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ladyrijus · 9 months

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TOTK where everything is more or less the same except the dragon tears are as giant as the springs that Zelda went to, and Link has to wade through them to experience the vision. On top of that, after he sees the vision in full, he can relive that vision for as long as he stays in those tears.

Now, the reason why I want that is because I want to see Link witness the final memory and turn numb with denial and guilt and grief. It should not have surprised him the way it did; he knew in the previous memories she had planned to do it. But there were still more geoglyphs to search, still more time and hope for her to realize there was a different way, a better one that didn't ask her of so much.

He was wrong, of course. Destinies like theirs were never so generous.

Imagine that he appears expressionless, a stark contrast to his more emotional nature that has come out during gameplay. And yet his eyes are noticeably glazed over and he's frozen to the bed of the spring. The sages watch him through their vows, knowing this to be the last memory, and they feel it, immediately, that something is wrong. They desperately try to talk through their avatars, much to the surprise of their loved ones.

"Link? Link, snap out of it!"

He hears nothing.

And so the scene parallels to the off-screen moment Urbosa had with Zelda -- a careful Sidon wills his avatar to carry Link away from the cursed waters, and is pained when he's met with vehement resistance. Why would his wonderful friend drag himself back there, when whatever he saw tore his heart and shattered his soul? It wasn't good for him, to deal with grief in such a poisonous manner.

But for Link, he would weather the heartbreak in watching that bright, curious, ambitious girl sacrifice everything that made her who she was infinitely if it meant he could commit her face to memory. The Sheikah Slate that he took pictures of her with had been dismantled, and the Purah Pad contains no recollection of Zelda. He would watch his princess lose herself, over and over again, in that damned tear, than forget what she looked like.

He couldn't do that to her. Not again.

In the meantime, Tulin, Riju, and Yunobo have created a circle around him together, blocking the hero from hurting himself any further.

By this point, Link's expression is wavering, brows furrowed and lips pressed to a thin line. They don't get it, do they? All of the closest friends he had from an era past are gone; yes, Impa, Purah and Robbie are still alive, and they belong to that era too, but they didn't know him like the Champions did. Like Zelda did. She fought for him in death as much as he fought for her in life, and now he lost her too.

He finally collapses to the ground, shaking, and cries.

He had one job: Protect the princess. And he failed her. Twice.

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waokevale · 6 months

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What if their conversation before farmworld went differently?

Basically: Prismo tried to instead smooth talk his way out of the situation (Makes it worse, in a way)

Or: I made an AU where Prismo comes along with Scarab on his mission. Not sure if anyone has made something similar before, if they did, then I swear I haven't heard about it 👐

If not, then I guess enjoy this, and tell me if you'd like to see more of it.

#adventure time #adventure time fionna and cake #fionna and cake #scarab the god auditor #adventure time scarab #prismo the wishmaster #adventure time prismo #adventure time fanart #prohibitedwish #soon #adventure time comic #digital art #angst angst baby

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starstruckunknown-princess · 15 days

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Snapdragon - Bruce Wayne x Reader

Snapdragon (Antirrhinum) - Meaning: Presumption, deception

Summary: Reader thinks her boyfriend, Bruce Wayne, is cheating on her. Bruce tries to figure out how to tell her about his nighttime activities.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

Word Count: 1864

Warnings: Suspected infidelity, angst, discussion of insecurities, a little bit of gaslighting/misdirection from Bruce, Alfred is a sassy bitch, Bruce is a mopey bastard, cliffhanger ending

Day 12 takes a sharp turn back into angst! I wrote this with the Christian Bale Batman and Michael Caine Alfred in mind, but use any Batman/Alfred you fancy. Also, sorry for the cliffhanger.

In Bloom Masterlist

Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are incredibly appreciated! ❤️

Bruce was cheating on you, you knew it. He hadn’t spent the night at your place in weeks, was texting you back at odd hours at night, and whenever you did manage to pin him down for a date he seemed disengaged, preoccupied, like he would rather be elsewhere.

Dating Gotham’s Prince was difficult enough as it was, press following you everywhere and your face showing up in supermarket tabloids — you were just a regular person, you didn’t come from money or rub elbows with Gotham’s social elite, you had a regular boring desk job to pay the bills.

You met Bruce by accident one day when you were on your way into work. You weren’t paying attention and almost walked into oncoming traffic, but Bruce had caught your arm just as you stepped off the curb, spilling your coffee. You’d turned, ready to give him such a tongue-lashing, but a motorcyclist zipped by at an ungodly speed right where you’d been about to step. Bruce then offered to replace your coffee and escort you to the office (“For your own safety,” he’d insisted with a devilish smirk that you couldn’t say no to).

You’d been dating ever since, almost a year now, which surprised most of the press. Numerous gossip sites were speculating about how you’d managed to keep Bruce’s interest for that long, but you’d learned to tune all their shit out.

The insecurity you felt now stemmed from Bruce’s own behavior, not the latest expulsion of bile from the gossipmongers online. You’d texted Bruce to meet you at your place after work, only receiving a thumbs-up emoji back.

You weren’t worth a real response. You weren’t worth his honesty. You weren’t worth him.

Shaking that insidious voice out of your head, you decided you needed a drink. In the middle of pouring yourself a glass of wine (box wine, another reminder of the insurmountable differences between you and Bruce) a knock sounded at the door.

Looking through the peep hole, you saw a large bouquet of flowers held in front of a tired-looking Bruce. You opened the door and let him in, accepting the flowers and a kiss on the cheek.

“Hello, gorgeous,” Bruce said, lingering near your cheek and stepping closer, putting his hands on your hips and pulling you closer to him. You tensed in his grasp, and he immediately let go, lifting your chin with a finger so you had to look him in the eye.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

Looking into his baby blues was a little too much to handle, so you simply nodded and moved away from him.

“Yeah, just gonna get these in water,” you said, lifting the bouquet slightly. Fishing the one vase you owned out of the cupboard, you filled it at the sink. Bruce followed your movements, hands in his pants pockets while he watched.

“I’ve only got a few minutes, unfortunately, but I was hoping you were free this Friday for a proper date,” he offered, smiling in his charming way. You only hummed your response, focusing on rearranging the flowers so they looked nice in the vase.

You had a speech prepared, known exactly what you wanted to say to him to get him to confess that he was cheating. Now that he was here, however, your well-formulated hypothesis was harder and harder to grasp. Like smoke, it dissipated the more you tried to catch it.

“You sure everything’s okay? You seem tense,” Bruce observed. That was your cue, and you knew you had to take it before he got any closer. Once he had his hands on you, every rational thought would flee and you’d be at his mercy.

“Are you cheating on me?” you asked, fighting to keep your composure. You’d never been good at confrontation, so you figured the best way to handle this was firm, direct, like ripping off a band-aid. You tried to put on a confident air even though your insides were practically liquifying with nerves.

Bruce sighed, “We talked about this, you can’t believe anything you read on those sites. They’re just in it for the clicks-”

“I’m not-! I didn’t get it off the internet, it’s just…you’ve been distant lately, and I can’t think of any explanation other than you found someone more…in your league,” you explained, wrapping your arms around you in an effort to comfort yourself. The insecurities you felt earlier were slipping into your words, despite your best efforts to shove them aside.

Bruce softened, took a step toward where you were standing in your kitchen. When you didn’t flinch away, he laid his hands on your shoulders. “Babe, you are in my league. Hell, you’re way above my league, and I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”

“I don’t either,” you said, “but this isn’t coming from an external source, it’s what I’ve noticed when it’s just the two of us. You seem distracted, like you don’t want to be in the moment with me. And it’s a rare occurrence that you text me back before midnight, if at all.”

Bruce’s hands stroked down your arms, warming your skin. He leaned down into your eye line. “I’m sorry for that. I didn’t know you were feeling that way, I’ll be better about being present with you, I promise. There’s just been a lot going on at work and it’s been…busy, I’ve been busy, you know?”

You nodded, “I know.”

“But,” he said, unhooking your hands from where they’d been holding your elbows, “Now that I know, we can fix it. I’m gonna do better. Thank you for telling me.”

You let him unfold your arms and bring them up around his shoulders, resting them there and bringing his hands to your lower back. He kept his grasp loose until, against your better judgment, you tightened your arms and pulled him into a hug. He returned your embrace, planting a gentle kiss to your forehead.

When he held you like this it was easy, too easy, to forget your stupid insecurities and let yourself trust him. In his embrace, every imperfection you nitpicked about yourself ceased to exist. He was a safe space — well, until recently.

Bruce said your name quietly to get your attention. You looked up at him.

“I love you,” he said, the look on his face betraying the heartbreaking truth of his statement.

You pushed up on your toes and kissed his lips quickly — any slower and you’d completely melt into him.

“I love you too, Bruce.”

________

Later that night…

Bruce was well and truly fucked. He’d known it was only a matter of time before you noticed his odd behavior, the late hours, the preoccupation and distractibility. Fuck!

He and Alfred had rules, dammit, and he should’ve followed them.

No more than five dates or two months, whichever comes first.

They’re never allowed to roam the house unsupervised.

Most importantly, keep feelings out of it. Sex and companionship, nothing more and nothing less.

But it was different with you. You’d…surprised him, which he didn’t think was possible anymore. You were funny and gorgeous — not his usual type, but still enchanting — and a little spiky, which only intrigued him more. For the first time, Bruce wanted to get to know someone on a deeper level. Maybe it was age, or he was finally ready to admit he wasn’t an island, or maybe he was just sick of the endless line of vapid, waifish model-types he usually dated, but whatever the reason you came into his life at exactly the right time and you were…perfect.

What was the old saying, nothing good can stay? The truth of that statement weighed on him as he pulled off the suit, tossing the pieces haphazardly all over the cave, leaving a trail to where he eventually settled in his computer chair.

“Y’know, sir, while kevlar is good at stopping bullets it does rather badly when left unattended on a damp cave floor,” Alfred scolded gently, bending to pick up the pieces of Batman. Bruce only grunted at his butler, pulling up the dossier he’d been preparing on the Joker. The last few weeks it looked like the psychopath had reemerged, which is why he’d been so preoccupied. Gotham barely survived the last scrape with that psychopath, so Batman had been doggedly hunting him after the sun went down.

“Did you stop by her place, then?” Alfred asked, referring to you. “She seemed rather insistent on it.”

Bruce paused, then sighed and turned to face Alfred. “She thinks I’m cheating on her.”

“Not exactly an incorrect assumption,” Alfred joked. Bruce flashed him a glare, but the butler didn’t notice. “Well, we knew this was coming didn’t we? Once you started breaking the rules for her, it was only a matter of time.”

Bruce internally groaned, not wanting to admit Alfred was right. “I just wish I knew what to do. She’s the first person in a long time that I’ve actually wanted to have around. Present company excluded, of course.”

“Of course, sir,” Alfred said. “You’ve arrived at a crossroads, if you don’t mind me saying. You either tell her, or you don’t.”

“How do I know if I should tell her?”

“That answer lies in how much you trust her to keep your secret.”

“And how do I know that I won’t lose her even if I tell her?” Bruce asked, voicing his biggest fear. Painting a target on your back as well as his, and then being shoved out of your life.

Alfred laid a comforting hand on Bruce’s shoulder, like he always did when sharing a hard life lesson. “You don’t, Master Wayne.”

The hand left his shoulder and Bruce turned back around, each man now going about their usual business. A few quick incident reports later Bruce made his way upstairs to his bedroom, hoping with how tired his body was that sleep would claim him quickly.

No such luck.

Instead, he tossed and turned, going over every possible outcome of the inevitable conversation.

Option 1: He tells you about Batman, you accept it, and the two of you make it work. This, of course, was the ideal scenario so he knew that wouldn’t be the outcome. Nothing in his life worked out ideally.

Option 2: He tells you about Batman, you freak out and break up with him, and you become a huge liability. Giving you that knowledge would be like handing you a grenade with the pin pulled out — if you held onto it, you were both safe, but if you let go…Kaboom. And how long could you hold onto a secret that big, that dangerous?

The last option was that he doesn’t tell you, you continue to assume he’s cheating on you, and you break up with him eventually. He loses you, but you remain unaware and therefore safe — from his enemies, from prosecution, from whatever else came from being Batman's girlfriend.

Around three in the morning Bruce’s mind was made up, his next steps planned, and resolve steely, but he waited until half-past five (a more normal wake-up time) to text you.

‘Dinner at my place tonight. We need to talk.’

#writing challenge #fanfiction #in bloom #angst angst baby #angst #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne fic #batman x reader #batman x you #alfred pennyworth #batman fic #batman fanfic

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annmarcus63 · 1 year

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Jaskier is the luckiest man on the continent. He and Geralt are together now. After so many years of longing, the witcher has finally seen him. He can finally comb the witcher's hair and pep kisses all over his handsome face. He can cherish him every way he can to make him feel wanted, worthy of love and safety.

The best part? Geralt is willing to accept his love and he seems happy with it. Jaskier wants to believe that even more happy that when he is with Yennefer. Geralt also shows him how much he cares about him. Some days Jaskier finds in the witcher's gaze something close to love. Jaskier's happy too.

Geralt hugs him close at night, the sounds of crickets the only thing that break their closeness, their love. Jaskier is starting to believe this is going to last forever. They want to spend their lives together as long as destiny lets them. It's the perfect life.

Too perfect. The truth crushes his reality in the form of a beautiful and dangerous sorcerer.

"It's not real, bard" says Yennefer in a mocking tone.

"You're only jealous cause I won! Geralt now loves me as much as he loves you, no, I think he loves me more!" he's behaving like a child, he knows, but he's allowed to do it after so many years trying to be better than her, trying to get Geralt's attention.

"You haven't told him?" it worries Jaskier that the mocking expression on Yennefer shifts immediately to one of apprehension.

“I can’t” says Geralt looking away from them.

"Ok, now what are you talking about?" every time Geralt and Yennefer have a silent conversation Jaskier is always the one to lose. Please let this not be it. The bard pleads silently to no one in particular.

"Yen" Geralt warns but Yennefer doesn't listen to him, she never does.

"He's under a spell bard" says her while looking at his eyes with grave seriousness, like you'd do to a child. "This is not real. The same spell prevents Geralt from telling you the truth. I'm sorry."

"But... no, no, it's not truth. Geralt, tell her." The witcher look at him with so much sorrow and shame drowning the love from before. And then, Geralt looks away and doesn't say anything.

He can't see anything behind the fat tears wetting his face. The white noise in his ears must be the noise of his heart shattered beyond repair.

Jaskier turns around, takes his things from Roaches saddlebags, and flees to the trees.

He thinks he hears Geralt calling his name.

This is a part form a love spell au I publish a long ago but i can't seem to find. Sorry for that.

#geraskier #the witcher #the witcher netflix #jaskier x geralt #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #geralt of rivia #sorry for the angst #angst angst baby #yennefer of vengerberg #don't hate her she's doing what she thinks it's the right thing to do #joey batey #geralt x jaskier

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your3fundamentaltruths · 2 months

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“Pen just wanted to make sure that we started our marriage in perfect honesty,” Colin says guilelessly when he casually exposes her cousin’s treachery.

Clearly, she had not struck true in executing the childish infatuation.

Or, a canon AU wherein Penelope doesn’t publish anything about Marina’s pregnancy and instead tells Colin privately.

#bridgerton #polin #bridgerton fic #mind the notes #angry and hurt character acting on their feelings #don't like don't read #my fic #you still wouldn't go #angst angst baby

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crymeariveronceagain · 1 year

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hey have you ever considered the vackers and envy

there's no way that the vacker kids aren't envious of each other. there's no way in hell.

Like, a household with such rigid requirements of what it means to be a "good" kid? With perfect kids and perfect parents, all vying for affection that's probably limited? Even the best parents can accidentally bestow improper affection on their kids, giving one too much and another too little. There's no way that Fitz and Biana don't stare at each other with longing and malice, glittering in the wings, wanting what the other has.

There's no way Biana doesn't see Fitz as this unattainable goal, this person who is her equal but whose place she can never reach, whose side she can never stand by, because he's Alden Vacker's perfect son. He's the golden boy. Their father will always love him far more than he will ever love her. The world will always love Fitz more. How can Biana ever be satisfied when all the world will ever see is Fitz, over and over again, when all her father will ever see is Fitz, when she's stuck in the shadows, waiting for the moment it actually matters and counts and means that her father's proud of her, too.

There's no way that Fitz doesn't see the way his mom's eyes light up when they look at Biana. There's no way he doesn't see the glitter in her gaze when she looks at the spinning image of her, that she only seems to have cobalt eyes for her daughter. The way Biana doesn't have to ask for gentle hands and soft kisses, for warm hugs and laughter. Fitz has to beg, day in and day out, for the affection his mother bestows on her daughter in a heartbeat, without asking, without needing him at all.

There's no way that Della doesn't see that and smile. Her life is pretty boring. What's she supposed to do with her days? Shop? endlessly? Forever? No. There's gotta be something more fun. There's gotta be some entertainment, some pleasure in life. The house is quiet, the curtains are always too heavy to make the sunshine bright. There are only so many things she can buy, so many dresses to try on, so many parties to throw, so many women to laugh with. At the end of the day, it can get awful boring for a woman with nothing else to do. She could read, but she's read so much. She could write, but she's nothing to say. She could sew, but every design has already been cast. Everything good has already been done. And life, now, for her, is entirely a bore.

Her husband's always had a vice-grip on the life of her son, and she doesn't much care either way. As long as the world is pleased, she's pleased with him.

But Biana? Biana was always her perfect little princess, always so willing to cover up her nasty marks and put on her pretty dresses. She glowed and sparkled under her mother's eye. And it's perfect, and boring. Like everything else in Della's life, like a paper doll for her to dress up and parade about, to bless others' eyes and turn into an eyesore for her own.

Then her eyes narrow, and a look of something deep and gut-wrenching glitters before Della, and the older woman is enthralled.

There's something sinister in her daughter's eyes that she's never seen before. There's something disgusting. Invidious. Looking to take and looking to rip, to claim something unrightfully hers but that she believed ought to rightly have been given. It's deep and it's hollow, echoing up through Biana's gaze like snakes slithering up from the inside of her, eating her eyes and hissing poison.

It's strangely interesting, and deeply intriguing. Della turns and sees... Fitz, with Alden's hand on his shoulder. Quiet pleasure fills her chest, as she sees that the object of her daughter's envy is simply her son. Close and familial quarters with the object of her malice? However will Biana manage? She starts to smile. An Othello all for herself, an Iago prepping her costume for the stage, all to unfold in horrible glory before her gaze. Della could not have imagined a better performance herself.

Fitz glances their way, and she sees a flicker, and for a moment, Della thinks she's seen that same snake-venom look in his eyes.

Something flutters in her stomach, like a startled realization of a plot twist.

Della leans over and kisses her daughter's cheek, gently, whispering loud enough that her son can hear, "Love you, dearest." Biana looks at her, and the envy softens into warmth, hellfire swarming into love.

But Della sees it on Fitz's face, the hellfire in Biana's venomous eyes in his eyes for a moment.

This is no Othello, she thinks, her heart beating faster, a strange sort of pleasure burning in her ears, this is a tragedy of envy, a story not of Cain and Abel, but of Cain and Cain, two bloody murderers, waiting for their chance to strike.

And, I, she thinks, I am the favor of heaven.

All she has to do is give her daughter love, and they'll squabble before her, a bright and glorious act of wrath, malice in front of her, detraction behind closed doors, whispering confrontation that can never be solved.

Nothing can stop envy, she thinks, smiling between her two vicious, violent, flawed, broken, horribly, horribly entertaining children. Nothing can halt it but love.

And what love will these two ever find, if I am the favor of heaven?

And from then on it's an odd spot of joy for her. A little something to come home to, at the end of the day. Alden never notices how Fitz tears Biana down. He's too obtuse for that. But Della sees.

Della never tells Alden that Biana broke the window and blamed Fitz. It doesn't matter, Fitz got punished for it all the same. But Della notices. She thinks about it, sometimes, when she's out with her friends, or out in the shops, and she thinks it's the most fun she's had in years. When people said having kids was a joy, she didn't think they meant like this. Their drama is her drama, and she would eat popcorn in their little theater.

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blazinginferno626 · 1 year

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To kinda put myself in a better mood from this post I did today. Here's is an awesome devildice art from the talented artist at @inoue555hinge on Twitter.

I really like it alot I might do another post on it later.

#the cuphead show #the devil #king dice #devildice #Twitter art #awesome art #This gives me fanfic ideas #angst angst baby #cuphead the devil #cuphead king dice #renew the cuphead show #RENEWTHECULHEADSHOW

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victorianandthespian · 1 year

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Oh lawd he angstin

#I love to see this man so broken #angst angst baby #Gabriel pls provide my drugs #sad boy #jekyll and hyde #dr jekyll and mr hyde #jekyll and hyde musical #strange case of dr jekyll and mr hyde #fan art #my art #henry jekyll

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greylight32 · 7 months

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More headcanons! This times victim: Nicky!

So I think pretty quickly after the kids started understanding everything going on with Nick, they took quickly to calling him saint Nicky. 1: because they didn't think it was fitting to call him Narcolas anymore, 2: It was ironic, and 3 the most important of it all: It pissed him off a little. So every chance they got they called him it.

When they were 14, on the night of christmas eve, Lark thought it would be fucking hilarious if they gave Nick milk and cookies. Sparrow agreed and Lark said that they should buy some on they way over to their place. Sparrow disagreed and asked what time it is, Lark said it was around 3am and why was Sparrow getting up?

Sparrow proceeded to spend the next two hours to make his famous cookies that everyone loves, especially Nicky. They headed over to Hell with Henry and to no ones surprise Glenn and Nicky were both dead asleep, because apparently they need to sleep every 6 days. So they headed to Nicky's room, put the cookies on his dresser, grabbed some milk. And lightly shook him awake.

Nicky then woke up to them saying, "Good morning saint Nicholas", and him groaning so loud and attempting to block them out with his pillow. But the he saw the cookies, and said that he would take the shitty nickname if they made him cookies

So it became tradition, Sparrow would bake him cookies every year and him and Lark would wake Nicky up, and once he was done he would drag out the presents from the office because "He's Saint Nick!"

But after the betrayal they obviously couldn't do that anymore. And because Nick had been so down Jodie made him cookies, his favorite too! chocolate chip, the type Sparrow would make too. Of course Jodie didn't know any of this, because it was the boys special tradition. So when he saw Nick wasn't awake yet he didn't think much of leaving the cookies on the night stand.

But when Nick saw it he knocked them to the ground, refusing to leave his room until Glenn came. Nick can't eat cookies anymore, they've made work-arounds, like cupcakes and macaroons. But they'll never forget the time they tried to give him a chocolate chip cookie and he stared at it as if they had just given him a knife after telling him to kill himself.

Sparrow still makes them, every christmas. He makes one batch for his family, another two for Terry and Grant. Then one for Cassandra and Taylor. They don't quite know who is leaving cookies at their door every christmas, but the note said that they were Nicky's friend. So Cassandra trusts them.

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the-coffeeaddict-tim-drake · 8 days

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Just a Kid Next Door - Chapter 1

Bruce is finally back from being stuck in the time stream. Tim managed to save Batman and his loved ones. Now it is time for Tim to go home and rest. But the problem is that, Tim has no home. Or that's what he thinks so.

This will be a multichapter fic on how did Tim reconcile with his family. It will be full of angst, family feels and family shenanigans.

Masterlist

Here is the link to read the story in ao3.

-------------------------------CHAPTER 1---------------------------------

He figured it out. Holy shit, he actually managed to figure out the way to bring back Bruce from being stuck in the time stream. And the Justice league used his plan to save Batman.

Sure, the last six months had been hard on him – Death of his father and not-so death of Kon, Bart, Steph and Bruce – has definitely taken a toll on him. But on the bright side, he managed to save Bruce and all of his loved ones, right?

He figured it out, right? Then why does Tim still feel empty. Why does he still have the urge to cry until he has no more tears left, shout until his throat burns and pull his hair out until he has no more left. Why does he still feel the needles pricking his skin which makes him want to puke even though he hasn’t eaten anything in a while? Well, three days isn’t just ‘a while’, but he knows for a fact that it’s not a lot too.

These six months had not only been painful but had helped him draw a lot of conclusions. See, Tim is a detective and hence he rely on logic and proofs to believe almost everything. Even though he don’t like what he has to believe sometimes, but truth is the ultimatum.

His string of thoughts is interrupted by Superman who shakes the teen.

“Uh?”

“I was saying that J’onn and Diana managed to put Bruce in the med bay. We ran all of the tests and now are waiting for him to gain consciousness.” Clark says tiredly with an expression of relief on his face.

“Oh”

“Rest, kiddo. You look like you could really use some. I’ll let you know when he wakes up.”

“I don’t wa-“

“I’m afraid Superman is right, Red Robin. We will alert you once Batman gains Consciousness” Wonder Woman interrupted him.

“I’m fine” Tim hissed.

Why did suddenly everyone care about him. Didn’t they consider him crazy a while ago? They didn’t care about him when he repeatedly tried to prove Bruce was alive, and now they want him rest when he finally proved them all wrong.

The Kryptonian and the Amazonian shared a worried look.

“Look child, you have worked tirelessly these few months to bring back Batman. You are just a human. Your body needs rest.” Diana said, her voice laced with concern.

‘They’re faking it, they don’t really care about you’ Tim’s brain chimed. He shuts it down. He doesn’t really have the energy to argue back, so he lies.

“Okay, but I want to see Bruce before I go to take some rest.”

“Of course Kiddo.” Superman added.

Tim dragged himself to the med bay. He didn’t realise until now how much his body ached. He really want to take a long shower to wipe off the grim and dirt from his body and drink at least two cups of coffee to feel better.

‘Later’ he reminded himself. ‘Maybe Alfred would have made something delicious for dinn-‘

‘Oh’

He doesn’t live in manor anymore. All the bitter memories from six months before floods his brain. How can he forget any of those? He’s alone.

Wait

He is lonely. He’s been lonely his entire life. He had no one even when he was in the Drake manor, not even his own fucking parents cared about him. Then what’s so new about this.

Maybe, he is just unlovable. Well, that would explain why his parents left him in that cold Manor every time they chose work over their son. And the reason why Dick chose Damian over him and took from him the only thing he had and valued more than his life and gave it to Damian. And why Alfred did nothing when he moved out of the manor. And why no one did anything when he legally emancipated himself from the family.

And would explain why he and Bruce never shared the bond he had with the previous robins. ‘It’s because they were his sons, and you were just the kid next door who forced himself into the mantle of Robin’ his brain chimed again.

A tiny part of him don’t want to believe any of this. But it’s the truth. And truth is the Ultimatum.

He let out a long sigh. He doubts the bats even noticed he went missing these few months. Well, he can’t really blame them. It is the fate of Tim Drake to be unlovable. The least good he can do is leave the family. It wasn’t really like they considered him one anyways in the first place, but they mean everything to him.

They were the very few people who cared if he ate or slept, treated his injuries, listened to his opinion and made him feel like he was important too. Maybe that’s what Tim thought they did. Maybe he read all the signs wrong. Maybe they were just being nice to him. Maybe they were Pretending.

Gosh, Tim feels like slapping himself. Why hadn’t he realised this soon enough.

Tim took too much advantage and space. Forcing himself into the mantle of Robin is one thing but forcing himself into the family is entirely another. He became Robin to save Batman from destroying himself and people around him.

Then why did he crave for his love and attention. Why did he think that he at least meant something to them. It’s all his fault. He was digging his own grave all this time. He had too much fucking expectations even though he knew the truth all along. Yelp, now he has to face the consequences.

But no matter what, he loves them. Loves them so fucking much that it hurts. He still remember what he had said to Ra’s before the old man pushed him from the WE building.

“Bruce might not consider me his son, but he is still a father to me.”

His spiralling thoughts came to an end when he reached the door to the med bay.

Gosh he missed Bruce. Missed him so much. All he wanted to do was hug him and never leave. But he knows he cannot do so. Bruce might want to meet his family first. Six months of being stuck in the time stream would make him want to spend a lot of quality time with his family first, not some random kid.

A quiet sob escaped from his mouth. He touched his tear stained cheeks and realised he was crying.

‘Stop crying, stop being so weak. Accept the reality and move on’ he told himself.

‘It’s not the time or the place to have a fucking panic attack’ he told himself again.

Wiping his tear stained cheeks, he opened the door to the Med bay to be greeted by the sight of his sleeping mentor/not-so father figure.

He let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding until then.

He smiled for the first time in many many days. Bruce is safe. He is no longer stuck in the time stream. Tim felt a wave of relief wash over him.

He might not mean anything to them, but they are everything to him.

#tim drake #red robin #tim drake angst #tim drake needs a hug #angst angst baby #bruce wyane is batman #damian wayne is robin #dick grayson is nightwing #superman #wonder woman #justice league #league of assassins #ra's al ghul

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chaed-ffnet · 8 days

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Coulson took a sip, his eyes speaking volumes even if his mouth stayed shut. I could feel the judgment, but he surprised me by not pushing. Instead, he simply nodded and settled into a quiet contemplation, nursing his drink alongside me.

I've said it before, but it bears repeating: I've never met someone as unfailingly composed as him. His patience often verged on boredom, but he was always ready to put out any emotional wildfires I started. And trust me, there have been a lot of those over the years. Phil Coulson has stood by my side through every single one.

For a while, that was the whole story.

I could tell you how much I thought of Natasha, how much I missed her and how my dreams of a life together were crumbling right before my eyes, but honestly, I wasn't thinking much of anything.

You don't hit the bottle to think straight. You drink to forget, to numb down, to escape. So that’s what I did, one glass after another. The bar guy kept 'em coming, Coulson kept 'em pouring, and I kept on knocking 'em back until I was so deep in the whiskey, I couldn't even see straight.

After a long while, Coulson finally broke the silence. "You need a breather, Clint. Step away from this, clear your head. I can keep you updated."

All I could do was scoff at the suggestion. "Keep me informed? About what? Her memorial arrangements? And where exactly would I go? The beach? The mountains? Maybe I should take up knitting while I'm at it?" My voice was dripping with sarcasm. "This isn't some stupid rom-com where I go on a soul-searching adventure and come back with a whole new lease on life! I just lost my partner, I just lost the woman I—"

My voice trailed off, choked by the lump in my throat. I couldn't finish the sentence.

You can probably guess what I was about to say, just as Phil Coulson likely did, but it wasn't until that moment that I myself truly owned up to it. I'm not sure at which point exactly I fell in love with Natasha… only that it took a griever's heart for me to realize how deeply it ran.

#clintasha fanfiction #clint barton #natasha romanoff #phil coulson #angst angst baby

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teetlezhere · 1 year

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It came to my mind that post-movie Leo would grow increasingly paranoid at the idea of failing and dooming everyone. After fumbling the Key mission that ended/nearly ended the world, Leonardo grows so anxious at the idea of failing that he drives himself insane if they don’t succeed.

The team learns they better fix the situation ASAP, for Leo won’t (read: can’t) sleep or eat until they succeed. Anything the villains are after, no matter how ridiculous or harmless, has become a potentially World-ending scenario for him (and this being RISE, a lot of things he gets so worked up for turn out to be harmless and/or ridiculous).

His family are beside themselves with worry as Leo is less and less himself. Gone is the face-man/jokester brother they knew and loved.

He foregoes anything and everything that’s doesn’t involve training or planning. He even starts skipping family bonding time!

The family is distressed, Mikey in particular, because Leo is driving himself into a self-destructive spiral they can’t get him out of.

Heck! Even Casey is frightened at this new no-nonsense version of Leo. At least his Sensei still preserved some of his personality.

This Leo, however…

#Leo no!#not the 2003 edge phase!#angst angst baby #rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #tmnt #riseofthetmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt movie #post movie #save rottmnt #saverottmnt

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starstruckunknown-princess · 1 year

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I’m Such A Fool For You - Black Rose Part 4

Summary: The Confrontation! Confessions!

Pairings: Rhysand x OC

Warnings: Angst, talk of therapy, emotions, boundary setting

Word Count: 2758

A/N: So this is the beginning of an arc that may make people uncomfortable. I have thoughts about mates as SJM has defined them (too limiting, restrictive, I don’t think mates are the end-all be-all of love) so I’m going to play with the concept a bit for probably the rest of the story. Don’t like it? Don’t read it. It starts here. Title for this chapter comes from “Linger” by The Cranberries.

Likes/Reblogs/Comments are so so appreciated! I’m looking for feedback on this new direction I’m taking, so please let me know what y’all think!

Banner by me, dividers by firefly-graphics

Part 2 | Part 3

Exiting Hypatia’s office later that week, Niamh had to raise a hand to shield her eyes from the bright sun. Across the street she spotted Azriel casually leaning against the railing overlooking the Sidre. He noticed her and approached, falling into step beside her as they walked down the street.

It had become a bit of a tradition between them — Azriel would fly her to her appointment, wait for her to be done, and then they’d go get lunch together at a cafe on the corner that was not too busy and served good food.

They slid into their usual booth and Azriel asked how her session was that day. She gripped her hands together on the table in front of her.

“I think I’m ready, Az.”

“Ready for?” he asked, hazel eyes gliding over the menu even though he would order the same thing he did every time they came.

“For seeing Rhys again. To have the conversation. Put this all behind us.”

His menu hit the table and he regarded her blankly. Noticing a tremble in his eyebrow, Niamh tried to see behind his blank mask. While his face didn’t give anything away, his shadows twitched and swirled uncomfortably. His wings tensed slightly, then relaxed.

He was hiding something.

Niamh’s head tilted to the side, “What are you not telling me, Az?”

He opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it as the server approached their table. They placed their order with him and he dashed away.

Az sipped from his water glass in order to avoid her gaze. “His mate is here this week.”

“Oh. Have you met her?” she asked since it was what she thought her response should be, not that she particularly cared about the answer.

He shook his head, “Not yet. He hasn’t brought her to Velaris.”

“Because once he does, Tamlin will find out, and then the whole world will know.”

“Right. He’s hosting her at the Moonstone Palace until he’s sure she can be trusted.” Niamh hummed in agreement, and Azriel continued, “Are you sure you want to talk to him now?”

Niamh shrugged, “Hypatia thinks I’ve made good progress and I want to get this behind me, especially when tensions with Hybern are increasing. Although I’ve decided I’m not going back to my apartment; I quite enjoy having a yard.”

Azriel chuckled, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Right. Speaking of, any luck finding the Queens in the dreamscape?”

“No, not yet. I found a few of the palace servants but that’s as far as I’ve gotten.”

Their food arrived, set in front of them by the server. They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes before Niamh broke the quiet.

“Will you bring him to the house? Once his mate goes back, that is. I…I don’t want to interrupt their time together.”

“Yeah, I can bring him to you. I think she’s going back tomorrow, I’ll try to get him there on Saturday,” he assured her, “If you’re positive that you’re ready for this.”

She nodded. “I’m sure, Az. Thank you for double checking.”

A flash of something despairing flickered in his eyes that betrayed the half-smile on his lips. “Anytime, Niamh.”

The next few days Niamh spent tidying up her small house and finishing the numerous small projects she’d started but somehow never finished. Replacing the trim around the front door, sweeping up the dirt she’d tracked in from her garden, clearing all the papers and books off her kitchen table. She made sure all her indoor plants were happy, then spent the rest of the day in her garden tending to the flowers and vegetables and herbs she’d planted.

She loved her little house, and she wanted to show Rhysand that she was thriving on her own. Her evening was spent getting her person in order — face and hair masks, a manicure, and the best-smelling body lotions she could find.

Saturday morning came and, as promised, Azriel knocked on her door with the High Lord in tow. Niamh glanced out the window and had some of the wisteria vines open the door for her. Azriel let Rhys enter first. The High Lord she’d been avoiding brought with him a wave of nerves and she clasped her hands together in front of herself.

She braced herself for a tongue-lashing, but it never came. Azriel closed the door and Rhys took a few more steps inside. He was looking around at her vine- and art-covered walls, her stacks of papers and books. Everywhere, it seemed, but at Niamh herself.

Making eye contact with Azriel she shot him a look that asked, ‘the fuck?’ The shadowsinger only shrugged.

Niamh rolled her eyes impatiently, then broke the silence with, “It’s good to see you, Rhys. Welcome to my home.”

Rhys, having bent to read the titles of some of her books in a stack in the far corner of the room, straightened.

“You live here? I never would’ve guessed.” Some of the tension in the room evaporated as they both smiled. From the corner of her eye she saw Az slip into the shadows to give them privacy.

“Do you want some tea?” she asked, gesturing toward the kitchen door. “It usually helps in these situations, makes it so there are things to hold and stir…”

“Tea sounds lovely,” Rhys said, smoothly opening the door and holding it for her. She swept over to the stove and filled the teapot with the pre-boiled water she’d prepared. Using her powers she had some of the vines grab two teacups and set them on the table before pulling out Rhysand’s chair. He chuckled and sat down.

The vines poured the tea into the teacups and Niamh took a dainty sip. Rhys’s hands hovered around his cup, his violet eyes fixated on them. She took the opportunity to scrutinize his appearance.

Still gorgeous as ever, his skin having regained its natural golden brown tone in the months since he returned. His hair was a little grown out and his features were drawn, like he hadn’t been sleeping well, but he was still unfairly good-looking.

“Azriel tells me you’ve been seeing a therapist,” Rhys interrupted the quiet moment and Niamh quickly looked away so he didn’t catch her staring. His long fingers danced with the steam rising from his cup.

“Yeah, Hypatia. Her office is right on the Sidre, she’s really helped me. Put things in perspective, figure out why I’m so…” Niamh could only gesture to her temple. She didn’t want to apply words like ‘crazy’ or ‘broken’ or ‘fucked up’ because of the negative connotations.

“That’s great,” Rhys said, “I’m...impressed.”

“Impressed?”

“It takes a lot of guts to hide from a High Lord in his own court and get his closest friends to lie about it.”

There it was. Rhys played offense right from the start, like she knew he would. Her sins laid bare at her feet. Yet there was no malice in his tone, no gathering storm behind his words. He actually seemed amused, maybe even a little impressed as he claimed.

Niamh bit back the sarcastic answer that nearly leapt off her tongue, knowing that she needed to have an actual conversation with Rhys instead of joking all her problems away. She stared at her hands, the delicate tea cup, the warm brown liquid inside it while she formulated her answer.

“I was scared. Ashamed of myself. All I wanted to do was hide away from you so that maybe I could pretend…” she trailed off, the confession stuck at the back of her throat like a dry cracker.

“Pretend what?” Rhys asked softly, his right hand moving towards her left one but stopping midway. She could feel his eyes on her face as hers didn’t move from her tea. The inside of her bottom lip grew raw from her nibbling.

Just say it. Say it. He won’t know unless you say it.

She forced out in a barely-audible whisper, “That you still loved me.”

The space between her eyes prickled and she blinked rapidly, willing away the impending tears. Rhys’s right hand lifted and cradled the back of her head, drawing her toward him. She let him settle her face on his shoulder. His other arm encircled her in a hug and she hated how much he felt like home. How much she had missed him.

So she let the tears form and fall onto his black shirt, his citrus and ocean warmth emanating from underneath it. He pulled her closer and held her tight. His lips graced her brow with quick, affectionate pecks while he stroked her hair. It wasn’t until she felt her temple growing wet did she realize he was crying too.

Pulling back, she looked up at him. Her ex-lover, ex-fiance, ex-ex-ex. His eyes bloodshot, tear tracks marring his cheeks, he met her eyes and captured her chin in one hand so she couldn’t look away.

“I do,” he said, voice raw with emotion, “I do love you, Niamh. I need you. I need you. Come back to me, just come back, please.”

Echoes of his time Under the Mountain rang in her ears. Her visits to him while he slept, providing him relief from the horrors he witnessed on a daily basis, he’d said the same thing. She’d interrupt his nightmares of Amarantha writhing above him, of the torture she made him commit on others. He would beg her to stay, beg the world to stop turning so he wouldn’t have to wake up. His dreams became his only means of escape, the only place he could see the sun. She had been the one who gave that to him.

“I’m here, Rhys,” she cupped his face in her hands, letting her thumbs clean up his mess of tears while her heart launched out of her chest. “I’m right here.”

He pulled her into his lap, deftly flinging one of her thighs over his so she was straddling him before crushing her against his broad chest. She’d missed how he could manhandle her so easily. Memories bubbled up that she pushed back down — now was not the time.

“This is torture,” he mumbled into her hair.

“What is?” she asked, pulling back to see his expression. Her mid-back rested on the edge of the table. Rhys’s grip loosened and he rested his hands on her waist, gaze downcast between them.

“Loving,” he finally said, letting his fingers trace random patterns along her sides. “How can I love you and Feyre at the same time? How can I want you both so badly it hurts?”

His violet eyes looked up at her from under his lashes. From this angle and the earnestness in his voice, he almost looked childlike. The look was begging for guidance, advice, answers. She brushed some of his hair off his forehead and he leaned into her touch.

“Because love isn’t pie, Rhys. There isn’t a finite amount of it in the world, it’s endless, infinite, and can’t be contained or willed away.”

“When did you get so wise?” he half-chuckled, fingers toying with the ends of her hair behind her back.

“Fuck you, I’ve always been wise.” She tapped the tip of his nose with her finger and earned a surprised look from him. Gratifying. “Remember when you wanted to dye your hair candy-apple red?”

He laughed then, a real laugh that split his face open and crinkled his eyes. When he stopped, his eyes settled on hers and she watched as he seemed to review all their memories together. She’d long since built up her mental shields against his demati powers, but the fondness written on his face told her everything she needed to know.

He would always love her.

And she couldn’t deny him that.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, voice low and seductive.

That’s when a tidal wave of reality crashed down on Niamh’s head, dousing the fire that was burning through her veins. He still had a mate.

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” she admitted, pushing herself off of his lap and backing a few steps away. Grimacing at the feel of slickness between her legs, she also noticed how Rhys’s black pants were slightly tented at the front. How easily she could’ve slipped him free and taken him—

Focus, Niamh.

Rhys dragged a hand down his face. “Right. Feyre.” He leaned back, draping himself over the kitchen chair, his whole body open to her in case she wanted to come back.

“I just don’t want it to jeopardize anything, if she found out that you and I were sleeping together when she hadn’t accepted the bond—”

“She doesn’t know.” He interrupted the beginning of her babbling.

“What?”

“Feyre doesn’t know she’s my mate. She’s still in love with Tamlin and…if he makes her happy, I swore to myself that I wouldn’t interfere.”

Niamh gaped at him, utterly lost for words. “She’s in love? With my brother!?!? And you haven’t tried to talk her out of it? Haven’t even told her she’s your…fucking shit, Rhys, are you actually stupid?”

His hands turned into tight fists and his jaw hardened. “Everything she did Under the Mountain, she did so she could be with him. What kind of complete and utter asshole would I be if I ruined that for her? It would only reinforce what she already thinks of me and I would risk losing her forever.”

Living in Velaris for so long, Niamh had forgotten all about the Night Court’s terrifying reputation and the mask that Rhysand was forced to wear in order to maintain it. That was another reason he relished in their dream visits — it was the only place it was safe for him to be his true self while he was imprisoned.

“I suppose that makes sense, but Rhys, what are you going to do if they get married?”

“I made a deal with her Under the Mountain. One week a month, she lives here.”

“At the Moonstone Palace, right. Azriel told me.”

“I’m hoping these visits will show her...show her I’m not the monster she thinks I am,” he rasped, voice thick with more tears. He closed in on himself, crumbling in front of her.

Before she could stop herself, she pressed him against her chest, her arms wrapping around his shoulders. His arms wrapped around her waist, hands resting on her upper back.

“I can talk to her, if you’d like,” she offered gently. Rhys looked up at her from her chest and quirked an eyebrow at her. “I’m serious! I spent my formative years in the Spring Court and I know how manipulative Tamlin can be. Maybe I can talk some sense into her.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. My ex-fiance being my wing-woman might make me seem desperate.”

“And you’re certainly not that,” Niamh teased, tugging at the hair on the back of his head. He growled at her.

“Careful, Niamh,” his tone was low again, “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

She kept her rough grip on his hair and lowered herself to look him directly in the eye, leaving mere breaths between their mouths.

“You and I both know that I can finish spectacularly,” he growled again and lunged at her but she held him in place by his hair, continuing, “But I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to jump back into bed together yet.”

She released his head and backed away again, resting her hip against her kitchen counter out of reach of him.

Rhys dropped his head in dejection, then ran a hand through his hair. He nodded at her, accepting her decision but sending her a gently questioning look, as if he was worried he had done something wrong.

“I’m not ready. This is the first we’ve spoken since you got back, and things are…complicated. I would prefer if we postponed our, uh, pelvic reunion until things are more settled.”

“Of course, Sweetrose. We can wait for the pelvic reunion,” he teased, rising from his chair and pressing a kiss to her hairline while he ran his hands down her arms. “Now why don’t you give me the official tour of your house?”

“Not much to see but if you insist,” she said, taking his hand and relishing at the feeling of his fingers entwined with hers. At that moment she finally felt that Rhys was back.

He’d come home, at last.

Part 5

#acomaf fic #acomaf #acotar fic #acotar #rhysand x oc #rhysand angst #rhys x oc #rhys angst #rhysand fic #rhys fic #angst angst baby #comfort fic #azriel shadowsinger #spring court princess #plant powers #night court fic #velaris #soft!rhys #soft rhysand

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