticipation and a touch of fear, but nothing pierces through his carefully crafted mask. 

You raise your hand and sign. 

‘Again please?’ 

He cannot help but smile, he will kiss again and again until you are sure of yourself! He captures your lips back in a more demanding kiss, holding the back of your head to press it against his craving lips. He sighs of pure satisfaction in the kiss, if it is what happiness feels like he would have it every day, please! 

He suddenly feels your own hand gently cupping his cheek, caressing his ear delicately. He smiles through the kiss and starts purring loudly. 

When you part again you are both panting. He takes one of your hands and kisses your knuckles reverently. 

“I thank you for this enlightening experience, (Y/n). I now have my response.” 

You look at him curiously, blood flowing furiously in your cheeks. 

“I am certain now, this is love.” He confesses, “My heart is beating for you, (Y/n).” 

You gulp again, but your hand keeps cupping his cheek, tenderly touching him. 

“I must know your response, (Y/n). What is your truth?” 

You retract your hand to start signing something but stop mid-movement of the first sign. He instantly picks up your discomfort. 

“I do not intend to force you into anything. If you wish for nothing to change between us, I will not impose myself on you. The choice is yours only.” 

You shyly nod and resume your signing. 

‘I am embarrassed.’ 

“Do not be. You may speak freely, (Y/n). Whatever your response is, I am ready to receive and honor it.” He asserts, encouraging you to open up. 

‘I never felt like this’ 

“Me neither, this is all new.” 

‘What if I am wrong?’ 

“You can always come back on your decision. If you wish to leave me later I will set you free, if you wish to come back into my arms I will welcome you.” 

He is on the verge of implosion. Doubt and excitation are consuming him, what is flying through your mind right now? Will you accept or reject him? He is dying to know! 

You take a deep breath and sign. 

‘I love you’ 

His heart skips several beats before sprinting up at a worrying speed.  

You love him back! What a relief. 

“Sign it again please.” He demands  

You fidget your fingers, embarrassed. 

“Please, Ch’acah. I want to see you tell me again.” 

You sign it again with trembling hands. 

He seizes them and kisses them like holy relics. 

“Thank you, (Y/n). You do not know how important it is for me. What do you want now?” 

‘What do you mean?’ You gingerly sign. 

“May we become a couple? Do you wish to try and explore this relationship? The choice is yours, what you want I will give.” 

@bluechiss @thrawnalani @justanothersadperson93 @al-astakbar@thrawnspetgoose @readinglistfics @elise2174 @debonaire-princess @twilekchiss @pencil-urchin @ineedazeezee @mssbridgerton @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @Cortisolcosplay @obbicrystaleo @germie2037

[factual-fantasy]

20 Asks! Thank you!! :)) 🎩

@holly-opal (Sent after this post)

I'm still working out the kinks of my AU- but I've got a few ideas in mind for Wally!

First off, he has terrible sleeping problems. :( He can only sleep for a few hours at a time before waking up with heart palpitations and feelings of anxiety :((

He's very casual about these problems and will talk to anyone who asks him about it, The neighbors will ask things like "have you tried this?" or "Have you tried eating this?" And he tries it all, but it never works.. he's not sure why :(

This is my in-world explanation for why Wally talks soooo slowly and has droopy eyes. The poor guy cant get a good nights sleep!

Now what Wally doesn't know, is that his Home is some kind of living entity.. its intentions with Wally are uncertain.. but at night while Wally is sleeping... it watches him.

The aura Home creates causes so much anxiety in Wally that he wakes up. And the feeling of another presence somewhere nearby creates so much anxiety that he cant go back to sleep.

He doesn't really recognize that these feelings could be legitimate. He just thinks to himself "No one is watching you, don't be silly!" He then double checks that his house is all locked up tight and finds a comfortable spot to rest until the anxiety subsides.. (..until home stops watching him..)

I've been experimenting with different ways that Barnaby could find out about just how severe Wally's nighttime anxiety is. And what he would do to help him.. but I haven't settled on an idea yet <:0

@greenkirbkid456u

I have not.. :( but after googling it, the art style looks really cool!! :DD

@birodactyloftheblog

XDD This ask made me laugh, and it was really sweet! Thank you!! :}}

I would love to dip my toes into welcome home a little more, I'm just a bit thin on ideas <XDD

@ivannakoopagirl14

<:0 Sorry what?

<XDD I cant tell what Wally is supposed to be. In canon he's the same height as other characters, dresses rather grown up, had his own house?? Yet so much fanart draws him/portrays him as really young or a child..? With all the neighbors treating him as a child?? <XD Which one is correct??

Not any that I can remember.. I haven't interacted with that fandom for a while <XD And when I did, I mostly stuck to my own blog and my own ideas-

@glitchhayden418

Bloop!! :))

Oof, its sad to hear that's how you found me.. 😔 But its nice to hear that someone feels the same way! :))

As for your question, that's totally fine! :D

@hershelwidget

Thank you so much!! :DDD And to be totally honest I never really think of the environment the sky animals/beasts live in <XD I usually just see the cool mask and imagine what the rest of the creature would look like! :00

Not sure for any specific advice... I'm not great at explaining art things <XDD

Yeah I have her holding an everstone XD and if she evolved she'd look like a man 💀 Which is why I'm keeping her as a cute little baby Kricketune :))

@sevenheven7011

Oh cool! :DDD

@wolfwraithartz

AAAAAA THEY LOOK SO COOL!!! :DDDD

@minnesotamedic186 (Sent after this comic)

That's right! And its a SEAHORSE MASK?? Huh :00 I didn't realize!

Oof, thanks for letting me know.. and it sucks to hear that my art is on your board, that's not good. 😔

@imaplantyay

Oof, thanks for letting me know..

@davesartdesk

👀👀👀I cant wait to see it! :DD

@orchid-harmony

Season of Abyss was a literal and figurative game changer for me. Adding swimming mechanics to sky?? That beautiful ocean(?) to swim in?? I loved it so much and it added so much more playability to the game for me.

..However..... the season of Aurora was mind blowing. Haven't cried that hard at a game before. That's gotta be my favorite season. 🥺💞💞

@stupid-thatsme (Refencing this post)

Man... 😔 I'm so sorry.. 😔😔😔

@kaiserdarken

I'm not sure! :0

XDD Nope! They Ingo and Emmet!

@livinwa

SNake! :D

(Referencing this post)

Same here 😔

@coolguyoninternet

XDD Well I do have a few side blogs, but my sona is only on this blog!

@couchwow

👁️👃👁️

@ozzytheplushiemonster

You'll find someone my frien :(

@neo-metalscottic (Master post trouble)

AAHHH THANK YOU!! :DD I was really proud of that gut punch so I'm glad you liked it! :))

As for if the animatronics have their own show.. I'm not sure :00 I made my AU without them having a show in mind.. but that's not to say they don't have one! Maybe its played on TV outside of the pizzaplex so the main animatronics don't really know about it..? :0

@kittysuicoffee (Sorry for the late reply! <XD)

WAHGGG THESE ARE SO BEAUTIFUL!!!!! 🤩🤩💞💞💞💞

XDD That's me!! :))

[dullgecko]

Some moments between the bad kids and the other parents

(Freshman) Sklonda seeing Fig sitting on the curb at like 11am and offering to take her home, but Fig doesn’t want to go so she lets her spend the night. Sklonda did end up calling Sandralynn and found out what was going on at home. Fig was allowed to come over whenever she wanted after that.

Sandralynn taking Gorgug with her to see some griffins that have been resting in the mountains it was a long hike and Gorgug let it slip that he wanted to be Druid at one point, Sandralynn was so supportive. The griffins were probably the coolest thing Gorgug’s seen.

Hallerial and Adaine having an elvish dinner together, it gets really deep and they start talking about existential stuff, like how they’re both gonna outlive their friends and family, Hallerial lets it slip that she’s not ready for Fabian die because she wasn’t there for a lot of his childhood.

(Freshman year) Kristen asking Gorthalax a lot of religious stuff. Like did he think falling was worth or if he knows any deities that he thinks would accept her. Gorthalax want to get emotional because he used to be angel questions stuff divinity.

Riz going to the Thistlesprings to help him modify some of gadgets and he leaves with things like smoke bombs, poisonous bullets, and coming to realization that the Thistlesprings are bad ass as fuck.

Fig doesnt want to go back into the appartment with Gilear, and she doesnt want to go home to her mom, so she just sits outside of the Strongtower appartments in the middle of the day on a Sunday with nowhere to go. Sklonda is on her way to work, spots this kid that she knows is in her sons adventuring party (which only three weeks ago got attacked by a horrific corn monster at school), and offers to drive her home on the way to the station.

Fig is clearly upset about something but she refuses the ride so Sklonda gives her her house keys and says to at least stay inside her apartment if she has nowhere else to go. Riz is in there passed out asleep on the couch anyway so its not like she'd be left to her own devices in her apartment while she's at work it's fine. Coincidentally this is also the first time any of the bad kids see Riz actually asleep so when the conspiracy theories start up among the rest of the bad kids later that goblins dont sleep Fig is able to refute the claims. With proof. She took pictures. Mostly because it was also the first time she saw him wearing anything other than his suit (he had actual pajamas on).

She eventually goes back to Gilears appartment to get her stuff when Sklonda comes home later that night, and her and Riz have their first sleepover (even though Riz was asleep most of the day already).

--------------------------------

Sandra Lynn agrees that Gorgug should look into being a druid. Baxter clearly likes him so he has a bit of an affinity for animals, and their party really needs one if they're going to be doing any sort of adventuring in the wilderness. She gives him so many pamphlets when they get home. She's a bit disappointed when he ends up multi-classing as an artificer because thats two strikes she's had trying to help a kid be a ranger (Fig is so terrible at it she's banned from using projectile weapons). Oh well, she still has four other bad kids she could try converting... maybe she'll try the goblin next time.

-----------------------

Fabian is there for the beginning of the dinner but his mother and Adaine start getting so philosophical that he ends up excusing himself. Honestly he can't stand the whole you're dying so fast talk full elves tend to devolve into whenever talking about him. It makes his chest hurt in a way that he cant quite work out why. Its probably the fact that his mother and grandfather seem to have both been mourning his death from the moment he was born (his mothers favorite coping mechanism being drinking herself senselees) rather than enjoying the time they still have with him.

---------------------

Kristen has a lot of questions, and is constantly doubting herself, so having Gortholax there to get at least SOME answers is very comforting. Gortholax does get a little quiet with a far off look in his eyes when she asks him if he ever doubted the convictions that lead him to falling, and he can only ever give her half answers. He doesnt doubt that what he did was right now because he likes how his life has finally panned out.

----------------------

Riz really likes visiting the Thistlesprings. Other than the fact that Gorgug is there the Thistlesprings are so nice, and their house is full of furniture actually scaled for a creature his size (his apartment and office are furnished with human-sized furniture simply because its cheaper to buy second hand). There's still a lot of furniture for Gorgug too of course, they wouldnt force him to sit in gnomish sized chairs, but its nice getting to just sit and chill in a world thats his size while his friends parents tinker with his weaponry. He's pretty sure half the stuff they give him isnt stricktly legal, but they just pat his head and tell him not to let anyone find out about it and he'll be fine.

Plus, they seem to be on a mission to overfeed the hell out of him every time he visits which is always awesome.

[fuedalreesespieces]

inukag week - day 5: personal space

the meaning of touch

read on ao3!

tw: non graphic verbal/physical abuse; implied sexual content

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His mother stood by the misty bridge like a troubled wraith, shrouded in cool fog and the humid atmosphere of midsummer.  

Inuyasha eavesdropped from the entry hall of their home, half-hidden in the shadows. He was supposed to be in their shared chamber, sleeping after a long evening of tepid play, but he’d found himself restless and unable to. Instead he’d watched through one attentive eye as his mother brushed out the tangles in her dark hair, the air heavy with the acrid stench of anxiety. She behaved as though there were an unwelcome specter lingering at her back, driving coldness into her stiff shoulder blades and making her elegant posture break in ways he had never seen before.  

Inuyasha crept closer down the bridge that separated their home from the shore. From the fog emerged an old woman, dressed in rather plain robes. Her lustrous hair was piled high, twin strands cusping her lower jaw. The grooves in her face were numerous, eroded by the years, and thus her deep frown looked much more severe than it ought to. She held herself high, chin sharply jutting out, and Izayoi’s own rose to match.  

“Mother,” she greeted.  

The woman said nothing in response. She made no move to cross the threshold onto the bridge, halting at the grassy shore. Her eyes perused the house with distaste. “How many days has it last been since I visited you, Izayoi?”  

“I believe thirteen moons.”  

“Thirteen moons...” she murmured. A fan beat a steady wind against her clammy skin. “What an insufferable evening.”  

“The lake is cool,” Izayoi remarked mechanically. “The heat never becomes unbearable here.”  

“I’m glad of it. We did not visit often when you were a child, but I recall...the still lake was such a beautiful sight. Do you remember?”  

“It was quite some time ago, mother.”  

“How halcyon it was,” she continued, her eyes closing as she descended into an unseen dream. “The sun high in the sky, casting fragments of light against the serene blue. The water seemed to roll out from the horizon like a bolt of fine silk. Sometimes we would not permit ourselves to enter for fear of ruining its sanctity, even though those were our waters to wade in. There was a scared nature...” her words drifted. “How halcyon it was.”  

“Indeed,” said Izayoi. Inuyasha couldn’t see her face, only the tip of her finger digging into her waist, drawing circles through the layers of fabric. She did the same thing for him at night, when she gently bade him to forget the smothering heat of summer and slumber.  

“But I can’t see a thing now. All this fog. I can hardly glimpse the water itself. So thick. How do you bare it?”  

“There has always been fog at this time of year,” Izayoi responded tiredly.  

“Ah, but it was quite some time ago,” she echoed. “You fail to recognize an omen when it presents itself, but I do not. At least one of us remembers when you were my daughter.”  

“Mother-”  

“Thirteen moons? Thirteen moons you waste away with that creature you call a son?”  

Izayoi drew in a breath. “If this is all you came for, to belittle me in my own house- ”  

“Your what?” her mother snapped. “House? What house? You forget you own nothing. Every blade of grass, every plank of wood, every drop of water in this lake belongs to your father. Our family, which you have forsaken tenthfold. The sole thing of value in your possession, you gave away to the first youkai to slip in your bed. And now you are nothing. Where has he gone, after he’s ruined you?”  

“Toga has passed,” Izayoi said with chilling calm. “He died in battle. You know this.”  

“Dead,” her mother parroted. “And thank the kami for it, if that is the truth. But is it so? The journey home from war is long and tedious, and no matter what barren wastelands men find themselves trekking, there will always be women other than their wives. Women to help them forget. Do you believe he thinks of you?” Her eyes narrowed into slits. “Stupid girl.”  

Inuyasha couldn’t help it – part of him surged forward on impulse. He managed to stop himself before he got too close, but his clumsy steps on the bridge’s creaking staves quickly drew the attention of the two women.  

“Inuyasha!” Izayoi cried. “What are you doing up?”  

“I - I was thirsty,” he mumbled. He could manage no more than a lie when he saw her face. She looked how she did when she was holding back tears in front of him, her face contorting in an effort to keep the tears at bay, desperate for a moment of recluse.   

“Inuyasha?” her mother repeated. She laughed, and the roosting birds scattered from their trees. “How fitting. Let me get a look at it.”  

Her gaze felt inescapable. The wooden rails of the bridge closed in on either side of him, and he became so miniscule that she could have plucked him off like an insect. Her eyes drank in his darker toned skin, a contrast to Izayoi’s pale complexion, and the clawed tips of his fingers. They drew a path up his neck, where they briefly met his own citrine-colored pupils, and continued until they came to rest on his crop of unruly white hair and the twitching ears nestled there. She watched his ears for a long time, the wrinkles in her face shifting like ripples in water. Her words had abandoned her.  

“Inuyasha,” his mother whispered. “Go inside. I shall join you in a moment.”  

He didn’t argue with her. She looked so hurt, so inexplicably worn down, and all the radiance from that morning had drained into the darkness of the lake.   

Inuyasha returned to their rooms and tried to sleep – he tried, but he couldn’t dim his awareness any more than he could make himself disappear. He heard the woman who was his grandmother choke on her words, the woman who had been so wickedly verbose struggling to find a term that would best describe him. And when she found she could not, she released an long, harrowing sigh, and he heard her steps retreat further away.  

I nearly pity you , she finally said. That you should have to look at it every day.   

The most he was able to get out of his mother was that his obaa-san visited at her leisure – whether to lecture her daughter or convince her of something, Inuyasha couldn’t tell. Izayoi refused to speak any longer about it, and in the days following his grandmother’s visit, spent long hours sitting by the edge of the lake with him nestled in the folds of her robes, staring at the opaque surface as though discerning how long the drop would take.  

Inuyasha stared deep at the water too, but he cared nothing for what lay underneath, only the glassy reflection that observed him in return. Later, he learned what word his grandmother had been searching for: hanyo.  

. . .

 Inuyasha had grown accustomed to various stares throughout his adolescence. The jawless gapes, like fish plucked from water; the shrunken pupils and stiff mouths; the frustratingly vacant eyes of his brother. At first they’d been like individual pricks to his skin, irritating and omnipresent, but he determined they were preferable to what people did when their disgust overrode their fear.  

The first person to hit him had been Sesshomaru. He hadn’t even touched Inuyasha, claiming it was beneath him – instead he had flogged him with his poison whip after Inuyasha trailed behind him longer than he deemed tolerable.   

“I shan’t repeat myself, hanyo ,” he said, his voice serene in the face of Inuyasha’s torrent of sobs. The strike had cut through his cheek, splitting apart his skin like rotting linen seams. The pain was unlike anything he had ever known. “Stay out of my sight. Look elsewhere for charity.”  

Inuyasha couldn’t name the second person to hit him, nor the third. Faceless villagers, whose long, thick fingers he recalled far better than their names. They had caught him stealing fruit from their orchards and dragged him in front of the others. It had been a spectacle. They had tried to pry the Fire-Rat off him when they realized it protected him from being burnt.  

He came to expect being beaten – it was the secondary response, the realization that this hanyo might have been half-youkai, but he was also a child and therefore easier to put down. And when he was no longer a child, he was less youkai and more an angry shell of a person, spiteful towards everyone, even the memory of his mother.   

Why? He thought. Why didn’t you warn me this was going to be the reality someday? Had she thought she would live forever with him in that blasted haven over the lake, and he would never have to confront the world and its hatred?  

Thoughts like those dissolved quick as they came. He couldn’t be angry with her when she had suffered more than he ever had. It was difficult to remember his mother when all his emotions ran a vicious circuit: hurt was quickly followed by anger, and he could no longer recall the memory of his mother without getting furious at everything that had happened – his father’s untimely death, her family, whom blamed Izayoi for their destitution, her mother who visited only to mock her, Izayoi’s slow descent into sickness and her miserable passing. So he resolved not to think at all.  

. . .

 

We are alike, you and I.  

Inuyasha sat in the boughs of a flowering cherry blossom tree, thoughts consumed by the woman at its feet. She sat underneath the tree, her bow and arrow laying in the grass. Village children flanked her on all sides, a small army, and their idle chatter was swept up to his ears by the drifting wind. Their discarded laundry baskets laid abandoned by the riverside.  

Do I look human to you, Inuyasha? Kikyo had asked. She talked as though he were supposed to regard her as a statue, but the question hadn’t made a single bit of sense to him. Humanity wasn’t a state of living, it was an identity that depended solely on your ascendants. If he had been taught anything in his life, it was this.   

Still, she was different than the other humans he had come across. Perhaps it was her occupation as a miko that made her so unafraid of him, a fact that kept him irate even now. Fear was the only reliable source he could draw power from. If people feared him, they left him alone, and there was no trouble in that. It was the best outcome.   

But Kikyo neither feared him nor left him alone. Her questions frustrated him because he didn’t know one human who would bother to ask a half-human what they thought constituted humanity. He waited for her to drop her absurd niceties and shoot him, but she never did.   

She talked like she had no company, and that was something else he didn’t understand. Perhaps she couldn’t divulge her secrets to the innocent children who deserted their chores each evening to be at her side, but he knew for certain she had a sister with whom to express her feelings to. Why she came to him was something inscrutable, but he would admit that he enjoyed listening to her talk. It had been a long time since he had heard the voice of another so calm, and even longer since he had shared an opinion.  

 He began to feel disappointed when she had to leave, which was pathetic on its own – as if he hadn’t lived just fine without her conversations. But pathetic as it was, he craved them, even if that meant divvying his attention between her voice and the bow slung behind her back.   

Inuyasha wondered if she hurried to meet him in the way he did. If she thought about him during her mundane duties. Sometimes he could feel her stare on him, inquisitive and probing, and hear her heartbeat grow irregular. Irregular described his feelings, too, especially when Kikyo began to broach the topic of the jewel and her new intended use for it. Kikyo had smiled as she explained it to him, a rosy, uncharacteristic blush lining her cheeks. We would be free , she said, and hope shined in her dark eyes like oil on water.  

To think someone wanted a future with him. It was the closest to happiness he had felt in years, the thought of being promised to someone else. Did this make him her husband? She had not said. He’d only spied glimpses of domestic life, men who kissed their wives before leaving for the morning, hugged them in times of crisis. He and Kikyo had never even touched fingers before.   

We are alike, you and I , she’d once said.   

If we were alike , he thought, you wouldn’t have to sit so far away from me.   

But maybe this was love – sitting with an ocean between them.  

. . .

The memories came in pieces, sluggishly assembling themselves in his mind. He remembered being strung up and bitten, being freed by fervent, gingerly hands. Kagome .   

His neck was wet and throbbing, slick with blood, and his skin burned, as though he were resting on coals. He had tasted poison before, but only in his half-demon state, and even then he’d had to swallow the sting and pretend it wasn’t painful. Now he had neither the strength nor the inhibition to make an effort at anything.  

A wet cloth pressed gently against his head. His eyes opened, sticky with sweat and trying to adjust to the dimness of the room they were sequestered in. The first thing he registered was Kagome leaning over him, her hair falling past her shoulder like a dark curtain separating them from the others.   

“Sorry,” she whispered, clutching the handkerchief to her chest. “Did I wake you?”  

“No,” he croaked. At the sight of her, everything returned to him in a swift, painful recollection: the indignant orphan girl and the disguised spider-youkai, Inuyasha’s eventual capture, and Kagome, climbing the web of stony limbs to rescue him, Tessaiga in hand. She’d approached him with the courage he had come to associate with her, but she had also been crying, and that had baffled him so much that he’d turned the scene over and over in his lethargic thoughts like a heated stone.  

“I’ve been thinking,” he said slowly, without any of the hesitation that came with full consciousness, “why...were you crying for me?”  

Kagome stared at him. Hers was the earnest, genuine sort that he had to fashion a name for because he had never seen anything like it. “Because...I thought you were going to die.”  

Because I thought you were going to die. A statement that wouldn’t have been damning to anyone but her.  

He remembered her frantic climb towards him, hours earlier when he’d tried to fight the spider-monk despite having been drained of his youki . She’d yelled at him for telling her to run away even though it was the most rational decision of them all. It was the instinct of survival he thought fueled everyone, just as it fueled him, but she crouched among the poison webs and remained by his side. Kindness was her instinct and she kept it like an oath.  

I will not leave here without you, she told him, and it was a demand despite the tears building in her eyes.  

“Your lap...” he murmured. His throat felt filled with ash. “Will you lend me your lap?”  

Kagome blinked owlishly. Her response was more a question. “Uh...sure.” She carefully adjusted his head. “There...is that better?”  

“Yes.” She was pleasantly warm. If he had been resting on a bed of coals earlier, she was the soothing crackle of flames from a distance. He hardly noticed the approaching sun or the tingle of radiance at his feet. A comforting scent perfumed the air – the aroma of fresh lavender, mild yet sweet.  

His eyes fluttered shut from exhaustion. “You smell good.”  

Kagome made a sound of disbelief. “But...” her voice trailed off, “you said you hated my scent.”  

He blamed the next words to come out of is mouth on delirium: “Well...I was lying.”  

Sleep claimed him before he could hear her response. The morning after, as their boat went downstream, he pretended not to recall a thing, even as he saw the questions behind Kagome’s eyes. He had practically flayed himself open that night and she had been there to see it, and he knew if she asked, he would have no viable answers for his vulnerability.  

He didn’t know if she thought often of that night, but he did. Every time she made a choice to stand at his side, he was reminded of her fearlessness and it compelled him to be a little more forward with her. She was always so forward with him , after all – wrapping her arms around his shoulders, leaning her head against his, laying close to him, speaking her mind.  

People whispered about her, and others were not so discreet. Inuyasha would turn to her, expecting her to defend herself in the way she defended him, but her eyes were always closed, a quaint smile on her face. Either she didn’t hear or she didn’t care. She was so much better at it than he.  

. . .

He was an idiot to think that things would be smooth sailing from here on out, but it was difficult to feel anything other than stupid bliss. Kagome was here , she was in his arms, and everything bad that had ever happened to him was null and void.  

Except that it wasn’t, and it took Kagome to realize it. A few weeks into her return, she moved in with him, and became that much harder to keep away from her. She slept beside him each night, her soothing scent exuding through the sheets. Their shoulders touched and their hands found each other easily in the dark.  

The kissing was new – or rather, in his case, the act of reciprocation. Kagome kissed his cheek before departing to Kaede’s for her miko training; nipped his nose just to see the face he would make. He returned her kisses with equal enthusiasm, his lips brushing over her smooth knuckles and forehead. It was an action that came with ease after years of dreaming of it.  

One evening, she found his way into his lap while they kissed. He felt something building in him, an intensity that propelled his hands down her shoulders and to her waist. Her own hands were pressed against his chest, until they too grew restless. There was a shock of cold as he felt the panels of his kosode split apart.  

I pity you, that you should have to look at it every day.  

His grip on Kagome’s waist tightened. Cloth pooled at the crooks of his elbows. Her lithe fingers trailed down his chest.  

Look at him. Found him in the fields, digging at our food. The smell of ash from a burning torch. Let’s teach him a lesson, eh?   

The irori fire crackled and popped. The scent of it was nauseating.  

“Inuyasha?”  

His vision focused. Kagome was hardly a breath away, but her expression was concerned. The tails of her mussed hair fell down her back in loose curls. “Are you okay?”  

“Ah...” he swallowed. “Sorry.”  

“Did I do something?”  

“No,” he said hurriedly, breathless from their previous actions. “No, I just – I just...” He refrained from cursing at his own ineptitude. “I dunno...I just froze. I’m sorry. We can – we can try again, if ya want.”  

She squeezed his hand. “If you aren’t in the mood, you can always tell me.”  

But I am , he wanted to say. The mood was all he had been in for the past few weeks. Now that he’d finally been given a chance to act on his feelings, memories that had laid shriveled up inside him were resurfacing.   

Why? Why now, when he was the happiest he’d ever been?   

Kagome accepted his sudden silence, sinking into his chest. After a few moments, he wrapped his arms around her, and she snuggled closer, releasing a quiet sigh. He held her until her breathing evened out, carrying her to their futon to settle her gingerly upon the thick animal pelts they’d hunted and sewn together into blankets.   

He closed the panels of his kosode , and his bare chest disappeared beneath the fabric. She had touched it before, back during their questing days, but only when he was heavily injured. Even then he had argued against it.  

Inuyasha decided that he’d simply been nervous and amended that tomorrow he would do better. If he could sleep beside her, hold her, and kiss her, then what followed shouldn’t have made him act like this. He should be able to return her gestures as assuredly as she gave them. He would get over himself soon. 

... 

“Kagome,” he breathed out. “Kagome...a minute.”  

She peered up at him with an coquettish expression, her lips ghosting over his collarbone. Rain fell outside, and the air was damp and heavy with inescapable humidity. The occasional flash of lightning illuminated his wife’s body in strokes of startling white. “Mm?”  

“I need...” he rose, suddenly finding it difficult to inhale. “A minute.”  

I pity you, that you should look at it every day.  

He pivoted towards the other wall, where he could see the dead ashes of the fire that had long gone out. His heart raced. He felt the urge to draw his protective garbs over his skin, covering them up from sight.   

“Inuyasha?” Kagome said his name tentatively.   

Grab him. He’s tryin’ to run away.  

“I’m alright,” he reassured. His head was spinning. “‘Jus give me a second.”  

Thunder shook the earth. A cold, shallow wind brushed against his bare skin. Behind him, Kagome moved positions in the blankets. Earlier her sleeping robe had hung at her shoulders, and now it sank even lower, barely covering the slope of her breasts. She’d been flustered and embarrassed, but he had kissed her firmly and told her she was beautiful, and she had opened up further. Yet here he was.  

What the hell is wrong with you?  

His wife came to sit beside him. She looked anxious, and he internally cursed for the nth time. “I just...I want to know if I did something that made you uncomfortable.”  

“’Gome...”   

“I don’t want you to feel pressured,” she murmured. “Please talk to me.”  

Lightning flashed. The air was electric, and so was the sight of her, dark hair tumbling down her back, the curve of her waist under the silk kosode. “I...I want to,” he said. “I want to be with you. I just keep...”  

“Freezing?” she suggested.  

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “I’m not gonna let it happen again, I swear-”  

She held up a hand. “Inuyasha, that’s not something you can ignore.”  

“But-”  

She shook her head. “Come here.” She gestured to the blankets next to her. Hesitantly, he brought himself over to where she sat among the furs.   

After a stretch of silence, she asked, “Can you describe it for me?”  

Kagome drew circles in his arm, tickling his skin, warm against the growing cold. “I remember things.”  

“What sorts of things?”  

“’Jus things...from when I was younger. I don’t like to think about ‘em. But I remember anyway.” He breathed a stiff, humorless laugh. “It was years ago. Don’t see why it started matterin’ now.”  

She paused. “What exactly do you remember?”  

“I...” His voice broke. The details were blurry, and for years he’d purposefully suppressed them so they would be difficult to recall. “A lotta things, I guess. Mostly the way people acted towards me. They got physical sometimes, before I knew how to protect myself. And when they didn’t, they just said things.” Lighting flashed again, followed by a sound that resembled a mountain cracking in half. “Like I said...it was a long time ago.”  

“It wasn’t that long ago,” said Kagome. Her voice was quiet. “We fought Naraku three years ago, and I still have nightmares about him. Even if it was long ago, some experiences effect us for a while afterwards. Especially cruel ones.”  

He couldn’t meet her eyes, but he could feel her fingers weaving between his limp ones. “In my time, there was a girl I knew whose father was arrested for beating her when she was a child. She didn’t like when people touched her – she would get really angry and constantly looked around her. Sometimes she’d faint. Those were the reactions her body had because of the things that happened to her...and these are yours.”  

But I’m not scared of you. I want to touch you. Why does it all hinge on shit that happened years ago, said and done by people who are all probably in the grave by now? Why do they get a say in my life long after they tried to ruin it?  

“Inuyasha?”  

“Sorry, ‘Gome,” he managed. His pounding head laid heavy in his hands. He hadn’t felt this disoriented since a battle, and he hated how that was the first and most accessible comparison his mind conjured.   

Kagome embraced him, her hug fiercely tight. He slowly wrapped his arms around her, breathing in her scent. “Don’t ever apologize for something like this.”  

They stayed like that until the sweat on his back cooled and the rain had slowed to a lethargic rhythm. Its sound reminded him of the machine in Kagome’s room, its hands shifting every second to show the change in time. He’d broken one of them by accident, but the larger one on her wall, the one that didn’t shriek, was still ominous in its silence.   

“We’ll take it step by step,” Kagome said, parting from where she sat against his chest.  “We don’t have to go fast. If there’s ever a time where you start to feel uncomfortable, you tell me and we’ll stop immediately. Does that sound okay?”  

 “But what about you?”  

“What about me?”  

“Are ya...are ya okay with waiting?”  

Her eyes shone. “Oh, Inuyasha.” The way she said his name, an achingly familiar combination of sweetness and exasperation, made a fraction of the stress weighing over him fade. “I didn’t come back solely for this. I came back because I wanted to see you . I’m not waiting for you to be with me in that way, I’m waiting for you to be comfortable so we can both enjoy it. And if we never do it, that’s okay, too.”   

He didn’t know what to say to that.  

She did, though. Somehow she never ran out of the right things to say. “I get pretty happy just waking up to your face, you know. That’s all I ever wanted.”  

. . .

It took much longer than he ever could have imagined. He’d hoped he could just close his eyes and will the fear away, but as Kagome had had to remind him several times, it simply didn’t work that way. This couldn’t be cut down with a sword or sealed away with a sutra. It was the tedium of winnowing on a hot afternoon, separating grains and knowing the work would last ages. The effort was often chased by heavy guilt that he was failing his wife in some way, despite her constant reassurance otherwise.  

The severe dichotomy of their intimacy was frustrating. He could be in the midst of enjoying Kagome’s ministrations, then suddenly experience intense discomfort following a particular memory. Some days were better than others, though, and he found that the best ones were when he focused on his wife – unraveling her in and out without removing so much as his kosode .   

After their first few attempts, when they’d redress and lay together by the fire, Kagome urged him to talk about the specific memories he saw. He’d been vague, partly because he didn’t know how to discuss something he’d vowed to never dwell on, but mostly because he was pulling at dregs. He didn’t remember many of the things that had happened, just a few vivid snippets that threw a hot spoke into their sexual ventures.   

And when he did remember something, it was like choking out a gourd. Kagome was always encouraging, but when she sensed it was too difficult, she offered to leave the room and allow him some privacy.   

Stay , he’d said. I want you to stay here.  

Kagome’s patience awed him. When he couldn’t bring himself to talk, she would tell him something about her day, a mundane but safe topic. Her soothing voice was like a frail beam of light through the fog that settled between them, leading him back into her arms, slowly but surely. Sometimes she got him to laugh with silly anecdotes, and their conversations would grow miscellaneous until they fell asleep.  

It won’t be like climbing a hill , she’d told him. It won’t just be a burst of effort to the peak. It’s more like...a rocky path, maybe. There are smooth parts and rough parts, but the longer you spend on it, the more ways you learn to navigate it.  

She had been right, in a way. Their first time together had been a thing of dreams, and he’d enjoyed it as much as she had, but when they tried again the next day, the discomfort returned tenthfold.  

Kagome found him by the riverbank near their hut, where the village women met in hordes to do the washing. “Inuyasha?”  

He responded with a toneless grunt. She sat down next to him, dressed in her thin kosode, barefoot against the wet grass. The river was clear and smooth as a jade mirror. He hadn’t seen himself in a while, not in a reflection so still. He looked haunted, like his mother had all those years ago, the weight of her actions hanging over her when his grandmother visited.  

“Why’d you come out here?” he asked.  

Her eyes flickered towards him. “Do you want me to leave?”  

“...No,” he said. “‘s just...I thought it’d be fine now. It’s happenin’ again .”  

“It’s not something that’ll go away just ‘cause you succeed once,” she said gently. “Yesterday...” Her cheeks flushed. “Yesterday was wonderful . But it might not be something you can do every day, at least for a while. You might not even want to for weeks.”  

He couldn’t imagine that, given how much he had enjoyed yesterday, but now she had reminded him that going downhill was indeed a possibility. He fell backwards into the grass and tried not to think about the memory that had brought him out of it earlier, but started talking anyway: “My grandmother was such a bitch.”  

Kagome couldn’t help it – she snorted. “W-what?”  

“My grandmother,” he repeated. “On my ma’s side. She’d come over once a year. Just to say shitty things to my mother. Call her an embarrassment, say she had brought their family down...really, though, she wanted to say all that shit to me , but my mother hid me away during her visits. Told me to sleep. I should’a listened when I had the chance.”  

Kagome frowned. He could tell she was angry but didn’t want him to think it was directed at him – her clenched fists gave it away, though. “They were just looking for a scapegoat,” she muttered. “Someone to blame for everything. Anyone but themselves.”  

“They were already losin’ money when I was born – my mother was supposed to be promised to some prince to keep ‘em out of poverty, but then she met my old man.” His ears twitched as a flock of birds flew from the trees. “My grandmother saw me on one of her visits. She was a chatty woman...never shut up. But when she saw me she didn’t say anything except that she pitied my ma.”  

He paused, mouth dry. “Her face was...it was like crumpled paper. She wasn’t even pissed like everyone else, just sad. It was probably the first time she acted sad for my mother, even though she would’a swore my mother was goin’ straight to hell.”  

“She’s going to hell.” Kagome muttered. At his shocked look, she amended, “your grandmother, I mean.”  

He choked out a laugh. “ Geez , Kagome.”  

“We were both thinking it.”  

“I dunno if the village miko should be the one to say it out loud.”  

“I think that gives me more authority to say it, actually,” she teased. “I have a feeling.”  

“Oh?” he drawled. His hands traced line of her cheekbone, and her mouth widened into a grin as he drew her into a kiss.  

When they parted, she rested her head against his chest, her luminous hair splayed over his bare skin. “So...she is actually dead, right?”  

He scoffed. “’S been fifty-three years, and she was already old. If she’s still alive, she’s kami-blessed.”  

“Ah, so she was youkai all along.”  

They shared a laugh, laying together at the river’s edge, and he felt the coil in his stomach unfurl, relief spreading through him like a balm.  

. . .

“Inuyasha...”  

“No.”  

“ Inuyasha. ”  

“No. Go back ta sleep.”  

“Let me go!” Kagome squirmed in his arms, but he held her waist steadfastly. “I have to see Kaede early!”  

“She’ll be fine,” he grumbled. “Stay.”  

“I’ll S-I-T-you,” she deadpanned.  

“Not like this ya won’t.”  

“You’d be surprised what I can try when I’m annoyed enough,” she said dryly. “As much as I’d like to sleep here for another five minutes, I’m not about to fall into your trap again.”  

He yawned, one arm locked around her waist, and blinked the sleep from his eyes. His long, white hair draped over his toned back and shoulders, falling in loose, lazy circles against his skin. “What trap?”  

She blushed. “ That trap.”  

“No idea what you’re talkin’ about. Sleep.”  

Kagome sighed, sinking under the blankets. “Five minutes, then.”  

“Five minutes.”  

He intended to keep her there for at least half the day, but she didn’t need to know that. He just wanted to hold her for a while.

[bluebellhairpin]

Thou So Long Hast Mourn'd

Bruce Wayne X Batmom!Reader

Summary: After Jason's passing, your grief and anger combined causes you to leave Gotham - swearing only to return when you have a perfect chance to kill the Joker for what he did to your son. (Part 2 to 'Hell Hath No Fury')

Warnings: Loss and Grief (Mentions of a funeral and repeated mentions of Jason dying. We miss Mumma's Boy Jay a lot :( ). Bad coping mechanisms all round. Clark Kent acts as a marital buffer. (Reader is fem coded; has she/her pronouns; is referred to as ‘wife’ multiple times. Has the hero name of 'Valentine'.)

Listening to: 'Skyfall' By Adele - "I know I'd never be me without the security of your loving arms keeping me from harm."

Series Masterlist || Masterlist || Ko-Fi

Yes, thou shalt know, spite of thy past Distress, - 

Jason’s funeral was attended by a very small number of people. Yourself, Bruce, Dick, and Alfred all front and center. 

For days, weeks, the media pestered asking question after question. “A tragic accident.” Commissioner Gordon would reply. It became you answer too, like a well-rehearsed prayer. 

A tragic accident. Tragic. Accidental tragedy. Accident. 

Except it was no such accident. Someone killed Jason. A man, who still walked free, murdered your son. 

Even now, a month after you buried the child, as you sat listening to rain pat against the window panes in Wayne Manor, you remembered what you’d told Bruce the night he brought Jason home for the last time. 

“I’m going to kill him.” you said. “I’m going to kill the Joker.” You told Bruce you’d do what you’d vowed to never do again. You promised yourself to avenge your son, to make sure no one else would ever lose a child to that monster ever again. 

Ever since that night you’d felt a wedge slide between you and Bruce. Dick, only sixteen and having lost the closest thing he had to a brother was feeling it - you could see it on his face, and they way he held his shoulders at dinner. How you were feeling, how little Bruce was doing about it - none of it was doing Dick any good. 

Aside from the anger, you didn’t know how you were feeling. You never thought you’d ever be a mother - you had no idea what to do to help anyone. So you left. 

Bruce was out on patrol - he dove into Batman head first, a bitter feeling in your stomach had you thinking he was compensating. Dick was out - gymnastic practice, which Alfred was in charge of tonight. You were left alone in a huge house, and you couldn’t stand to stay there any longer. 

A small bag was packed with basics - clothes, cash, a few weapons from the cave, and a single family photo taken while on vacation just that past summer (stolen from its frame and folded into a jacket pocket close to your heart). As you walked past the main living space, you stopped, and looked up towards the item hanging above the fireplace. 

The sword - Excalibur - a god-given gift to humankind to exact true justice, now resting as a collectors antique catching dust. You knew if you took it that you would be able to do what you needed to. During your time using it there was no greater pull than to execute Joker - yet something always stopped you. 

You knew it was Bruce. 

Even already, your own guilt over what you meant to do wouldn’t let you take it with you. 

Naturally, on that night, Alfred brought Dick was home first. It was already nine thirty, and while Dick would be up for a long while, he knew the boy wasn’t sleeping proper anymore. 

Alfred sent him up to his room anyway, reassuringly with a hand on his shoulder, telling him to go try and get some rest. 

But Alfred knew something wasn’t right in the Manor the moment he stepped inside. It was too quiet. Like it had been empty as long as they’d been away - even though he knew full well you should’ve been there to keep the house alive. 

Although not trained, the butler had a sixth sense for a lot of things - he was a natural at whatever he sent his mind to (in his youth it was acting, and hence so seeing through lies and reading rooms (for improvisation, obviously) went with it). He set out to find you. Looked in all the usual places, and the unusual ones, in the big rooms and the small ones. 

In the last week or so you’d taken to spending time sitting in the walk-in-fridge. He worried about you a lot. While Dick still had school and his friends, and Bruce threw himself into Batman, you only really had yourself. It wasn’t healthy. 

But no matter how much he looked, or where he looked, you were nowhere to be found - not in the house, nor in the grounds. You’d said nothing about going out when he left, he would’ve remembered. In a last ditch effort to find you, he looked in one last place. 

But you hadn’t been in the Batcave since Jason came home. 

It was there, as he walked down a set of stairs, that he noticed a piece of paper haphazardly taped to one of the center computer monitors. 

He grabbed it, and flipped it open, reading quietly to himself the words inside, scrawled in your handwriting. 

‘Bruce, Don’t look, you know I won’t let you find me. I’m going to do something you will hate me for - probably forever. I can’t keep living like this knowing Jason’s killer is out there killing more mother’s sons. Take care of Dickie. Don’t take Alfred for granted.’

The older man found himself sinking into the chair beside him.

He had a hunch this was coming - he wasn’t in the cave the night Bruce brought Jason home, instead at the time he was upstairs taking a call from an excited Dick who was recalling his day spent doing a treasure hunt around Blüdhaven for a school camp trip that lasted the whole week. Alfred had no idea how you first reacted - he didn’t know how Bruce reacted to your reaction. 

He knew it wasn’t good. Especially since in your note you didn’t even say goodbye to your husband. 

You’d been hiding in a place you knew Bruce wouldn’t ever look - he always hated visiting Metropolis, the city was too bright.  

You knew no one there would snitch on you - most didn’t even recognize you, and the one person who did, conveniently the man who was the closest thing Bruce had to a best friend, wouldn’t ever snitch on you. Not for this. 

‘I needed a break,’ you’d lied, ‘Couldn’t handle being in Gotham after…’ You never finished, and you knew Clark could see through a lie like glass - but the grief he could see. He could also see the anger simmering underneath. He never called you out for it though. 

You’d been there a while, waiting, watching Gotham from a distance Bruce wouldn’t see you from. You kept tabs mostly on Batman - although interviews with Bruce having to explain where his wife went were entertaining (in a sick, satisfying way). Sometimes you were sick, others you were out of town, most times you ‘weren’t feeling up to it’ - the latter two would be closest to the truth, not that he’d know that. 

You often looked fondly at whatever information came though about Dick - he took out the gymnastics first place for his age bracket in the Gotham state. The picture made your heart ache - his smile was wide and toothy, but even though your printed newspaper you could tell it wasn’t reaching his eyes. 

Who you were watching most, though, was the Joker. You combed through old reports and new ones. Even called up Harley Quinn a few times, just to get a perspective on him from someone who was - at one point - much closer to him. She asked you why you wanted to know. 

“I need to know.” 

“O-kay. And where exactly have you been Val?” she’d said, voice crackling down the hotel landline, “You ain’t locking yourself up in that Mansion are ya?” 

“No. I’m not in Gotham right now.” 

“So what’s even the Joker to ya if you ain’t even here huh?” 

“When I come back,” you said, “I’m going to kill him.” 

You became a Joker expert in almost one night.

You got a late night visitor less than a week after that phone call. Clad in red and blue, with a gaudy cape and that stupid ringlet you and Bruce would always bitch about on late nights under bed covers. 

You were a little happy to see Clark - you actually had nothing against him, it was all just in jest (or solidarity because Bruce was your husband). He was let in pretty quickly. Mostly to avoid questions from the nosey couple who’d been staying in the room next to yours for the past three days. 

He stood around awkwardly while you watched him from the seat next to the room’s microwave, posture screaming Clark Kent, journalist, even though he looked like Superman, world-know superhero. 

“I’m, uh -” he started after you stared at him hard, wordlessly willing him to speak, “- I’m worried. I think you should go back to Gotham soon. To Bruce, specifically.” 

“And why’s that?” He looked at you like you’d just said you had Kryptonite in your pocket. 

“Because you’re in trouble.” 

“I’m here in Metropolis, I’m with you right now, I couldn’t be in less trouble if I tried.” 

“You know I have super hearing.” he said sheepishly. It was like he was telling his Ma he ran over her peonies with a bicycle. You put two and two together quickly though. 

“You’ve been spying on me?” 

“For me!” He said, stepping back with his palms towards the sky, “I feel better about not telling Bruce if I know what’s going on with you.” 

“And so what part of your spying brought you here tonight?” Both your arms and legs crossed, you could tell from his face he didn't mean for you to get so offensive so quickly. 

“You were talking to Harley Quinn?” 

“Oh that,” you scoffed with a wave of your hand, “Even Bruce does that. She’s not so bad. Taught me how to roller-skate you know.” 

“About the Joker?” 

“That happens often when my husband is being a pain in my ass,” you said, “Reminds me he could be much, much worse.” Clark motioned his head - ‘fair’, but then he returned serious once more. This time it wasn’t a question. 

“You said you were going to kill him.” 

You knew he couldn’t read your mind, but he could hear how your heartbeat picked up. He had to know you knew you’d been caught. He sat down on the edge of the bed, waiting for your answer in the most approachable way he knew in that moment. 

“I’d be doing everyone a favor.” 

“Bruce - I don’t know what he’d do. He could hate you.” 

“I’m sure he hates me right now anyway.” 

“You can’t believe that,” Clark said, looking up at you with blue eyes that almost looked like Bruce’s. “You don’t really believe he hates you right now?” You took a great interest in the patterned carpet. Clark said your name, and you reluctantly looked back at him. 

“He misses you.” 

“I miss my son.” You bit back at him bitterly. His face remained hard. This was suddenly no longer Clark. You were talking to Superman now. 

“I’m not sure how to say this kindly,” Clark said with a firm voice, “But you’re so focused on the child you lost that you’re abandoning the one that’s still here. Bruce misses you, but Dick misses you even more. He doesn’t need to lose another Mom.” 

His stare was hard, stubborn - he wasn’t going to let up. Your stare was hard too - sour and angry, not because you didn't believe him, but because you knew how right he was. 

“I think you can leave now.”

Two weeks later, after a late night grocery run that consisted mostly of chicken noodle cups and instant coffee, you found a lump of black sitting in the dark with its back against the door of your room. 

Clark told Bruce. 

He didn’t seem to notice your approach, but once you stood toe-to-toe with his polished Oxford shoes, you kicked his leg. 

“Get up.” 

His head of messy hair lifted, and when his brain fully processed you - his wife, finally! - standing before him, he almost jumped to his feet. Uncharacteristic of him outside his prior - and now ditched - playboy persona. 

He breathed your name, stepping forward with hands outstretched as if to hug you. You took a step back. Clark, apparently hadn’t told him everything - if he had, he was taking it very, very well. 

“Where’s Dick?” 

“With Alfred,” he said, hands falling to his sides again after you hummed in acknowledgment. You both stood in silence for a while, before you gestured to a door with a full hand. He got the hint, stepping away, then taking the bags away from one hand as you fumbled for your keys. 

The quiet continued as you let yourselves in, you sat the shopping on the bench, and he made himself at home at the table near the door. You sat back down in the microwave chair, the furthest place from him you could be while still staying in the room. 

“Been keeping busy, Bruce?” you asked, he turned to fully face you in his seat. 

“Not really,” he said, “I’ve been looking for you. Never thought you’d be here,” You almost smiled, thinking about how right you were for coming here. Almost. 

“Heard you went to Saudi Arabia while I’ve been gone.” 

“It was nothing. Really.” 

“You couldn’t have been looking too hard if you were able to take a ‘nothing, really’ trip to the Arabian Mountains.” 

“I’m not here to fight with you,” Bruce said, resting a palm on his knee, “I’m here to ask you to come home. We all miss you.” his last words came out very quietly. “It’s been months. Nothings going to get easier if you stay away.” 

“Are you listening to yourself?” you said with a soft scoff, “He who literally spent every single night after Jason died away from home. He who spends every moment he can down in a dark damp cave rather than with his family - I don’t think you get to tell me where I should be.” You felt tears well in your eyes - hot and fat if they fell, but you willed yourself not to let them. Bruce’s shoulders softened, and he stood and walked closer slowly, coming to kneel before you with his fingers just touching yours. 

“We both haven’t been doing well, have we?” his head shook and his voice was barely audible. It was like he was speaking to himself. His admission - finally, his own pride and stubbornness aside, and it made yours disappear like dust in the wind. 

“You need to see my bathroom,” you said. His head cocked, a sly smile twitched onto his lips. 

“Oh?” he said, “And what might I find there?” But you weren’t smiling. You were trying to be honest.

“Just go look.” you said, turning away from him, bringing your hand away. Telling him with your actions that you weren’t going to be talking until he did. 

He stood, opening the bathroom door behind you and flicking on the light. You could feel how still he was. Taking in the room, and what was inside it. 

All across the mirror and walls were taped up newspaper clippings and photos and articles printed off from the library, old and new, a few of him - Batman - but most of the Joker. Beside the toilet was a case - one he knew would hold parts of a rifle (parts he'd seen you pull apart and put back together in a minute flat) - and across the sink were knives and gun magazines. 

Bruce stepped off the carpet and onto the tile. There was a little list in the center of the mirror, written in red and with the last line underlined.

‘Kill the Joker’. 

When he returned to you, he was holding the list in one hand. 

“When were you planning on doing this?” he asked. You weren’t able to meet his eyes when you answered. 

“Whenever I go back to Gotham.” His body went rigid beside you. Audibly, he let out a breath.

“I’ve thought about it too. Just getting rid of him like that.” he admitted, voice quiet and with a rough edge, “But I know it won’t help. It won’t bring him back.” 

“This isn’t about bringing him back. If I knew it could bring Jason back I’d have done it weeks ago.” You looked up at Bruce as you spoke, watching as his face crinkled in disbelief. 

“You’re so serious about this.” 

“How could you still think I’m not serious?” you said, standing to help convince yourself you weren’t as unsure as you felt. “I will do it. A time will come when that monster dies - wherever it is I will be standing by watching.” 

He watched you. Analyzing your face and the way your eyes moved. His face set like stone, hard and sure and you knew he was much more upset now having found out than what he was when you were missing. He took a step back. 

Bruce was moving towards the door. 

“I won’t stop you. I couldn’t bear to.” he turned, hand on the door handle, “But Batman still will.”

As far as you knew, you’d made it back into Gotham City undetected. 

You knew the route’s Bruce - no - Batman, took while out on patrol. You knew the surveillance he constantly would check. You knew because for years you’d helped him do it all. 

Thankfully, you had a not-so-little little helper - Joker assassination aside, Harley was more than happy to put you up for a while. After you’d killed Joker you’d planned to turn tail and leave again - maybe hide someplace in Australia where no one barely goes. It wasn’t like you had to put up with her long anyway. 

Harley was great, but you’d have to love her a whole lot to live with her longer than a week. But you weren’t planning to stay that long. 

You’d tracked Joker to an apartment complex near Arkham - you knew he wouldn’t stay there forever, so you needed to act fast. 

Your weapons of choice were clean and ready to go, your escape routes A through to D were memorized, a hood and bandana combo were acquired to hide your identity long enough for no one around to know it was you. By all means and definitions you were ready to go. 

You left Harley’s place wordlessly. You were sure she didn’t even know you left. 

A cloak and the shadows of night concealed you from most passersby. Slowly, slowly you stalked towards where you knew the Joker to be. When you climbed the fire escape to find your vantage point, you almost didn’t make it all the way there because you saw Him. 

Sitting, lounging. Acting like there was not a single thing in the world to worry about. It made you so angry you could scream, claw your eyes out, you could do so many things all because that man couldn’t care less about your son dying. 

In fact, you didn’t make it to your original vantage point. 

You settled right there, three levels lower than planned, and took the rifle off your shoulder. Clipping on the scope, twisting the silencer on, packing the magazine in. Settled your body into a comfortable position, then raised the gun to look at your target through the scope. 

With greasy green hair and yellow teeth, you watched him smile through the crosshairs. With a sneer you flicked the safety off. You were ready to take the shot.

A flash of red, green and yellow came in front of the Joker. You frowned, confused. Pulling the scope back you looked again with a wider range and saw something that made your heart drop. Someone was tied up and presented to him like a present. 

The Joker had Robin. 

Your Robin. Your son. Your Dick Grayson. 

Suddenly this was more than just a chance to avenge Jason. A switch flicked inside your heart. This wasn’t a chance to avenge Jason anymore; this was you, saving the son you had left. This was you not giving that monster the chance to keep you in black. 

The lethal rifle was ditched right there on the fire escape, not caring if a lowlife found it before you could return. The knives you’d stashed - ‘just in case’ - were now your swords. Their piercing blades becoming the only thing shielding those who stood in your way a feral beating from bare fists. 

No one was standing in your way of taking Dick home safely. 

Your veins pumped white hot, you saw red all over. This was not going to happen a second time. It wasn’t ever going to happen again. 

A goon at the door stood in your way, he was met with a knee to the crotch and a wound to his shoulder to keep him down. More on the stairs were thrown over bannisters. One had his head smashed into the doorway of the Joker’s apartment. Another was given a hard elbow to the back of his neck. 

You weren’t aiming to kill - you were aiming to get them out of your way, and keep them that way. 

When you reached the room which window you saw through, there were only four other people aside from yourself, your son, and that murdering bastard. They all stayed quiet, goons waiting on a call to action from their boss. You missed the way Dick’s eyes widened as he realised his Mom was here. You were busy staring down the Joker, trying to make him feel just how much pure hate you had for him without a single word. 

“Give me Robin,” you said, voice low, venomous. Dangerous. 

“Well if you want him so bad, and since you asked nicely,” His smile spread wide and uncanny. “Come and get him.” 

So you did. 

Like a blur of back and blue, you had all four men either out cold or groaning on the floor. The Joker himself was under your kneeling form with his teeth now stained red and an eyes swollen shut. 

“Listen well because I’ll only say it once.” You said, your hand a rough fist in his hair to make sure he looked into your eyes and saw exactly how much of a threat your promise was. 

“I spared your life today. I will never do it again. I am not the Batman. The next time I find you trying to pull something with one of my Robin’s and you see me coming you'd better run the other way because I will kill you.”

After untying Dick, retrieving your abandoned gear, and throwing Joker into Arkham, you reconvened with Dick on a nearby rooftop. 

You barely stood upright on two legs before he barreled into you, arms thrown around your waist with his face squished right into your collarbone. He’d grown taller in the time you’d been away. You felt tears fall as your arms wrapped around him in kind. 

“I’ve missed you Mom.” he mumbled into your shirt, “Please don’t go away again. Please.” 

A hand raised to the back of his head as you pressed your covered nose into his hair. You took a deep breath with your eyes closed, then opened them, peeling you both apart just enough to take in each other's faces. Even with his mask on you could see how much he was pleading with you to stay.

You brushed his hair away from his face - he needed a haircut soon. 

You wanted to stay, you never wanted to leave him ever again, not after tonight. But would Bruce let you? 

Out the corner of your eye you saw a black drop fall onto the rooftop a little ways off. Batman. He stood, tall and intimidating. In that moment you had half a mind to take a step back even though he made no move closer to you. 

Instead you just held Dick a little tighter. 

Bruce's hand reached out to you, palm open, outstretched, and empty. Waiting for you to take it. 

“I think we can go home now.” he said, “We all can.” Like that, Batman disappeared. Bruce was here. You guessed he bluffed - when it came to you Bruce was always there. 

Things were not going to go back to normal. They weren’t for a while. But the best thing you could do was stay together, all together. As a family. 

Nothing was going to push that away from you again. 

- And all those Ills which thou so long hast mourn'd;

[neon-junkie]

In the Heat of the Moment - Chpt.6

Summary: “Less than ten percent of domesticated species go into heats,” accord to Tech and his research, and (un)fortunately, you’re one of that ten percent. What else are you meant to do? Trapped during a heat cycle with five men - five willing men who are happy to help relieve you, but not all have the confidence to say so.

Relationship: The Bad Batch x fem!Reader (she/her)

Tags: Heats, Mating, Sex pollen, Friends with benefits, Friends to lovers, Slow burn, Sex, Jealousy, Pining, Cuddling, Huddling for warmth, Tags to be added.

Word count: 2.8k

[Chapter 1]  [Chapter 7]

Chapter 6 - Hot ‘n’ Cold

Two suns.

Why does Tatooine need two suns?

It's not like you can do repairs during the night, either, as the temperature plummets so deep that your goosebumps have goosebumps. Plus, it's dark... Duh!

So, all you and the others can do is work away during the blazing heat. Bunks have been stripped, the sheets being used as make-shift shade whilst you work, only to be pulled down and wrapped up in when the temperature drops every night. Your heat cycle has taken pity on you, as it's relaxed these last few days. Bless Echo for giving you a good run for your money, as he's kept you fully stocked.

Well, there have been odd moments where you can feel your hormones playing up, only for the sweltering blaze from the suns to knock them down a peg.

Speaking of the heat, it's provided you with a new threat - shirtless men.

It's understandable that the Batch want to work on repairs in as minimal clothing as possible, seeing as their armour isn't designed to keep the heat out - not when it's painted black, a colour that attracts heat. To combat their little problem, they've decided to work shirtless, with their lower half sporting sweatpants or sleep shorts.

You've been working in the bare minimum, too. And as curious as your eyes are, the Batch are just as guilty. Some of them haven't even bothered looking away when you've caught them eyeing you up, such as when Echo merely shrugged and replied, "what? These glances keep me motivated."

Charming.

There is, surprisingly, no signal out in the Dune Sea. Whilst you and Tech remain on the Marauder to focus on repairs, the others have taken on the task of trekking to Mos Espa, desperate for supplies, and hopefully, a call for help. That is, if the Republic answers - their lines are almost always busy.

The Batch set out at the crack of dawn, and now that the suns are shining overhead, you assume that they must be there by now. The midday heat is unbearable, and wanting to avoid the blaze, you enter the Marauder. It's durasteel structure traps some heat, but thankfully, the air-conditioning is up and running, and despite its funny smell, you enjoy the decline in temperature.

Not wanting to lie on the leather seats, only to peel yourself off them later, you decide to settle on the floor. A heavy sigh escapes your lips as you lie back against the wall, followed up by you taking a well-needed drink from your water bottle.

"Having another break, are we?" Tech's voice chimes out as he also enters the cockpit. His brows are furrowed as he gazes over your form, and you know that he's silently cursing himself for being the mechanic of the Batch, meaning he has the most responsibility when it comes to repairs. Not everybody can lounge around like you, (apparently.)

You don't fancy putting up with Tech's petty remarks, and as luck would have it, you have a reasonable explanation for your 'break.' "Yeah, I just need a moment... something is playing up," you gesture to your lower abdomen, which causes Tech's brows to soften out, and his lips to tilt into a slant.

"Ah, I understand," he says with a nod, and decides to sit beside you, also sipping on his own bottle of water.

Silence swarms the air, however, it's not unsettling. Whilst your and Tech's relationship has become tense, there is still respect. You both know this is merely a storm that will pass, but constant wedges have formed, making it unable to rest.

Until now.

Tech, whilst moving his goggles up to rest on his forehead, comments, "whilst I would offer you assistance, I am not in a suitable state to do so." He gestures to his grimy and sweaty form, and to be fair, your state is no better. "My mind is also far too occupied with repairs, and I am sure you would not enjoy intercourse with me, seeing as my hygiene has become poor. If our resources were not limited, I would happily use the refresher, but we-"

"-It's okay, Tech," you cut his words short with a soft wave of your hand. "I'm too sweaty to fuck, too."

Tech lets out a chuckle. "Well, that is one way of putting it."

Your eyes meet for a moment, and for the first time in days, neither of you feel tense. Tech has always been such a sweetheart to you, even if he was a little awkward and unsure of you, at first. The Batch weren't used to having a Jedi around - they've never had a General before - so can you blame him for having his guard up?

Although Tech doesn't mean his next words with malice, they come out that way, regardless. "Perhaps Echo could assist you when he returns?"

"Oh," you murmur, your eyes locking onto Tech's. Within an instant, he realises his mistake, and rubs the back of his neck in worry.

"That was not a dig," he winces. "I... ahem, overheard you two the other night."

Either the heat from outside is seeping in to the cockpit, or you're burning up from embarrassment. A knot forms in your stomach, travelling up your body, and soon settling in your throat. You attempt to clear it, once, twice, and fail regardless. All you can do is own up to your shenanigans, despite them being consensual all around. "That loud, huh?" you joke.

Tech's lips purse in annoyance, "it was tolerable."

You grimace, and Tech's silent expression reads, 'keep it down next time, would you?'

"...I'm sorry," you sigh, and to your surprise, Tech swats your apology away with a wave of his hand.

"Like I stated before, I am happy with you finding relief in multiple partners," Tech says with a shrug, and whilst you're glad he's not annoyed over that, you mentally note to tone the noise down in the future. Tech continues speaking, although his words have fallen quiet, "and maybe when this storm has passed, we might be able to resume where we left off?"

Your ears perk up at the suggestion - not just because you'll be receiving relief from your body's natural cycle, but because Tech is still interested in you. Dare you think about it, but you're also questioning your chances of having both Tech and Echo at the same time, although you really shouldn't get ahead of yourself!

Resting your cheek on your palm, you sweetly coo, "awh! You miss me?" with a flirty bat of your lashes.

Tech rolls his eyes in amusement, although he can't hide the upwards turn to his lips. "I would be lying if I said that I haven't had you on my mind."

"Awhh!!" you smile, and give Tech a playful nudge. "I knew you couldn't stay mad at me!"

Tech rolls his eyes once more, a common trait of his. He tenderly places his bare hand on your forearm, and whilst keeping eye contact, he speaks. "Mesh'la, I could never stay mad at you. I was in the wrong for becoming overbearing and somewhat possessive, but I now understand that it is entirely natural, especially in your state, for your hormones to somewhat take over your emotions."

"No, no," you say with a wave of your hand. "I was in the wrong for snapping at you. You were only trying to make sure that I was eating, and taking care of myself, and I let my heat get the better of me."

Tech blinks in bewilderment before letting out a laugh, "perhaps we could agree that we were both in the wrong?"

"Perhaps," you repeat his words, imitating his accent. Tech sends you a look before moving his hand from your forearm, his palm meeting the back of your hand. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, and to your surprise, Tech leans over to place a kiss on your forehead, unfazed by your light layer of sweat.

"I'm going to return to the repairs," Tech informs you. He stands, letting out a soft grumble as he does so, his joints cracking from exhaustion. "Join me when you're ready, and please, call out for me if you require anything."

With that, Tech is exiting the cockpit after sending you a soft smile. He disappears from your line of sight, moving down to the hull's exterior to continue his work. The back of your head meets the wall, and you let out a deep sigh, feeling relieved that you two have finally talked things out.

It was all a misunderstanding. Tech cares, and that's not something that you're used to. You shouldn't have snapped, and Tech shouldn't have pushed. Whatever. It's settled now.

You give yourself a few minutes alone before forcing yourself up to your feet, and decide to join Tech outside, eager to help him out as your way of saying thank you.

The depths of space are silent, and to your surprise, the depths of the Dune Sea are just as silent. All you can hear is the distant snoring of your squad, bound to their own rooms. It's almost unsettling, to not have the hum of the Marauder in the distance, a soft buzz as she drifts in space.

You roll onto your back, and with that, a frustrated sigh escapes your lips. You can't sleep, and surprisingly, your heat is not to blame. The desert is cold at night, so cold that it's seeped into the Marauder, and wandered into your room. No amount of blankets seem to be warming you up; you need a distraction, and hopefully, a bit of movement will warm your body up in no time.

Exiting your bunk, you pull the blankets up and over your form, and whilst grasping them tightly across your chest, you begin to make your way out of your room, ready to bug whoever is on the night shift.

"Can't sleep, huh?" Wrecker questions as he notices you in the corner of his eye. He spins the co-pilot chair around, and after setting his holopad down on the dashboard, he meets your eyes.

"Yeah," you say with a soft laugh. You nestle down in the pilots chair, tucking the blanket over your entire form as you bring your knees up to your chest. Somehow, the cockpit is even colder than your room, and you question how Wrecker can sit here in only his civvies, unfazed by the cold. "It's too cold, you know?"

"Yeah, hah!" Wrecker chuckles. "Too cold during the night, but too hot during the day..."

"Exactly," you agree with a frustrated sigh.

As you rest your head back against the chair, silence settles peacefully around both of you. Wrecker is one of those few people who you can sit in a comfortable silence with, only right now, Wrecker isn't comfortable - he's concerned, and you can sense why.

"Are you... uh..." Wrecker murmurs, and brings a palm up to meet the back of his neck. "Are you alright?" he settles on the question, short and simple, and open for any and every answer.

You trail your eyes to meet his, and there is nothing but tenderness within them. "For once, I'm just cold," you say with a shrug, causing Wrecker's expression to soften out.

"Oh," he hums. Wrecker twiddles his fingertips together as he speaks up again, "I've pieced together what is going on from your... uh, stuff. And with a bit of help from Crosshair, but if you..." his words fall flat, and Wrecker begins to stutter. "...I... uh... I guess I'm trying to say that I'm here for you? Kriff, I don't know what to say, really."

"I understand," you reply with a sweet smile. "Thank you, Wrecker. I think the worst of it has passed, but I still have my moments, you know?"

"Yeah," Wrecker says with a nod. "Crosshair went into... uh, a lot of detail when he explained it to me. Maybe too much detail, hah!"

You roll your eyes, "do I dare ask what he said?" knowing that Crosshair was bound to go down the raunchy side of things, and in some cases, exaggerate it for fun.

"It's probably best that you don't," Wrecker responds with a chuckle. The smile on his lips shifts to concern, and Wrecker raises his brows as he points out the obvious. "Kriff, you're shivering!"

You send him a numbing smile, "yeah, I'm really cold," you say with a nervous laugh.

Wrecker grumbles as he rubs the back of his neck. "Do you want to...?" he points to his lap, and makes a grabbing motion with his hands. "Maybe a cuddle will warm you up?" he suggests.

This isn't the first time that you've cuddled with Wrecker. His love language is physical touch, both in romantic and platonic relationships. Wrecker also wears his heart on his sleeve, and the comfort and security of his squad comes before his needs. Always.

"Please," is all you mutter before rising to your feet, and taking a step over to where Wrecker is sitting. Wrecker is both gentle and forward as he bundles you up in his lap, large arms wrapping around your form, practically holding you like a baby. You feel like one, too, given the size difference.

Wrecker shifts in his seat, and after checking over your body to ensure that you're fully covered with your blankets, he relaxes back against the chair. "You know, you can always borrow my hoodie," he says with a light shrug, putting another offer on the table.

"I think I'll be alright like this," you smile, already beginning to feel the warmth growing in your chest, shifting across your body. "Besides, your hoodie would probably go past my knees!"

Wrecker lets out a laugh as he holds you tighter, envisioning you wearing his hoodie. You curl up tighter against his chest, and finally, weight begins to form beneath your eyes. Body warmth is making you tired, and you know that falling asleep in Wrecker's arms is bound to happen.

Until you drift off, you decide to keep the conversation going, knowing that Wrecker won't feel insulted when you do doze off on him. Literally.

"What were you watching?" you nod your head in the direction of his datapad, sitting forgotten on the Marauder's dashboard.

"Oh, well..." Wrecker begins as he picks his datapad up, unlocking it with a swish of his finger. "We haven't got service out here, so I was going through my photos and videos," Wrecker explains, pulling up the app. The last video that he was watching comes on the screen, and automatically begins to play.

It's old, before you were stationed with them. The Batch is in their barracks back on Kamino, and each of them is dotted around the room. Most are stationed at the table, shiny clone armour scattered everywhere, minus Crosshair, who is keeping to his bunk.

"We had just graduated," Wrecker states as the video continues to play. Wrecker is the one filming, that much is obvious given how much the camera shakes, an excited Trooper running around to his squad to film them decorating their first set of armour. "We hadn't even gone on a mission yet, but we wanted to make sure that our armour was ours, you know?"

The audio is quiet, but you can make out their voices. "Let's see yours, Sarge!" Wrecker says as he shoves the camera in Hunter's face. He's so young, baby faced, and tattoo-less. His hair is barely past his ears, and to nobody's surprise, Hunter has already begun wearing a red bandana.

Hunter holds up his armour like a proud child showing off their drawing. The standard white armour has a few red details on it, but the main thing that stands out is the black '99' across the left side of his chest.

"Your symbol," you murmur, taking in how proud your boys looked back when they were shiny and new.

"Yeah," Wrecker says with a grin. "We wanted to make sure that everybody knew how defective we are, so we all decided to put '99' on our chests," he grins, and with that, the video comes to an end.

A light sigh escapes you, and as you shut your eyes, you press your head deeper against Wrecker's chest. "You're my defective boys," you coo, knowing that the word has become a symbol of power to them.

"Yeah, we are!" Wrecker says with a cheer - a light cheer, as to not startle your sleepy state.

Your eyes flutter open again, with a smile on your lips. "Show me more videos?" you question, and Wrecker is eager to take you up on that offer.

There are hours, days, possibly weeks of footage on this datapad that Wrecker is more than happy to show you. He lets you pick something out at random, and with every video that plays, Wrecker has several stories behind it.

You're content like this - cooped up in Wrecker's arms whilst he goes on about tales from the Batch's early days - so content that you might drift off to sleep.

Probably.

[mugman64]

Percy Jackson Headcanons

(A lot of these are inspired by other people’s ideas)

-Percy has Tattoos

Lots of little ones to symbolize his friends both dead and alive, obviously a tattoo devoted to Sally. But he also has forearm tattoos of the symbols of the gods and goddesses he respects, it’s only a rainbow, a firepoker in a hearth, and a silver arrow on his forearms.

-Percy introduces all his godly cousins by stupid names

Sally honestly wasn’t surprised when a god showed up at the door, she was surprised when Percy called him “cousin snake man and his two pocket snakes” (who he promptly fed rats).

-Percy has a New York accent It only comes out when he’s really angry, tired, or horny. Annabeth hears it more than others.

-Percy has long hair

It grew out past shoulder length while he was missing and he hasn’t cut it since. Both Annabeth and Sally like it, but when he grows a beard he looks like the Poseidon of myth.

-Percy can Cook

He learned from his mom and has never stopped. Baking, grilling, cooking, smoking. if it’s a type of cooking, he does it, and he does it well. Nico avoided Percy for two months after losing a pasta competition to him and even that wasn’t long enough to avoid the shame.

-Percy, Lee, Beckendorf, Silena, and Clarrise where all really close friends

It started when Percy wanted to learn to make stuff in the forge, which snowballed into Beckendorf basically adopting Percy and introducing him to his crew. It took a couple years but eventually Clarrise warmed up to him, they were a crucial part of each others mental recovery after the Titan war.

-Percy is a stoner

Just enough to keep the edge off but he refuses to touch alcohol due to Gabe. Beckendorf and Lee spent like 2 months researching demigods, filing a report, submitting it to Athena, and gaining her seal of approval on the “Study of Drugs on Demigod Physiology” (It basically says demigod minds and bodies are durable enough to nullify addictive chemicals and the negative effects of some drugs). The group celebrated the approval of such a study by smoking and watching the live action Alvin and the Chipmunks.

-Percy loves SpongeBob

Percy is currently giving Poseidon the silent treatment because he refused a burger cooking contest with him despite Percy pulling the golden spatula from the grease in front of him. Also, yes, Poseidon does look similar to early SpongeBob Neptune, and no he has no clue how Percy managed to smuggle a bucket of grease and a golden spatula into Atlantis.

-Percy is a pirate

After his third quest Percy went ape shit trying to fight the war and end it before it took anymore lives. It culminated in him carrying a gun at all times and rebuilding an old sunken ship to its former glory. He didn’t get to use it until the summer leading into the titan war where he sunk 4 ships transporting monsters and 2 ships that were moving illegal objects

-Percy doesn’t fight for Olympus

Percy has never cared about the gods beyond making sure they don’t hurt the people he loves. His speech during the battle of Manhattan was a call to the demigods to fight to protect each other, to protect their family, and to fight this war so the next generation of demigods might not have to. Him and every other counselor sees their jobs as protecting the youngest and newest demigods above all else.

-Percy is musical

Whether it’s because he has the sea coursing through his veins or something else he’s good at singing, guitar, and most instruments. He occasionally used to play as a joke for kids at camp. Now it’s mostly a coping mechanism for the wars and Tartarus, anyone that needs music to relate to is free to listen.

Most of the counselors and elder hunters have a shared memory of the night before the last day of the Titan war. None of them could sleep out of fear of the unavoidable casualties tomorrow would bring, so they gathered in the most secluded room and sat and mourned. Eventually, Percy broke out a bag of weed to help everyone relax since they couldn’t sleep while Percy and Grover performed a heart-stopping rendition of Peace Train by Cat Stevens.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for putting knob covers on the stove that my disabled dad couldn't open?

So I (26M) recently moved back in with my parents (60M and 58F) temporarily because I'm kind of between apartments right now. My dad has Parkinson's disease and has, over the years, become both clumsier and more absent-minded. An important symptom of Parkinson's that will become relevant in this story is that he also has partial anosmia (his sense of smell is impaired).

So anyway, about a year and a half ago, before I had moved out, one day I came home from work and smelled gas as soon as I entered the house. I discovered one of the burners on the stove had been left open, and gas had been seeping into the room. I turned off the main gas supply, opened all the windows, and waited outside while calling my mom about it frantically. It turns out Dad had been cleaning the oven earlier and must have bumped the burner with his head while leaning in to clean the door. Because of his anosmia, he had not smelled the gas. I kind of freaked out and threatened to remove all the knobs off the stove, because I felt my life was in danger, but my mom talked me down into believing that it was just a fluke and probably wouldn't happen again.

Anyway, fast forward to the day before yesterday. I woke up after sleeping in late (I work night shifts now) and went to go make myself some food, but for some reason the GFI circuit breaker to the stove outlet had tripped. After resetting it, I immediately noticed that the lower drawer oven was on, because the knob had been left on. That oven is a little broken because the drawer mechanism is bent, so it doesn't close fully - I'm speculating, but the only thing I can think of is that the breaker must have tripped because the drawer was open and the heating element couldn't keep it up to temperature without getting so hot it exceeded its current rating or something. There was no gas leak this time, thankfully, but I knew my dad must have left it that way since my mom never cooks in the morning, especially not with the oven, ESPECIALLY not with the broken drawer oven. The only logical conclusion was that he accidentally bumped the knob again and didn't notice again. This time, thank God it wasn't the gas again.

I basically just told my mom that I was getting knob covers for the stove, and she agreed. So I got some on Amazon with next day delivery and installed them as soon as they arrived. I then took an afternoon nap, and then spent a few hours in my room playing video games and talking with friends on Discord. I was home the entire day, though, and he has my phone number and is able to text if he thought it would be impolite to knock or something. He didn't say a word to me all day.

Apparently, though, he got furious with my mom because the knobs have safety covers on them now. He told her he can't open them (although I later walked down the stairs, and found one of them open, and I had not left it that way - he definitely can, I think he just had trouble figuring out how at first. They're child safety caps so unfortunately they're a bit tricky to get open) and that now he was unable to cook for himself. He did not ask me to help him get them open though, and I would have done so in a heartbeat. He has not said anything about this to me at all, not even anything subtle or passive-aggressive.

I discussed it with my mom, and we agreed to leave them mostly closed but unlatched - the latch is the difficult part to get open, but they stay closed enough for them to keep the knobs from being bumped even if they are not fully latched shut. My mom agreed to communicate with him better about stuff like this. But if he asks to have the caps removed completely, it's a hard, hard no - I don't want to die in a gas explosion.

AITA for doing this?

What are these acronyms?

[cassiopeiasdaughter]

labyrinth

Theodore Nott x fem!reader

part of the midnights collection

                    February 22nd 1999

Dear Diary,                   

Everything is fucked.

Notice how I only write when somethings terribly wrong? Well, try not to be too surprised with this entry.

Up until a few days ago everything seemed to go fine- well as fine as it could, given everything going on.

We’ve been making progress, rescuing muggles and muggleborns, shutting down attacks, even the horcrux hunt seemed to be going well, it felt like we had reached the beginning of the end.

But we were so fucking wrong.

There was an attack last week, well two of them. One was a distraction and the other one…well two safe houses were compromised, most of the order members got out on time, but two died. A Hufflepuff and a Ravenclaw, a year older than me. I never talked to them at school, but I knew them, I remember seeing them during breakfast and at hallways. And now… 

I kept thinking how it could have been me, and I hate myself for being this selfish, for not being the bigger picture. It’s survival instinct, I know, but I wish I could overcome it, ever since the war started I keep finding myself, wishing I was someone I’m not.

The only thing worse than dying in an attack, like that, would be, being the only one left. What if I survive and everyone I love dies, what’s the point of winning this- if there is nothing left, after. If the world ends up destroyed beyond repair, why keep fighting? For Harry, who claims the Light- Good will win?

Harry who could be a Horcrux? Yes, I know. Its unthinkable but Hermione and Moody think it’s true, it could be a possibility we shouldn’t ignore. It could explain so much that, almost everything that has happened all the years. His ability to speak with snakes, the nightmares, the visions. They could be tied to that. And if it is true, what then? 

I had

I slept with Theo on New Years, I… don’t know how to feel about it. It feels stupid even writing about it with the direction our world has taken.

It was weird at first, the next day, things felt different. It felt as if…the safety I feel when he is in my room, when we sleep next to eachother at night, it felt like that safety had spread everywhere, like it followed me around the next day.

I thought I would feel self-conscious around him, but I don’t, it feels as if he is the only thing left that makes sense. Maybe, it our way to cope, getting drunk isn’t practical and getting high…well I can’t do that everyday. Maybe having sex is our way to get through this war, sane? 

Although, it doesn’t feel like it’s that simple to me, it’s not just a coping mechanism, for me at least. But I won’t get into that, it’s selfish and wrong to think about that when there are bigger problems out there, tearing my sleeve as they beg for my attention.

Hermione has been doing a lot of research into Horxcruxes, Malfoy helps her a lot, he tells her everything he’d heard that summer- before 6th year. He, told Moody about his aunts vault, at Gringotts, how she had it checked every month, she was paranoid about it, that’s what he said. They think there is something important there. Bellatrix and her family, they have been nothing but loyal to Voldemort, all these years, it would make sense for her to be trusted with something as important as this. 

The Order, planned a mission tonight, a run-in at Gringotts, to at least inspect the vault, or find a way inside, and if they are lucky, find the Horxcrux.

They

You stare at the page in front of you, you can’t bare to continue writing, because what you are about to write, is the thing that’s been eating you alive all afternoon. You can’t explain how Theo was sent on this mission, how he could be recognized and then-

You don’t want to think about what could happen next, not if you want your breathing to remain even and your stomach settled. Instead, you charm your diary and conceal everything you’ve written, from the outside world, and then head downstairs, wait with the rest of the house.

“Any news?” You ask worried 

“No, not even a Patronus.” Hermione shrugs and hands you a cup of tea

You grip the hot mug with both hands, savoring the warmth in your skin, taking in the smell and focusing on the feeling it wakes inside of your chest. Ginger, lemon and honey. 

It reminds you of your childhood and the drinks your mother made you every time you got sick. Then, your family and summers with them, flash before your eyes. You would always miss Hogwarts in the summertime, all your friends would be either at the Burrow or at their homes, far away from your summer house. You’d complain about how isolated you felt then. It is almost ridiculous to think now. You would give anything for one more summer, taking walks at the beach- savoring the orange sky and the way it kissed the sea, how the color got lost in the water and danced on the waves. And then, as you think of the waves- you imagine the house Theo had told you about, that night. And how you would go there, once the war is over. And perhaps, this is the first time you’ve felt nostalgic about a place you’ve never visited before. 

You’ve clung to the hope of an after so hard, that this house- the one by the sea, with the perfect library and velvet loveseats, almost feels like home. You’ve painted a new picture of safety in your brain and the walls and colors of the house fit the drawing perfectly.

Then again, maybe, it isn’t the house that plants this hope inside you, but it’s the person that would join you. The one who would fill the house with laughter and stories, the one whose smell would float through each room and the one who’d make it a home. 

But that person isn’t here, and the frailty of his return shatters you. 

“They’ll come back. Moody is with them. They’ll be fine”

Your friend offers knowingly. As if your fears have spilled out of you and have turned into a cloud around the two of you, turning everything darker and colder.

You can only nod in response and ask about her progress and the boys, in hopes that her words will distract you. 

“You went flying yesterday.” She says with a smile “I haven’t seen you fly, since… Hogwarts.” Since Dumbledore died

“You’ve seen me fly on missions.”

“Yeah but that’s different, you looked free yesterday- it took me back to quidditch practice. Remember how I’d watch you three practice?” 

“Yeah; I remember you had a different book every single time. Ron always joked about that”

“I miss it” she says tear-eyed “And I miss the boys and-and” my parents you think to yourself and grab her hand tightly- anchoring her to you.

“I am so tired.” She finishes; and it hits you then how much this war has changed her. From the color of her face- to the spark in her eyes, everything now seems washed out.

Voldemort and his followers have taken pieces of her, of Theo, Ron, Harry, one at a time, stealing memories and feelings, taking away their safety and friends, leaving behind nearly empty shells; that fight- fight back and desperately try to reverse everything. And you can’t help but think of why they-why you keep fighting back. You can’t possibly undo everything that’s has been done so far. You can’t bring people back to life, you can’t reverse stolen memories or forget new ones. You can’t chase away the demons that will hunt you at night. With or without Voldemort in this world, you struggle to decide if it is worth saving in the end. 

Defeat one evil just for the next one to appear? To bring more nightmares and fights? More death?

At last, it may be that you keep fighting- because if you stop now, after everything that’s happened, everything you’ve had to face, and do, ultimately it will all have been for nothing. And that; is a fate worse than Voldemort winning, worse than death.

“I know you are.” You reply and open your arms for her to hide in. Hide and then let everything out- every disappointment and regret. Cry and hide from the world just for a few minutes, because that’s the only thing you or anyone can give her, right now.

They haven’t returned yet.

You finish writing a few hours later, with the weight of the night sky settling on your shoulders; the constant thought of “they should have come back by now.”, sitting at the pit of your stomach.

You notice a few of Theo’s things around the room, a sweater on your chair, a couple of books on the floor by his side of the bed. You realize then, the pattern you two have fallen into, a life inside the one you already live in. Intimacy; the kind that scared you once, is now your only shelter: your refuge from reality. It’s because of that newfound intimacy, that your room now feels lived in, and isn’t a gray space for you to sleep in. Its because of another person, that you feel protection at night and warmth despite the blistering cold.

The chance of never feeling his warmth again- paralyzes you. And it shouldn’t, because the chance of him not making it back tonight- or after a mission- the possibility of him dying, is a reality you must come to terms with, if you want to keep fighting this war sane And you almost laugh at the irony of that thought

And it is a cliche, its something you’d normally condemn stupid and immature- but there is nothing normal about this, so you must act accordingly.

I shouldn’t have gotten this close you begin writing but you hear voices all of a sudden and the familiar creak of the floor outside your room.

The door opens and its him, no blood, no limping- a darkens under his eyes- sharper than the one you’ve seen before.

“Hi.” He whispers and his eyebrows soften almost instantly.

You shouldn’t have gotten this close you remember, but you can’t control your legs as they move towards him- and you can’t help the way your body molds to his.

“You’re back.” You breathe in his scent as you bury your face in his chest, your hands gripping his jacket tightly- keeping him as close as you can.

He doesn’t say anything back, he just lowers his head to your hear- breathing you in in return.

You’ll stay like that for a few seconds, before you ask how the mission went, if everyones alright… You’ll stay frozen for a little while, before you have to force yourself to stay away from him, before you reprogram your brain to learn to cope without the comfort of his touch, or the whispered words he speaks into your hair at night.

I have to get away, remind yourself as you kiss him goodnight.

I need to get away, you think again, as you watch him fast asleep in your bed.

How will I get away? you ask hopeless as you hear the beat of his heart and let his arms trap you.

a/n: am I happy with this chapter? no. Was it necessary for me to finish it so this story could get moving? yes

taglist: @avalynlestrange @spacecadet16 @lucywritess @aleviia @marina468 @annaisabookworm @liarajoah @notasadgirlipromise @pariseffer @unlikelysadgirl @ktz-bb @lizisthecoolest

btw free Palestine!

[angelicsatin]

Hayley Daniels-Afton🛠❤︎ | With or Without the Slaughter?

Five Nights at Freddy’s AU(s) OC

Finally got a reference sheet for my fnaf S/I OC for my 'personal fan-made fnaf timelines' to be self-indulgent and change it + add whatever I want thx to the muddy details and unofficial facts / histories + different timelines. </3 because cringe is dead. bear with me over time as i post and write about the 3 different AU's I have for Hayley in FNAF

Art commissioned from @ seckra.png on instagram

Name: Hayley Daniels-Afton (Hyphenated after marriage) Date of Birth: November 26, 1945 Zodiac: Sagittarius Height: 4'11 or 150 cm MBTI: INTJ Enneagram: 4w5 Romantic Interest: William Afton (Husband)

Some (random) Facts ⋆˙⟡♡

Has known William since they were children.

Grew up as his best friend, and their interest in robotics developed at the same time.

In high school, they started a robotics club and met Henry Emily.

William, Henry, and Hayley attend university together before each of their companies are formed. William began Afton Robotics, LLC with Hayley’s help while Henry began Fazbear Entertainment. The three eventually devised the idea for Fredbear’s Family Diner together, becoming co-owners. 

‘Part’ of the backbone for Afton Robotics, LLC.

Married William Afton in 1970, 3 years before Fredbear’s Family Diner opened, and 2 years after they started to date. 

Mechanic, Engineer, Inventor. 

Came up with the concept for the Puppet and was the main engineer behind its creation.

Only has one child with William throughout the 3 different AUs, a little girl born in 1975 named Robin Valerie Afton. 

No matter the timeline, when finding out about the murdered children Hayley is more than horrified. It disgusts her and makes her question why William would do such a thing – not just for the moral factor, but because of how it would damage their company’s reputation. Seeing it as an act that if found out could taint their life’s work and throw it down the drain.

In my AUs, William is purple-coded, Henry is yellow-coded, and Hayley is red-coded. (mirroring bonnie, chica, and foxy)

Overprotective of both her work and her child. 

Has called William by the nickname ‘Bunny’ since they were children.

Despite loving rabbits, she's particularly fox or monkey 'coded'

Personality≽ܫ≼

Positive Traits: Intelligent, Responsible, Sentimental, Protective, Analytical, Conscientious, Industrious, Creative, Meticulous, Nurturing, Loyal, Studious, Discreet, Trusting, Focused, Efficient, Alert, Imaginative, Pensive, Loving Negative Traits: Reckless, Defensive, Weak-Willed, Pretentious, Perfectionist, Workaholic, Needy, Evasive, Morbid, Self-Indulgent, Disorganized, Possessive, Somewhat Hypocritical, Know-It-All, Narcissistic, Sleepy/Tired, Bipolar, Stubborn

Likes♡

Mechanics / Engineering / Robotics (Duh)

Arcade & Computer Games (Pong, Space Invaders Part II, The Oregon Trail, Death Race, etc + in universe arcade games)

Rabbits, Foxes, & Monkeys

Her Truck

Telenovelas

Making Children Smile

Nice Stationary

Puppets / Marionettes & Animatronics (Duh)

Character Design

Riding / Sleeping in the bed of the Truck (her truck)

Baking (Cakes & Brownies mostly)

Keeping / Collecting Old Movie Tickets

Multitasking

Keeping Busy & Working Overtime

The Scent of Gasoline and/or Diesel Fuel

Board Games

Napping

Dislikes‹/𝟹

Having to Take Breaks from her Work

Heavy Makeup on Herself

Being Looked Down Upon

Misogyny / Sexism

Fragile Family 'Heirlooms' (Like Great Granny's Tea Set)

Scratchy Clothing

Visiting Distant-Family

Being Alone or Without William

Sewing or Hand Stitching (even if she's good at it)

Breaking Routine

Complex Architecture

Plain Coffee Mugs (Without quotes or art)

Sudden or Quick Movements

Being Late (even if she often is)

Science Fiction Novels About the Future

Over Extravagance

Retail Store Mannequins

Short Desc of Each of the AU's I'll be writing her into.

eventually, I'll be writing out fanfics for each of these AUs and getting commissions that belong to each !!

Timeline 1 - Bliss AU

Domestic, most different from canon. No children murders. 

Timeline 2 - Until Death Do Us Part AU

Hayley learns about Henry’s daughter’s death and the five missing children and reacts negatively to the news. Resulting in her own death.  

Timeline 3 - Loyalty AU

Hayley learns about the children’s deaths and isn’t thrilled but agrees to help cover it up in hopes it won't happen again and in an attempt to understand why her husband would do such things. 

[brightlybound]

“i should still hate you. why can’t I hate you?” for hinny as a prompt please?? :)))

Just angst this time. 😇 Read here or below.

The Coop

Mum is not well enough to assign chores, so Ginny selects some on her own. 

She must stay busy, mindless, if not she will go mad.

The first day back at The Burrow, Ginny has to accustom herself to bare walls, an empty living room, the smell of something burnt lingering in the air. She opens the windows wide, makes up the new beds, avoids Fred and George’s old room like the plague. Fleur takes charge of the visitors and the hoards of prepared meals they bring along, and they eat dinner on uncomfortable, conjured furniture, no happiness in magic anymore, no satisfaction of a cushioned seat.

On the second day back, Bill brings home a second-hand dining table with matching chairs, and he sands it all down with a wave of his wand, erasing scrapes marks and mending water rings with ease. Ginny occupies her spare time with staining it all by hand. The mechanical movements thankfully blur her brain, blur time, and when she’s finished, there's dinner, Dreamless Sleep Draught, and bed again.

Three days back now, and she keeps her ears pricked for a voice she longs to hear. After her heart has risen with anticipation and fallen from disappointment a good dozen times, she steers clear of the fireside and locks herself in her room.

It is on the seventh day that she finds Mum sitting at the dining table laden heavily with breakfast dishes. The dirty clothes Ginny had bunched up and left in baskets by the scullery last night are empty, the sound of the washing cauldrons is something of a dull roar in the room.

“It’s six in the morning,” is Ginny’s greeting.

Mum smiles over at her, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “And you’re dressed for the day.”

“I was going to start breakfast. And laundry.”

What will I do now?

The thought of Death pounds away at her head almost immediately, and perhaps Mum sees the flicker of panic in her eyes…

“Your father is purchasing chickens today.”

Death retreats, but only just, a lingering presence she is all too familiar with.

“Chickens?” she asks dumbly.

Mum nods, offers, “You could muck out the coop.”

That would take hours without a wand.

It was perfect.

After helping herself to a stack of toast and bacon, Ginny heads outside in Percy’s old jean shorts, Ron’s ratty Martin Miggs shirt, and her filthiest pair of trainers. Sweat immediately soaks through her bra upon beginning the hard, disgusting work, yet she’s practically gleeful as she rakes out old hay and droppings, scrubs the little platform down with a brush and rag so thoroughly that it looks virtually unused. And there are still weeds to pull! Grass to trim! Her head is blissfully empty, thank god.

It is after she surveys her work, sees a loose board near the roof of the coop, and climbs in to fix it that it happens: a sudden crack of apparition, close enough to be in the wards. Ginny starts, banging her head on the overhead rafters, and peeks out through the unfastened bit of paneling. With a sharp breath, she pulls away, heart hammering in her chest.

Harry’s here.

She is debating on whether or not to hide in the enclosure until he leaves, escape in favor of another hiding spot, or march into the house and demand to know where he’s been, when she notices movement from her spyhole and sees him again, striding out of The Burrow almost as soon as he’d entered, peering over at the coop quizzically.

Her mother has divulged her location. Bugger it all.

“Ginny?” he calls when he’s only feet away. “Are you… er, are you in there?”

She rubs at her sore head with the heel of her hand and looks down at herself miserably. There was nothing for it.

Grudgingly, she responds, “Yeah. I’ll be right out.”

Wiping the perspiration from her face with the collar of her shirt and wringing her grubby fingers in its hem, Ginny tightens the extra fabric in a little knot at her waist and takes another breath of stale air. She ducks awkwardly out of the hutch and hops down to face him.

She shields her eyes from the sun to squint openly at him. He’s shaved, perhaps yesterday, judging by the amount of stubble around his jaw, and his hair has been trimmed up a few inches, shorter than the style he’d worn when he was fourteen, but longer than subsequent years. His skin is still bordering sickly pale, his cheeks hollow, and the brand-new Auror robes he wears hang somewhat loosely off his shoulders. Her gaze lingers over the straps and brass buckles pulling across his chest.

“Hey,” he says finally.

She waits, not wanting to make this too easy. It’s been a week since Fred’s funeral, a week since she laid eyes on him last. A week too bloody long.

“How are you?”

When she doesn’t answer, Harry blanches.

“Right. Right, um… Ron and Hermione just left. For Australia.”

“Yes, I know. They stopped by last night to tell us.” It takes everything not to hex him, so she asks him instead, hoping to get a rise out of him, “Are you bored?” 

His eyebrows furrow. “Bored?” 

“That’s why you came by, isn’t it? Because you’re bored?” There’s a real bite to her words, bitterness and anger shaking her voice. “Finally remembered I’m here?”

He struggles for a moment, the very picture of surprised, then says, “This is the first spare moment I’ve gotten since—”

“This is different, you know. You can’t just—” She’d be lucky if she makes any sense. She suddenly can’t string two thoughts together. “Everything is different now. I should still hate you.”

He'd left her, left her, could have been out of her life forever, willingly walked into the Black Forest and left her. Yet somehow, he was here, alive and still, still, there’s not enough time for them. She came second every time, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could take it.

And god, god, why did it even matter? 

Fred was dead.

Ginny’s head spins, and she leans back against the chicken coop for support. “Why can’t I hate you?”

Harry is looking down at his feet, then raises his eyes to scan over the fields of green. His tone is low, quiet, when he says, “I’m sorry.”

Ginny exhales roughly through her nose, exhaustion settling over her like a weighted blanket. She shuts her burning eyes so Harry does not see.

“I’m tired." She hates the way her voice is pitched high and broken. “I’m so fucking tired.”

His hand is gentle, gripping her wrist and pulling her against him. She folds into him and cries.

[hibernationsuit-remade]

bad hair night

summary: Waking up from a 70 year long hibernation feels weird, but even weirder is finding out your spouse had been awake for a few months already, and has also been through a lot. And that he also has a new hairstyle. In other words, have Klara remembering some Earth things and playing with Toby's hair. tws: none

The captain's quarters were quiet, not counting the tapping sound of the mechanical keys as Tobias was typing something on his datapad, sitting on the bed, sometimes muttering something under his nose and filling a post it note after another, sticking them to a wall behind him.

Klara watched him for a while, remembering some moments back from Earth times, when she herself was so busy with work she couldn't stop herself from taking some of the paperwork home, most often to be done on the sofa while having some serial on the background. Sometimes work ended up being done in bed, way past the time she usually goes to sleep at, writing some kind of report while sitting comfortably in the middle of a pile of pillows, as some sort of emotional support.

Tobias was a night owl. Even if the did go to sleep at the same time sometimes, she knew it took him longer to fall asleep. On the evenings full of work he would usually let her work in peace, not to disturb the process or anything, especially at the beginning of her career. He'd usually either go do his own things, play with the cat or lay on the soft armchair in bedroom reading a book.

But after a while, as time passed and Klara's job got more serious, he seemed to have become more concerned about the whole thing and how it affected Klara. Tobias would come to the room after an hour or so, kiss her on her shoulder and softly whispef in her ear, saying how she should put herself first and go to sleep for her own good instead of wasting time on some boring paperwork.

What she saw now, in this little room on this weird space ship, seemed like a reflection of what happened back then, on Earth, somehow looking even worse.

While she rarely ever got into the little details of her work, for many reasons, Tobias knew what she was doing, maybe even why and what that meant. Here, though? She knew nothing about Halcyon. Or what it put her spouse through. What made him waste a good night's sleep on some kind of work he only seemed to take part in because he felt like he was the only one responsible for it?

The vicar's words didn't calm her, either. "Many things have happened," Max had said to her earlier today, when she asked him to tell her a little about what has happened for the past half year or more, "And I'm sure he'd rather tell you everything all by himself."

Tobias's hair was in a bun, grey streaks all pointing at its direction, except for the one stray hair that was hanging on his right side, more curly than the rest of his hair, definitely because he seemed to fidget with it a lot.

Klara had never seen him with long hair, except for some old photos. He always said that he wasn't really doing well back then, didn't really care about how his hair looked as long as it was washed and healthy. Didn't have the energy to do much else.

Was this the result of the same kind of situation?

Klara realized that the typing had stopped, and noticed Tobias looking at her. How long has she been staring at him while lost in her thoughts?

"Um, hey. Good evening," she said, and added quickly, "I brought a water bottle. From the fridge. And glasses."

Tobias smiled, probably the first time she saw him actually smile during the evening. "Hey there. Thank you so much," he picked up the datapad and placed it on the shelf. "Sorry, just had to get some things done. There's, um, so much to do. Clarke keeps sending me more files to go through and it feels like I'm slowly drowning in paperwork or something, heh."

"Need any help?"

"Wish I myself knew how to help me out, I think I myself am a bit too confused for all this," he chuckled, "Nah, I'll be fine. Just need a proper to do list or something, I guess. Everything will turn out fine."

Klara sat next to him and softly kissed his head. "How long have you told herself that?"

He stayed quiet for a moment, then replied quietly, "For too long."

"Oddly honest and straightforward reply from you."

"Honestly? Lied about it for more than half a year already, think that's too long..."

Klara leaned back to the wall. "Could've talked to that...vicar pal of yours? Surely they do therapy here."

Tobias laughed. "Law, not really, not like on Earth. First time I met him I asked him about it, and the only things he had to offer was 'work good laziness bad' sort of thing. It was ridiculous." He moved closer to her, slowly leaning down on the pillows laying behind him, head cozily laying on Klara's lap. "Max's changed after that though... We have talked a lot for the past coupls of months but honestly? I feel like every time I start feeling better this colony throws something even worse at my face."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"I... No, not really. Not now. I need to figure out how to tell about..." he looked at the window, at the stars. "...all this. I don't think I could explain it all to myself either, and I was there."

"Understandable..." Klara murmured and stroked his hair. "Nice hairstyle."

"I need to get back to my old one, this feels a bit weird. Brings back too much memories. And it also tickles my neck and face at night making it even harder to fall asleep."

"Hm," she slowly untied his bun, causing Tobias to smile more widely. "Looks quite easy to take care of, though. And sexy. Maybe even fun to play with."

"Hah, very funny."

"I could finally learn how to braid hair, just to play with yours. Could make lots of small ones for fun."

"Mm, tell me more."

"Looking at you working in bed made me think of how I used to do that, and how you always came to nicely ask me to go the fuck to sleep..."

"Hey, I never said it like that...only that your job isn't letting you to rest."

"I did say 'nicely', didn't I. Anyway," Klara continued, "thought that it is now my turn to tell you the same thing."

"I am not going to lie, I really needed that..."

"It also made me think how you braided my hair before going to sleep. I know I mostly asked for it because it's more practical to sleep like that, but also... it's calming, relaxing. Definitely gets yout thoughts away from all the worries that you could have."

"Glad to hear that..." Tobias murmured and looked up at Klara, "Is that why you're playing with my hair now?"

"...Maybe..." Klara caressed his cheek, "Don't like it?"

"Noooo, on the contrary. It feels absolutely amazing..." He paused for a moment, smiling widely as she twisted a strand of his hair around her finger. "I used to hate it when people touched my hair. Since I was a child. Every time I had to perform on ice they made these annoying hairstyles that take a long time to make and hurt my head. But when you do something with it, it feels so nice."

"Good to hear. Then I'll keep doing it."

"Mmh, please..." Tobias whispered, sounding more desperate than usually as Klara moved her fingertips behind his ear, and slowly turned his head to let her reach the back of his head.

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Maybe a bit too much...Maybe I needed this for a while... Or then I just dreamed of feeling your hands on me for so long..."

Klara didn't answer, didn't really know how to.

"First nights were the hardest... You really don't realize how used you are to fall asleep next to someone else until you're all alone in some spaceship's room. I don't think I got that much sleep during them. Only thought about you. It got a bit easier, but I never really managed to sleep well. Or feel well." Tobias continued, quietly, clearly trying his best not to let his voice quiver, yet failing at it. "There was this one thing we were doing on one asteroid and it...really hit close to home. Especially considering the project I last worked on. A story for another time, honestly. What I'm saying is - I went to check something out, alone, and got...injured by a merc. Badly. Another merc found me there, and afterwards she said how I was, um, muttering your name while I was barely conscious."

"Law, Tobias..."

"I guess what I'm saying is that I missed you so much. I don't think I've ever felt so alone before."

"Wish I could tell you I know how that feels, but I'd be lying."

"I hope you'll never know, honey. I- I'm so glad to see you again."

Klara smirked and leaned down to kiss his forehead. "I love you."

"And I love you, too."

[slocumjoe]

Companions and the things they like to do around settlements?

Assuming it isn't their home settlement, and instead somewhere they're just stopping by, as I've already done that here.

Cait; Goes and gets a drink from the bar, chats up the bartender with whatever story she has from her travels. If there's a proper guard force, breaks into their training yard and starts challenging everyone to sparring matches, unless the traveling was especially difficult/exhausting. Then she just sits and heckles everyone else. Lounges about until they leave, or exercises. Enjoys trying local cuisine, as it were.

Codsworth; Has a habit of tidying up everywhere. It's his programming. Finds brooms and sweeps the streets, shops, etc. Picks up garbage. Trims foliage. Codsworth doesn't have breaks. Actually gets nervous if he isn't cleaning something, feels aimless. But you can find him doing some routine patrols around the perimeter, since he doesn't sleep/eat. May as well help defend while the others get some rest.

Curie; Checks in at a few different places before they move on or turn in. First up is are the clinics, to help with any patients or urgent procedures. So, straight to work, really. If there's nothing the local doctors need her for, she's off to a library/bookseller to find more reading material. No bookseller? Straight to the bar/inn for food, and if they're staying the night, a bath and sleep. Will spend her time in settlements at the clinic if they stay for a few days.

Danse; If they're going to move out that day, follows Sole or takes point at the perimeter. If they're staying, goes to a garage or the guard barracks and leaves his Power Armor. Always paranoid it'll get stolen, but he can't just stomp around everywhere. Danse still takes guard patrol until its time to retire. Eats, has a few shots to try and sleep. Might take a shower if needed. Exercises, goes on patrol, and tunes/fixes his Power Armor.

Deacon; Always likes window-shopping, fucking loves markets. So if it's just a break, he'll spend most of his time wandering and people-watching after the standard self-care. Y'know, food, shower, quick nap. If they're staying for a while, mostly the same. The only difference is he'll take the time to go undercover, do his spy thing, get intel. Will change his hotel rooms every day, sells his disguise clothing, buys new outfits.

Gage; Does his own kind of windowshopping at markets. Doesn't always steal, though. He's not swiping garbage just to prove he can. Gage has a few different places you can find him. Off in a quiet area, whittling, smoking, cleaning his weaponry, for one. But you can also find him hanging around the farms watching the animals, at a bar keeping his ear out for useful info, or—potentially surprising—buying/reading books. Gage talks himself down as an uneducated thug, but his INT stat of 6 says otherwise. All that learning has to come from somewhere.

Hancock; Nap. NAP. Sleepy man. Naps at the inn, gets something to eat, hangs out at a bar until its time to leave. Pretty much his whole routine regardless of how long they stay. If it's a really long time by traveling standards (a week-ish), will also go spar/scrap with anyone willing. Wants to keep his senses sharp, you know how it is. If single, will flirt around and mingle. Most likely to somehow piss off the guards and get in legal trouble, somehow.

MacCready; Same as Hancock, food, nap, or waiting. If staying for a few days, earns some good, honest caps by challenging people at the shooting range. If Duncan is in the Commonwealth, will put those caps aside for his 'college fund'. It's just money for Duncan to have when he's older. MacCready can also be found looking for comic books, trinkets, nerdy stuff at shops, or playing with animals at the farms. If neither, journals and takes it easy.

Nick; Finds a nice place to sit, lights up a cigarette, waits. Gives himself a tune up or has a mechanic do it, if one's available. Danse is usually his go-to and they both despise it. If Nick is staying in a settlement for more than a day, oh man. This poor guy. It's like aggrieved people can smell him. Turn your back on him for ten minutes, and someone's run into the street sobbing that their husband is missing, and you'll be lucky if you can catch Nick's coat fluttering behind him as he bolts after the trail. It's just what Nick does. You might have to glue him to a chair if you want him to rest.

Piper; Gets a bite to eat, or a soda, and runs around interviewing, getting all kinds of news and rumors. Stocks up on candy. Same for a longer stay, she just spends more time writing and showers. Can also be seen playing with local kids, telling stories. Rarely, you'll see her shadowing a person of interest, someone powerful in the settlement. She only does so if there's something sketchy she's ferreted out. Be a doll and distract the bodyguard, would'ja?

Preston; Straight to guard patrol. Preston can't go from 'alert' to 'calm.' He needs the transition of 'could be either.' Sole will have to make him take a breather. Preston will spend the few days they stay running around, doing busy work, checking in on everything. How's food and supplies, how's economy, how are the guards, how are the walls, the turrets, etc etc etc. If someone is able to convince him that nothing is about to go to shit, he breathes a sigh of relief, and sits in his hotel room drawing. Maps, animals, flowers, ammunition...something to distract him for a bit.

X6-88; Tends to vanish, when they stop at settlements. Maybe he's back in the Institute, not wanting to spend time in a surface trashheap. Maybe he's just using a stealth boy so no one talks to him. If forced to participate in downtime, will lurk from the shadows and people watch. Eats, sleeps, and washes quickly, lest his more human needs be noticed. Might linger around garages, see how people modify or clean their gear and judge them. Otherwise...goes ghost.

[beacedocrime]

Welcome to

Artemis reads:

Why am I so incredibly late? I got a fit of motivation for drawing and was going to ride it out to its full capacity. Currently taking a break.

Where's May 15? Didn't have much to say for that chapter tbh.

Okay, now, here we go.

God preserve my sanity, for to this I am reduced. Safety and the assurance of safety are things of the past. Whilst I live on here there is but one thing to hope for, that I may not go mad, if, indeed, I be not mad already.

Continuing the trend of Jonathan making me very sad the moment I open an email. I want to give this man a blanket, hot chocolate, and a good night's sleep

If I be sane, then surely it is maddening to think that of all the foul things that lurk in this hateful place the Count is the least dreadful to me; that to him alone I can look for safety, even though this be only whilst I can serve his purpose.

Fuckkkkk, now he feels that he might be dependent on Dracula, believes that he might be the lesser evil, whilst also being fully aware that the moment he stops serving whatever purpose the Count has kept him for, he will have outlived his usefulness. Shitttt, yeah dude that is a maddening situation

for now, feeling as though my own brain were unhinged or as if the shock had come which must end in its undoing, I turn to my diary for repose. The habit of entering accurately must help to soothe me.

A+ for coping mechanisms

The Count's mysterious warning frightened me at the time; it frightens me more now when I think of it, for in future he has a fearful hold upon me. I shall fear to doubt what he may say!

Oh lord, can't this guy catch a break? Just a little one? Doubt is creeping in, it seems

When I had written in my diary and had fortunately replaced the book and pen in my pocket I felt sleepy. The Count's warning came into my mind, but I took a pleasure in disobeying it. The sense of sleep was upon me, and with it the obstinacy which sleep brings as outrider.

On one hand, I'm proud of him for being rebellious. On the other, man's gonna get himself killed

and unthinking of and uncaring for the dust, composed myself for sleep.

Dude does not have allergies, huh?

Lower and lower went her head as the lips went below the range of my mouth and chin and seemed about to fasten on my throat. Then she paused, and I could hear the churning sound of her tongue as it licked her teeth and lips, and could feel the hot breath on my neck. Then the skin of my throat began to tingle as one's flesh does when the hand that is to tickle it approaches nearer—nearer.

GET- GET AWAY FROM HIM. FUCK. DON'T YOU DARE- HOLY SHIT

"How dare you touch him, any of you? How dare you cast eyes on him when I had forbidden it? This man belongs to me! Beware how you meddle with him, or you'll have to deal with me.”

Get fucked Dracula, Jonathan's not your toy to play with. By the Lord, everybody sucks here (in quite the literal sense too lmao)

If my ears did not deceive me there was a gasp and a low wail, as of a half-smothered child. The women closed round, whilst I was aghast with horror; but as I looked they disappeared, and with them the dreadful bag.

WHAT. Did a child just die. Did we just read about a child that just died. They just did that. Oh my.

Then the horror overcame me, and I sank down unconscious.

No! Dracula is right there! Don't faint with that creep right there! Jonathan you're gonna give me a heart attack.

To be sure, there were certain small evidences, such as that my clothes were folded and laid by in a manner which was not my habit.

Did Dracula change him? When he was unconscious?? Eughh. Like I said, creep

My watch was still unwound, and I am rigorously accustomed to wind it the last thing before going to bed, and many such details.

What I'm getting from this is that now Jonathan's sense of time will be even more messed up, right?

But these things are no proof, for they may have been evidences that my mind was not as usual, and, from some cause or another, I had certainly been much upset. I must watch for proof.

Sure, maybe they're not proof, but also, surely you’re still aware that you probably didn't dream all of that, right? You're not falling for the gaslighting, right?? Right???

As I look round this room, although it has been to me so full of fear, it is now a sort of sanctuary, for nothing can be more dreadful than those awful women, who were—who are—waiting to suck my blood.

Okay so he knows it wasn't some fever dream. Good, good.

May 12 /

May 18

[farewell-superiors]

I’m having so many thoughts about @ammstify’s persona 6 idea for it being about nature and being based on Arthurian legend but as more of a spin-off but I’m in the “pacing while brainstorming” phase which means that I have too much energy to sit down and actually write down my ideas so I may as well start a post that’s like… just a bunch of ramblings about ideas. Have so at least it’s WRITTEN DOWN and I won’t forget anything. If I think enough I might even make a fanfic in the style of steal the truth (which you should absolutely read btw it’s genuinely one of the best video game adaptations with how well it integrates persona’s calendar mechanic and social links into its story structure) but that would require a lot of foresight and planning (hence why u want to WRITE SHIT DOWN)

Anyway here goes. Spoilers for something that I just made up but might make into an actual thing in the future I guess lol

The themes are about growth (there's LOTS of plant imagery), moving on, and how it gets better (the sun will always rise, darkest before dawn, etc. (there's a lot of day/night imagery as well)), and it looks at the relationship between humans and the environment.

The setting will probably be Kyoto, or at least some city, but I'm undecided about whether the characters are high school or uni students. Both have their pros and cons and I just have to figure them out. I'm leaning towards Uni?

The actual persona elements take place in the sea of souls, although it's more accurate to say the field of souls, as it's an undending field of grass, flowers, and the odd tree/hill, with every bit of flora representing a life. Select people will travel to the sea of souls in their sleep, but sleeping in the sea of souls won't get you out, so if someone is there without a way out, it looks like they're in a coma. If they happen to die in there (haven't completely figured out shadow mechanics yet, don't know if day/night cycles in the sos would be over a few weeks (to represent the collective unconscious) or over a characters journey (because it's cool imagery)) the body will start growing vines and leaves as their pulse slowly fades.

One way to get out is through the velvet room: In the sea of souls there is a battlefield, with velvet blue warbanners rising amongst the bloodstained foliage, and in the centre is a familiar long nosed man sitting on a particularly comfy looking rock, with a warrior clad in a deep blue leather armour brandishing a spear and shield. As neither protagonist is a wild card (whoops spoiler) Igor doesn't act as the guy who fuses your personas, he's like a guide both through your journey and on your way back to the real world. Maybe belladonna and nameless are also there, who knows.

Persona users have a body part wrapped in foliage, vines, flowers, and the like (the location can be thematic, it’s as if wrapped in chains), and when summoned the foliage chains break and rapidly grow into the summoned persona.

Protag A (who I shall refer to as Sun because that’s their arcana) is a kind young man who was diagnosed with cancer. This diagnosis comes shortly after moving to a new city to start university, so he rightly is in a lot of turmoil and feeling alone. One of the way he copes is by having a fairly dark cynical sense of humour, contrasting with his kind and caring personality. I’m not set on a subject he does, I’m thinking natural sciences, it’s got a wide range of topics and, most importantly, MATHS (this isn’t a joke). His starting persona is Arthur, his second awakening is Arturus Rex, both of the sun arcana, and his ultimate persona is Excalibur, of the world arcana.

Protag B (who I shall refer to as Moon) is a standoffish young woman in the year above sun. An abuse survivor, her father (her only living relative) recently was jailed for what he did, but she still holds a deep contempt for humanity who she thinks has failed her. Initially forced to interact with sun because of a scheme where second years help first years, she stays with him because of a shared goal once they enter the sea of souls. Her story arc is about growing to care for others, learning to see the good in people, and stopping seeking revenge. Her starting persona is Lancelot, who evolves into white knight, both of the moon arcana, and her ultimate persona is Galahad of the world arcana (I’m intentionally hiding some things but oh well lol. The personas are thought out, I’ll tell you that).

I’ve not settled on social links or party members, I’ve got a few ideas, like Sun’s maths professor (who would either be magician or hierophant) and the Lovers arcana, but nothing concrete.

Getting into real endgame spoilers now, the premise is that two gods, Pendragon and Morgan le Fay, are arguing over whether humanity should suffer or not. Pendragon thinks they're a stain on the world and should be wiped out, while Morgan le Fay thinks they should live in eternal bliss. Given that the themes are about moving on and growing, neither is very good, or rather, life is a combination of the two. They're represented by the moon and the sun in the sea of souls, when Pendragon is "winning" it's night, when Morgan is "winning" it's day. towards the end of the story the party beats Pendragon without realising that now Morgan le Fay is able to act unchecked and so the regular course of life grinds to a halt. During the course of the story each protagonist holds one in themself, Moon with her contempt for humanity holds pendragon, and Sun with his wish to live with his friends forever holds Morgan, but once Moon starts to see the good in humanity her mind boots out pendragon (hence why they fight him), and once Sun accepts that a life in stagnation isn't a life living at all, his mind boots out Morgan (hence why they fight her). Basically, I really really really like the ideas of third semester and am doing something similar lol.

At the start Sun and Moon are visited by a Doctor informing him of his cancer diagnosis and a chief prosecutor "congratulating" her about her father's loss in court respectively. Both talk about their fascination with/contempt of humanity, and end with "do you agree?", a cloaked agreement to a contract that makes them their champion, for these are Morgan le Fay and Pendragon in human forms. A side effect of tricking them into agreeing to a contract, however, is letting them into the velvet room, a mistake that would lead to both of the gods' downfall.

Ah shit I haven't even tackled how dungeons and stuff work. I know at least the last one is gonna be called Avalon.

I think I'm just gonna go ahead and post this for now, I might edit it later so uhhh stay tuned I guess

[todderwodders]

WIP WHENEVER

This isn't bg3 but a section from a longfic I have been working on since 2021 for Arkham Knight. TW for missing persons/children, parental grief, dead bodies, dead animals

Clark Kent wades through reed ridden water, and listens.

He hears it all. the buzz of a radio two miles away, in a creaking, crumbling farmhouse he had driven past on the way into Gotham. Driven, because as much as Batman needed distance, Bruce Wayne needed help, and the light of day, and surprise. He hears the screech of a flock of crows as they circle a dead dog in a ditch three miles south, against the wind.

He can smell the contents of its stomach, mostly garbage but with little shreds of wild meat no human could digest, and the rot of cyanide, probably from poison a farmer had put out for his canine pest. He can hear the swish of the current and feel the big body of a bull shark sway past him.

He can hear the thud of a father's heart as he fervently dismisses one more square mile of the no man's land that surrounds Gotham city.

They've been at this for three weeks now. Three weeks in which Clark squeezes in rush trips to Gotham, wading through sewers and helping Bruc dig up mountains of trash heaps or scan warehouses from days long, long past their intended use. Anywhere the joker may have stashed a body.

Bruce won't say it, but ten months have passed, and it's as it Jason Todd has vanished into thin air. The joker, malignant thing that he is, has sat pretty and quiet in Arkham for the majority of Jason's disappearance. his tracker stuck to the underside of a child's mechanical horse somewhere in miagani. A gun missing from Bruce's safe, a classroom full of children who all had closed casket funerals. Dead end, tool, and motive.

That leaves a small window for a young man to do exactly as his father told him not to do and get himself taken for it. The statistics don't change for heros or for villains: the first 48 hours of a disappearance is the only time in which survival is more likely than not. The rest is a percentage that ticks by with each minute, one which plummets to 10% when jack white is involved. 1% when captivity lasts for longer than a week.

So. Body. Which Bruce will not admit to being a body yet, because while he texts Clark at random intervals during the day and they wonder the city in a shitty pick up truck, undisturbed and out from under Barbara's watchful gaze, Bruce is ripping apart Gotham at night.

He had brought Clark along, in those early weeks.

He had brought Clark along, in those early weeks.

Back when he still had hope. Clark could hear it in his heartbeat, that frantic puttering that doesn't stop until sleep takes him and starts up immediately when consciousness comes calling.

Barbara had helped. Dick had helped. Bruce still allotted the lions share to himself, still grasped for

- anything. Clark has found bits and pieces. Hair in a warehouse, Jason's boot prints in Arkham's botanical gardens. They came to nothing. The calls had stopped until they didn't. Now bruce is looking for something cold and unmoving.

Clark nearly falls off the sand dune he's on as the thought that Bruce is giving up settles in. Only the gaping void of not knowing fills the air now, with only the taste of resignation to act as chaser. Bruce will never know for sure if Jason is dead. Bruce, and Clark, and maybe even Barbara, whose grown up hearing stories about dead little boys and girls all the way back to when she was a little girl herself, are giving in. The new Robin does not seem as convinced. Clark likes that earnestness, thinks it'll serve him well. It doesn't change the fact that Joker wins by omission.

"Have you found anything?" Comes Bruce's voice in his ear piece. It's dialed all the way down, but the static still makes his teeth ache and Clark nearly misses swatting away an all too curious mama Bull, her tail giving him a good whack for his efforts.

"There's a woman whose body is tangled up in a fishing net just below that broken set of docks off

140. Blue warehouse right next to it. Please text Barbara to-"

"No Jason?"

They've found twenty bodies like this, ranging from five to forty-five. Most of them have been identified. Which should feel good. But when all you're praying for is a body to scrape up from the bottom of Gotham bay just so a funeral could be arranged, so his father, your best friend, can at least pray over him and visit him every Sunday, it only makes you sour.

"I'm sorry," comes out of his mouth before he can stop it. It feels like it's all he says now. Can you watch over family symbolically if family isn't there?

How many days and nights does god need for boys in lead lined graves?

…I'll call it in myself," Bruce says, and Clark nearly throws that damned piece of plastic into the bay.

Another bull as tried to sink its teeth into his rubber overalls, and the pressure keeps him from screaming or crying or both. The desperation to fix the unfixable is killing him. Clark could fly back to metropolis and pretend this isn't his problem, but for a thousand reasons, ranging from friendship to knowing the boy to knowing his brother even better, he could never. He breaths in, petting the cool, rough flesh of the shark.

He wonders if the gaunt, hallowed out look that Bruce carries with him now is permanent, a distinct hanger on for a child who gives off no scent or sound or heat.