#like. 'the city carries ruins in its heart' is a fic

[redjayson]

holy shit someone must have rec'd one of my fics on their discord server bc that motherfucker just got 60+ new kudos

[starryevermore]

you said you were gonna come find me ✧ cardan greenbriar

angst city™ library | send in a request (consult request faqs first)

pairing: cardan greenbriar x fae!fem!reader

request: part 2 of the cardan fic?? - anon

summary: and you didn't wanna hang around. she said it was just goodbye for now. he said he was gonna grow up, then he would come find you.

word count: 1,728

warnings?: dual povs, a little angst with a happy ending, not proofread

PART ONE | PART THREE

The local children were convinced you were a witch. Part of you wanted to tell them that you were worse than a witch—that you could turn them into animal of your choosing, that you could make them do things and think they liked it, that you could ruin their lives by virtue of existing. Perhaps that was the heartache talking, so you instead shouted “boo!” when you caught them staring for too long. You supposed, though, you fed into the rumors of your being a witch. You came into this town out of nowhere, lived far away from the rest of its people, and only interacted with them when you went into town for food or a new library book. No one knew who you were or where you came from. At first, you reveled in the solace.

Now, you were only painfully are of how lonely you were.  

When you left Faerie, you went as far as you could from your former home. Traveled up to the mountains, found an abandoned cabin you could hole up in. There were few faeries in this area, mostly solitary fae that you would encounter while on walks in the woods, which had been the draw. Months later, you found yourself wishing you had set yourself up in one of the communities of fae who lived in the mortal lands. Would you be admitting defeat to leave the cabin now and join them? 

It wasn’t all horrible in your little cabin. Being away from court and all of its expectations was nice. You didn’t have to worry about carefully mincing your words so as not to offend anyone. You weren’t dragged into dances you would rather avoid. And you certainly did have to let your heart break over and over again as Jude at Cardan’s side. No, instead, you could read and write poetry and tend to the little garden you had started. You could find your happiness, even if it was without the one person you truly wanted by your side. 

You wondered how Cardan was doing. Had he even noticed you were gone? Did he care? He had seemed to miss seeing you when you danced with him on your last night in Faerie. But he had also not made any prior efforts to seek you out. Fae couldn’t lie, but they could manipulate. They could twist the truth to serve their interests. Few were better at doing so than Cardan. 

“When I learned you left Faerie, this was not the sort of place I expected you to be.”

You stiffened as you rounded the corner. The basket you’d been using to carry the herbs you foraged nearly fell from your grip. You squared your shoulders, looked down your nose at the woman seated at your dining room table. “I did not come here under the expectation to be found.”

Jude considered the room. The dirty dishes in the sink, the wilted flowers in the center of the table, the open storybook at the chair askew in front of her. “So it seems. It was not easy to find you.”

“You should have taken that as a sign to leave me be,” you said. You crossed the dining room and went into the kitchen. Jude’s chair scratched against the floor as she followed you. You ignored her as you began to unload the herbs from your basket. “I left Faerie for a reason.”

Though you were avoiding looking at her, you knew Jude’s eyes did not leave you. If you didn’t know better, you might have thought Jude was fae herself. The predatory glint in her eyes, the way her fingers itched to grab at her sword. She was not still like fae, nor was she unnaturally beautiful like fae, but she carried herself in such a way that you could be convinced otherwise. By human standards, she would have been the most beautiful of all. It was easy to understand why Cardan would choose her. Gorgeous but lethal—the exact sort of woman he would pursue. First Nicasia, now Jude. It was just as easy to see that you did not fit into the picture. 

“You ran in the middle of the night,” Jude said. You looked over your shoulder. Her brows were pinched together as she scrutinized you. 

“Have you come here to chastise me for leaving without a goodbye?”

She shook her head. “I have come because you were invited to breakfast.”

It was hard not to laugh. Was that why she came all the way to mountains to find you? Because you didn’t come to breakfast? It was so ridiculous. Of all the reasons to seek you out, it was the silliest of them all. Your heart ached all the same, though. No one came because you were a friend. No one came because you were missed. Would Cardan have even known you were gone if he hadn’t extended the invitation the very evening you fled? 

“If I have offended the King, then I extend my apologies.”

Jude lifted her chin. “Tell him yourself.”

Your jaw clenched and unclenched. No. You would not go to him. You would not drag yourself back to that palace and let yourself be reminded why you had to go. You refused to break your heart all over again. “I have no desire to return to Faerie.”

“You don’t have to.”

Cardan stood in your bedroom. It was different than your one in Faerie. The one there had been full of extravagant things—the finest things he could gift you. It was full of gold and pearl and opal, glittering as if it all needed to be housed in a vault. But this bedroom, it had been stitched together out of nothing. Threadbare blankets, smooshed pillows, books that looked like they would fall apart with one wrong look. Cardan listened to your conversation as your voice floated down the hall. Would you really choose all of this over being with him? Was he truly so terrible?

The floor creaked under his feet as he stepped out and walked down the hall. Cardan could only see the back of your head, but you still looked just as beautiful as he remembered. His fingers twitched at his side as he fought the urge to run up behind you, take you in his arms, and whisk you away to Faerie. When had you taken so much control over him? When had he given it to you so willingly? When had you decided you didn’t want it anymore? 

“I believe I am owed an apology?”

You turned slowly on your heel. Your eyes narrowed, but Cardan did not miss the flash of surprise. Your tongue swiped over your teeth. Would it be wrong to take that tongue in his mouth? Did it matter if it was? “I apologize.”

“My, that was heartfelt.”

Your eyes fell to the tail that swished around Cardan’s legs. It was still unfamiliar for him to have it out, still hard to control it from revealing his base emotions. He tried to will it to stop, but it continued to wave around as his excitement of seeing you bubbled in his chest. “Would you prefer I fall to my knees and weep for your forgiveness? Kiss your feet until you are pleased?”

“Oh, there are few things that would please me more than you on your knees for me, but I would prefer to not have an audience for that.”

Your gaze flitted from Cardan to Jude, who was inspecting your collection of kitchen knives. Were you debating sending her away? He would enjoy that. He would like to get on his own knees and remind you why he cared for you so. He misliked the distance you were putting between him. Maybe if he begged prettily enough, you would forgive him for whatever cruel thing he did that sent you running. 

“What are you doing here?”

“I don’t appreciate learning that you fled in the middle of the night after inviting you to breakfast. Is my company so awful that you would rather leave your home than spend a moment with me?”

A scoff escaped your lips. “I didn’t expect you to care.”

Cardan stared. Didn’t care…? He was so sure he had been clear with his intentions. He sent you gifts—he sent you a ring! The ring…Cardan reached over to his littlest finger and slipped it off. Ignoring your noise of protest, he closed the distance, grabbed your hand, and slipped the ring back on the finger it belonged. His heart slowed to a normal beat.

“Why would I give you this ring if I didn’t care?”

You stared at the ring. “You have gifted me many things.”

Jude stepped toward you. Your head snapped over to look at her, as if you had forgotten she was there. She tapped on the glittering gem on the ring’s center. “Allow me—Cardan is not good at professions of love, it seems. I told him of how humans would gift a ring as a promise of love. He wished to do that for you. Usually, there are confessions of how one wants to stay with their partner for all of their lives, but it seems he forgot that part.”

Cardan’s face burned as you looked back to him. “Is that true?” you asked. 

“Do I need to get on my knees for you to believe it?” He ignored Jude’s remark that that, too, was part of the human tradition.

You straightened your spine. “I will not be a lover to the king.”

Of course you wouldn’t be. You deserved more than that. Cardan was willing to offer you more than that. All you had to do was give him the word. Without a thought, Cardan sank to his knees, captured your hands in his. “Then be my Queen.”

Your breath hitched. 

“Come back to Faerie and rule by my side. Allow me to love you as I have tried for all these years. I missed you.” He lifted one of your hands to lips, then the other. “I begged Jude to help me find you and bring you home. I begged her to help me come here. Please, don’t let it all be for not.”

All you could manage was a single nod, and that was enough. 

PART THREE

[dceasesd]

Do you pirate comics? And if you do please gimme your piracy site mine isn't working😞

And could you give me asshole Bruce and Jason fic recs but specifically "I'm a selfish controlling man child and I love my family and will go to hell and back for them and will do anything to keep them safe" Bruce not "I'm an unfeeling man child who only cares for his narrow views of justice"Bruce

If you don't have any fics like this specifically I would gladly take any Bruce and Jason fics that doesn't bash either of the characters or their idles

i gotcha man i gotcha

i personally pirate all my comics on readcomiconline.li, which i find by typing the title of the comic and issue im looking for followed by ‘read’. usually it’s the first option!! it might depend on what country you’re in, though— i’m in the u.s. and it works for me but i’ve heard of people from other places having trouble with it :P

(also, be warned, readcomiconline.li has so. many. pop-ups. use at your own risk)

and oh my god i have so many thank u so much for asking i love giving recs so much (under the cut!!!!)

alrighty bruce and jay fics pls enjoy!!!

Clearly Calm and Keeping Terrorized by Batbirdies

this is one of my favorite fics of all time it’s so good!! it’s literally exactly what you’re looking for. i’d recommend reading the entire series for full affect, but a very basic summary of the plot is bruce goes to therapy and tries to unruin his familial relationships :-) this fic focuses on his attempts w jason. so great!

This Place we Built with Grace and Guilt by Cerusee

yeeowch this one hurts!! another one of my favorite authors, definitely also check out the rest of cerusee’s works, they’re great!! if i had to describe this fic in one word it would be GUILT

The Penny Drops, The Penny Dreads by Batbirdies

omg second batbirdies fic on this list they just get bruce and jay like no one else what can i say!!! this is the only wip on this list but it is very good and i can’t wait for more!! jason and bruce trying to figure out how to have a relationship w their contrasting class backgrounds

The Distance Between Us by AutumnHobbit

this is the one i instantly thought of when i saw ur ask— autumnhobbit is so good! bruce is traumatized and trying his best and that’s what matters

the city carries ruin in its hearts by nex_et_nox

outsider pov of bruce and jason’s relationship!! an interesting perspective, jim gordon is a surprisingly fun character to read!!

borderline by TheResurrectionist

this isn’t specifically jason and bruce and more bruce and everyone in the family, but there is some good jason&bruce dynamic. control freak bruce tries to stop being a control freak

Come Alive by captainozone

this is a young justice fic so if you haven’t seen the show you might be a tiny bit confused, but it’s essentially just a ‘jason comes home’ fic!! one of my all time favorites!

THIS ISN’T PUNISHMENT (I LOVE YOU.) by orphenusaki

orphenusaki i love you all your fics are amazing pls never stop writing!! this author is so great so id recommend checking out their other stuff as well, but this one features a long-needed convo between bruce and jason prompted by truth serum.

hope you like these!!!! thanks again for the ask <333 happy reading!!!!

[avale-reves]

The waves of Scala ad Caelum crashed at Ephemer’s feet. A nightly breeze rustled through his white curls and kissed his skin cold at the shore. He closed his eyes at the sensation washing over him, and prayed the wind would lift him free from the land and carry him far off and away. But when his eyes opened, the same still churning dark sea greeted him and little more. Behind him the town center loomed as it climbed in step-like tiers reaching toward the stars. He awoke alone into a blank and empty world, but in time more and more hearts gathered there. Life was passed down time and time again until the land was filled with a thriving people. Societies grew and branched through the city, each a congregation fighting for its own sake and future. Now Scala bustled with life, with culture, with progress… And yet he never stopped feeling alone. His heart ached even now, just as it had the moment the lifeboat pod hissed opened and he found himself in an endless dead sea—everything washed away. All that loss and ruin, all those broken worlds… Try as he might to move on, to build something new, an irreparable change tore through him— He could never unlearn just how fragile it all was.

CONTINUE READING ON AO3

Wrote a little something in celebration of the Missing-Link beta! Bit of a theoryfic of sorts, exploring the setting and some themes i think/hope will be touched on in the game. Please consider sharing/commenting/kudos etc as I try to keep momentum in writing kh fics.

[atruththatyoudeny]

Happy 28th! Here are all the lovely fics I read this month

with venom on your tongue | wildestdreams | [91k] While Louis had to try so hard to stay focused and be the best, Harry somehow did the same things with ease and confidence. He hated how Harry glided through life, carrying happiness on his shoulders like it was nothing when it was arduous for Louis. His carefree demeanor made Louis feel crazy. But that feeling just motivated him to always keep his eyes on the prize. Number one in the class rankings every year and the valedictorian spot the next year when they graduated. He was so close he could taste it. And if the only thing in his way was Harry Styles, then Louis was willing to up the stakes to figure out what made him weak just to beat him. “Whatever,” Louis eventually said to Liam. “He’s a fucking cliche.” or a boarding school AU where Harry and Louis are academic rivals until they realize they’re more similar than they thought.

Angels Fly | LilyBlue28 | [203k] Harry is a lonely omega in the North Western White River Pack who is uncharacteristically drawn to nature and his now outdated primal instincts. He fills his days with going through the motions and clinging to the one actual friendship he has in the omega Zayn, and when he gets a chance he sneaks away to the edge of their territory to sit with the trees and the wildlife and sketch his favorite part of the river. But what happens when one day he spots the pack alpha, Louis, having an intimate moment with something, or someone, unexpected? Suddenly his quiet, nearly invisible existence gets upended, and secrets he never wanted to know quite literally won't leave him alone, and even when he tries to stay away, he keeps being pulled back into Louis' turbulent orbit. A magical love story featuring a generations long grudge, a menacing curse, and secrets that keep pulling them apart. Will they be able to find a way back to one another through the dark?

Fuck You For Ruining New York City For Me | galactic_larry | [11k] Harry met Louis in college and fell in love with him in record time. Louis broke up with him in their New York apartment, so Harry left the city for good. Except now he’s back, visiting with his new boyfriend. What happens when they run into each other at a bar three years after breaking up?

i've got something to confess, i keep you in my pocket to use | babylwt | [16k] "You made Harry Styles practically swoon over you, admit you’re beautiful to basically the world, he asked for your number and you said no. Like, you have to be joking.” Bella tsks as she sits up straight, grabbing Louis’ computer off his lap and putting it off to the side. Louis moves to reach for it, sighing in defeat as he leans back against his pillows. “You know how it goes with those sports guys. They’re just after having a good time before they have to go to the next city and play another game and find another person to swoon.” Louis explains. “It just wouldn’t have worked and I’m too busy right now.” Louis shrugs. “Too busy to fuck Harry Styles?” Bella asks with a raised brow. “Yes, even too busy to fuck Harry Styles.” Or Prompt 251: Harry is a hockey player and he's in the middle of a press conference when Louis, a journalist, asks him a question. Harry sees him ans says something like "oh my god, he's so beautiful" to his teammate and only realized his mic was on when the pretty boy blushes and the room breaks in a laugh

My heart might be broken (but I won't be broken down) | elleseekeepdriv | [46k] A story about a couple falling in love and becoming a family, and then breaking up and dealing with a heartbroken daughter while surviving their own heartbreak But at its core, a story about a couple fighting against biphobia, fighting for their love, and learning to accept each other while learning to accept themselves.

Hello Again | Alwaysinlove | [31k] Thea Tomlinson and Belle Styles are work besties. When Belle decides that Harry needs a date for his fiftieth birthday party, Thea suggests her Dad. What the pair don't know, is that Harry and Louis went on a date nearly thirty years previously, and it didn't end well... Set in 2030

[ohtobemare]

Cradlerobbing, Norman Nordstrom x fem!OC | Part 1

a Don't Breathe au short fic arc.

summary: She bought the house to the left. Expecting a quiet neighborhood, not the man next door. But Norman has quite a way of showing up when you least expect it. As a matter of fact, so does fate.

warnings: canon divergence, pregnancy, age gap, romance, surrogate to lovers, violence probably.

pairings: Norman Nordstrom, "The Blind Man" x fem!OC

“Well, looks to me like she’s pretty shot to shit, missy honey. Lookin’ at a total replacement, I think.” 

A total tear down. Frickin’ fantastic. “Oh, no no—you can't be serious! Really? Are you sure there’s nothing you can—” 

“—nope, not a thing. Shame, really.” 

A flick of a business card between arthritic, knobby fingers and the stranger named Val managed the thinnest, most disingenuous smile a man of his age could probably muster. Dentures, maybe as ancient as the threadbare flannel jacketing his waifish frame, shifted ever so slightly as his tongue clicked off the back molars. Mentioning something about the “office gal Donna”, he all but shook his head as curling fingers scratched through left-behind-from-what-was-probably-last-week’s shave. 

He all but assaulted her with the business card. Thrusting it into her hands, Millie McAffery could’ve sworn his skeleton cracked in two as he moved to retrieve his worn, strictly-80s briefcase from the floor. Welded in place, her feet cool from the half-stained walnut floor, her eyes trailed him as the man named Val exited the way he came–the kitchen’s dutch back door. Attempting to whistle, of all things. 

Mille bristled at the light crick of his dentures even across the room—until the roar of his oversized diesel pickup grumbled its way out of her driveway and down the street. Though, if you’d asked her, she wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. The low hum of the heavy engine matched the blood pistoning through her ears beat for beat, both seeming to rattle her bones. 

Seventeen days.

She could hear her father all the way from the Twin Cities, clicking his tongue and shaking his head. Hardly different than he had the first time he’d smacked eyes on the old Victorian, nestled quietly on the once-beautiful, presently decaying, Buena Vista Street. “I told you, Millie honey—” 

Looking at the card Val had passed into her hands, numbers to the office woman named Donna swam. Fresh tears bubbled up behind her lashes, herculean willpower funneling into attempts to keep her hands from trembling. Instead, her nose began to burn with the hot need to sniffle, stomach suddenly empty of anything but the stones that seemed to drop down the length of her throat and into the hallow chasm it had become. Rattling with every cardiac rhythm, for a moment she was concerned her heart had broken loose from behind her ribs. 

Swearing she was able to feel her stomach acid jostle as she lifted a hand to massage around her mouth, Mille managed a shaking breath. Seventeen days she’d been parked in her—her, mark that her—very own house. In her very own plot of grass and dirt, her very own story. Her closet wasn’t even unpacked, still eating out of the same bowl with the singular spoon she’d left unpacked from her boxes. Had just managed to position the couch exactly where she wanted it two nights ago when lightning had cracked across her bay window. Thunder opened the floodgates of a brutal downpour. 

Right into her living room. Mad dashing to catch water from ruining her freshly mortgaged walnut floor, she’d used everything from pots to the rolling carry-on Samsonite she’d opened and emptied to her mattress. Not daring a look to the scatter of makeshift catches on her floor, her eyes instead fell back to the card in her hands, Val’s estimate rolling through her brain like unforgiving, expensive lava. 

A whimper assaulted the back of her throat viciously. Burning and acidic, like it wanted to rip her uvula fron the back of her throat and use it to beat her bloody. Headache blossoming from her temple, she pushed her glasses up into her hair to rub at her eyes with the heel of her hands, eyes pinched close in an attempt to will the entire events of the morning into nightmare status. Where it wasn’t real, simply bad fiction. Like that book her sister had gifted her for Hanukkah last year. 

Twenty-six thousand dollars. Running average for a roof, sweet cheeks. Val’s look of sympathy almost drove her over the edge; ready to hand him the keys to her pickup and ask him to just end her and get it over with already. Use the life insurance to fix the roof and sell the house, send her back to Minnesota finally at peace and without burden. Instead she’d just gaped like a wobbly, hardly-with-it foal, knees all but shaking as Val had flitted his hand through the air, throwing out numbers as if it were bingo. 

No way about it. She needed a new roof—money. I need so much frickin’ money—

—knock, knock. Two hard thunks at the front door, which was through the living room and just off the stunning foyer and open-banister staircase leading to the upper floor. Jumping, Mille’s hand flew ot corral her rabbiting heart behind her ribs, stomach flipping as the house seemed to rattle at the effort of whoever had knocked at her front door. Swallowing, which felt painful, she reached to pull her pajama robe tightly around her middle, channeling all her anger into a closing, tight knot.

Padding into the living room, dodging the scatter of water collection vessels across her floor, she worked the deadbolt and the chain lock off the door before opening it a sliver, squinting into the galactically-invasive light of day. Blinking, she scrunched up her nose before wishing whomever–face blocked by stabbing morning light—a less-than-genuine good morning. 

A few seconds ticked by, her gaze corrected. The silver-fox of a stranger, standing rod-straight on US Bank’s mortgaged front porch, stared straight ahead as if she wasn’t even there. Millie recognized him instantly, the neighbor right across from her—she’d seen him walking his gorgeous Rottweiler the same time every morning she’d made herself coffee. Blind, her head had tipped to the side with a kind smile as she watched him not miss a beat, pounding concrete like he owned the world. And he might as well have, nobody lived on this street. 

Until her. 

“Norman, hi,” she tried punching energy into her voice, but it flopped—just as tired and flat as she’d feared. To his credit, Nordstrom’s expression only flickered for a moment; a light wrinkle of his brow, the faintest shift of his eyebrows up. Unmoving, his hand motioned for his companion to come up alongside him, Shadow shifting to accommodate with a lopsided little look on his face. 

Eyes immediately moving to the Amazon package in his hand, the corner of her mouth ticked up a little. “That’s mine, I guess?” Lifting the package, he passed it to her with the quietest smile and nod, shifting a shoulder lightly. Opening the door wide, she stepped aside to welcome him in. “Doors open, like always. You want some coffee? It’s hot and strong.” 

“Something bothering you, McAffery?” Norman’s perception amazed her, even after only a little over two weeks of acquaintance. He’d clocked her every time—that one day she’d been crying, homesick after the lock on the bathroom door had broken. When the dishwasher had stopped working, the light outside her door had flickered to a paralyzed nothing and she didn’t have the first clue how to remove the glass housing to change the bulb. She’d been over to Norman’s no more than half a dozen times, asking for tools. Once that awkward, high-I’m-you-neighbor-can-I-borrow-a-cup-of-sugar had breezed out of the way, she’d bounced herself over to Norman’s stoop every time the wind kicked up sideways. 

Slipping in through the door, he stilled. Uncomfortably close proximity, she could smell the mint on his breath. A bite of aftershave, the glisten of dewy, freshly-shaven skin along his jaw. His side profile was extravagant, devilishly cut and attractive in a way that should’ve been illegal for men his age. Because even well old enough to be her daddy, Norman was handsome. Chiseled, strong. An Adonis, truly–her but Icharus flying too close to his wisdom and bronzed, might-as-well-be-carved-from-stone, arms. 

Gently nudging her with one of his corded, ripped-with-muscle arms. As if he weren’t even challenged to see, the corner of his mouth lifted in a light, nearly teasing, smirk. For a man who lived alone, Norman was roughly flirtatious—with his expressions, anyway. “Y’don’t sound like yourself, Millie,” his hands slipped into the pockets of his perfectly-tight Wranglers, “Bubbly and shit-grinning and all that,” his smile was quicksilver, almost devilish. “What’s eating you, kid?” 

“Thanks,” she mumbled, trying not to chuckle. Choosing to ignore the probe, “Watch yourself, there’s stuff all over the floor.” A sharp whistle from the corner of his mouth sent Shadow trotting through the door, weaving through the collection across her floor to plop himself in the kitchen, right on the this-morning-unrolled rug. 

Toeing the door closed, she shrugged and reached to rub the back of her neck. Halting at her caution, Norman paused and checked her over his shoulder. Frowned severely. He looked genuinely puzzled—all the light, whatever could manage through the milky haze across his damaged eyes normally, evaporated. Simply standing there, he waited for her to come up beside him, one ear turned to her movements. Explaining her flooding disaster from two days ago, she toed aside the half-full Samsonite luggage parked in front of him.

Water sloshed over the size, landing in a fat plop on the walnut floor. Immediately keyed into the intrusion, he looked, amazingly, to the suitcase and then back to her as she came up beside him, looping her arm through his casually. Like old friends, like she hadn’t known Norman for less than ten days. A regular fixture already, in their otherwise ghost of an avenue that was Buena Vista Street. 

“That can’t be good,” he said, low, then looked up. “Could’ve told you it needed replacing though, McAffery. Jack and ‘Livia didn’t do a thing the last twenty years,” he shook his head, a low rumble settling in his chest, “Kids wanted out of the place, fuckups from Chicago.” Gaze still turned upward, as if he could see. Could make sense of the water stains littering the popcorn ceiling of her living room. 

“Yeah,” was all she managed. 

Swelling emotion flared hot behind her ribs, stung the back of her throat like a splash of acid. Swallowing back a shaking breath, her toes curled into the floor for a heartbeat before she stepped to guide Norman into the Victorian’s small breakfast nook, a used baker’s table and two barstools Goodwilled from her mother. Stopping at the table, she explained the barstool at his 11 o’clock, and went to slip her arm from his to see to coffee. 

Norman tugged her to a soft stop. Pulling up, her eyes moved from his hand, suddenly covering hers with a gentle, calloused squeeze to his face. Unreadable, as usual, though he managed to hold her gaze, again, like a seeing man would have. Half their brief relationship, she would’ve never guessed Norman was actually disabled—at first blush, she’d thought he’d been lying, he was so keen. But, when he’d counted the steps up to her front door just-so-slightly under his breath, she’d recanted her judgments. 

Hand inexplicably warm over hers, Norman stiffened up the corded muscle of his arm. Giving her a light smirk, his hand moved to clap her shoulder, lightly. “You’ll figure it out, McAffery. It’s just life.” His hand moved to cup her cheek for just a breath, before his fingers brushed lightly across her features. 

Reading her, as he’d asked to do when she’d showed up to return his toolbelt, eyes burning red and swollen from the sobbing session she’d had on her bathroom floor. The infancy of their hardly-mature acquaintanceship. But it had felt like she’d known Norman her entire life, the handsome stranger across the way anything but. And she wasn’t sure if that was ok–if that was normal, if the odd hammering of her heart against her breastbone at his hand over hers was acceptable neighbor-like behavior. 

It didn’t matter, not really. Norman was here. She wasn’t alone. 

“Smile, kiddo. Increases your facial value.”

tags: @itsgoghtime @horserad-ish@mongoosesthings @sarahsmi13s @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @kmc1989 @strawberrylemonadesoda

@strawberrylemonadesoda

[sasheneskywalker]

batfamily fic recs which are told from an outsider’s perspective

the city carries ruins in its heart by nex_et_nox

“Do you trust him?” Jim asked.

“Yes,” said Batman, unhesitating.

He didn’t know if he would ever like Red Hood. He didn’t know if he would ever be able to like working with him. He wanted to arrest the man. But if Batman trusted him, that would have to be enough for Jim.

Jim Gordon's evolving perspective on Red Hood.

T | No Archive Warnings Apply | Jim Gordon & Jason Todd

playacting by nex_et_nox

“So,” Jim said, “are you one of Wayne’s new kids?” Because only siblings acted that way toward each other, and it seemed like every time Gotham turned around, Bruce Wayne was adopting more kids. It was a reasonable question.

“What?” Jay asked. “No, I’m—” He paused. Very slowly, his head tilted as he looked over Jim’s shoulder in the most obvious way he possibly could.

Jim Gordon accidentally meets the "newest" member of the Wayne family.

G | No Archive Warnings Apply | Jim Gordon & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Jason Todd

Ain't No Compass, Ain't No Map by ebjameston

CPS Agent, pointing at Tim Drake: We need to take him with us

Red Hood: He's fine where he is

CPS: He's a minor

Hood: Timbo, you a minor?

Tim: Can't prove it

CPS: I mean, I can. There are records –

Tim, who has just finishing hacking CPS to remove his own file: Oh really, tell me more about these records

+++

A CPS agent gets sent to investigate a tip that Tim Drake has been abandoned by his parents and is living with the Red Hood. The CPS agent leaves with no Tim Drake, a date with Red Hood's lieutenant, and an intern who's promising to fix the IT systems at his office.

It's a weird day for Theo.

T | No Archive Warnings Apply | Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown & Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne

Finding a New Perspective by njw

“I got this, Hood.” Red Robin sounds annoyed as he arcs and twists through the air, kicking one henchman into another and wrenching the gun away from a third while simultaneously retracting his grappling line and then launching it to catch another unwary henchman. Just, how?

“I can see you do,” Red Hood says, and wait. Was his voice always that deep? Is he… Maya squints. Is he staring at Red Robin’s ass?

She blinks, then studies the line of sight more closely. Maybe he’s just checking out Red Robin’s kneecaps, in preparation for shooting at them? That seems more his style. Sexual attraction is kind of confusing and she still doesn’t totally believe Tosh that it’s actually as big a thing as people make it out to be—seriously, do other people really spend that much time thinking about it? Sounds fake but okay.

But no, Red Hood’s helmet is totally pointed at Red Robin’s ass. Huh. That’s new.

*

For the tumblr Jaytim Week 2021 Holiday Gift Exchange. Thanks, Chibi, for putting this all together!

T | No Archive Warnings Apply | Tim Drake/Jason Todd

seeing is believing by envysparkler

Five times Agent Padilla has the wrong idea about her neighbors’ relationship, and one time she gets it right.

(Or: Natalia knew that Gotham was crazy, but she didn’t realize it was move-in-next-to-Nightwing-and-Deathstroke-the-Terminator-crazy.)

M | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson

red by any other name by curiositea

The first thing Leo thinks, when she sees the guy strapped to the chair, is that cable ties aren’t going to be enough.

or, a minor gang kidnaps the Red Hood’s “boyfriend”. It goes about as well as you’d expect.

Not Rated | No Archive Warnings Apply | Jason Todd & Original Character(s)

The Talking Cure by DariaHernandez

Two vigilantes and a couples therapist walk into a room.

M | No Archive Warnings Apply | Tim Drake/Jason Todd

The Horrible Lives of the Completely Sane by withthekeyisking

Three civilian looks at the goings-on of the Wayne family.

G | No Archive Warnings Apply | Batfamily Members & Original Character(s)

Training Day: Gotham City 911 Edition by Spee (birbsandbats)

“Could you at least help me out here? The mall is about to explode!”

“Meh. It’s gone downhill since the Macy’s closed,” Pilar said.

“Meh??” Eric sputtered. “How can you not take this seriously?”

“The Riddler isn’t even an A level villain anymore. I think you and Robin can handle him, newbie.”

or: Eric Richards knows nothing about Gotham City--which would be fine, if he weren't its newest 911 operator.

T | No Archive Warnings Apply | No Relationships

[azsazz]

Clandestine Love

Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Request: Can you do a fic where you and Rhys’s sister are best friends and Rhys wants you but you both know it’s a terrible idea but you do it anyway

Warnings: None

Word Count: 822

Notes: Wait because I kind of love these two...fkn hell 😮‍💨

_________________________________________

“Ara, wait up!” You screech, fisting your silky midnight blue skirts in your hands and taking off down the corridor after your friend, who’s cackling as she races towards the staircase.

The two of you had been granted permission from the Lady of Night to head out into the city in search of gowns for the upcoming Starfall party. You’d be accompanied of course by a few sentries, as your best friend – the daughter of the High Lord of the Night Court – wasn’t allowed to go anywhere without them.

You’d ditch the poor bastards assigned to tailing the two of you as soon as you arrived at the bustling streets of Velaris, you and Araphel would make sure of that.

Her head has just disappeared down the staircase when a hand shoots out from around the corner, grasping your arm and spinning you quickly into the warm, lean body of her older brother.

Rhysand.

Your heart races with excitement as he pulls you close, pressing you up against the wall behind. Your head is still dizzy from the twirl and when he settles a palm at the nape of your neck and stares down at you with those vibrant violet eyes, your mind clears, all his.

His other hand settles on your hip as he cranes down to nose at your throat, breathing in the night-kissed scent of your skin like a drug he’s been deprived of for centuries.

“Rhys,” you gasp softly, a warning, but it’s contradicted when you clutch at the lapels of his finely pressed jacket. “We can’t be doing this.”

“Relax, (Y/N),” he soothes, his lips against your neck sending shivers up your spine, “Ara is occupied with my father.”

You should be down there, getting the same lecture the both of you always have to endure before you go out into town alone. Stick with your chaperones, do not wander from the city, and always–

“Are you going to pick me out something nice?” the lordling purrs, tongue lapping at your creamy skin. Your hand snakes up the expensive fabric of his suit and slides around the nape of his neck so you can finger through the inky black tendrils of his hair.

You scoff, pinching at the skin on the base of his head playfully, “Not every female is vying for your attention or affections, Rhysand.”

The handsome heir hums in response, clearly amused. “You come in here looking like this,” he mouths over the tops of your exposed breasts and it takes all of your self control not to release the debauched noise that's working its way up your throat. “How can I not think that you’re trying to gain my attention?”

“I know it’s hard for you young males to keep your hands to yourselves and your cocks in your trousers,” you start and he groans. He’ll never forgive his sister for telling you about what he and his brothers would occasionally get up to with the females at the Illyrian camps, “But I have more posie than that.”

“Say cock again,” he begs, hands skimming down your body, thumbs brushing over the peaks of your nipples, eliciting a breathy gasp from you. The cheeky lordling tries to hike up the bottom of your dress but little sisters always ruin everything–

“(Y/N)?” Ara yells, voice carrying loudly through the otherwise empty halls.

“Coming,” you call over Rhys’ shoulder, tightening your hold on him slightly, unconsciously. You give him an apologetic look as he straightens to his full height, lifting your chin to gaze up at him. He looks disappointed, and although the both of you had agreed to be strictly friends, there was something between the two of you that couldn’t keep you away from each other.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur and he shakes his head, thumbing across your cheek.

“Don’t be. I’ve just missed you is all.”

“Maybe when I’m done picking out my Starfall dress and Ara has fallen asleep I’ll come give your cock my attention,” you suggest, lips ghosting across his own. You emphasize your words with a sneaky caress to his frontside, Rhys’ breath catching in his throat as his mulberry eyes widen, and then darken.

You try to slip away, wanting to leave him teeming with pleasure. It will make tonight so much better, but he catches you by the neck, twisting you around and pressing his lips against yours in a hot kiss that leaves your mouth tingling and your legs clenched tightly together. 

“That better be a promise, (Y/N),” he smirks, finally backing off a step from you, leaving the feeling of his fingers buzzing on your skin, electricity in your bones.

“I suppose you’ll have to find out,” you respond with a cutting smile all your own. Rhysands eyes twinkle with excitement, and the agreement goes unspoken as Araphel meets you on the landing, her brother winnowing away into shadows and darkness.

[troutberryspoon]

Unhallowed Heart - Chapter 3: 'An Alliance Beckons'

Dark Urge/Enver Gortash

Third chapter and we get a glimpse of Bhaal's Ecstasy of Murder as Durge Villi experiences it. So, time for some warnings: blood, violence, murder, implied sexual gratification, addiction, etc.

Word count: 1657

Full fic on AO3

___

One hour later.

The Bhaalspawn stalked through the dark streets, each footstep carrying him blessedly further away from Enver Gortash’s mansion. Villi’s shoulders were hunched beneath his cloak, tension radiating from him in palpable waves.

Ah. He spied a fat slug making its ponderous, slimy way across the damp cobbles in front of him. He diverted his path to crush it underfoot. Even gave his heel an extra half-twist to ensure it was smeared into paste.

More. He craved blood. He craved what would come after the blood.

Gods damn that man.

Gortash was clever. He was shrewd. He had played the part of simpering admirer with patience and skill and Villi had underestimated him completely.

This was all Sceleritas’s fault. It would be a bath of boiling oil for the Butler this time.

But later. Later.

For now, the Lower City called.

In its twisting rabbit warren of tight alleyways and switchback streets, Villi found his quarry soon enough. 

A young woman was huddled in a doorway, dressed in rags, her face prematurely lined by hardship and worry. On her lap rested the head of a young boy no more than eight summers old, gently sleeping. The woman hummed a lullaby while brushing her calloused fingers through the child’s curls.

How sweet. How touching.

How tragic it would be, if either one lost the other.

The woman looked up when Villi stopped and tapped his cane in front of her. Her expression was wary.

‘I’m not offering anything you’re wanting,’ she said quietly. ‘Please sir, let us be.’

‘I’d like you to hold this for a moment for me,’ he said, tipping the cane towards her.

The wariness never left her eyes, but the woman did as she was bid. Her hand left the child’s hair and wrapped around the ebony shaft. Villi wondered if she thought she could use it as a weapon against him.

Like a striking snake, his hand darted forwards, grabbing the boy by the front of his shirt and tearing him out of his mother’s grasp.

She shrieked. ‘No! STOP! Let him go!’

The boy awoke with a shudder, eyes wide, legs kicking while Villi held him aloft. The woman, now standing, froze when Villi placed the edge of his dagger against the child’s cheek.

‘I’m begging you. I’M BEGGING YOU!’

Villi pressed harder. Soft skin split. The boy and his mother both screamed as his blood began to run.

‘I’ll do anything!’ The woman’s voice was raw, as if her throat was filled with splinters. She still held onto the cane, knuckles white, but she made no move to use it. The difference between prey and predator, Villi thought.

‘Would you take his place?’ he asked.

‘Yes, yes! Let him go, please let him go! Please, PLEASE!’

‘Did you hear that, child? Look at me.’ He gave the trembling wretch a sharp shake. ‘Your mother is going to die tonight, and it’s all your fault.’

The woman moaned and sobbed. The boy cried so hard that he retched. 

It was horrible. 

It was beautiful.

Villi set the child down, turned, and pulled the woman close. ‘Bhaal awaits thee, Bhaal embraces thee, none escape Bhaal,’ he whispered tenderly in her ear before burying his blade in the yielding expanse of her abdomen. She dropped the cane the third time he stabbed her. She died around the eighth or ninth.

When his arm began to grow tired, Villi stopped and let the body fall. Then, using her blood as paint, he daubed his Father’s symbol on the ground around it. He stepped back to admire his work, and noticed that the boy was still there, still staring at the lifeless ruined thing that was his mother only a short time ago. Good. Let the memory burn itself deep. Let the boy hate Villi every time he saw the scar on his face in his reflection. Let him fear the day Villi would come for him too.

Bhaal smiled on the scene. Villi’s breath hitched. He felt the veil of invisibility slip over his form, prickling his skin as he disappeared from view. He left the boy in the alleyway as he headed north, seeking a place where he could be alone.

A delicious warmth had started to pool low in his belly. Villi rounded a corner and gave thanks when he found himself in a small abandoned yard. While he might currently be invisible, he couldn’t always stay silent when his Father’s gift flooded his veins.

The murder had been well received. Villi pressed his shoulderblades against a wall and tipped his head back, sighing breathlessly as every nerve sparked alight. The steel cables of tension that wrapped his neck tight started to unwind, his cares and worries slipping away one-by-one.

It didn’t happen every time he made a kill. The secret ingredient was love. If he could shatter someone’s heart, break someone’s mind and spirit, bereave an entire community because he had chosen to end a beloved person’s life, then he got a little treat. It had to be deliberate, too. Harrowing. Depraved. Cutting down an enemy on the battlefield didn’t count, regardless of how many orphans he made that way.

His body thrummed in pleasure.

‘Oh, fuck.’ His back arched, swept up in a climax of mind-numbing bliss. An escape, a release. 

And Villi was addicted.

Afterwards he felt hollow and sluggish, but at least his mind was now calm. He could consider the alliance Gortash had offered over dinner.

Essentially, Gortash had figured out that the Bhaalists in Baldur’s Gate were rapidly running out of gold. Their influence was dwindling. They were at risk of becoming nothing more than stories parents used to scare their naughty offspring. 

Villi knew his followers were feral. There was the sense that his arrival in the temple heralded the end times. He was the armageddon-watcher, made by Bhaal to be the last soul alive. Which meant that no-one seemed to be too concerned with keeping the books balanced. They simply murdered everyone in sight.

Over a main course of venison served with crushed swede flavoured with caraway, Gortash made this point; if they couldn’t source enough gold to raise the army needed to bring about the end times, how would it ever come about?

Villi felt seen. He had argued the same point at the pulpit countless times, but it always seemed to fall on deaf ears. Or worse, scheming ears. There were whispers that the Son of Bhaal cared more about coin than bringing death to the world.

‘But we need it!’

‘But you need it!’

Villi and Gortash had made the exclamation at the same time. As if they were in sync.

Just as Villi was starting to feel the stirrings of what could be a real connection for the first time in his existence, Gortash went and ruined it all by revealing that he was a devotee of Bane, the God of Tyranny. Bhaal’s sworn enemy.

Villi had stormed out before dessert had arrived. 

The invisibility enchantment shivered away.

‘Hells,’ he muttered. He had just realised that he’d left his cane in the alley with the boy and his dead mother. If he went back to get it and the child was still there, he’d ruin the scene.

There was a ‘pop’. The stink of burned eggs. Sceleritas.

‘I believe you dropped this, Master,’ Sceleritas said, handing him the missing cane. The fiend took in the blood that covered Villi from his hair to his shoes. ‘I take it you’ve had a good night?’

‘Not really,’ Villi said. ‘I left dinner early. I was going to boil you for suggesting that I go in the first place.’

‘A wonderful idea! I shall get the fires stoked–’

‘I don’t have the energy. Did you know that Gortash is a Banite?’

‘You don’t say.’

‘Sceleritas. Did you know?’

‘Who is to say what is known and what is not…?’

‘So you knew.’

‘Yes.’

‘K’roklig.’ Villi groaned. ‘I don’t know what to do. Gortash knows we’re up to our tits in shit and he–’

Sceleritas cleared his throat. ‘Ahem.’

‘He can help us. With enough funding we could raise an army of Deathdealers and Unholy Assassins, but Gortash asks for an alliance in return. A sworn pact that we will do him no harm. If I decline the temple could collapse, literally and figuratively. I’ll fail my Father and we’ll fade into history. If I accept, am I betraying Him? Will He forsake me?’

‘Your Father sees what is in your dear, puckered heart. You don’t seek this alliance to defy Bhaal, you seek it to glorify Him. He will see. He will know,’ Sceleritas said, patting Villi’s bloodsoaked arm. ‘Trust your Butler. The plan hasn’t changed. It’s true, the Banite knows more about our current challenges than we would like, and the terms are steeper than we thought before. I still see no reason why you can’t go along with it - for now.’

After a few moments of thought, Villi nodded. ‘You’re right. I pray my Father will understand. When we’ve amassed enough power I’ll end Gortash myself. No pact can hold me forever.’

‘Exactly, my Liege. Your destiny dictates that no soul can be left alive. This alliance will be worth less than the rags I use to clean the brain matter from your boots. You’ll just have to play the part, for a while. Your suffering will bring glory to us all.’

‘Then it’s settled. I’ll send word to Gortash on the ‘morrow,’ Villi said. ‘Come, let’s head back to the temple. I’ve got a deep gnome’s forearm in the beetle tank, it should be clean by now. Would you like to assist me with the wiring? I was envisioning a new book holder for my study.’

Sceleritas looked up at him in rapture. ‘Oh, Master!’

‘I’ll boil you afterwards.’

‘You are too kind to old Sceleritas, Master. Too kind!’

[braindead94]

Class Dismiss

The second part of Power Bottom fic I made, and yes, there is a part two to this chapter. TW for this fic: kidnapping, fear, mention of blood, gun (but no one shooting) Monis DNI!!!

After that awkward, embarrassing day, you did your best to move on. It was bad enough to land on top of one of Doc Ock, who is one of the evilest geniuses in the world, in the most scandalous way possible, but for that same villain to demand a kiss? And the fact that you DID kiss him?

There is just so much wrong with that. 

Not even going to acknowledge the fact that he was a good kisser.

You apply the old saying “Keep calm and carry on” into your week and move on with… modernly success. Continue to patrol your oh-so ever grateful city of yours, stopping shoplifters and purse snatchers, walking old people across the road, punching Nazis-sorry, Hydra in the face, yeah, it seems safe to say that everything was still back to normal. If you don’t count the weird dreams of him in a very red lighting that may or may not have resulted in you waking up in ruin sheets. Damn the landlord for charging the washing machine each use.

Your social life was still on the drawing board. You used to look up Jessie's IG page, but after Docs kiss, you felt dirty to even glance at your crush. What was special meant for him was tarnished by that mad man.

Hopefully Octavius would just have a laugh at this and never talk about it ever again. Well, at least you prayed he would. Maybe Dr.Doom created a memory-wiping ray and shot him as a test subject. Or Thanos would have a sudden change of heart and make all villains disappear. Fuck that sounded way to drastic….

                                                                                                                             ~~~~OOOO~~~~

Daily Bulgal needed some photos of a special guest at Cornell University along with some interviews. Robert was friends with the speaker, Professor Miles Warren. Back when they fought in the Vietnam war with Dr.Conners.

He still feels mournful of how the one-armed scientist ended up becoming The Lizard, all because he wanted to help the world. You couldn’t help but sink your feelings in guilt when he talks about him as you fiddle with your lanyard with your guest pass and DB badge on it, thinking back how you could have done more if you were a scientist like him, or at least stopped him from drinking that vial. Or something.

Somehow, you felt both helpful and useless at the same time when it comes to aiding the bad guys.

“Hey Y/n, earth to Y/n. Do you read me?” You snapped out of your daze and stopped walking before your face hit a pole. “Oh shit, thanks Mr.Robertson.” He patted you on the shoulder before pushing you closer to him and away from the crowding students and teachers walking to the lecture hall.

“Are you doing okay? You seemed to be out of it lately. Was it related to that cut on your cheek?” Immediately, you touched the bandaged cheek on the side of your face as soon as he mentioned it. “Oh nah, just letting my mind wander. Ya know, just… thinking.”

Thinking about how you could have trapped the Vulture better and faster without being cut up by his wings the night prior to today. Again. Also having to sew up your suit. 

Again.

The black reporter smiled coyly and elbowed you gently. “Ah, its it a boy you got your eye on? Or maybe a girl if that’s what you're into-” “No! Oh no, I don’t have time for dating.” You assure him, ignoring how your cheeks warmed at the thought of your crush. ‘God, I wish I had time to date Jessie. Or anyone for that matter.’ 

“No, it’s just… I feel like I’m…” you tried off, trying to kickstart your brain to think up something for him until he rubbed your back. “No need to say anything if it makes you feel uncomfortable. I’m sorry for making you feel pressured. Tell you what, after this speech, and hopefully before Jamason summons us back to the office, let’s hit up some burgers and shakes. My treat.”

You beamed at him with your teeth showing (and hurting your cut cheek) just as your belly grumbled in a hurry. He laughed as you muttered that you didn’t eat breakfast. “Was it because you were trying to dress up like a schoolgirl?” He asked as he opened the door up for you and to other students.

Blinking your eyes, you looked over at your outfit again (for the 5th time that day) and reevaluated your look. “Is this too much?” You asked.

In honesty, you saw how fancy and strict the university was, so you put on a long, plaid skirt that flows past your knees. A cream-colored button up shirt was pressed and primed under a baggy, red sweater vest. It probably didn’t help that you’ve kept your old glasses that you swap the lenses with fake ones to keep up with appearances that only made you look more like a nerd.

“I just thought that since we are visiting a very prestigious college, I should look the part. Ya know, to blend in… it’s too much, isn't it.” He just shook his head no and gave you a soft smile. “No, you look very nice-” “Aya cutie! Wanna hook up with the smartest man on campus?” Called out a tall guy from behind you. 

Robby immediately turned around and snapped back “If you could find him, please let him know she's not interested.” There was a series of ‘OHHHHHH's' followed by a ‘got ‘em’. You blushed and tried to raise your shoulders up to your neck like a turtle. “The nerves of some kids I swear…” Muttered the reporter as you finally made your way to the auditorium.

The moment you step into the HUGE room, a certain smell of junk food fills up your senses and your mind teleports back to the time at Oscorp.

                                                                                                                           6 years ago

High school was if anything, ‘fun’. Too many things that got dumped on teens, who are still going through puberty and a lot of mental gymnastics, were expected to do. Like “What do you see yourself in 5 years?” or “You need to pay attention because college will grade you on this”. There were also social shit that would either split everyone apart with status quo and political, and how screwed up the environment was-

You, at 17 years old, just wanted to be done with it already.

Shrugging the heavy duffle bag with many expensive camera equipment inside, you trotted after Jessie and the rest of the news club. To be honest, you joined because your crush was in it, but you found yourself actually enjoying it, so much so that you started a hobby of photography and stayed in the club for all three years of high school.

The ringleader of the club somehow got an interview with Norman Osborn in his building, Oscorp. How? Probable through Harry. Jessie was the interviewer, all styled up and ready to get his picture taken at any point. It was at this point that his growth really aided him a lot, thus making him populer.

And you kinda admit, he makes a potato bag look good on him.

Mesha directed everyone to not touch ANYTHING (while glaring at the troublemakers who stagger along in the club for an easy pass) and to not bother any scientists when they enter a few labs. 

You nodded along, glancing at the tall redhead through your smudge up glasses. He caught you staring at him, and you looked away fast while trying not to blush hard. ‘Please don't’ notice me, please don’t notice me-’ “Hey Y/n.” His voice came next to you.

‘Crap’ You think as you try to look him in the eyes. “Hi! How's it going?” “I’m good. I see you brought your… ummm…. Equipment?” He asked, sounding like he was lost for words. You were about to reply when Mesha swooped in and snagged him away for preparations for the interview.

You sighed, both relieved and peeved as you got ready but you failed to notice how he looked back at you.

Norman Osborn actually graced your club with his presents, smiling and chatting up a storm with almost everyone. He shook everyone's hand, including yours (and saved your camera when it nearly fell out of your hands) and had everyone follow him. You stayed near Jessie as he asked questions that the school wrote down for him. You snapped a few shots at them and the labs you were allowed to see. 

The scientists in the labs were nice enough to explain a few experiments, both technology and chemistry and write them down so that you could relay the info for the editors later. Norman would ask you if he was in the right spot for a pic, and would give you a smile on his face, even off camera as he chatted with you. Even when he is older than you, he looks very charming with his wide smile.

But your eyes still were drawn to Jessie.

Around lunch time, you were all brought to a conference room where a table full of pizzas, burgers and sushi. And not just cheap kinds, but real pricy junk food. Everyone dug in with gusto and soon the room was filled with the sounds of talks, glasses filled with sugar bevergise, and some music popular around that time. All the young people were all smiles, giddy and free. Just forgetting about their upcoming life struggles and letting themselves go with carefree glee. You smiled and joked with your old friends until you saw how low your camera batteries were. 

Looking around, you saw no spaces on any of the tables, nor any chairs available. So you excuse yourself out of the room for more space (and quiet) and look through the pictures if any of them need to be rebooted. The hallway had many doors and each of them had many different rooms, also which were occupied. Except for one empty lab.

You stepped in and took a quick look around. It looked like an inventor room with many dismembered parts of robotic stuff along with four panels that jetted up from the floor. You glazed at it, putting it off as something that should not concern you and set up a charging space on the desk farthest away from all these important and *expensive* stuff and close to the door as well.

You just plugged in your camera when you spotted something hanging on the wall. Four long, metallic, tentacles looking things hung on the smooth wall with claws at the end. Your head tilted when you looked at it, pushing your glasses up on your nose again.

“I would say ‘Why don’t you take a picture, it will last longer’, but then we would have to kill you.” 

You yelped as you spun around to the sudden deep voice from behind you. As you saw the tall man in a white lab coat, you tripped on nothing and fell on your ass. “Oh Go-are you alright? I’m so terribly sorry, that was a poor joke. I meant nothing by that.” Said the scientist as he knelt down to help you up. “I’m fine, I’m sorry for being in here, but I needed space to charge my stuff.” You grunted, pointed to your camera. 

“Ah, you are the photographer of that school newsie club, aren't you?” He asked. You nodded as you finally took a good look at him. Two beautiful brown eyes peered down into yours as his handsome face sported a smile. You found yourself losing your words, almost how you would act around your own crush. “Ye-yeah-yes sir! I’m the photo gal-man-er.. I-” You stuttered, your cheeks dusting red the more you looked at him.

You shoved your hand out as you tried to regain your composure. “I’m Y/n! I go to high school!” Your eyes widen at how high your voice pitched when you said school. The tall heavyset man just chuckled as he took your hands into his. Oh wow, his hands are freaking HUGE!’ “Well, I’m Dr.Octavous. I go to work here.” 

God you wanted to lay on the ground and let it swallow you up.

“Ye-yeah, I gather that… I’m sorry if this is your lab. I just need-” Dr.Octavius cut you off with a wave of his hand. “No, no, It’s alright. I understand the importance of your job. Please use the space as long as you need it. Just please don’t take any pictures without my permission.” You nodded eagerly, smiling at him as you shoved your hands into your pockets.

The doctor continued to chat with you, his deep voice lulling your bundle of nerves to unwind until they were loose to let yourself emersed with him. You found yourself at ease with his good nature, enraptured with his whole presents. He asked about you and your future, to which you were embarrassed to share that you didn’t know what you wanted to do. He patted you on the shoulder as his friendly face looked into yours. “It’s okay not to not have an answer at all. Not everything is set in stone. Whatever you set your mind to; you can achieve anything.”

Something that has said before but sounds nicer when he says it. The door clicked open, and you both turned to see Dr.Osborn strolling in. “Ah, I see you’ve met Otto.” He said in his pleasant, gravel voice. 

Dr.Octavius, or Otto, smile faltered a bit when the CEO strolled in with a swagger in his steps. “Hello Norman. How is the club fairing the tour?” He asked. “Oh the kids are having a grand old time! Jessie, the young man back there who's acting as the interviewer, vaguely reminds me of a very young Tyrone Power. But with red hair!” He gushed before remembering you were there.

“Pardon me, you probably don’t know who that is-” “He was Diego is the Mark of Zorro, in 1940.” You stated, feeling a bit of pride swelling inside you when both men looked surprised before Norman recovered and smiled at you. “Fan of black ‘n’ white movies, are you?” “Yup.” You somewhat lied; you only watched them when your grandmother babysat you when you were little. Also helped that you mostly lived with your older folks that are still obsessed with old films.

“Isn’t she something? She let me look at her pictures so far on this tour and they all look simply marvelous.” “Indeed, though I have to ponder, Norman, are you charging her for all the photographs she's taken?” The tall man asked as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. Your cheeks bloomed in red, missing how the shorter man looked back at him in disappointment. 

“Lets not do this Otto, you know this can’t be helped-” “Even after all the things we’ve done? You still have the need to charge me for rent like some money-grubbing landlord-” “Otto.” Norman whispered as his blue eyes darted to you. You took the hint and tried to break away from what seemed to be something that needed to be said in private. “Its okay, I’m going back to my clu-”

“No no,” Ottos arm tighten around your shoulders a bit, causing you to stumble back into his grasp and make your glasses crooked on your face. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. If you'd like, I would love to give an interview for your school newspaper if they are interested.” You slowly nodded yes. “Sure, just let me text Mesha if she would be interested in the scientific section. If that is okay with you Mr.Osborn.”

“Please, call me Norman, and I’m fine with it if Otto is.” Both men smiled (though you couldn’t tell if it was forced or genuine, you didn’t dwell too much on it) as you texted the club president.

She was more than excited; she was ecstatic as she rounded up the troops after they finished eating and got back to work. The next 15 minutes were all about Dr.Otto Octavius and his robotics discovery with a newly built AI that could help construction workers with limb enhancers as well as nuclear theory that could replace most of the power the city runs on. You took as many photos as you could, still blushing at both Jessie, who still gave out the interview, and Otto whenever they glanced at you.

Norman stood by the sidelines and let the students ask more questions until he pressed on that time was now limited with the tour. You all said your good-byes to the tall, handsome scientist. He shook everyone's hands, including yours. As he grasped your hand, he gave you a wink for good luck for the future and it took all of your willpower NOT to trip over your feet as you tried to catch up with Jessie with Norman.

He guides you all like Willy Wonka in his factory. “Now, I think you all would be fascinated with our latest experiments on spiders. I hope none of you have any Arachnophobia.”

You blinked as your mind reverted back to the present. A feeling of revelation dawned on you as you looked about the huge auditorium and at all the students. ‘Shit… it’s been a while since I’ve thought about that day.’ You followed Robby down to the bottom steps and up to the stage where he led you to front seats. All while you continued your thinking process that you didn’t notice Robby talking to an attendant about seeing Miles first before the presentation.

‘I’ve been doing this for 6 whole years. Fuck, holy fuck this is what I’ve been doing for 5 years after graduation! HA! Here's to your stupid question “What will you be doing in 5 years”, Mr.Phil. That asshole.’ You smiled to yourself as you looked up from the stage while sitting down, just realizing that you won't have a better shot from there. 

You told your coworker as such and he nodded, sharing the same idea of you hopping on stage before Dr.Warren shows up and picks a better location. He talked to the same attendant again and pointed at your Daily Bugle badges on your lanyards along with your guest passes and they nodded with permission for you to shoot Miles with your camera.

‘I wonder what my classmates are doing. Probably raising a family.’ You walked up the steps to the stage. ‘Maybe going or finishing up college. Hell, maybe they have already found their dream jobs.’ You walked around the wooden worn floor that has been played on over the years. You found a perfect stop, smiling a bit again as you gently took off your bag and searched through it for your good camera, only to quickly shuffle aside your Spider-Girl suit in fear someone was behind you.

You thought about how much you've done as Spider-Girl, meeting the Avengers and the Fantastic four was a blast (flirting with Johnny was super funny and left you blushing under your mask. Really made your heart skip a beat thinking if Jessie didn’t go out with you…). You put big names behind bars, you fought against Kingpin and lived to tell the tale. Hell, you’ve even gone to space!

Just for a day, but still! You were fighting space Nasi-again sorry, Hydra!

Even Green Goblin is in jail….

You froze, your skin grew cold just thinking of Norman before you violently shook yourself out of it mentally and resumed your setting up. All these years, you’ve done so much as Spider-Girl. A hero for all.

But what have you, your real you, have done these past few years? Your feelings of pride and accomplishments vanished. You’ve done great things as Spider-Girl, but as Y/n…

You've been working as a photographer for 6 years on the same payroll, sleeping in the same apartment that was still shitty with it’s own shitty landlord who wouldn’t lift a finger to fix something unless it really affected his livelihood (AKA threatening to call the inspector of apartment living). You never dated outside of High school, and that was before you became Spider-Girl. You’ve only had a few friends that somehow put up with your constant delays/no show/call offs.

In fact, you just realized that you were the one calling them first. They never text you for anything unless you did it first. So that means no friends. The only one in your real life who is constant is your Uncle Lenny, AKA, your only living family relative.

Shame colored your face as you finally got everything ready. ‘Damnit… am I that much of a loser outside of my hero work? I’ve been so busy, I never once thought about my own stuff. No wonder Uncle Lenny is always trying to get me to do new things.’

You put the camera's lanyard around your neck and turn it on, just in time when the lights started to dim in the back and the stage lights were turned on. Squatting down, you raised the camera to where Dr.Warren would walk out and got ready to click away.

‘Maybe after this, I’ll take Lenny out for dinner at that old diner. It’s been a while since we’ve been there and he deserves to be spoiled a bit after all he’s done for me.’ You smiled at the thought just as the Dean of the college walked on stage and started to take pictures.

The Dean gave a quick welcome talk and shared some new rules regarding colored shoes that distracted other students from studying and thus banned them in favor of brown/white/or gray shoes (boo) before he welcomed the guest of honor.

The old man with a wide mustache walked in with a limp in his foot and shook hands with the Dean and waved to the audience. There were a few flashes of cameras in the crowd and polite cheers from the younger people. He gave thanks for letting him give a talk and started on his speech.

It was an incredible story about his life after Vietnam. After he was injured, he put himself through college to study medicine and worked alongside many great minds, even got to meet Dr.Reeds before he became Mr.Fantastic (which you and others agree when Miles said he should really be called Dr.Fantastic). After graduating, he worked with other scientists and other bright minds to help the world by solving cancer cells or working on other ailments. He talked about the night where he figured out a possible cloning of blood that could be better tested on instead of animals.

You were snapping away on your good camera, gently biting your bottom lip as you focused on him. He was good, great even and you saw why Robby held him in high regard with his stories and how he presented himself. His voice was kind and warm, reminding you of a grandfatherly figure. The mid-age man was slowly wrapping up his speech by adding something inspiring for the students, smiling in good faith at them. He ended it on a high note and everyone clapped at the end of his talk.

The Dean showed up to calm everyone down and then had an attendant bring up a microphone to the front of the stand for questions. Soon, many students and reporters filed up behind the small metal stick with the microphone in it.

You had a hidden smile swapping your positions for a better position to snap pictures of the questionnaires when suddenly your spider-sense started to tingle.

“So, is that what you are really using the cloning technique or is that just your cover up?” Called out an all too familiar voice from the crowd. 

Like flags changing directions in the wind, heads turned to look at the person who spoke up. A very tall man stood from the back of the auditorium in a heavy trench coat with a fedora over his head. Your stomach squeezed in fear along with your spider-sense started to buzz more. You know that coat, you’ve seen it before. You know the wearer of that damn coat. Your eyes trained on him as you put your camera away without looking.

The tall man slowly walked from the back and up to the back of the line. Miles eyes the man with a confused smile. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” He asked in a strain in his voice. “I’ve read about your ‘humanitarian’ work with cloning cells, Dr.Miles. And I must admit, it’s a very complicated and very difficult task to replicate human DNA, very brilliant and yet you squander it over a few decaying cells when it has better uses.” 

Said the stranger as he strolled down the stairs. The people in line stepped aside from him, wary looks dawned on their faces, some whispers going about and you heard a faint word of a shooter. You glanced down at Robby and saw him furiously texting on his phone in a hidden way. Probably to get JJJ or calling the police.

You slowly inch back, trying to be stealthy as to get off the stage and change into your power suit. Yet, you failed to notice how Dr.Warren's eyes shifted the second the man talked about his work. Something dark and pissed off. “What do you have against my work? What other uses would I do with this scientific knowledge? Stop it and continue to test on innocent animals, or on humans?” The old man demanded. 

The stranger stopped at the microphone and finally revealed his face to him with dark sunglasses staring back into the men on the stage. Doc Ock only gave him a crooked smile, his black sunglasses glinted in the light as he replied “Oh, I have a few ideas in mind.”

Docs metal arms shootout and slam their claws on the ground to lift him up. Everyone screamed and immediately started to run all together. His body raised higher in the air while one arm gently took off his hat. The trench coat opened up more and all four of them came to life, revealing him to wear a black turtleneck sweater (thank God, his chest was super distracting).

You shot up to run back, but your dumb old shoes squeaked over the wooden floor and you tripped over your feet. Then you cursed yourself for almost forgetting your backpack and you crawled over to it. ‘FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!!! Need to fucking move! Need to hide and change before he-’ 

Miles let out a yell, causing you to turn around. An actuator pushed him to the ground as Doc Ock hovered up to the stage with ease, his face still boring that same smug smile as his fingers pressed themselves in a half-prey position. The Dean, stumbling away from him, had managed to stop. You saw his shoulders square up as he clenched his fist and yelled out “Now see here, you asshole! This is a private university an-”

Like swatting an annoying fly, another actuator swung itself at him and the lanky man flew into the air and straight into you. Without thinking, you dropped your heavy backpack and stood up to catch him.

“GAH!” You let out, feeling the wind knock out of you as the thin man collated against you. His elbow collided with your cheek, making your healing cut sting under the bandages. Both of you tumbled back onto the ground and moaned in pain. “Owwwwww….. Man, for a skinny dude, you’re kinda heavy.” You whispered. “I am trying to fix that, thank you very much.” He grunted back as he stumbled to get back up.

Brushing down your flipped skirt down (you were giving your foresight a high five for putting on boxer shorts just in case this happened) and got up to follow him until your spider-sense kicked in just when a silvery coil snapped out around your waist.

“Now where do you think you’re going, young lady?” Said the mad scientist with a tease in his baritone voice. With a hard pull, you found yourself pulled away from your escape and away from your fallen backpack and brought up to Doc Ock. Your skin turns pale upon being this close to him again, now not as Spider-Girl, but as Y/n. A civilian with no powers to everyone. A regular nobody in front of a killer doctor with metal arms fused to his back. Meeting him not as Dr.Otto Octavius, but as Doc Ock.

His handsome smile turned from crooked to what used to be a friendly one as he reached out to grasp one of your trembling hands that clutched over the actuator around your waist (What a strange familiar feeling) gently squeezed it in greeting. “I apologize, I didn’t have a chance to share my name. I’m Dr.Octavous, though, you might know me better as Doc Ock. And whom do I have the pleasure of meeting?” ‘Wait, he doesn't remember me? Thank God, but I still have to deal with this, but how?!’  

You didn’t say anything, you couldn’t say anything as your mind was still wrapping it’s head around this situation. One of the actuators reached around you and lifted your lanyard plastic badges and held it up to him. You had to lean your torso closer to him when he took it with his other gloved hand and looked closer. You couldn’t see his eyes, but you could feel him looking over you like an apex predator analyzing its prey.

“Y/n L/n, lovely to meet you.” Fuck, how your blood ran cold when your full name left his plump lips was no joke. Your spider-sense was screaming danger and your body was shaking. The older man still being pinned down started to yell at him. “Leave her alone Otto! Whatever this is, this is between you and me!”

The tall man sighed, his head moving along what you think was rolling his eyes and turned his attention to Warren. “Whatever we had can be waited for a while.” He said as one arm opened its claw and a tiny nozzle spouted out. A squirt of green gas came out of it and hovered over Miles face. You could only stare helplessly and in fear for him, only to feel slightly relieved when you saw it was only a sleeping gas. The urge to pry the stupid metal actuator around your waist and deck Otto across his stupid handsome face was great, but you couldn’t do that as Y/n.

Fuck this isn’t good.

He turned his attention towards you again with his smile returning to his face. “Sorry about that-”

“FREEZE!” Shouted black clothed men at the doors. He sighed and looked at them. You saw it was campus security, slightly chubby and a bit old for normal police work but on high alert with widened eyes and still hands. “Let the girl and the man go, then back away from them and put your hands behind your head. All of them!” One order. The rest were slowly spreading out into the room with all their guns trained on him.

Octavius just raised a thick eyebrow before raising his flesh arm and drew back his sleeve to reveal his watch. One actuator peeked over his shoulder, and he chuckled, nodding to a hidden conversation with it. “Only 3 minutes late. We can still make it work, don’t worry, sweetie.” 

With a shove, you found yourself suddenly in front of the tall scientist only to have his actual arms around you and pulled you back to chest. One of the actuators joined the other to pick up Warren and lifted him up in front of you two as another arm drew near your face. Only to draw it’s dagger at your exposed neck.

‘Oh fuck no…’

“Goddamn it, put your guns down now!” Shouted one of the guards to the others. They all followed as commanded, but never looked away from you. You saw them just how you felt: powerless to do anything. Otto merely laughed before he called out “I’ll be taking my leave with present company. Don’t follow me if you wish to have them remain intact.” He backed away from the front of the stage and close to the back wall where the 4th actuator punched a hole like punching through paper. 

‘This is not happening…’

The arms maneuvered to only hold Miles with one arm as the rest prepared to do something. You felt Ottos arms tighten around your body and his face lowered to your ear. “I hope you’re not afraid of heights, my dear.”

‘This has to be a nightmare…’

But all you could, with fear and helplessness, as yourself was be carried away by Doc Ock and look on as the ground begins to recede away from you.

And away from your backpack with your spider suit still inside.

[steelh4ze]

i feel like i should actual post here instead of endlessly reblogging, so here's a fic i've been working on about pre-scrambled brains durge and his first meeting with gortash

The northern districts of the city was the beating, pulsing heart of it all, and more than once had he wished to steal a few patriars from its upper echelons. They were only a little part of the upper crust that made Baldur’s Gate what it was, but a vital part nonetheless, enough so that striking one meant striking at the city. Lay waste to the repulsive, irksome officials that paraded themselves around the High hall, and it would mean to bleed the council dry. Offering the foetid remains of the soul he had taken to his Father above was one of the best ways, Archimedes had thought, to show filial piety to him. A gift from his most beloved son.

It was not only worship that made him dream so, however.

Perhaps it was due to his ill-begotten, half-remembered scraps of childhood or from some other banal reason, but life had made a hatred of those higher class out of him. He had grown up in the slums, scrambling for what little food he could have after the gift of his heritage manifested and the family fostering him was killed. Waste-not, and he had eaten the bodies of his victims until he grew from a rabid child into what the blessed son of Bhaal needed to be. Want-not, so he had become his Father’s mortal hand, Archimedes’ own wishes becoming whatever Bhaal desired.

The cult of Bhaal, and by extension, his temple, had been left sleeping in the ruins that lay beneath the city, his kind left as a mere story to scare children out of disobedience because of Saverok’s failure. It had taken him years to reawaken the shadow of the beast Bhaal’s followers were meant to be, and Archimedes knew intimately that many patriars had thought of the increased disappearances and murders as a normal rise and fall of crime that came with the passing of one of the city’s most influential aristocrats. It was tempting to give in, to squirrel away another one of their group, and make a show out of it— display their squirming, eyeless, feeble body in the middle of the city and let the world know Bhaal had resurfaced once more.

It would be an unwise decision, with how little Bhaalists there were right now, but satisfying. So deeply satisfying. He was young, not stupid. He would live long and conquer, and perish when he was the last soul on Toril.

They would know soon enough as it was. More and more were being drawn into the temple by the allure of becoming one of his Father’s unholy assassins. 

By nature, he was not a man of bureaucracy. He had kept his finger on the pulse of the city, listening in to the inner-and-outer-workings of whatever his Invokers could infiltrate, the shuffling of hands from the guild to the high hall to wherever. But his main purpose was to maim for Bhaal, to carry out his great plan. Not to pay attention to snivelling bureaucrats nor to all the little lordlings that aspired to make a name for themselves on the Sword Coast.

Banites were a different matter entirely.

It started with a letter. The Dead Three were coalescing, word of a conglomeration of Bane spreading around the less savoury circles of society. He himself had found a scouting party deep in the undercity, the emblems of Bane strung across their necks or buried deep in their pockets.

[harpieisthecarpie]

The Stubborn Loyalty of Wretched Beasts: Prologue

[Prologue for my new Dragon!KDJ/Knight!YJH fic. Updates every week. Idea and art (found in the Ao3 fic) by @fluffy-rulos]

The Stubborn Loyalty of Wretched Beasts on Ao3

One wretched beast alone nests inside Sanctum Library’s ruins, hidden deep within a labyrinth of brambles and briars at the heart of a dead forest. Not a single brave adventurer has entered the library since the beast laid waste to it and corrupted the surrounding land with its putrid soul many years ago, though the rose bushes growing out of wanderers’ remains mark many fools who have tried.

No one’s eyes have even beheld the Sanctum’s remains until this very moment.

All the forest underdwellers strain closely now to hear the thunderous beating of a steady human heart; a siren call to the emaciated beastlings who have been living off each other’s brittle bones and fetid flesh for years. It is a louder sound to them than even the heart of the massive steed below it. The soil likewise thirsts for the human’s spilt blood to rejuvenate itself.

Sapient beings are far more tantalizing than any other meal to magier, because a sapient heart holds stories, feeding the soul as much as the stomach and bringing those that consume it a wealth of power. The refined methods of extracting stories are lost on the creatures surrounding the Sanctum. Their hunger has long since overcome them.

A larger beastling, too ravenous to plot or sneak, leaps from the brambles with jagged claws outstretched.

Shk!

The arc of a black blade, faster than fear, carves through the creature and it collapses to the dirt, where its brethren scuttle over and rend it to pieces.

With a flick of the wrist, blood cascades from the lone knight’s sword, a fleck falling upon his armor. It is almost indistinguishable against the pitch-dark metal of his chest plate, seemingly disappearing as it drips down. The knight glances up and the dead light of evening catches upon his visage, turning his eyes to black opals cracked with golden veins of misery.

Magier have been whispering this knight’s name for three winters now, each hushed syllable drenched in dread.

Yoo Joonghyuk? The beastlings tremble.

Yoo Joonghyuk! The beasts wail.

Yoo Joonghyuk, Yoo Joonghyuk, Yoo Joonghyuk! The forests chant, their soil saturated with blood.

He cares not for the whispers of these monsters. His only companions are his steed and his quest, both having carried him to this point: the Sanctum Library’s doorstep.

Yoo Joonghyuk sheathes his blade and slides down from his steed, heavy footfalls spooking the beastlings into hiding. His gaze roves the towering Sanctum’s walls and the surrounding thicket of white roses as he grabs the chestnut mare’s reins and strides steadily forward. The briars have been dancing away from him, parting like tattered curtains, ever since he first stepped foot on the library’s grounds.

Dark magic, then. Likely a trap, though that matters not. He has a quest he must complete, even if it means walking directly into a monster’s maw.

The briars widen into a space open enough for him to settle his mare, tying her reins around a post the thorns had previously been strangling. Joonghyuk pats Phoenix’s haunch and examines the protective talismans he had woven through her mane. So long as they remain firmly tied, the magier will leave her be.

Joonghyuk checks his gear and grabs extra potions out of the packs Phoenix carries. The prophet spoke only of the sanctuary of a beast beyond comprehension holding the key to entering the Gods’ City alive. The vagaries of the prophet’s speech and mannerisms had always unsettled Joonghyuk, but their information had never been wrong, albeit often purposefully obscure. It seemed as if every bit of guidance they gave was in itself a test.

Are you ready Joonghyuk? They asked between every elusive word. Are you clever? Are you deft? Are you bold?

The end of their first conversation rings clear in his mind.

“Welcome the possibility of death, Yoo Joonghyuk.” The nameless form circled him as wild dogs circle an injured eyas. “But do not hunger for it. This tale deserves a proper end, one a decaying corpse cannot give.”

They faded into the reeds, leaving only a voice on the wind.

“End it.”

So he will.

There are answers to be found in the margins of this story, after all, and he will find them.

The briars fall away from the Sanctum’s doors when Joonghyuk’s boots fall upon the steps, crushing petals beneath his heels.

Breathe in.

The scent of rose-blood and earth.

Hold.

The broken oakwood handles.

Breathe out.

The cloying taste of fear.

Yoo Joonghyuk heaves the doors open against the phantom barrier of age, even as they shriek in protest. Musty, dead air fills his lungs and he prepares for a disturbed beast’s roa—

“Eep!”

The chirp stops Joonghyuk in his place. His eyes try to focus in as something white and fluffy darts close, its distinct lack of malevolent energy the only thing keeping him from slicing through the…

“Ferret?”

A squeak Joonghyuk could swear sounded affronted comes out of the creature.

“You should be saying hyung, Yoo Joonghyuk, though perhaps you’d prefer to call me ‘Kim Dokja’ instead.”

[tmmyhug]

batfam fic rec: born into this world angry by mashedpotatoequeen like it’s crazy good. all of this author’s fics are good but this one specifically made me go off the rails insane when i read it two or three years ago. also the city carries ruins in its heart by nex_et_nox and ghost story by envysparkler ^-^

I LOVE GHOST STORY!!!!IMPECCABLE FIC MWAH. THANK U FOR TJE RECS I WILL CHECK THEM OUT BOSS

[hircines-hunter]

Writing Patterns/First 10 Lines Game

Rules: list the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there’s a pattern! (If you don't have 10, do as many as you have!)

Tagged by @vivifriend ! I love this a lot. But I added the first paragraph. It just gives more context and is more interesting. I’m bad at seeing patterns but if you see anything let me know lol.

There’s also a really long collection/series where the latest part just spoils a lot so, I just added the first line from the very first part!

Also, quite possibly obsessed with making LDBs. 😊

Going to tag @madamefluffnstuff @wildhexe @bostoniangirl21 and anyone else (no rush or pressure)

1. Roar of a Wolfborn - Skyrim ; LDB x Farkas

Sifkni’s feet carried her far from her home. Far from everything she’d known. Everything she loved. It didn’t matter anymore. Her heart dropped. What was she going to do now? Everyone was gone.

2. Sivaas - Skyrim ; Werewolf OC x Brynjolf

The dark skinned Bosmer wandered the market stalls in the middle of Riften’s town circle. She perused the wares at each stall, wondering where each of the items were originally procured from. Sure, she could ask where they got the items from but there was no fun in that. She brushed her orange hair behind her ear.

3. Encounters - Elder Scrolls Online ; OC x Zeira

It was a typical sunny and hot day in Abah’s Landing. Aurelia Proxima, an Imperial noble currently residing in the desert, sat in her study. She, however, was not studying. She enjoyed watching the streets below and the study had the best vantage point.

4. The Amazing Adventures and Tales of the Dovahkiin, Elja Iron-Breaker - Skyrim ; LDB x Isran

This journal belongs to Elja Iron-Breaker. If found, please burn the journal.

5. Blessings of the Moons - Skyrim ; OC x OC

Finnki wandered around the entrance of a cave that she cleared of bandits. She made sure she had finished her job before she returned home to Whiterun. The area seemed clear. No traces of living bandits. It would give peace of mind to travelers in the area. She didn’t want any stragglers to stumble about and catch her off guards. It truly seemed peaceful once more.

6. Vestige Liselle Encounters Another Prince ft. Dragons (and Mudcrabs / Just a Ruin (and mudcrab) Advocate - Elder Scrolls Online ; Vestige x Abnur Tharn

I’ve been away from home for so long. I’ve been trekking throughout Hammerfell. The climate is so vastly different from home, but it has its charms and the clothing there is actually comfortable. Breathable.

7. Shadows Preserve Us - Skyrim ; OC x Mercer Frey

Ragna leaned against the damp wood wall of the local tavern, The Bee and the Barb, flipping a coin in her hand. She kept an eye on the busy market. Some of the patrons stood out. She needed to look for someone to help. Help find a rat.

8. Frostfalls of Solstheim - Skyrim ; LDB x Miraak

Do you ever feel like something isn’t right? You do all you can to live and survive. You have a place to live and a family whether they’re blood or not. They’re still family.

But something is calling you.

You need to find ‘home’.

9. Mists of Sovngarde - LDB x Kodlak

Kaetilvi, Dragonborn, Thane of Whiterun, sat on the stairs to the Skyforge next to Jorrvaskr. The Nord woman had a long day of fighting a dragon and once she set foot in the city, to the mead hall it was to drink. And drink she did. She swayed in her seat as she hummed a song, occasionally a string of slurred lyrics would come out.

10. Saga of a Talos worshiping Shield-maiden - Blades ; OC x Henrik

I need to keep certain things about myself discreet lest this fall into the wrong hands. Especially after the war. Especially the mockery of ‘peace’ the Aldmeri Dominion is parading around. Praising. Hunting. Torturing

[redjayson]

The kid reaches out slowly, drops the knife in his hand, and peers up through his bangs to look vaguely past Jim.

Deniability goes straight out the window.

"Jason? Jason Todd?"

or: random criminals aren't the only one that might recognize Robin's moves in a catatonic teenager

oh shit what’s up y’all! I’m back on my DC bullshit and providing the Jim Gordon & Jason Todd content I want to see in the world

[vidalinav]

@imasconfusedasyouare 1) your writing is amazing and I love your blog! 2)For the prompts: Nesta is having a bad day with her mental health and during dinner or something the IC make certain comments about how she’s behaving that makes Cassian go into possessive-mate mode and snaps at them… pretty please 🥺

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1) Thank you!

2) I took a bit of liberty with this prompt. The gist of it is the same, but I couldn’t have Cassian outright tell the IC off when I feel he is wrong himself. So I made a fic where Nesta has a bad mental health day, they do see the others and they do say things, and Cassian is selfish but ultimately they get through it because love is not.

So… here goes nothing.

~

Cassian knows Nesta doesn’t feel good. Maybe he knows her well enough by now to sense her tells or some intrinsic part of his soul sings to him of concern. That when she huddles in their bed, grasping the pillow instead of his chest, she reaches for something he can’t offer her and he knows.

Even so, he lays a palm on her forehead searching for heat and when she shrugs him off, he doesn’t let the feeling make a home in his lungs. He will not yell or chastise or run away with stupid words.

Nesta doesn’t feel good.

Be patient, the voice in his head tells him. Be slow.

Nesta eats less that morning, eats slower, and she stares into space as if she’s asking it questions. He rambles on and she doesn’t listen. She’s waiting for the space to answer, he tells himself.

They go to training. Cassian thinks maybe the routine will keep her grounded, will remind her that she’s capable. That she’s carried more weight than a sword. He asks her if she’s ready and Nesta merely lifts her hands. Fists hit but they don’t hurt. Fists hit but they don’t rage. Fists hit and Cassian thinks something must be terribly wrong. Fists hit and Cassian only wants to hold her close.

He asks Gwyn and Emerie if they notice something off, and they shrug as if they know but don’t want to tell him. Perhaps they know and they just can’t explain. Cassian doesn’t think he could understand if they did.

You can understand, that little voice speaks. You just have to wait.

So Cassian waits. Cassian sits. Cassian listens, and Nesta walks around the house, trailing room to empty room. Nesta doesn’t even turn on the symphonia. He keeps waiting for music, but the egg shaped disk stays closed and Nesta shuts her eyes. Maybe she hears music that he doesn’t.

You offered her time, the voice reminds him. A lifetime of time. What is a few hours? A few days?

But Cassian doesn’t want to wait. Cassian doesn’t want Nesta to feel anything like this–where she looks out the window with that blank expression and she keeps to herself and she sneaks up so quietly she might as well be ghost. Cassian doesn’t want a ghost for a mate.

He can’t wait any longer. Cassian has to do something now, before time slips between his fingers and the floor drops from right under their feet. So, he moves. He makes plans.

Nesta doesn’t argue when he drags her to the city. Nesta doesn’t argue when they go to the streets thrumming with sound. Fill her with noise and laughter, he thinks. Fill her with something I can’t.

But the voice in his head only chastises him. You need to wait.

Cassian can’t wait. Cassian is running out of time.

So he takes her to the only place that will make a difference.

He knows they’re having dinner, and he knows they’ll be together and perhaps they can fill her with the life he can’t.

He takes her to his family. To her family.

But they’re not really her family are they?

Feyre is and so she’s happily surprised to see them, but when she tries to give Nesta a hug, she lays as still as a statue. Feyre notices. Cassian notices. Rhysand notices. Still, they go the dining room where the rest are waiting. Waiting less patiently than him.

That’s when he hears that voice.

Are they really her family?

Cassian wants to think yes, but they laugh with each other and Nesta gets handed a plate. Nesta spoons little handfuls of green beans and mash potatoes and Mor laughs at an inside joke that Cassian knows well and Amren wants to discuss a meeting that Nesta doesn’t attend. Nesta doesn’t know anything about any of the topics they want to discuss. Nesta sits in a tower on a normal Tuesday and gazes wistfully out the window, and sitting here at the table reminds him of that stare.

It reminds him of that stare years ago. On a snowy night in December.

“You’re quiet,” Feyre says after a while. Nesta doesn’t even notice she’s being talked to until Cassian elbows her lightly.

“I’m always quiet,” she says at last, looking to her plate. Cassian watches as a noodle forms a question mark and all he can think about it why, why, why.

“You’re not usually so…”

She looks up at her sister with that blank expression, blinking slow.

“Are you okay?” Feyre asks, concern in her voice.

Nesta doesn’t even think as she says, “I’m fine.”

But he can already see it. The distasteful looks that they hide with a snort. That awkward, you are ruining something look. That you didn’t bring enough smiles for this house. And Cassian knows that they will go home tonight, and something will have gone backwards. That they’ll remember what Nesta’s done, but the Nesta they see will be the first Nesta they think about, and their memory will not be filled with heroic deeds like nighttime fairytales. It won’t even be of a courageous young female who only yearns for her sister to live. They will see this Nesta.

This perfectly good Nesta.

This perfectly, acceptable Nesta. Quiet somber songs or not.

Cassian feels himself moving before he realizes what he’s doing. He can feel himself reaching for her and Nesta looks up as if his movement surprises her. It surprises him, too, but it’s the right choice he knows.

“Let’s go home,” he breathes.

Cassian tries not to let the guilt sink in his chest at her look of relief. The way she sets the fork down as if it’s a great, heavy sword. Cassian won’t let it pierce his heart. His heart is her, and Nesta is going to be okay tomorrow.

But today…

Today, she will watch the sky and listen to nothing and pace back and forth and she’ll feel that restlessness settle in her chest until it settles down quietly. He will protect her ability to grieve. For whatever she grieves. That layer of herself she peels off like paper.

“You’re going home already?” Mor asks, a look of astonishment on her face.

“Nesta doesn’t feel good,” he says. Some part of him wants to say that it was a mistake bringing her here, but he can’t do that. That only makes Cassian a hypocrite and he’s already selfish. He knows who they are. They’re not Nesta’s family…

And this is his fault, not theirs. Not only because it’s the last place Nesta wants to be, but because if he has a hard time understanding her, they don’t even have a chance and Cassian won’t let them make Nesta feel ashamed.

Cassian doesn’t want to make Nesta feel ashamed.

All day he has. When they go to the market, when they walk through the city, when they stop by restaurants and booths and people. When they go to this house and eat with his family, he wants to shame the bad day out of her.

Nothing about Nesta is shameful.

Nothing about Nesta can make him feel ashamed.

“Home?” He repeats and Nesta grabs his outstretched hand. She says a goodbye to Feyre who raises her hand with a small tainted, tilt of her lip. They’re there for a mere thirty minutes before they’re gone.

And when they get home, she goes to the library. Nesta huddles up on the sofa with her favorite book, and sometimes she stares out the window in between pages.

Cassian sets a blanket on her shoulders, careful not to touch her unless she asks. He wants to hold her, but it isn’t about what he wants. So he covers her in I’m here cotton, keeps her warm in I love you wool. He will set his I’m thinking of you tea beside her table, and he will wait and wait and wait. Wait until the night grows dim and he does.

And at some point in the night, he falls asleep on the large chair across from her. At some point in the night he feels her climb in, her body huddled close. Nesta takes the blanket with her and she covers them both. He only needs her, Cassian thinks. He only wants her, but the blanket lays on top of them like a shield. It’ll protect them both in its embrace.

Nesta tucks her head in his neck, he can feel her cold nose on his skin, and she burrows into him, her hands rummaging beneath his shirt. The touch sings as much as it burns, but he falls asleep to the sweet smell of lavender and the soft sound of her breathing.

It’s the most wonderful music he’s ever heard.

In the morning, Cassian wakes up to the symphonia playing and Nesta’s smile is the sun.

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Fin

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Tagged: @my-fan-side, @sophilightwood, @nestaarcher0n, @duskandstarlight, @soitsgorgeous, @ekaterinakostrova @swankii-art-teacher, @lordof-bloodshed, @arinbelle, @thewhelk, @daisy-in-danger @highqueenevankhell, @lovelynesta, @sirendeepity, @champanheandluxxury, @ladynestaarcheron, @moodymelanist, @teagoddess99, @spoilersteph, @drielecarla,  @angelicvoice19, @bo0kmaster69, @generalnesta

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Don’t know where these fics keep coming from, but doubt it will last so I’m enjoying the ride.