#knowing his human blood would mean he would die before his own mother...and that he would likely still outlive any human partner | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bahablastplz · 1 month

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Undeniably His: Vampire Jeongin x Reader

Inspired by this post from @cbini, I started thinking about what sex would be like with your boyfriend I.N. the first time after he turns into a vampire with his new overly heightened senses. Content: Smut, Angst Warnings: Mentions of death, established relationship, kissing, blood-drinking, marking, hair-pulling, oral f! receiving, oral m! receiving, unprotected sex (but it doesn’t matter bc vampires can’t get humans pregnant), p in v sex, overstimulation WC: 2600

You had been dating Jeongin for a little over two years when the accident happened. A freak incident had sent your boyfriend over a bridge in a car accident that killed five people; he was the only survivor, pulled from the water in some freak miracle. Not a scratch on him. Physically, he was fine, but that was when he started experiencing other symptoms. Violent impulses. Weird cravings. Heightened senses. When he started getting sick you were beside yourself with worry. You had almost lost him once, you could not do it again. You had stuck by his side throughout the entire accident, through his grief, and of course, through the sickness. Your questions were answered when he was approached by the creature that turned him, telling him the truth of that night. That Jeongin needs to feed or he will die. That he was a vampire.

Jeongin was overstruck with guilt and grief. He wouldn’t feed, he decided, he couldn’t kill another human being. This was much to your dismay, as this would mean that you would both lose your boyfriend and bestfriend. His mother would lose a son. The community would have to suffer through yet another loss after the accident.

Jeongin fed against his own will. His behavior and attitude had changed over the course of his illness, and he had gotten into a petty fight. He didn’t even know the guy's name, but when Jeongin was pushed, weak and frail, something snapped. His fangs embedded into the man’s skin and he bled him dry. He didn’t even tell you after; you had read in the local news of a man that was exsanguinated, mysteriously in the night and you knew what your boyfriend had done. Immediately the mystery sickness went away but he could no longer bring himself to face you or his family, despite your protests and pleas to let you help him.

It was a long and grueling journey, convincing Jeongin to get back together with you. He wouldn’t even let you be ‘just friends,’ or even in your presence until he could learn to control his bloodlust. After several months he started going back to school again, despite the university putting him on academic probation; they gave him time to process his supposed PTSD from the accident. It was soon after he finally started answering your texts.

Slowly, your boyfriend let you back into his life. He was the same man as he was before the accident, but he was different, in some ways. He had alarming self-control, for one. He was more sure of himself. The way he carried himself was strong and powerful, not to be messed with. He had built up a wall, one you had intended to help him tear down piece by piece.

It wasn’t that he didn’t love you on your break, he had told you. It was the fact that he had loved you, and with his heightened senses he was scared that he wouldn’t be able to control himself around you. Just your smell, it drove him insane, he confessed. He explained to you that you were like a drug, and every way he wanted and needed you before he transformed, grew tenfold and consumed him. With his time away he grew satiated and more confident that he could control himself, never going as far to kill another human when he fed.

Tonight was the night you finally convinced him to stay over in your dorm.

It was refreshing. It was familiar. It was a little strange that your boyfriend’s familiar warmth was gone, but you were happy to be in his presence again. Because in those few months that he took to try to navigate his new identity, you never stopped loving him. It took him some convincing, but you let him know that you would love both the old Jeongin and the new Jeongin. Tonight, as you watch a comfort movie in his arms you’re encapsulated in the embrace of his non-beating heart. One that, according to him, loves you deeper and more intensely than the old one had capacity for.

You kiss him. It’s hesitant, it’s soft, it contains so many emotions. He’s wiping away a tear that you didn’t know had slipped as he kisses you deeper. Your hands tug through his hair just the way he likes, and he’s out of breath so suddenly, He’s breathing hard, his chest evident of the laborious task that kissing you is. When your tongue dips into his mouth he moans into you. You feel a soft prick against your lips and then Jeongin is across the room, apart from you as if your skin had set him ablaze. His eyes are wide and he looks frantic, a hand on his chest as if to stop his heart from beating so fast though you both know that’s not the case. When your hand reaches your mouth to investigate, you see exactly what your boyfriend was so afraid of. Your blood. In the midst of your makeout session, he had accidentally pricked your lip with his fang, drawing blood. Not a lot, but enough to freak him out, evidently.

“I–I’m so sorry,” he whispers. His voice trembles.

You cross the room and meet your boyfriend. You reach your hand out to touch his face but he draws away.

“I can’t… I’m going to hurt you,” he says.

“You’re not going to hurt me, Innie. I know you. This is the same body you’ve touched a million times before, you know my body better than I do. I trust you… to be intimate with me, again. So, please,” you say, reaching your blood-soaked finger up to his lips.

“Y/N… I’m afraid that I won’t be able to control myself,” he says, closing his eyes as if practicing restraint.

“Then don’t.” You’re pushed against the bed at superhuman speed, his hips pressing into you hard. The offered finger is in his mouth and he’s unabashedly sucking the blood from it, letting out a filthy, guttural moan. Before you can question the man his lips are against yours again, sucking them into his mouth, drinking up the blood from the small wound he had given you. His tongue is all over yours and you can taste your copper substance on his mouth though it's not unpleasant. He breathes into you as if you are his lifeforce, his oxygen. Meanwhile, he ruts his hips against you over and over again, a bruising yet welcomed grip on your waist.

“Feels good?” You ask, pulling away to look in his eyes. He’s panting, letting out little whimpers and looking absolutely wrecked.

“S’good. You don’t even know. I can smell you, how wet you are for me from here. I can hear how fast your heart is beating just for me… And every time you touch me my skin feels like it’s on fire. I’m so sensitive… so hard,” he emphasizes with a harsh thrust against your clothed skin, “You’re literally heavenly. Intoxicating. The best thing I’ve ever felt. I need you. I’ve never needed anything more.” He looks scared that you might deny him, though you couldn’t in a million years imagine denying him, especially not now.

You spread your legs for him, allowing him the opportunity to slot between them. He pulls himself into you and moans as you spread wet open-mouthed kisses against his neck. You lick a stripe upwards from his collarbone to his jaw and he clutches you tight, hips stuttering.

His hands are in your hair, embedded into your scalp and he pulls tight, baring your neck for him. Your moan is breathy and light as he presses his lips to your skin, not sinking his teeth into you like you had thought. He sucks harsh bruises into your neck and the offending area then softens each spot with his tongue. When he moves back to admire his handiwork, he smiles. You’re covered with large purple splotches all over. You’re his, undeniably so.

He pulls off your shorts and underwear in one swift motion, maneuvering your hips and holding you upwards so that he has full access to your glistening core. He really was right about you being wet for him, and you don’t have time to be embarrassed by the statement he made of being able to smell it before he’s diving in, his face directly at your entrance. He wastes no time before licking, sucking, and swirling his tongue around you.

“Too much, Innie, too fast!” You whine out, trying to push his head away. He doesn’t budge nor indicate that he felt your actions; you couldn’t move away from him. He was in control, and you, forced to take every ounce of pleasure he delegates.

“Mm, baby… I’ve been away from this pussy for too long… God you taste so, so good.” A loud slurping sound comes from his mouth and you’re in the right mind to be embarrassed from such a filthy sound. You cover your face but your hand is by your side just as fast, his bruising grip around your wrist holding you in place. “Don’t,” he warns. “Want to see your face as I ruin you. Want to hear every moan, wanna hear your heart beat this fast just for me, baby.” He was adamant about getting you to fall apart for him on his tongue, and so you do; you cum on with a loud moan and he laps up your release and holds your trembling thighs in place with ease.

As you look at him he wipes away the wetness on his face, eyes gazing into you. He freezes in place as you drop onto your knees in front of him and grab onto his waistband.

“Are you sure?” He stammers, already affected by your small lingering touch.

“We’ve been away for too long,” you say, repeating his words from earlier. “Need to taste your cock again.” You pull down his pants and reveal his length, hard and throbbing and begging to be touched. It’s already releasing precum from when he was grinding into you earlier, and you lap it up eagerly. His hand places a bruising grip in your hair, close to its roots, which encourages you to continue with your ministrations.

“Shit,” he curses as you wrap your lips around him, flicking your tongue against his tip. “Baby your mouth feels so fucking good, so wet. God I could bust right now,” he says. He uses his hands to hold the sides of your head, guiding your mouth up and down his length, essentially letting him use your face like a toy for his pleasure. Your lips wrap around him and you let spit run down your face, coating your chin. You blink up at him through teary eyes and you know that you look probably just as wrecked as he does, the epitome of a perfect disaster created just for him.

He bucks his hips into your face for a few seconds and then pulls away quickly. You drop to the floor, breathing heavily, looking up at the man. He pants and holds himself up against the bed with one arm, trying to ground himself.

“Shit baby, I’ve never felt anything that good in my life…” He breathes. “Only you… But it feels better now, you feel so good… Let me fuck your pretty pussy, baby. Please.” He begs even though he doesn’t have to. He doesn’t have to ask you twice before you’re laying on the bed, legs spread open wide for him. Still sensitive from your previous orgasm, you whine as he pushes into you slowly. He’s long, just like you remember him, but he’s so hard and you can already feel him pulsing inside of you. As he bottoms out and his hips grind against your clit, you feel yourself contracting against his length. You two remain unmoving but the room already sounds so dirty just from your pathetic moans and heavy breathing. Your heart beats wildly in your chest and it makes you smile knowing he can hear it, that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

He starts moving, slow but deep. Within four hard strokes he’s already releasing deep inside you, and you both gasp. In all the time you had been with him, he had never cum inside before–but now that he’s turned it doesn’t matter. As he fills you up you’re overflowing and he’s crying when you look at him. He moans vehemently but his hips aren’t slowing down; if anything, they speed up as he continues to fuck his release into you, sloppy and hard. He whines at the overstimulation he’s caused himself and looks like his pleasure is mixed with pain. His hips snap into you harder than anything you’ve ever felt before, the head of his cock pushing right against your g-spot every time.

He reaches his fingers down and swipes up the release from where the two of you connect, gathering it on his fingers and bringing it to your mouth. It’s reminiscent of the scene just minutes ago, you think as you suck his release off of his fingers. His eyes are boring into yours and drinking up every reaction, every scrunch of your face and twitch of pleasure, and it drives you insane with both pleasure and desire to be so seen by someone you’re so in love with.

You notice his hands gripping the edge of the bed, his knuckles ghost-white.

“Bite me,” you say, suddenly. His hips stutter at your words, all confidence immediately gone.

“What? I can’t–”

“Jeongin, love, I trust you more than any other living soul on this planet,” you say through uneven breaths. “God, this body was yours before and it’s yours now. Stop holding back and make me yours again. Please,” You say.

His teeth sink into your neck and you let out a sharp cry; you feel shock moreso than pain, and as he drinks languidly from your neck, taking just what he needs, you cum around his cock. His fingernails dig into your skin and his hips snap into yours brutally, ripping your orgasm out of you in the most intense spasm of pain and pleasure you’ve ever felt in your life. Adrenaline courses through your veins and your ears are ringing, blinded by the intensity of it all, because Jeongin isn’t holding back, because you’ve broken down his walls, you think as he cums into you for the second time that night.

He laps up the remaining blood that has dribbled down your neck as his hips still into you and you still pulse around him from the aftershocks. When you look at him you're wiping his tears away, and he wipes away yours.

“Thank you,” he says, holding you as close to his body as can possibly be. “You make me feel like I’m still human.”

“That’s because you are,” you whisper into his hair. “Your humanity is something you never lost.”

He hums in approval and you fall asleep in his arms that night, closer in mind and body than ever before. *** “I see you and I.N. got back together!” Your best friend laughs as the two of you walk to class together the next day. You haven’t told her anything, how would she know? She sees your shocked expression. “Look at your neck, geez, what is he, a vampire? God damn,” she emphasizes her words by pointing at the large bruises you did a poor job of covering up. You laugh at her words a little too hard, knowing that she will never know that she wasn’t that far off from the truth. That was a secret for you and Jeongin to share. *** Masterlist Recs

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circeyoru · 1 month

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Gone Too Young _ Part 4 = Collab

[Human & Demon!Alastor x Male BFF!Reader] - Platonic

Part 1 — Part 2 — Part 3 — Part 4 (here)

My collaborator: @blubugg13

As the two of you got older, you had more jobs on your agenda and Alastor was busy with his internship at the local news stations so he could get a feel of being a news reporter, later a radio host, just as you suggested

You knew him well, turns out he does like the thought of being a radio host, he had the idea of you being his co-host or a guest from time to time, even an assistant! That way, your job is stable enough and he would be able to help you finanically whenever you needed without you complaining like you do now

His mother had the better idea. Adoption. While you were off the list, surely you’d make an exception when it was his mother was wanted to do it. He could see as clear day that you had a soft spot for his mother. Hard to reject motherly love, he’ll agree. It was your Christmas gift, you’ll have a family

You never showed up to the secret meet up you two arranged. Alastor waited under the freezing cold, the streets were a buzz, he watched families go up and down. Perhaps you were working a bit later, you did say you might not be able to make it and apologized beforehand. He waited a bit longer. You still didn’t show up. He had to return home

He didn’t know, the ambulance that he passedby carried your deceased body

Christmas day came by, you weren’t there. The orphanage cancelled the adoption plan his mother registered. Before they agreed! They said it would be the perfect surprise even! Everyone was in on it but you

Something in his gut told him, something’s wrong. He ran to the orphanage and asked for you, maybe you were sick and couldn’t tell him. Yeah. When he got there, he wasn’t allowed entry, the director came to the door personally to inform him you leave town for an internship, some wealthy businessman offered you that and you took it and left

“When will he be back?” Alastor recalled asking.

Yet there was no solid answer.

“A few days, I’m sure.” Your sister figure answered without looking at him. He caught her outside while shopping.

“I think like a month. Not sure.” Your coworker shrugged.

“He’s sleeping though.” One of the little ones you take care of spoke when he sneaked into the orphanage to see you.

“Maybe never, you never know.” One of your employer said.

“Stop asking for him! Mind your own business!” The director stopped him in his tracks.

But you were his business. He was your best friend and you were his. Why can’t he know where you went and when you’ll be back? Why does it feel like everyone but his mother and he know something about you?

Then he caught it while listening in on some workers chat while taking a break outside the last factory your worked at. The horrifying truth of your disappearance

“That kid Alastor’s back?”

“Yeah, he’s asking about him again.”

A sigh. “Can’t we just tell him what happened? It was an accident.”

“Are you crazy?! Who would want to know their friend ended up like that?!”

“Besides, the orphanage director already said to keep quiet about it.”

“I mean, it’s brutal.”

“I’ll say. Getting your arm rolled into the machine like a piece of meat, then die from blood loss.”

“I still get nightmares from that day.”

“Christmas day horror. It was even worse for that guy that accidentally bumped into him, right?”

“Yeah, Joe quit his job and just disappeared.”

“But I heard he was a roadkill somewhere.”

“Wow, that’s like karma.”

“Crazy sh*t happens everywhere…”

Alastor never ran that fast in his life. His smile fell and tears rained, the weather seemed to echo with the truth he learned, it rained, poured heavily. He ran into the forest and screamed till his voice gave out

No way… No way. NO WAY. NO WAY! NO WAY IN HELL!

He clenched as he fell to his knees. How could they keep such a secret to him? Everyone. Every one of them lied to him. Because he was some kid. Because you were just an orphan? Why? Why didn’t anyone tell him?

Unlike the others, he told his mother the truth he learned. Those adoption papers that sat on her desk in the study room were put away into a drawer, locked up. His mother soon fell ill from griefing and the shock, passing soon after then

Now when he walked the same roads and saw the people you helped, he saw red. That rage boil within him. Who knew and didn’t care? Who ignored your tragic death?

Without anything to ground him, he only had his job as the new radio host. A grand start!

“Welcome, everyone! I am Alastor, now your new radio host! You might have remembered me from other channels when I was still a young lad, haha! I’m here to stay! But regrettably, I have to start with recording some distrubing and tragic news. There seems to be a killer on the loose. So everyone be sure to lock your doors and windows at all times, you never know when the killer will strike.”

Note: A bit short but... That concludes the parts for the human Alastor and Reader~ Next up are the ones for the demon version and in Hell~

Circe Y.

My Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist: (those that don't specify to being in all the works' taglist will automatically be assumed to be in whichever series they comment on)

@aconfusedwonderland @crowleysthings @donustellaron @mistpurpl3 @lucifers-silhouette @fluffy-koalala @boredwithlifeatthispoint @mysterypotatoink

#Circe's Nighty Writings #Circe's requested writings #alastor imagine #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor headcanons #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor #hazbin hotel oneshots #alastor fanfiction #hazbin hotel imagines #Gone Too Young #male reader #yandere alastor x reader #yandere alastor

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puppetmaster13u · 19 days

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Thinkin' of WOF Au for DC, but like, it's a Gothamite and Fawcett thing. (And Amity Park if crossover)

Like those are the most magical areas in the world, even if Gotham is cursed as fuck. An unspoken secret of sorts that while they present themselves as human to outsiders, they are all Very Much Not.

Which means hilariously in the league, when everyone expects Batman to be suspicious and short with the new guy- even made bets on it- they are then shooketh when both visibly relax and start talking. And half the shared complaints don't make sense!

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Now Gotham technically has no Queen, nor does Fawcett, but Batman and Captain Marvel are the closest things. Not in the traditional sense of back when they were in separate tribes (& maybe from a different dimension but shh that was millennia ago) but in the sense of, they're the ones patrolling and protecting the cities along with calling the shots in disasters.

Which does sort of change the dynamic they both have in their city. If one of them calls to arms, the city would follow them. They could declare war, and their cities (begrudgingly in Gotham's underbelly's case of strongest is in charge) would follow. And while Billy is oblivious, both Marvel-the-not-hivemind and Batman are. They know they have to be very careful.

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I'm sure we all want Nightwing Bruce but no. Bruce, like both his mother and father and father's father and so on before him, is actually an Icewing. The Waynes however, have a case of melanism running in their bloodline. Thomas Wayne? Only his quills and part of his back were darker, but Bruce? Practically pitch black scales that shadow his eyes.

Now Alfred on the other hand, is a Nightwing. No special powers there, though you would hear many a child protest with how he seems to know everything.

Commissioner Gordon is a Mudwing, big stocky and very tired, which translates to his human disguise as a large trenchcoat. He finds this very amusing. Barbara similarly, is half Mudwing. Her mother was a Hivewing, making her a hybrid between both. Which does ironically mean that Batgirl does in fact have insectoid wings. Though that does ponder the question on if they'd all go by their original vigilante names.

Dick is a Silkwing. Wingless as he watches his parents fall and unable to do anything despite this place supposedly being safe for beings like them. He grows into his own, and his wings, when they come in, are dark Gotham colors through and through, with the deep blue of the sky he's come to crave.

Jason is a hybrid between a Mudwing and a Skywing. He's also an animus- not that he knew that. He doesn't find out until he's dying, telling himself to not die, to get back to Gotham, to his dad, his family- And then he wakes up in his Coffin, alive.

Now Cass, raised to be the perfect killer, is also a hybrid, just one between a Nightwing and a Rainwing, egg set out under the moon. Which succeeds, partially. She can't straight up read minds, but combined with her talent in reading body language on both human and inhuman bodies, it's a near thing.

Tim is a Seawing, borderline abandoned by his parents who seek treasures and more wealth as he's trapped back in a city where the water is dark and poisoned. But he's Gothamite, through and through, and he adapts. Scales darker than the original blues he was born with, and glow shifting to that sickly white of the Gotham's Bats.

Now Steph, is a full-blooded Rainwing, and can in fact change her scales, but can mostly be found in purples and golds. Though for a short time she was in another set of colors, thought dead before she slithered out of the shadows older and wiser than before.

Damian is his father's son, but he's also an Al-Ghul. The not-quite dragonet is half Icewing, and half Sandwing. And struggled to adjust at first, to a place so different from his first home where the only other dragons were blood related. But like any Wayne before him, he adjusts, and he adapts.

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Billy wasn't a Beetlewing originally, and perhaps he would have hesitated if he'd known it would change him, would change his body and the last thing he had of his parents. But his friends, his Team and new family help. And he can pass as a Silkwing like their sort-of foster mother. All six of them can do so now, even if the others look more like hybrids themselves thanks to not being the Champion. They might not be, but they're his family. And that's enough.

#dc #dcu #batman au #batman #captain marvel #billy batson #gotham #wof #wings of fire #fuck it #prompts #batfamily #batfam prompts #dragons #dragon au #who knows why they can turn human or make people believe that's what they are #could be an animus thing could just be a gift from the City Spirits themselves #Gotham's no-man's land arc would be hella different me thinks #dragon cities gotta stick together after all #Billy when first seeing Batman: Oh thank fuck another dragon I keep having to stop myself from asking questions bout wtf they're talkin bou #Bat(oh god another vigilante child)man: ... Oh I understand that perfectly come to this place at this time & I can give you a powerpoint on #human stuff because if your home is anything like Gotham then humanity and aliens are a bit horn-scratching strange #Does Batman adopt Billy? No.#Billy & Co ends up similar to Barbara & Steph lol #They're not adopted but here have rooms & credit card & a college fund & anything else u or ur foster parents might need #y'know i bet martian manhunter would get along with most dragon people over the 'so how do human again'#also just in case someone wants to #dcxdp #dpxdc #also had a random idea that this could be a fun white-collar crossover

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jojomheffer · 2 months

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The whale's tail.

A dark one shot. Levi Ackerman x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of abuse (psychological and physical), starving to death, angst, murder, mentions of rape.

Wrote this while i was at work. Sorry if it looks bad.

He couldn't believe what he saw. Her body dismembered, cut, bruised and abused on the floor. The consequences of living underground.

Levi Ackerman was sure that one day they would die, but he didn't know that she would die before him, much less in such a brutal way. A torture that lasted seven consecutive days, he watched, and he couldn't stop anything.

He listened to his loved one's screams attentively because his own blood did not allow him to see the one he loved suffer without doing anything, but he didn't do anything. He didn't do it because he was chained, being psychologically tortured. Being forced to see and hear your screams, your body being sexually abused, your face disfigured after so many punches.

When she was dismembered alive, he writhed, screamed along, begged for it not to happen, but your screams of pain were louder.

He was left behind in that cell, next to her corpse. Her lifeless eyes remained open. He could only look at her decapitated head.

Day after day handcuffed in that cell, without food, water and the horrible, rotten smell exuding from her body, getting worse after each small explosion of natural gas inside her, made him remember when he spent that week trapped next to his mother's corpse, the suffering only got worse.

He remembered things his beloved once told him. How much she loved the mystical image of that animal that existed outside those walls, the whale.

The spiritual and psychological meanings of this animal fascinated you, and you spent hours talking about it. Even though he didn't show interest, he listened carefully to her words.

║▌│█║▌│ █║▌│█│║▌║║▌│█║▌│ █║▌│█│║▌║║▌│█║▌│ █

"Why do you like these animals so much, huh? You don't even know if they exist or not." That's what he said the first time you told him about it, the response he received was like fire igniting in his coal heart.

"Whether they exist or not, I don't care. Life down here is extremely difficult. We have to have something to forget the difficulties from time to time, right? You're only grumpy like that because you didn't understand that yet." And it was with these words you said that made him realize that he was completely and deeply in love with you because you were his escape from his world.

☆°•♡°•☆°•♡

"So, as I was saying, whales also mean rebirth, given the fact that it is also a supporter of the world!" You said happily, explaining again about your vast knowledge about whales. "Oh, and they symbolize the deep human unconscious, where no light can reach. And it also symbolizes absolute sadness, where there is no joy."

"Pretty deep. Where did you read that?" Levi asked taking a sip of his tea, listening to you talk. "How about you drink some of your tea now? It's been twenty minutes since you started talking, it's already cold enough."

"No, but listen!..." And with that, you started talking again.

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Now, he finally understood how he liked to hear your voice saying nonsense, things he admired about you. The way you talked about those animals was what he liked to hear most, it was what kept him sane every day.

He couldn't cry or scream anymore, and it had been two days since the last time he said anything. His voice was hoarse, weak, almost like a whisper.

"You, my angel, my saint, my last shred of sanity... I miss your voice. It's been four days since you said anything, or at least screamed." He began to utter the most profound words he had ever said in his entire life. He was close to death, that was no doubt.

"I learned from you that whales develop communication at the bottom of the sea, that they are a symbol of absolute sadness, of collectiveness, lasting love..." He spat out what seemed to be the last bit of water in his body. His eyes fought to stay open and confess his love.

"I loved hearing your voice saying nonsense, your childish games, your light snores when you slept in my office... You were like the deep love of a whale for me. Going to the bottom of the sea and coming back. Following me to the poles of the planet together with our brood... I wish I had enjoyed it more. I think maybe now I can... In a new life, like one of those affectionate whales you told me about. Maybe this way, we will have peace in our lives. .." And with that, he drifted off to his eternal slumber...

Both of your bodies laid in that cell. Your body parts scattered all around the floor with your dried blood. And his skinny, malnourished tired body.

What a romantic view.

#aot angst #yandere levi #levi x reader smut #levi angst #levi x reader #levi aot #levi attack on titan #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #aot x reader #aot #snk levi #snk fanart #snk x reader #snk

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1495-gauge · 15 days

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There's a dead man wandering the wastes. He wears nothing of the clans, his own symbols unusual and foreign.

He's lost, and the zoroark thus have claim.

They watch.

Lost, roaming, hungry. They've seen it all before, know every sign. He barely shivers anymore. He doesn't see them, settled into the fog as they are.

They watch as he stumbles into other pokemon, getting chased off, too slow and clumsy. Stupid.

They watch as he walks with no clear goal. Through land that is not his.

The thing about ghosts, about staying past death, is there are rules.

They shepherd him until the flickering light of the clan's lanterns are visible on the horizon. There must always be an option. They set their trap.

A kit, illusioned to look frail and hurt, buried half in the snow. No human could resist scooping it up and wringing its neck. They know. They've seen.

And the man stops. Croons. Leans down, takes the kit in his arms, gentle. They watch as he tucks the kit into his coat. They watch as every touch he lays upon it is soft. They watch as he turns to the lights, and starts taking the kit towards it.

Inviting a massacre.

So very stupid.

Sharing his precious body heat to bring a trophy, how foul.

It is night, which means there is no one outside when he reaches the camp. This is changed by his howls.

The zoroark don't understand words.

They understand intent.

The man does not cry for victory.

They watch.

Clan members stumble out of their tents. Woken, with spears.

They see the stupid man, and they point their weapons at him.

His booming voice falters. The clan speaks a tune the zoroark have always heard: back, back, beast, monster, wrong, dangerous, evil.

Back, back.

Get out.

The man cries again, help, help, hurt child. A child has been hurt. It needs help.

And like a zoroark, he is exiled from the camp in seconds.

Unlike a zoroark, he does not try to burn it down.

He tucks the kit more firmly into his coat, and resumes his aimless travel.

They watch.

He finds some too-small winter berries. He feeds two to the kit, pockets the rest. He does not bother for himself.

They are... curious.

A kit or two slips out of the mist. Play the eager foolish mutt, like the garish things begging at clan heels. He kneels, and gives the rest of his meager food away but one. One, which goes not to him, but the kit again.

The zorua pretend that they don't know the fog rolling in is full of claws. They yap and pull at his clothing, urging him into the woods. He follows. Stupid.

The zorua lead him to the den.

The first kit slips out of his arms, illusion falling away. It slips into the mist, convenes with them. A burgeoning mass of confused hatred.

He does not run.

Stupid. If they knew the word, it would be kind.

The Mother wakes.

Iridia shivers. Not from the cold, not even in the pitch of a new moon.

Unintelligible almost-words ring in her ears. A human sort of emotion choking behind the animal tongue.

It has been a long time since the zoroark have gotten so bold as to encroach upon the camp.

In a strange form, too. Too tall, too long. Dressed in no clothes she'd ever seen. Its illusion falling apart at the seams — reflective eyes, even the glimmer of a third. White hands. Blood dripping from the everpresent spiritual wounds.

Its own mane bursting from its chest.

Something was very, very wrong with it.

Iridia isn't a fool. She had seen the fogbank surrounding the camp. If they were to send their elders here to die, she would have no part in it. She knows better than to invite that malice.

It would be a trap, either way.

Still, she mourns. The hatred, its festering. She thinks of the senile zoroark, and she does not sleep.

#submas #ingo #warden ingo #pokemon iridia #pokemon ingo #what are tags...#my writing #submas microwave au #setting this up to be so serious. its not #it should be clear that the clan is totally valid for this fyi #like. theyre not evil. just inherited their ancestors sins and tensions and are doing their best

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takalzuoom · 2 years

Text

twst pirate au

pirates of the caribbean au? 😳

everyone is aged up

lmk what you think 🙈 should i make a scenario or series out of this?? 🤔🤔

cw: violence, lots of violence, death, gore, betrayal, pirates

crewel : governor… king? of pomefiore

grim : grim 🙈

y/n : crewel’s kid making him a dilf 😻🫶

heartslabyul

riddle : your fiancé- well, ex fiancé ever since you disappeared from the alter, leaving only your mothers pendant behind. he changed after that. creating rules upon rules to make sure ever pirate is dead. every pirate will burn in requiem. especially that leona kingscholar. so new rules were put in place, banning and condemning all pirates to death- by yours truly of course.

trey : riddles right hand. he’s been there since the very beginning, staying quiet and helpful. but the day you disappeared- everything changed. riddle, himself, the state. he’s tired of staying in the shadows- being the middle man, being the second thought. of following the rules to a tee.

carter : the informant. the navigator. he knows, and see everything. and just because he’s apart of the royal fleet doesn’t mean he’s loyal to one side… loyalty is no longer the realms currency… but currency, is. one of the first people who makes you doubt if you truly know everything.

ace : your childhood friend who joined the royal fleet, claiming all those years ago that he’s protect you. that he’s pay you back for the kindness that you and your father showed him when he drifted past your ship. a medallion of death draped across his neck. but like in your childhood, ace is known to be sneaky.. so when he tells you to follow him for a short cut on your wedding day… you think nothing of it… but of course, one must never trust a pirate.

deuce : he too, joined the royal navy to protect you, to serve you. pay back that night. that oh so stupid night he and his ‘friends’ decided they had enough of the governer telling them what to do how to live. taking it into their own hands… though- the kindness you showed him, the forgiveness for drawing innocent blood- for scarring you so horribly, that no other man would have you- he’ll pay back his debt. even malleus draconia won’t stop him from keeping you safe.

savanaclaw

leona : disgrace of the afterglow savanna. second prince turn pirate who is notorious for his laid v k behavior. barely batting an eye when he slits throats. heart beat normal when he punishes his crew. not a hair out of place when he pulled you from land, dragged out into his ship claiming you have something of his- and he doesn’t die well with thieves. nor to first born ‘royalty’,

ruggie : like the rest of savanaclaw’s crew, he’s more animal than human. ears scratched, scars littering his body. greed far out weighing his kindness as he’s the definition of pirate. you give him an inch and he’ll take a mile. not helping you without a scheme up his sleeve, not giving genuine compliments unless there’s something more to them. make sure you keep an eye on his fingers, cause sooner or later- you’ll finally see his signature smirk as he promises you the world… expect he had his fingers crossed the entire time

jack : the pirate you helped a few nights before your wedding. he was injured severely. on the brink of azul ashengrotto’s door as he still held you at gun point. he towered over you, hair disarrayed q with fresh scratches and scars littering parts of his body. but just because you gave him a warm bed, and bath- doesn’t mean he owes you anything. after all- he’s a pirate. and pirates will only ever take.

claiming the name ‘

octavinelle

azul : kind of like davy jones. he makes deals with dying / dead sailors. he has some of his octopus features. like black markings that encase his chest, torso, arms and waist. some on his face too. purple slashes on his stomach. and a signature shell necklace he sleeps with. though it’s a wonder why he keeps staring at you, eyebrows scrunched as he fiddles with it.

jade : azul’s right hand man. he has some eel features to him as he’s been apart of the monstro for god knows how long with his twin brother. bargained to be more dangerous than his brother with his honey laced words and gentle caresses- he’s more of a sea monster than the kraken.

floyd : considered the right hand’s right hand. loose canon- vv sadistic. he also has eel like features, with some parts of his body tinting teal, darker markings on his arms and hips. you know you’re getting closer to the monstro when there’s a trail of corpses, each more mangled than the last as a pair of twinkling eyes meet yours from the sea…

scarabia

kalim al asim : from a long line of successful pirates. ones who’ve made deals and have right relationships with all sorts of kindgoms. known for colorful trading. looks can be deserving with kalim- so be careful, cause all the riches and smiles in the world can’t hide the dangerous glint in his eyes..

jamil : kalim’s right hand man. it being no secret that he wants to take charge of the oasis. as he’s usually the one giving the orders.. if it weren’t for the cod of mutinity- he would’ve been captain a long time ago. just don’t fall for his sweet words and hypnotizing promises.. as there’s a reason he’s bound to the sea the streets

pomefiore

vil : refuses to call himself a pirate. as he’s more of a trader of… exotic goods. he has eyes- everywhere. there isn’t something he doesn’t know, isn’t something he isn’t in control of- so when he hears of the governs lost child and how a certain feline pirate has a new peculiar crew mate- he can’t help but lust for he power. time to pay dear old crewel a visit. after all, you’re short a fiancé. and it’s been a while since he saw dear ol’ crewel

rook - if azul ashengrotto was a name that kept you up at night. than rook huntsman was one no one would dare whisper. some claiming that even a mumble of his name would have you dead by morning. nothing is known about him. all traces of his past erased as anyone who goes snooping is quickly found in the gallows by vil’s personal orders. one of the three men you never want to cross paths with, as you would surely end up in davy jones locker… you, on the other hand - noble so far from home yet you still shine with elegance, still keep your manners as you stay on their ship. magnific! he swears you to be a siren from hell, tempting him from vil. but not the matter.. after all- once a pirate- always a pirate.

epel : this isn’t the life he want. he wanted to be a pirate. he wanted to sail the seas on adventures, rough it out and live freely. but of course, why have anything go to plan? in a some pompous uniform sailing vil directly. of course he had his run in with pirates, sparring a few he surely regrets as he comes face to face with a gun, glinting teeth and a devilish grin. he never had what it took to be a pirate. he wasn’t manly enough to be one…. yet.

inyghide

idia : a cruel, cruel man. though he is none for this stand-offish behavior. he is someone you try to get close to. not many know of him. as he is known to sail, attack, burn villages to the ground who haven’t paid him back- in the night. where no one is around. where no one can see. where others are defenseless as he takes, and takes, and takes- from a world that showed him nothing but cruelness. stripping him of his fortune, his brother-... so after a little birdie told him about you, sailing the sea, stealing each captain’s blot… he can’t help but to grin for the first time in a long, long time.

ortho : will do anything to make his brother happy. though he is not as old, or strong- he is smart. cruelfully so as a curse corrupts his soul. dead by day and alive by night.. he doesn’t have much time left. so he must do everything in his power to ensure his brothers future- his happiness. after all, he is the longest, cruelest captain the ignihyde has had the honor of serving in a very long, long time.

diasomnia

malleus : some say he crawled from the depths of hell.. others say he was born from the malice and greed of pirates..known as one of the strongest pirate lords to ever sail the seas. from a long line of pirates, though he is the first to guide his misdeeds as crown prince of the throne kingdom. claiming himself to be apart of his grandmothers private fleet. though as anyone knows, that is a lie. as the souls of the damned accompany him and his chosen crew wherever they sail. though your meeting was by accident- fate as his grandmother calls it. he will do what’s in his draconia nature- and take. horns darker than the abyss, claws sharper than a sharks tooth- eyes greener than emeralds as black, reptilian marks shows exactly where from hell he came from.

lilia : a seasoned sailor. a heartless sailor. his soon to be betrothed claimed by the tempest in the very sea the ship was named after. the tip of his finger nearly saving theirs as they were swallowed by the sea..there are rumors that he’s cursed to sail forever, that his beloved cursed his soul out of heart break. yet he showed no signs of it. bleeding when stabbed, skin as pale as snow. ruby eyes still gleaming in the summers sun. his duty coming firsthand before anything. and as the right hand man of malleus, he is sure to keep him and his sons safe if you were to be seen as… troublesome.

sebek : if it weren’t for lilia, he would be second i. command. following the theme of his crew mates, green scales can be found on his defined cheekbones, waist and arms. fangs and pointy ears he takes pride in as he will cut down anyone in malleus’ way to fame and glory. no woman, child, or thaumark can severe this man’s loyalty as he lives in the old era of the pirates. where anyone who draw speaks, steps or looks out of line will be cut down. and just because you’re the serpent that caught his dear malleus’ eyes- doesn’t mean your safe from his blade, as you learned.

silver : an orphan. constantly reminded of his dirty background by sebek. being the only human on bored has taught him many things. like careful who you trust, and to ironically, sleep with one eye open. as being lilia’s son means nothing to the other crew mates. and all those years of training, years of scrutiny, of amnesia have hardened silvers heart, his mind as you can only pray to whatever god out there that he isn’t like the rest. that he will spare your life and take you home, hand in hand back to your father.

oh my god this took forever. i really wanna do this but i’m not sure if this is one of those phases i’ll have. where i make 3 long ass scenarios and then dip. but i’ll either make a dried out of it. or an event. lmk which you guys like better 🙈🙈

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melonminnie · 1 year

Text

Oh how can you still not know? -Dion x Vampire gn! Reader!

-dion version sense ppl asked<3

The black haired man’s eyes were kept on names face, for whatever reason he was mad, it wasn’t visible on his face, but yet you could feel it.

Perhaps it’s was because you had tried cutting his hand off a few minutes ago, Standing above his sleeping finger, a sharp knife dangling in between your finger.

of course you should’ve known he wasn’t asleep, as he couldn’t be seen in a such a vulnerable state under anybody’s watch, so when you brought the knife to his wrist. He opened his eyes, blood shot starring directly at you.

Daring you to actually continue what you were going to do to him. Of course you couldn’t.. Anyone would know that your ending would be less than happy.

Of course that was probably the reason the black head was angry. It didn’t matter to you because of course you couldn’t help it.

you’ve told him that your body no longer has the craving for raw animals, it needs human blood. Yet he refuses acting as if you never even spoke to him.

it frustrated you to the point of tears.

With dions murderous gaze, it might’ve been better if you had aimed at his younger half brother who was extremely energetic and over protective.

Maybe then you would’ve felt that missing piece in you fulfilled.

“How about I do the same to you” he suddenly broke the unnerving silence.

“what do you mean?” “you said you needed human blood do you not?” He questioned with wide eyes, the knife now in his pale hands dangling around.

“So that means you can eat your own blood too” he affirmed grinning like a maniac as he forcefully pulled your hand towards his lap. The knife digging deeper and deeper into your skin causing you to yelp and protest.

“Next time don’t even bother thinking about me being your next meal” he pressed his head against his significant others.

“Because you should be thanking god your even alive, because If I die your coming with me to hell” he whispered the whole time his grin not leaving his face

Suddenly his grip on names arm stopped, pushing you away and stumbling on the floor. Both arms covered in huge amounts of blood. Ruining the white clothes you’d been wearing.

This was the first and last time that Dion had seen Name cry, hands clutching onto the fabric of the clothes.

Dion was a cruel man, You had made a wrong choice a long time ago there was no turn back.

“I’d be damned if I go to hell with you, I’d rather die a hundred times than be with you all over again” Terrified eyes stared straight into the red ones.

One filled with terror and sadness, While the other filled with a feeling similar to joy.

“No wonder your mother thinks of you as a mistake, I’d think the same if I had someone as you as my son”

The happy feeling turning into anger, It’d be sure that you’d be dead this time right?.

The man laughed maniacally before standing up, his body inches closer to yours.

he slowly sat next to you, “You want my arm ?here come fucking have it”

I tried my hardest to match this to his actual personality (I failed sort of)

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the-pen-pot · 4 months

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Peregrinate - to travel or wander from place to place.

Gwaine didn't need much. A bit of coin in his pocket and some ale in his belly was enough to inspire contentment. All the other things people tended to seek – a home, friends, lovers who stayed longer than one night, a family – they held little interest for him. They tied him down. He'd rather be free and easy, without a responsibility in the world. That way when his life went to shit, there was no one to blame but himself.

He hadn't started out like that, of course. No one did. He'd been a kid once, with dreams and ideals. He'd thought of being a knight under the king's banner. He'd known it was his calling. Right up until the day it turned out that a knight should be loyal, but a king need not bother.

His pa died in a battle he should never have fought, and he and his ma were left with nothing. He didn't blame his mother for following her love to the grave. He would have done the same, if all he had left to keep him in the world was a life of poverty and a son full of rage.

Leaving was the easiest choice. It didn't matter where he was or what was happening, he had learned to go before he wore out his welcome. He wandered – peregrinated – he remembered that from his tutors. After all, only commoners walked places. A lord, even a disgraced one with no bloody horse, would not stoop to mere walking.

He had to admit it sounded better in his head. It sounded purposeful. Better than the truth, anyway, which was that he fell from one tavern to the next, either charming or punching anyone who took offence at his presence.

That was how he ended up in a brawl, a knife wedged in his thigh and hurting like the blazes. That was how he came 'round later to a sweet, dark-haired lad with the brightest smile he'd ever seen, and a blond pillock who swung a sword as easy as if it were breathing.

In his defence, Gwaine had always given Camelot a wide berth. It was a troubled land, from all that he'd heard, so he could forgive himself for not immediately recognising Prince Arthur. Still, just because he didn't know his precise name or title didn't mean he couldn't read the breeding in him. He was a noble through-and-through, with all the arrogance that went with it.

If not for Merlin, he would probably have limped away there and then. He'd never have gone to Camelot. He'd certainly never have gone back once he left the first time, eager to get away before the friendship could lose its shine.

If not for Merlin, he'd not have had this life, and it would have been a crying shame.

These days, he was a knight on his own terms, not because of the blue in his blood, but because he was good with a sword. He had friends who joked and smiled and teased, but always with a fondness that robbed their words of any sharpness.

Leon was gracious, and Gwaine had never met a more steadfast man. Elyan was always there to talk to and never held any judgement for the stupid mistakes Gwaine made, even now. Lancelot's compassion put them all to shame, yet he never made them feel bad for their petty, human thoughts. He made them better men, of that Gwaine was certain. Percival was a wonder. He could probably stop a charging bull with his bare hands, but Gwaine had never known a more gentle soul.

They'd die for each other. He just hoped it never came to that.

He didn't think it would. For all that he was a prat, Arthur was one of the few good royals Gwaine had ever met. A man had to dig deep to reveal his kindness – because that bastard father of his had taught him all the callous cruelty that came with power – but it was there. All it needed was someone to let him know, in all the subtle little ways, that compassion was a strength, not a weakness, and that being a decent human being wouldn't make him a bad king.

That was Merlin's job. Well, that and keeping the rest of them on their toes. He could have been like one of the breathless pages, chasing after the knights with hero worship in his eyes. He could have been an obsequious little toad, always looking to ingratiate himself to his so-called superiors. Thank the gods that he was anything but.

He poked holes in Arthur's ego and made sure none of them ever got too big for their britches. He pointed out when any single one of them was being a fool, often with a glimmer of absolute glee.

He reminded them that, underneath all the trappings of rank, they were men at heart, all made of the same stuff and all of equal value.

Gwaine had spent years travelling the realms and calling it freedom, ignoring the loneliness that consumed him like rot. Now, he had friends who were as good as any family. They knew him. Not just the jokey facade he put on to please the world, but what lay underneath. He no longer had to roam, looking for something and denying it all the while.

He'd found home, and it wasn't a place like he'd always believed. It was the people who proudly claimed him as theirs, the bad bits, as well as the good.

His wandering days were over.

#Gwaine #Merlin

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lea-noah · 4 months

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never forgive me

"Master, please never forgive me. Master, Hate me. Kill me. [anything] please..."

obikin edit from Across the Stars series made by l e a n o a h | # 1 | # 2 | # 3 | # 4 | # 5 | # 6 | # 7 one of my favourite (heartbreaking again 😭) obikin fanart ❤️❤️❤️ by @mandhos pin | deviantart c | 09. 01. 2024

The lockscreen Version. 👇 Free to use and share (please credit or link) Thanks.

fanart : @mandhos overlays : Carllton textures : erinaeErae psd : ciaracoloring

[ inspired/based on ]

Guilt. There’s no other feeling more human than guilt. Nothing can expose the human flaws, its own confines better than guilt. For only then, you’re made aware of your human condition. The utter misery and absurdity of it. [...] No, you must have everything, given everything you ever could wish for, power, fame, luck, love, have the world on your knees or thinking yourself above it all, above death itself, above everyone, for only you have the right to have it all and do whatever you want with it. You are free, you are able and justly entitled to decide what should or shouldn’t happen, what is your own, who is yours and belongs to you. For you are none other than Anakin Skywalker. The one and only Chosen One this galaxy had ever known, the legendary Jedi, the “Hero with No Fear” every being in this galaxy has heard about, fearless since the famous hero forgot he’s just a human. He didn’t forget. He acted like he did, because it was easier. It was easier to live in the illusion of him being invincible, ‘cause otherwise… he would remember what he really is, like when his mother died. A human. No, less still. A small pathetic weak human and he knew it then. Fear. Even with him still having his cherished “all”, he threw himself to gain even more. To get more admiration, more recognition, more honor, praise, love… but most of all, power. Only more power, the supreme power could face his fears. Could crush it. Erase it forever. Wipe out this annoying defect blemishing his existence. He’s no ordinary human. He’s above it. For he has it all and can have even more. Yes, he can. He will… it’s what he thought.

He never actually asked himself why was he offered so much?! Why was he given everything that made him feel important, feel wanted, feel…happy. Oh, the answer is never simpler. Because it will make a karking good show of watching him lose it all. It will be so much satisfying to see everything he had, crumble before his very eyes, no, better yet, blasting it all with his own hands, will it not? Falling to degraded mindless scug, no, even lower, for he became nothing more than a slave…willingly. To Palpatine, to power, to fear. He threw away anything left human in himself because he was afraid to live as one. Anakin Skywalker would have been dead to the world and to himself foremost, since to think himself alive, to call himself with that name again, would mean to accept everything he did. Everything he destroyed. Everyone he killed. At last, accept he is only a human or even less, for he can change nothing. He’s helpless. He can’t erase his deeds or revive the ones he killed. He can’t ask forgiveness from the loved ones he betrayed, as he never will be forgiven. He has no right to be forgiven. He may die for the world, for the whole galaxy, save it, save every living soul on it. He may burn alive for them, let his screams of pain entertain them, let his blood wash the dirt on their soles, let his tears choke a whole flaming river, let his knees grow in stone and it still wouldn’t be enough. It will never be. And this he knows now, it’s what is called guilt. His guilt. To want to do all of that only to lessen it. A fraction. A scrap. A breath lighter to take in, a tad less feeling like rotten sand are filling his lungs. Like the air carries screams of whom he slayed. He’s dying. That’s what humans do. Worse yet, as he’s doing it himself, slowly, oh, so very slow, with every taken breath, with every strangling beat his heart dares to pound. His body knew of pain that nearly wiped out his mind with its intensity, however even that paled beside what his guilt feels for him now. And it gets worse. Since he is given it. A second chance. Warmth. Love. Trust. Happiness if he chooses to forget everything. He’s given so much, more than he ever had… and with every small smile, warm hand or caring gaze he’s gifted with, everything that Obi-Wan gives him, with it Anakin Skywalker dies. His guilt is killing him, and the slashes are getting heavier, sharper, unbearable more. For he understands he doesn’t deserve any of it. He can’t have it. He shall not. He was not forgiven. He will never be.

| Chapter 24 "Guilt and Peace" from "Chosen: from the Ashes" by lea noah

#obikin #my fic #obi wan and anakin #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #dark fic #obikin fanart #obikin fanart edit #obikin edit #aesthetic edit #star wars lockscreen #star wars edit #star wars wallpaper

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mercyisms · 2 years

Text

And now, an initial scattering of thoughts on the following topics. Spoilers all the way through:

On Alecto, John, Humanity, and Love

On Pyrrha’s parental instincts and Nona’s honesty impulse

On Kiriona’s body and the Corpse Prince

On Lyctorhood, Paul, and Kiriona

And also on Lyctoral research and duties

But actually they’re almost all love.

Also, look, I’m just riffing. These thoughts are in no way tidy, but maybe they are fun, especially as jumping off points for later. On Alecto, John, Humanity, and Love

“John loved her. She was John’s cavalier. She loved John. For she so loved the world that she had given them John. For the world so loved John that she had been given. For John had so loved her that he had made her she. For John had loved the world.” (471)

“all the ones I touched, all the ones I loved… they stayed [incorruptible]” (76)

“I needed my loved ones to be something I could touch… needed them to be my hands… my fingers…” (435)

“And she’s scared to die. You’re afraid of so many things, but she’s only afraid to die.” (434)

“Pyrrha, he laid me down as an appeasement to them; he fed me as an appeasement to them; but he has never appeased me, and now all he has done was teach me how to die” (476)

Love! It’s all about love! It’s all, all, all about love. Before John grasped the soul, there’s a degree to which love is what powered his abilities. The Earth/Alecto loved John and he loved her and thus he was chosen. John’s love for “the only people he [needed]” preserves them. Love is a core ingredient to the magic happening in these books (see Paul in subsequent sections), and the element that gets misshapen in John’s pace of vengeance, in the lyctoral process. The Earth taught John how to love and John taught the Earth how to love in turn. (The trillionaires did not.) John loved and was loved by his friends. Somewhere in the multi-millennium quest for revenge, John has forgotten. Love has become warped. (See my post on violence and imperialism from a hundred years ago; it was also about love.) I think you have to thread this together with Mercymorn’s assertion that Alecto could never pretend to be human. (Curious still on Augustine’s claim that John made her worse!!) And contrast that against how, as Nona, Alecto very much did learn how to be human. Down to the minutiae. & that she was retaught love from Pyrrha and Cam and Palamedes and Hot Sauce. Which perhaps speaks to Mercymorn’s own awful personality, but also to whatever happened in those intervening years. How John forgot how to love, and his lyctors forgot how to love, and that changed Alecto in turn. Put that too, with John has only taught her how to die, has removed her last fear. Look, I’m just riffing here, I have no conclusion, but hey. Terrified for you Mr. Gaius. Terrified for the ways love mutates and permutates in these novels.

Pyrrha’s parental instincts / Nona’s honesty impulse

“a soft, guarded want; a hunger – a living desire to take the corpse [Kiriona] in her arms… To own, to squeeze, to cosset and destroy.”

“Did you think this was fun Pyrrha Dve? Did you this was lovely? Family. Blood. Together. Kiss, kiss. A Child’s game. You say nice words and everyone pretends they are the words you say. Here is a house. We ‘live in it. Worms slithering over each other… Did you like playing pretend? Did you like being mother and father? You should have given into your desires and eaten us. Chew and swallow. More Natural. Would have respected you for it…” (413)

“But I’ve loved you—in a better world I’d be able to say, ‘Like you were my own,’ but I don’t know what that would even mean anymore.” (420, Blaze it)

“If Wake had just asked me, I might’ve done it in the first place—died here, with her, for this…” (471)

If we were keeping a tally of how many times Pyrrha speaks in a parental or domestic register around Cam, Palamedes, and Nona, it would decimate her ass jokes counter. It really would. Pyrrha Dve wants to be a parent so bad. (“Why did you bring the [baby]?” @ Wake) It is wonderful and tragic. It also sets up that incredible moment in the end, where Alecto/Nona’s inclination to see and speak the truth becomes something nasty (something we might understand Augustine and Mercymorn, duplicitous sluts, fearing). Alecto unmasks something true and awful about Pyrrha, the brokenness, the remnants of lyctorhood, the way that process, and being an agent of the empire have warped her. Even her love for Wake is laced with violence, is entangled with mutual theft, destruction, and harm. (Is Alecto speaking a truth or simply a truth Pyrrha believes/fears about herself?) Pyrrha knows enough to know lyctorhood is not love, but she is embedded in its patterns, she is or fears herself to inextricable from its impulses. And yet when she dreams of an end, a happy ending, the fulfillment of the love that left her brokenhearted, she dreams of suicide, mutually assured destruction, martyrdom – it’s still a sort of lyctorhood, by another name. Is this compatible with something generative and regenerative? How does this live alongside the deep desire to foster something new? How does it consume it? It's also such a delicious twist in the “found family” trope, I wrote, and then Tamsyn went and said it explicitly: “they are a found family, but I don’t think it’s a spoiler to say that in the last movement of the book Nona questions what that even means—their motives, what they all truly wanted out of each other, their pretenses: are they a family, or are they all just a psychosexual mess of roleplaying and bad meals?” Well, exactly. How much can Pyrrha change? How much do Nona and Cam and Palamedes change her, really? Tamsyn Interlude It was exactly here that I looked up and saw the TorDotCom interview and particular where Tamsyn Muir says: “That’s the part I had fun with—what love, in its purest and most messed-up forms, looks like between these people. In a way Camilla, Palamedes, Pyrrha and Nona are love’s dress rehearsal for the last book. You have not begun to see the horrors of love.” God. (Whose love will be the most horrible? John’s? Alecto’s? Harrow’s? Cassiopeia’s?? As always, I want to eat it.) On Kiriona’s body and the Corpse Prince

“He’s made a revenant out of you.” (369)

“My father has made my body’s bones denser than titanium plex… My father has made my skin turn away bullets. I am the perfect sword hand and the final expression of the art of the Nine Houses. Don’t you get it? I am the Emperor’s construct.” (373)

“It was in Kiriona’s every movement—the bright, swift flexions of her arms, and the way she swung her legs, big and brash, and the weirdly easy, light grace which she moved her dead body. / Nona had never seen anyone so sad in her whole life. It made her nearly afraid to die.”

“I’ll be his cavalier. I’m the First. Hell, I’m his child and heir… [John] said me with my blood could do it [kill Alecto] – said me with my blood, I was the only one…” (468-9)

“It didn’t feel good… Fuck… Why didn’t it feel good?” (473)

God. Obsessed with this. Obsessed with John inadvertently bringing new life into the world in the most literal way (procreation), if via the most unique procreative attempts perhaps ever conceived, but then fixing it immediately to a perfect/dead (synonyms here, within John’s empire) body. If it feels like a riff on lyctorhood, well of course it is: “The final expression of the art of the Nine Houses” is not in fact lyctorhood, a living soldier, but a dead and sentient weapon. Gideon! Every step of her life has brought her deeper and deeper into the logics of the empire. She has been promoted at the cost of her life, two times over. I’m intrigued by the joining, here, of Gideon’s sadness and deadness with a lightness of being, a weightlessness. I am sympathetic and enamoured with Tamsyn Muir for fulfilling Gideon’s own desires for love, parental love in particular, self-knowledge, and revenge and how it isn’t fulfilling, how it’s used to turn her into a very literal tool, yet another sacrifice. (Love, here, is still warped.) The pivot towards a blood-right, a birthright, the idea that somehow Gideon’s blood gives her power and purpose is such a chef’s kiss rendering of some of the unpleasant logics John is using to mobilize Gideon, and the ways those promises are empty, deceitful, and isolating.

On Lyctorhood, Paul, and Kiriona

“I think a true Lyctorhood is a mutual death… A true Grand Lysis, rather than the Petty Lysis of the megatheorem” (291)

“… but the soul longs for the body, Nona. Even a fucked-up soul…. even a soul that’s been changed forever. It takes a lot to acclimate a soul to a body it wasn’t born in, if that original body’s around for it to miss.” (355)

“It’s not love, what you’re about to do. It’s not beautiful and it’s not powerful. It’s a mistake. We didn’t even do it right… we were children—playing with the reflections of stars in a pool of water… thinking it was space.” (420) Possibly one of the most beautiful lines in this whole book.

“So there was another way, Sextus, after all,” [Ianthe-in-Naberius] murmured… “But there are more worlds than this. Come with us. We are the love that is perfected by death—but even death will be no more; death can also die.” (424)

In my liveblogging, I almost completely bypassed Paul, because I don’t know how to talk about them without the aforementioned context. I’m not sure how I feel about Paul! How I feel about a mutual death being an answer, a better if imperfect method of lyctorhood. There’s something very compelling about trying to trace a distinction, if any, between martyrdom and sacrifice and not stopping (Pyrrha, Camilla) and choosing to stop, to let go, and if that choice to stop facilitates a different kind of rebirth or the production of new life. (See earlier liveblogged comments of Camilla-in-happiness and Camilla-in-grief.) Is there something to Camilla’s moment of finally letting go? Of losing herself alongside instead of on behalf of Palamedes and fostering, together, something new. Obviously, I’m cribbing language that encompasses biological reproduction, but this motion is hardly exclusively biological. Tamsyn’s TorDotCom interview frames this as rebirth. I think the Locked Tomb shows us a whole host of ways we can or cannot care for each other, in different generative way, and a real host of parents who try to abort, weaponize, or destroy new life at any terms, all in service of loftier goals. Paul reframes this. It seems, I admit, a little neat, a little vague, but I’ve perked up at the idea of it. (And if/how Paul is sustained?) And the way Paul begins to shift us from consumptive traditional lyctorhood (Ianthe, etc.) or the further weaponization (awful word I know but) of younger generations (Gideon, by way of all her parents). And in a dead kingdom, new life – free, new life, life acted in service to mutual love – is so scarce, the shift is one to keep an eye on. edit: See Tamsyn explicitly calling John’s empire a deliberate, static society focused on a singular purpose! (I know, I’m redundant here!)

Lyctoral Research and Duties This is me simply collecting the quotes of what each lyctor did in terms of research and combat because… I love these terrible war criminals, I suppose.

“It’s a shit version of Mercymorn’s old entropy trap,” said Pyrrha. “Not half as good.” (356) Mercymorn stays winning. I remain obsessed with the that Pyrrha “trepanned Cris, who loved it” Dve and Mercymorn “yelling, screaming, throwing up” Nolastname were apparently very close collaborators

“Anastasia’s tripod principle. Body plus thalergy, but no soul, is basically a very weird vegetable.” (362)

“… would’ve taken Cassiopeia and Cyrus and Ulysses and Cytherea just to keep [Ianthe] in hand…” Notably, all of the lyctors who were not even on the board to begin with, when Ianthe ascended. (362) Obsessed, of course, with Cytherea mentoring Ianthe though.

“We’d need a Lyctor to lead it away…preferably with two other Lyctors to engage it in the River… You want Cyrus, Augustine, Cassiopeia… You want Gideon the First and Gideon the First is dead.” We are inclined to believe Cyrus is the bait and Cyrus and Augustine are the ones engaging in the river, based on speciality.

“You can’t spoof this. Cass and Mercy and I worked on cell thanergy.” Girlpower. Girlbosses. Girls-I-Love. You co-publish that ethically dubious paper, I love you.

#nona the ninth #ntnspoilers #nona spoilers #the locked tomb #alecto the first #m: tlt meta #m: nona liveblogging

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talysalankil · 1 year

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Fabula Nova Crystallis: The Mythology

I was trying to dig this video up to show a friend and it occurred to me that holy shit, it's become almost impossible to find this video that Square Enix only showed once at a conference in January 2011, and we're lacking in a proper English translation for it.

So I'm going to put it here for archival purposes and hope tumblr doesn't take it down, along with a translated transcript. I'll be working off Lissar's and FFWorld's translations of the video, using the canon names for the various entities (yes I know "soul" is technically a mistranslation of 心 heart but it is the canon one so hush).

Since I had extra time on my hands, I also put it up on Vimeo with subtitles on. I can provide the srt file (the syncing isn't super tight but since there's a lot of blank space around each line I decided to leave each subtitle for longer than necessary), if anyone's willing to work on translations, you can DM me.

The full transcript is under the cut:

Fabula Nova Crystallis, the new tale of the crystal

Once upon a time, the god Bhunivelze ruled the world. Bhunivelze defeated his mother, the goddess Mwynn, and took control of the world for himself. Mwynn disappeared into the unseen realm.

Bhunivelze was troubled: the world he now ruled over was destined to die. He believed this was a curse laid on the world by his mother Mwynn. He knew he had to destroy her to lift the curse. To do this, he set out to search for the door to the unseen realm where his mother waited. Using his will alone, he created the first fal’Cie.

First, he created the fal’Cie Pulse. The Focus he gave him was to clear out the world, and search for the door to Mwynn.

Next, he created the fal’Cie Etro. But it was a mistake. Unknowingly, he created her exactly in the image of Mwynn. Bhunivelze feared her, and gave Etro no power of her own.

Instead, he created the fal’Cie Lindzei. The Focus he gave him was to protect Bhunivelze from all who might seek to destroy him. Bhunivelze gave Lindzei one special duty. To wake him once the time came. Then he turned to crystal, and fell into an endless sleep.

Pulse wished to expand the world, so he created many fal’Cie and l’Cie.

Lindzei wished to protect the world, so he created many fal’Cie and l’Cie.

But Etro was powerless, and could make nothing of her own. Lonely, she thought of her mother, who she so resembled. Etro tore her own body apart, letting her blood flow to the earth, and disappeared from the visible world. From that blood, torn from her body, sprang humankind. Creatures that were born only to die.

The destruction of the visible world was no curse, only fate. The world was divided into two halves, the visible and the invisible. If the balance between these two were destroyed, the world itself would be destroyed.

The goddess Mwynn could do nothing to stop this fate. She was being swallowed into the chaos of the unseen realm. Just before her last moment, Etro came to her side. Mwynn told Etro that she must protect the balance of the world, before slipping into the chaos forever. But Etro was ignorant of the meaning behind Mwynn’s words.

Etro was lonely, but she felt affection for those humans who live only to die. As they died, she smiled, and gave them chaos. The chaos Etro gave them, the humans named “souls”. Their hearts would become their power, but the humans did not yet know this.

Soon, they called Pulse the all powerful ruler. Lindzei they named their protector, and Etro they named their goddess of death. The humans lived on the world, hold chaos inside their hearts. Because they held chaos so close, the world once again was in balance.

And Bhunivelze still sleeps in crystal stasis. Until the end of days, awaiting the right time.

#fabula nova crystallis #fabula nova crystallis: final fantasy XIII #final fantasy XIII #final fantasy 13 #final fantasy XIII-2 #final fantasy 13-2 #lightning returns #lightning returns final fantasy xiii #final fantasy type-0 #final fantasy agito #final fantasy versus XIII #final fantasy xv

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prfctparis · 9 months

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I’d Give You My Lungs So You Could Breathe (I’ve Got You, Brother) [CH3]

AO3 Link / One / Prev / Next / Masterlist

summary:

Danny Fenton was adopted at age ten, with little to no memories about his former family. At age fourteen, he died yet lived and those memories began to return. He didn’t do anything about those memories – didn’t plan to, at least not yet – but then he got captured by the GIW, saved by his friends and someone who might be his sister who he only somewhat remembered, and taken to Gotham to, apparently, his biological father for safety until further notice.

Team Phantom was there, too, and they did not sign up for this family drama.

a/n:

“ch3 will be up in a few days,” i said, like a lying liar who lies. i meant to!!! but then i sort of forgot and then got distracted by another fic i’m in the middle of writing mlmao oops. so i won’t promise or say when ch4 will be up, bc this was the last of my already written chapters from ao3 & my update schedule is of the 'when i can and want to' variety. hope u guys on tumblr enjoy this chapter!! :)

warnings for the entire fic:

canon-typical violence of the DC variety; angst; memory loss/repressed memories; do i need to say major character death(s) or is that just a given for this fandom; questionable parenting tho every parent is trying to do good & care for the kids; implied/referenced past child abuse bc of the child assassin backgrounds; pls tell me if i missed something

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: blood; stressed teenagers; athanasia has a borderline panic attack; vivisection is mentioned again but only once if i remember right; implied animal death but in the past & it’s like 1 paragraph

CHAPTER THREE —

The secret, new headquarters of the Ghost Investigation Ward was in upstate New York. The Wayne Manor was in Gotham City, New Jersey. The travel from Point A to Point B was about three hours and forty minutes long – a much longer drive than any of them wanted. But with Manson’s magic, the van stayed invisible to the human eye and Wesley was able to speed down the roads without cops chasing after them, cutting down the travel time immensely.

Still, it was a risk.

But stopping some place before they got to Gotham was also a risk. One Athanasia refused to take.

Maybe if Ra’s al Ghul hadn’t been there, would she allow them to stop at a roadside motel or something. But he was there. He had been in the room where they were operating on Danny. Mother had one of her servants save Danny from death eight years ago to get him out of the League, allowing Grandfather to believe he was dead, but now he knew.

And Athanasia wasn’t going to let that man get anywhere near close to her twin brother again. So, they weren’t going to stop until they made it to Wayne Manor.

The others weren’t happy about it. She didn’t care.

Of course, that didn’t mean she was happy about it, either.

Believe her, she wanted to stop sooner. She wanted to get to a place where they could properly take care of Danny’s injuries, and give him what he needed to heal, and take those damn power repressing cuffs off. All they could do was make sure the bandages on his chest stayed put and kept too much blood from bleeding out, and made sure that he didn’t die on the way to the manor, which was more difficult than Athanasia would like, seeing as though, as Phantom, he didn’t have a heartbeat.

Eventually, they got the cuffs off. It took a while, and it was mostly done by Foley and Gray, because Athanasia was busy bandaging her own wounds with the limited supplies in the van, and Manson was focused on keeping the van invisible while Wesley drove. They succeeded, though. Once both cuffs were off, a ring of light appeared around him and with a flash he had black hair again, and green blood turned red.

His healing factor didn’t kick in.

“What do you mean he isn’t healing?” Wesley asked, worried, when Foley informed them. “He should be.”

“I don’t know,” Foley said, tone unsure and worried.

“But he has a heartbeat now, right?” asked Athanasia. She kept her eyes on her thigh as she bandaged a wound on there. It wasn’t the best, and she didn’t have anything to clean the wound with, but it would have to do for now.

Gray replied, “Yeah. He’s got one.”

“Okay. Good.” It was the only thing she could get herself to say. The possibility of still being too late to save him, even with him now away from the GIW and LoA, put a restrictive weight on her chest. It lessened with Gray’s affirmation, but not much.

They made it to Gotham in just under two hours and fifteen minutes.

Athanasia only got a split second glimpse of the city’s poorly lit up welcome sign with how fast Wesley continued to drive. Truly a speed demon; he didn’t even slow down when they got into the city’s limits.

As they crossed one intersection, a car with goons hanging out of the windows holding guns sped through it behind them, with what looked to be Red Robin and Spoiler on motorcycles on their tail. Three cops sped through right after. Gun shots rang out as they disappeared behind a building.

“Watch out for vigilantes,” she said. “It’s around the time most start coming out.”

Wesley shook his head. “I can’t imagine having more than one vigilante.”

Gray pointedly cleared her throat.

“I can’t imagine having more than two vigilantes.”

She hummed. “Forget about me again and see what happens.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Athanasia laughed quietly to herself. It wasn’t quiet enough, because he still heard and gave her the stink eye. It was hardly intimidating

Foley hissing made her look into the back seats. He was shaking his left hand, expression a grimace of pain, as he hurriedly passed the vial of liquid Athanasia had taken from the IV to Gray. Gray took it just as fast, twisting the lid back on.

“Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” Athanasia asked.

“They were putting that in his system?” The grimace turned into panic when she nodded. “Oh, that’s not good. That is so not good. That has blood blossoms in it.”

“What?!” Gray exclaimed. “That can kill him!”

Athanasia shifted so she sat sideways in the front seat. “What are blood blossoms?” Her eyes flicked to Danny – his chest slowly rose up and down – and then back to Foley.

“They can kill ghosts,” Wesley said gravely.

Foley explained, “They’re a blood red flower, have purple stems – humans can eat them. But for ghosts, they cause extreme pain and make them go powerless. Exposed to enough of it, they die. To people like me and Sam, who aren’t ghosts but have been exposed to ectoplasm for years, it just burns us. Like we touched a hot stove, or something.” He motioned to the vial. “That just felt like bee sting for me, but to Danny? It probably feels like he’s being slowly burned from the inside out.”

“It sounds like they made an oil from blood blossoms and diluted it until it wasn’t so strong,” Gray said.

“Strong enough to render him powerless, but weak enough to not kill him after long exposure,” Athanasia said, and the two of them nodded.

“Sounds like it.”

“That may be why he isn’t healing fast like he should,” Wesley suggested.

Foley cursed again. “This is so not good. We need to get it out of his system, like, yesterday.”

“How do we do that?”

Silence stretched between them.

Athanasia’s brows furrowed, incredulous and frustrated. And scared. “You don’t know?” she demanded.

“It– It’s never been in his bloodstream before!” Foley defended. “He’s only been near the flowers, so we just…moved him away from them. Or them from him. This is… We’ve never dealt with this before!”

“But you should have at least had a contingency plan for this,” she bit back. “Oils from flowers and plants are common!”

“We never thought the GIW would be smart enough for that!”

“Well, you should have!”

“Hey!” Gray shouted over them, “Enough! This isn’t helping Danny. Let’s just get to your dad’s place, yeah?”

Athanasia turned back around without another word. The movement pulled at her injuries, maybe even reopened the wound on her side, but she ignored them as she got out her communicator.

No one spoke for a few seconds.

“The device you are using to block the signals…” she started.

“I already said no,” Foley muttered, tone clipped. “It’s blocking his ecto-signature, too. I’m not risking unblocking it just so you can make a call.”

“You didn’t risk stopping, Ana,” Wesley said before she could respond. “Let us not risk this.”

There was a tightness in her throat that had been building up for the last ten minutes. It kept her from speaking; if she wanted to or even had a response, she couldn’t say it. She worked her jaw, ignoring the stinging in her eyes.

One brother was behind her near death, with a large incision that needed to be stitched. Her other brother was out in the city fighting crime, who knows in what type of danger in the crime capital of America.

She just wanted to know that at least one of them was okay.

It was as they went through another intersection, barely making it through a green light, when she noticed an unmistakable large, black shadow swing from one side of the road to the next.

“Stop the van,” she choked out.

“But–”

“Stop the van!”

Wesley slammed on the breaks. The ones in the back went tumbling, and she heard Manson let out a curse, concentration on the van’s invisibility broken after over two hours.

Athanasia got out of the van as fast as possible. She raced to the other side of the road and climbed skillfully up the fire escape on the side of a building. As she got to the roof, she spotted the figure speaking to another – red and black – in the shadows.

“Batman!”

Both figures turned. She dimly registered that the person Batman had been speaking to was Red Hood.

“Yes? What is it?” Batman questioned as he stepped forward.

Red Hood followed. The way his helmet tilted a little told her he recognized her. “Hey, what are you doing here?”

Athanasia made it halfway across the roof before she faltered. Her father was…an imposing man. If she hadn’t grown up in the place she did, she would probably be fearful of him because of it. Instead it just caught her off guard. Seeing him in person, up close, was…

Well. Unexpected.

She blinked and forced herself to stay on track. To not get distracted. She stopped a few or so feet away, wary to get too close. “We need your help,” she started off with. “My…acquaintances and I – we have someone who needs medical attention that only the Batcave will be able to provide for, and I need you to take us there.”

“The Batcave,” he repeated.

“Yes. A regular hospital is out of the question.” Her eyes flickered around the roof. Something wasn’t right. “I would take him there myself but I do not know where it is.”

What wasn’t right?

“I have no idea who you are. You aren’t authorized to go to the Batcave.”

“You would make an exception for us.”

“You sound sure.”

“Because I am. Just help us help him!”

“Who is ‘him’?”

“B, I don’t think it’s time for an interrogation right now,” Red Hood said.

“My…” Athanasia stilled. She knew what wasn’t right. Her entire body tensed. “Where’s Robin?”

Her father’s posture changed. Right; Batman was protective of Robin.

But as his older sister, so was she.

“Out,” he said. “Listen, you’re injured, and I understand you need help but–”

“What do you mean ‘out’? As in patrolling? Out of town? Country? Earth itself?”

Red Hood took a step towards her. “Whoa, kid, relax. It’s okay–”

“Where Robin is isn’t your business–”

Red Hood muttered a curse.

“Not my business?” she seethed. “Knowing where he is, is most definitely my business. I am not asking for dental records – it’s a simple answer to a simple question.”

“I–”

“My twin brother is dying in the backseat of a van, and my little brother is not by our father’s side like I thought he would be, so please just tell me where he is so I know at least one of them will be okay! I–”

“Hey! Hey,” Red Hood interrupted. “Robin is okay! He’s okay, alright? I promise. He twisted his ankle pretty badly the other night and the old man benched him until it’s healed. That’s all. You can breathe, kid.”

“I am.” Barely. It felt like she had been running for hours. She was out of breath; her intake of air had increased in the past few minutes. Her throat was back to being tight, but so was her chest, this time.

“Yes, you are, but your breathing is too fast,” Red Hood said. “You need to slow down–”

“There is no time to slow down!” she shouted. Her feet moved backwards when Red Hood tried to come closer to her. “I had the GPS taking us to the manor, but it’s worse off than we thought, and I would take him to the Batcave if I knew where it was–”

“How many of you are there?”

Athanasia blinked rapidly. Out of surprise, not because she was about to cry. She snapped her eyes back up to her father. “What?”

“You said you had acquaintances with you. How many?” He was doing something on his gauntlet, a hologram-like screen faintly glowing above it. She tried to make out the words backwards but gave up pretty quickly.

“Six in total,” she said. “Myself included. They do not know your identity.”

He hummed. “Are all of you injured?”

“Except for one, my– our getaway driver. Danny is the worst off.”

“Hard to believe, you’re pretty banged up yourself, kid,” Red Hood muttered, with a small motion to her entire body.

“They vivisected him.” The words hadn’t meant to come out, but they did.

Batman and Red Hood stilled.

The latter sucked in a breath of air. “Jesus.”

“The Batmobile is on its way,” her father tensely informed her. He stalked forward, and she was expecting him to walk passed her so she was thoroughly surprised when he stopped in front of her. He raised a hand and her body tensed for another time that night. She didn’t know what she was else expecting, but it wasn’t a comforting hold on her shoulder; it wasn’t a comforting tone and assurance. “Your brother is okay. Your twin is going to be okay.”

Athanasia stared at the hand on her shoulder. It took a second or two to finally tear her gaze from it, and look at her father’s cowl covered face instead.

“I promise.”

+++

The sound of footsteps gradually becoming louder alerted him that someone was about to disrupt his peace.

“Hey, I’m going to bed.”

Peace officially disrupted.

Damian looked up from his sketchbook long enough to spot Duke Thomas poking his head into the living room, before focusing back on the drawing he was working on. “Okay.”

“And Bruce wanted me to remind you to finish your homework if you haven’t already.”

He sighed. “I have.”

“And Alf says no sweets if you have any snacks.”

“Okay,” he said, annoyance seeping through.

“And they both say not to stay up too late or walk too much on your ankle–”

“Leave me be and rest your empty skull on the warm side of your pillow before I stab this pencil through your jugular.”

Thomas snickered. It occurred to him, then, that the older teen had continued on to annoy him on purpose. It worked. That annoyed Damian even more.

“Alright, alright. I’m leaving,” Thomas said through another chuckle. “Goodnight, Damian!” he called as he walked off.

He huffed. “Goodnight.”

Duke Thomas was Father’s newest addition to his ever growing brood. The older boy wasn’t adopted (at least, not yet), only fostered. His parents were still alive – just victims of Joker Venom. They found a cure, although it wasn’t instantaneous, so Elaine and Doug Thomas were slowly healing and recovering with the help of professionals while their son stayed here.

Damian was sort of surprised he was still here. He had an uncle he could go to, and who he did visit often, but he had chose to stay. Not that Damian wanted him to go – he actually didn’t mind Thomas that much anymore. He liked to think they got along well, even if sometimes the atmosphere was awkward, or when they deliberately annoyed one another.

Recently when the two either merely existed in the same room doing nothing, or ventured into the city out of boredom, Drake tagged along. Or was the one to drive them around. It had been tense at first. It was less so, now. Damian truly didn’t know how to feel about it.

He stopped drawing and stared at the page. He erased a few lines that didn’t look right and grabbed his phone, unlocking it to study the reference picture he was using. Just as he was about to put it down, his phone vibrated with a text.

It was from Drake – in the groupchat he made that included himself, Damian, and Duke. Damian tried to leave it multiple times only for Drake to add him back every single time.

drake

hey

evrrhthing ok at the manor??

thomas

yeah

i’m about to go to bed, damian is sketching in the living room & alfred is in the basement

why

is something wrong?

drake

idk but b is heading back

w jason

neither have have said a word they wont answer

thomas

that’s sus

you guys have only been gone for what?? 45 min at least

drake

yea

barbara cant even get ahold of them

hey little d

bat brat

u sure ur ok

Damian rolled his eyes. Drake was almost as bad as Father and Richard when it came to hovering if he got hurt, the buffoon simply showed it differently. He only twisted his ankle; nothing major.

And if his back had been hurting him the past week, nobody had to know.

…Except for Pennyworth and Richard. They knew of the metal in his spine and the damaged nerves, and so he told them when the sharp aches and pains kept coming back.

Alfred insisted it was just a few nerves growing back.

Damian focused back to the groupchat. Drake had resorted to spamming it because he took too long to respond. Obnoxious plebeian.

He took a picture of his legs covered by the blanket he was using. One knee was propped up to angle his sketch book right, while the other was stretched out as his injured ankle rested on a small pillow. Alfred the cat was fast asleep, curled into a circle, on the arm of the couch, while Titus made himself small enough to lay on the couch beside his outstretched leg. He sent the picture with nothing else. Drake stopped his spamming and liked it while Thomas sent another text asking what Damian was drawing.

With that, he put his phone down – only for it to start vibrating repeatedly. A phone call.

He somewhat expected it to be Drake, but still wasn’t that surprised to see it was Father, instead.

“Father?” Damian answered the call. “Drake said you were heading back. With Todd.”

“Yes.” Father’s voice was rough, but in a distinct way that Damian knew it wasn’t his Batman voice. In the background he heard the rumble of the Batmobile. “We are. And we have some company with us.”

His brows lowered. “Is everything okay?”

Silence.

Damian sat up and tucked his foot under his other leg’s thigh. Titus shifted, getting off of the couch to lay on the floor instead. “Father?” Carefully, he closed his sketchbook and set it on the coffee table.

Thomas decided to walk back in, at that moment. “Hey, I…” He trailed off when he saw that Damian was on the phone. “Is that Bruce?”

“Father, is–”

“Do you have an older sister?”

Damian froze. He even stopped breathing for a second. Did he know? If he did, how? Was it Mother, was she in Gotham? Did she tell Father? Athanasia told him not to tell him or anyone else, and he hadn’t. Why was he asking this? Were they okay?

“Yes,” he said slowly. “Cassandra–”

“I’m not talking about by adoption, son,” Father interrupted. “Biologically, do you have a sister? Or even a brother?”

He involuntarily sucked in sharply. If Father heard it, he didn’t make any indication that he did.

“She would be around Tim’s age, seventeen or eighteen. Five foot eight, ten at most. She mentioned a twin brother.”

Damian kept his eyes on Titus. He ignored Thomas stepping further into the living room to stand near the couch. “I’m not supposed to tell you,” he said. “She said not to.”

“Who? Talia?”

“No.”

“Your sister.” Damian stayed quiet. “Why?”

“I don’t– do not…” How was he supposed to answer that? He had no idea why Athanasia told him not to tell Father, but Damian refused to break the promise he made her. Yes, he wanted to tell Father – all the time, so badly – but it was the last thing Athanasia asked of him. Even the idea of breaking that promise felt wrong. Even now, even though he somehow knew. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, and hated how childlike he sounded.

“…It’s not your fault, chum. We will be at the Cave soon. If– when,” he corrected, “you come down, put on a mask. They have acquaintances who don’t know our secret identities.”

“Yes, sir. Are they okay?”

Father didn’t immediately respond. It sent warning bells through his mind. “We’re about to be at the cave.”

“Wait, Father–”

The call ended.

Damian let out a huff of frustration. He went to call him back, but stopped.

Athanasia was in Gotham. She went to Father for help. Did that mean she called him on the League communicator and he missed it? Did he? It sounded like she needed help, they both did, and he…

Damian vaulted off of the couch. Thomas shouted after him, but he ignored him and the pain in his ankle as ran through the halls and up the stairs to his room. He took the communicator out from its hiding spot under his mattress.

Nothing. No calls or messages. Not a single thing.

Why did she go to Father and not him?

Damian sent a message. It didn’t go through, just like the past hundreds of times. He tried a call, it did the same thing.

“Damian! Don’t run away like that, man, you’re gonna hurt your ankle more,” Thomas reprimanded as he finally caught up. “I’m sorta responsible for you right now, and I don’t feel like getting Alfred’s disappointed look because you’re running around.”

The words went through one ear and out the other.

He cursed in Arabic and tossed the device onto his bed. He snatched an emergency mask from a drawer of his bedside table, and left the room.

“Damian,” shouted Thomas. “Seriously, dude!”

“If you follow me to the Batcave, put on a mask,” Damian said. “We have guests.”

Whatever his foster brother’s response was, Damian didn’t hear it. He rushed down the stairs, simultaneously putting on his mask, and then ran to the study where the clock was. Standing on his toes, he moved the clock’s hands to the correct time and squeezed through before the secret door opened all the way.

As he got to the bottom of the stairs, he slowed. A cacophony of noise grew as he got further into the cave. He stopped on the last step and just stared.

Whatever he had been expecting, it was not a group of injured teenagers talking over each other to his father and the family’s grandfather of a butler. Todd stood a few feet away from the group, back to Damian. He seemed to be merely watching the scene unfold.

“We’ve taken care of him before, we know how to do stitches!” a girl with short black hair shouted. “This isn’t new to–”

“He’s not– you need to let us help,” a black kid argued. “We know what to do for him–”

“I have already seen it!” And there’s Athanasia. “It is not a pretty sight, I know, but I can help–”

“None of you are in shape to help Penny-One,” Batman tried to speak over them.

“I am!” Another girl. She held a red and black helmet in her arms that matched a vigilante-like suit she wore. “Please, just let us–”

“We’re his friends! Please–”

“We– Well, I don’t but they do – they know what to do,” a red headed boy said. “He’s different, you’ll need their–”

A sharp whistle cut through the air, so sudden even Damian flinched. As did Thomas, who appeared at his side the instant it happened.

Everyone quieted immediately, eyes falling to Jason Todd. The helmet was off, but a red domino still covered his eyes.

“Everyone shut up or else it will be too late for anyone to help anybody,” the young man snapped, “Let Penny-One do what he does on a regular basis. I promise, he knows what he is doing, and has seen his fair share of bad injuries between the eerily large brood he cares for. Even if he did need help, it would not be from any of you. Like Batman said, none of you are the right shape to help – either from exhaustion or injuries or both, each one of you looks like shit. So sit your asses down, let the professional do his job, and take a breather.”

No one said a word. No one moved.

“Thank you, Red Hood,” Pennyworth said. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have a patient to care for.” He ducked behind a curtain he and Father were guarding. Damian wasn’t able to get a glimpse of the person behind it.

In the back of his mind, he knew who it was. It didn’t dissuade his worry.

Father stared down the teenagers.

The girl with short black hair and gothic clothes glared harshly back at him. Angry, she spun around with a scoff and stomped over to a chair, a palm on her forehead the entire way.

“Sam,” the black boy called after her and followed. They quietly began talking to each other.

The girl in the red and black suit and the redhead boy glanced at each other. The former shrugged helplessly, and the latter frowned in response, looking away.

Damian finally looked – truly looked – at Athanasia. Todd was right: she looked like shit; they all did. But his big sister had the most blood on her, and a green substance on her hands and right side that had a too close resemblance to Lazarus Pit water. She had numerous injuries that were bandaged hastily, but not enough for all of the blood to be hers. It looked as if she tried to scratch some of it off on the few areas of exposed skin, only for it to not work. Her black hair was in a ponytail that had once been neat; now, curly strands were loose and framing her face, and the ponytail itself was unkempt.

The others didn’t look that much better. Except for the redhead. He just looked stressed and exhausted and worried.

Damian shifted a foot forward, then back to its original spot.

He didn’t know what to do. Say her name? Simply walk up? Run back upstairs? He didn’t want to make a scene, but he also wanted to go up to his sister.

He spotted Ace laying down near the bat-computer. Silently, decision abruptly made, he moved in that direction.

Thomas cleared his throat. “Um… B?”

Damian stopped, freezing behind Todd. He looked over to Thomas and glared. The older teen didn’t acknowledge him other than a split second glance.

“D– Signal? What are you doing down here?”

Todd shifted. Damian moved with him. He turned his head slowly and sent Damian a suspicious side eye.

“Oh, uh… Red Robin contacted us – said you were coming back here. I just want to make sure you don’t need any help,” said Thomas.

Todd reached behind him with the hand that wasn’t holding his helmet, and aimed for Damian. He pinched Todd’s wrist when it got close enough, making him hiss in pain.

“We might– Hood?”

Todd shook his hand. “Sorry. Bug bit me.”

Father continued speaking with Thomas, who walked further into the Cave.

“Brat,” Todd hissed under his breath.

Damian didn’t deign him a response. Once it was clear everyone else was distracted, he continued his way to the bat-computer in the shadows. When he got there, he crawled underneath the desk. Ace moved to lay his head in Damian’s lap.

His hiding spot didn’t stay hidden for long, though.

Someone silently walked over. Then, they crouched down and slotted their body next to his under the desk.

“Did Todd tell you where I am?” he asked. It came out more petulant than he intended.

“No. I saw you when you first came down.”

“Tt.” Damian muttered, “…You smell vile.”

Athanasia hummed. “And you are still short.”

There was a shakiness to her voice he didn’t like. It kept him from automatically responding with another insult.

He turned his head to look at her again.

Her eyes were staring at nothing in particular. Her breathing was a bit too fast for comfort, sort of choppy too. Tension lined her entire body.

“Stretch out your legs,” he said quietly.

She eyed him in question. He motioned for her to hurry up. Hesitant, she eventually did it. Then, he wasted no time in ordering Ace to lay on her legs.

Athanasia sucked in sharply. Her hands lifted to her chest. “Dames–”

“You won’t hurt him,” he interrupted. “He won’t hurt you.”

He was aware of why she was so hesitant – almost afraid, even. She tried to hide it from him, but League trainers had forced her to slaughter animals. Those same trainers did that to him a couple times, too, after she left. Apparently it was to make them stronger and better assassins. Less prone to weaknesses.

He wondered if Dányál had to go through that. If Mother knew.

Damian didn’t think she did, but…

Athanasia kept her hands to her chest.

“So, you found him?” Damian asked. He kept his voice low, and scooted closer to her.

She nodded. “Yes. He is… He will be okay,” she said, keeping her voice low like he did. “I apologize for taking so long.”

Damian didn’t know how to respond to that. It made a flicker of anger from in his chest. She was sorry for being gone for so long, but not for leaving?

“…He isn’t a clone?” was his next question.

“No.” Her arm lifted, and for once he let her pull him into her side in a hug. He wasn’t big on touch, and Athanasia wasn’t either, but she was definitely more tactile than he was in some ways. From what he remembered, she and Dányál had hugged a lot.

“Are you positive?” His mind flashed to Heretic. He held back a wince, twisting until his back was into her side and her arm wrapped around his chest. He had to bend his knees so he could fit all the way under the desk.

“Yes.”

“You made sure of it?”

Athanasia stayed quiet for a moment. He felt her eyes on the top of his head. “I did,” she said. “Penny-One is aiding our brother. Not a clone, or a shapeshifter, or anyone else. Dányál.” She paused. “I intended on going to the manor instead. Then, I saw our father, and demanded he take us here.”

“Why the manor?”

“I did not know where the cave was.”

Damian stared at his knees.

There was no way.

Did he hear that right? It was jarring. He grew up thinking his big sister knew everything.

How did she not know this?

“Athanasia,” he whispered.

“What?”

“The Batcave is below the manor,” he told her in Arabic.

For seven seconds (yes, he counted) Athanasia didn’t say anything. Then, “It is what?!” she hissed in a harsh whisper.

Damian felt a laugh coming up, and did his best to keep it quiet. His shoulders still shook. “You didn’t know?”

“No,” she muttered. “Thank you making me feel stupid.”

“My pleasure. I will be sure to do it again.”

She huffed a small, wet laugh. “Brat.” Her arm wrapped around the front of his chest more, and her hand gripped his shoulder. A second later, he felt her place a kiss on the crown of his head.

Damian couldn’t help but grip her arm back. One hand on her forearm, the other on her bicep. He pressed his knees closer to his body.

“I missed you,” he whispered through the lump in his throat.

She sniffled, and whispered back into his hair, “I missed you, too.”

A blanket of silence fell over them. Damian heard Father speaking to the others, his voice overlapping with Thomas’ and one of Athanasia’s acquaintances. Footsteps softly echoed as they all moved about near the medbay. They should probably go over there soon.

Damian didn’t want to. For the first time in four years it was just him and his big sister, hiding under a desk that was reminiscent of them hiding in an alcove back in the League just to spend time together. It hardly felt real. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was scared this was just some sort of dream.

“Can we stay here for a little bit longer?”

Her arm tightened around him again. “Absolutely.”

+++

It took a good while for someone to come look for them, which surprised Damian, but he was relieved and thankful no one came sooner. He wasn’t about to complain about the silent one-on-one time squished underneath the desk, uncomfortable as it was.

It also gave them time to stop any tears they let loose.

He eventually moved out from under her arm, and sat beside her. It took a bit of time. Damian wanted to say it was because he was done with the physical touch, that he let go. The truth of the matter was that he had to force himself to, to mentally talk himself into doing it. It was irrational, but he was scared that the moment he let go she would leave him again.

That didn’t happen. She didn’t get up and leave, or disappear, or anything of the sort. She stayed right beside him.

As he scratched Ace behind the ears, Athanasia merely watched. She kept her hands away from the dog. When he moved to lay down across both of their laps, she stiffened until he stilled, arms crossed over her stomach.

That was how they were found.

The large boots and bottom of a black cape were unmistakable.

Father crouched down, the half of his face that wasn’t covered by the cowl betraying nothing. It made Damian want to squirm. Was he mad? That he kept Athanasia and Dányál a secret?

“You two weren’t easy to find,” he said. He sounded more like Bruce Wayne than Batman. It was comforting, in a way. “Your friends got worried when they didn’t see you around.”

“Acquaintances,” she corrected. “And I am fine, I have no idea why they would worry.”

Damian gave her an incredulous look. “You’re covered in blood.”

“A lot of it does not belong to me.”

“Mostly yours or not, your injuries still need to be taken care of,” Father said. “The Wes kid said you weren’t able to clean them properly.”

Athanasia’s face did something quick and complicated that Damian couldn’t decipher. Her mouth settled into an annoyed frown before he could really question it. “Of course he did,” she muttered.

“And you, chum, need to get off the ground and prop your ankle up,” Father said. The man, with gentle hands, inspected the aforementioned ankle. “With ice. The swelling is worse again. Did you run on it?”

He didn’t want to lie. He didn’t want to admit he ran, either.

“…Maybe.”

“Hn.” Father stood. The joints of his knees popping and a quiet groan didn’t go unnoticed. “Come on out. Let’s get you both some medical attention. Ace, get up, boy. Up.”

The German Shepherd did as told.

“I didn’t do anything to it,” Damian grumbled as he scooted out and pulled himself to his feet with the help of Father’s hand. Putting weight on his ankle definitely hurt worse than it had before, though…

“It won’t hurt to check.”

Athanasia came out from under the desk next. As she stood, also with the help of Father, he noticed she seemed to be in more pain than when he first entered the cave. That made sense; the adrenaline had to have worn off by now, allowing the pain finally register.

Once she was steady on her feet, she stepped a little away from Father. “Thank you,” she said. “For bringing us here.”

“Of course,” Father said. “If you need to stay here, you can. I will even open up the manor to you and your fr– acquaintances. Whatever aids you the best and keeps you safe from whatever you’re running from.”

She nodded once. Her eyes, glassy with tears, blinked rapidly, and she turned to head to the empty medical cots.

Damian watched her, exhausted and hurting, then looked to the curtain hiding away Pennyworth and Dányál.

He tore his eyes away and hurried to follow.

#dc x dp fanfiction #dc x dp fic #dc x dp au #dc x dp crossover #dc x dp #dp x dc au #dp x dc fic #dpxdc #dp x dc #dcxdp #dp x dc fanfic #dp x dc crossover #dc #danny #danny phantom #batpham #stay with me my blood #my writing

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sleeplessdreamer123 · 1 year

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Fanfic Idea! (Lucemond, Inspired by the hunchback of Notre Dame and Repunzel)

Lucerys has always lived in the attic. He doesn't remember a time where he wakes up not greeted by the familiar four walls, and a window too tall for him to look through, partly because it was placed at the highest part of the wall, and partly because Lucerys' legs are of no use to support him standing, his ankles broken beyond repair. The septons (that's what they call themselves) come every morning to give him water for a bath, food, and lessons.

It was one of the only exciting part of his day, to learn new things. The other exciting part of the day would be him alone, allowed to read the books that decorated his shelves, or allowed to continue his carvings or paintings around the walls, his little creations of what he believes the world looks like, hoping that Aemond, his qybor, would visit. He doesn't quite know what qybor means, a dialect long forgotten, but Aemond loves it when he uses that to address him, so he does. Years ago, he would come every day and stayed with him until no light enters his room from the little window, now he visits once in a blue moon, and stayed for only a few minutes before his duty calls, leaving Lucerys alone again.

It wasn't all bad. Even if he doesn't visit as much, he at least gifts him presents, books, paint for his carvings or the walls of his room, new tools to make it easier, once he was given a green dress, although he doesn't quite understand why the septons beseeched him to not to wear anything of that color.

He was never allowed to leave the attic. He was told he was at the top of the citadel, where people worship the Faith of the Seven every day. He was also told that he can't leave at all, for he is a descendant of Old Valyrians, horrible creatures wearing human skin, known to cast curses and see the future, using sorcery and magic not at all approved by the Faith. He had eyes of purple, though his hair is brown. If anyone were to see him, to know he lived there, then the septons would be forced to cast him out, and since he was a cripple, it meant that he would no doubt end up dead in the streets, either by starvation or by being killed by those of Old Valyria for being half Andal.

It didn't make sense, before. He asked his qybor, Aemond, more about his ancestry, the Old Valyrians, and it seems to have upset him, for his face turned dark, calling them a plague that ought to die, beings who ignore the Faith's calls, instead they act like gods themselves. It scared Lucerys, hearing his qybor calling for the destruction of his people, despite not knowing much about them. Qybor must have noticed his fear, for he softened his voice, and said that Lucerys was different, untouched by the black magic they have, a pure being, his hair was proof that he would be different.

He even sat him down to tell him a tale of a young pious woman forced to marry the current leader of the Old Valyrians to keep the peace between those people and the people of the Seven. It resulted in four children. Unfortunately, the first two were touched by the savagery of the Old Valyrians, for the first one, a boy, quickly embraced being a drunk and a whore, hot blood in his veins left unchecked. The other one, a girl, though sweet and innocent, has been plagued by dreams and visions of the future, changing her to an odd woman. It was the last two that were different, untouched by the savagery in all but looks, they instead held onto their mother's faith, and when they got older, they rescued her from the clutches of the Old Valyrian leader.

Aemond revealed that he was one of those two, that he, despite his pure Old Valyrian looks, followed the true religion of his mother, saving her from his savage father and his family, and ultimately destroying them for the sake of the Faith. He said it was for the best, they were beasts pretending to be human, and they were dangerous, even to their own kin.

He hunts them, the septons told him once. Hunts any person connected to Old Valyria. Force them to either accept the Faith of the Seven and denounce their old ways, or perish. A real soldier of the Faith, he was.

Lucerys thought it was the right thing to do at first, after all, the septons of the Faith were wonderful people that took him in when he was abandoned at their doorstep, for being a crippled, they said. Why they wouldn't wish to follow the Faith was beyond him. Are their savage ways more important that their souls, their saving grace? He shakes his head.

He chooses to carve today. He received a new book, with illustrations, this time, and he wished to add them to his miniature town. He was careful, carving up the delicate neck, when he heard his door opening. He turned, expecting his meal and a septon who would pray with him. Instead it was Aemond, holding his tray.

He greeted him joyfully, carefully cleaning up his table so Aemond might place the food on a clean surface. Lucerys gestured him to eat with him, and to his surprise, Aemond does, sitting on the spare chair he had.

They ate together for the first time in years, Lucerys happily asking about the world he could never be a part of, and Aemond answering all his questions calmly, allowing Lucerys to exhaust himself.

Lucerys was greatly upset when it was time for Aemond to leave. To his surprise, Aemond told him he would be visiting more often now, and would actually be taking over some of his lessons, adding newer ones now that he is old enough to learn them. Lucerys is quite curious about these new lessons, and he was even more pleased to find out Aemond would teach him.

Before he left, Aemond helped him in his nightly bath, wiping his wet body before helping him dress up. It was a bit strange for Lucerys, only ever used to septons, but it was Aemond, and he was a friend, so it must just be nerves. He lifted him up and carried him to his bed, and kissed his forehead goodnight, shocking Lucerys. He never did that in a while, so why now? He doesn't question it out loud, though.

Althroughout the visit, Lucerys never once questioned Aemond about the blood on his clothing. It was normal, he supposed.

---------

Or, where Aemond is a bit of a zealot who hates his Targaryen looks and instead adores Lucerys' bastard brown hair.

#lucemond #aemond x lucerys #lucerys velaryon #aemond targaryen #lucerys x aemond #aemond one eye #lucerys stays in the attic #no one else knows besides selected septons #and aemond of course

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twistedtangledfate · 12 days

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@wastheheart

Nora has stayed away from the South for quite some time, decades. It had been a combination of fear of the memories that the places would evoke and a general reluctance after what had happened in the vampire wars. Wherever the Volturi went, Nora avoided. She respected their authority over vampires the world over but that didn't mean she liked them. She would rather die than be anywhere near them. Carlisle had warned her once to be careful around them and had advised to limit contact and she trusted his opinion, especially because he had been among them for a time.

It was Carlisle actually who had broken Nora's unofficial rule. She had heard that he had gone to New Orleans and the fondness in her had risen, the desire to be among others of her own kind again. Carlisle was no longer on his own from what she had heard and Nora was happy for him. When she reached Louisiana, she deliberately avoided the road to Baton Rouge, and drifted towards Jackson Square. The city was teeming with life and tourists due to the increase in the new motorised vehicles that had greatly increased people's ability to travel. Carriages were falling out of fashion and Nora could see a future where there would be no more of them.

She chose to take a seat in the square, relaxing back on the bench, breathing in the scents and sounds, a faint smile on her lips at the glowing, flowing colours that were surrounding her. There were a few glances in her direction which was natural considering what the vampire venom had done to her across the centuries. They did not linger though and no humans approached her.

Nora didn't know how long she had been sitting there before she spotted them. She shifted forward on the bench, her head jutting forward as her gaze sought out the vampire among the humans. Beautiful. She was beautiful but of course she was. Her movements were different than the vampires she usually encountered and Nora rose to her feet, slipping in and out of the crowds of people, following the vampire woman. It didn't take her long to reach the other vampire and Nora slipped past and approached from the front. She smiled a touch broader than usual when she noticed the vampire had golden eyes, just like hers.

"Bonjour, pouvons-nous parler?" She asked, her accent thickening as it did whenever she spoke her mother tongue. It must have been something about being in this city whose blood stretched back to France that had influenced her.

"I do not mean to startle you." She continued in English this time. She didn't even know if this vampire knew French.

#wastheheart #dreams like stars in her eyes (nora)

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azol-otl · 1 year

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Random Jason Hijinks I either wish would happen someday or find amusing to think about.

Rose and Jason break Eddie out of hell and steal his soul back from Neron. Jaime is dragged along by Rose because he and Eddie were “friends a few reboots ago”. Jason asked Roy who sent him Connor who is suffering™.

Pre-Red Hood Jason and Pre-Green Arrow Connor first meet up back when Jason was part of the All-Caste hunting a demon. It’s a one-shot adventure and the things you have to know are:

a) this is before Jason’s growth spurt so he’s over a head shorter than Connor.

b) Connor isn’t a cape so excuse him for not understanding demons and fucking up hilariously a few times.

c) When Jason tries to kill the demon who is possessing the human, he and Connor fight about it. The fight ends when the demon explodes out of the person like the Pus of Man from Dark Souls 3.

d) Talia is the one who finds and picks up Jason from the adventure (Connor thinks she’s his mom and Jason just didn’t inherit the melanin) and is also the one who gives Connor contact information for Jason because she wants him to have some sort of friend.

e) They never actually learned the other’s name so anytime they’d hear about Red Hood or Green Arrow they literally don’t know it’s that guy they met as teenagers.

Jason decides to actually dust off his mystic training when Dick walks in and Jason gets hit with so many bad vibes he’s genuinely worried something is wrong with Dick.

Jason: “Did they not fix the Brother Blood mind control thing fully? Did Raven miss something? Isn’t Dick friends with a million people? How have they all missed this????”

It ends with bringing Danny Chase back to life and the only person remotely happy about it is Jason and even that’s a stretch.

Rose, why are you part of the Wild Hunt?!!!

What do you mean Biz got taken by the fae?!

Roy, why is this werewolf saying he’s your husband?!

Eddie, why didn’t you tell me you were a prince of hell? What do you mean that one of Trigon’s sons is buried in Gotham?!!! No wait, you still haven’t told me how you’re a prince of hell!

Jason and Talia's road trip where Jason comes to the uncomfortable realization that he views Talia as a mother/aunt figure.

Bonus Artemis suffering Jason’s Mom Has it Going On.

Jason gets a new dog named Ellie and he loves her and Dog very much. What do you mean she’s a Blue Lantern!?

Ellie is short for Elpis and she’s absolutely Hope Corgi.

Roy finds out that he has a whole-ass checking account under one of his aliases that he never knew about. Turns out Jason created it for him years ago and Roy’s actually under W.E. employed as an independent contractor and he’s been making 6 figures for years because Jason never bothered telling anyone that he still owns Wayne R&D.

Jason slowly but surely claims Park Row and the surrounding areas as his territory. It has the unforeseen consequence of magical folk moving into the neighborhood because Gotham is a nightmare to live in normally, Magic Gotham is even worse and the only people who can survive are big hitters like Blood, Zatanna, and Ivy or small fries like the kitchen witch near Leslie’s. Welcome to the big leagues, Jason.

Jason keeps getting mistaken for Jason Blood and it is annoying. One day some demon hunters threw something at Jason and did anyone know Jason used to be in heaven because he sure didn’t and these angel wings are a fucking nightmare.

Rose busts a gut laughing because she somehow became friends with the least demon-y demon Eddie and Jason as an angel.

Jason, Ivy, Sideways, and Impulse (Impulse voice: “Why am I even here?”) vs the Madness Wavelength in Arkham.

Jason kills Joker and finds out that he cannot. Not as in “He doesn’t die” or “There will be a new one” but a secret third option, “The universe literally resets the day every time he’s killed.” Instead of being a tragedy, it becomes a comedy as killing Joker slowly becomes Jason’s go-to when shit goes wrong/killing him is good stress relief. Stephanie discovers what happens because she’s had to write the same essay nine times once. Instead of being horrified they (and then Helena, Tim, Duke, etc.) make killing Joker a gag. The only ones not allowed to kill the Joker are Dick and Bruce because then the universe decides it’s the bad timeline instead of just resetting again.

Tim: *drops his latte on a hot guy and then embarrasses himself in public trying to apologize and becomes a meme.*

Tim: I guess I have to kill Joker now.

Jason and Kory remeeting and wow it’s really awkward that we only got close because of a universe meddler and then you dipped and never contacted me again even though I was a hundred percent serious that you were one of my first friends and are very important to me.

Oh no. Not the talking. Not communication! Kory take mercy on me and just drop me like a bad memory don’t have us open a dialogue where we reconcile all of the bullshit that happened to us and the fact that we did genuinely get close at very low points in our lives and be willing to try and be friends again!

Give! Kory! All! The! Friends! She doesn’t care if you think it’s a bad idea, it's her life!

Gotham Vigilante Tabletop Club (GVTC) featuring Jason, Tim, Stephanie, Duke, Helena, and Harper. They each get a turn as dm and every one of them brings in a different game.

Why is Damian’s friend (Colin) asking me for love advice? I’m a gay disaster ask anyone else please. ??? I guess I can try to help??? Who’s your crush?

It’s Lian and Jason regrets agreeing to help because Roy is going to murder him.

Countdown 2 Electric Boogaloo. Except for this time they were all shoved into the dimension separately and by separate events and there is no danger. It is just a multiversal road trip with the people who vexed you greatly but are slightly grown up now.

Bonus scene includes Jason’s gleeful face when he realizes he understands what all of those words Donna keeps muttering under her breath mean because Artemis was a bro and taught him Themysciran Greek.

#I didn't mean for all of them to sound like comedies but sometimes that just happens #People may hate on the all-caste for not being Jason enough or whatever #But have we ever stopped to think that Damian is related to an immortal cult and Duke is the son of an eldritch being #And Dick is related to an unrelated cult and just all the weird shit that happens in Gotham anyways?#Why can all these exist and Jason not also have mystic monk training he never uses #Listen I don't know much about Gotham's magic population but I'm pretty sure the place is awful to live in with the nine different curses #So having a dude that's basically a mage-killer claim a territory can only be a good thing for their safety #Plus I'm positive that magic folk would keep property values low because who would go looking for magic users in Park Row #Everyone was written terribly for rhato but Jason and Kory had the potential to be a really interesting relationship #Just this lack of judgement and ability to not have to shave down all of your sharp edges for one another #also I do really like the idea of them trying romance or sex and then deciding that they need friends more and then staying friends #Gotham Vigilante Tabletop Club my beloved #Look Duke and Tim canonically play tabletop games and if dc would finally acknowledge that Stephanie and Jason are nerds they would too #I miss Colin and the idea of him and Jason being disaster siblings or disaster guardian-child is important to me #I don't know if it's canon but considering linguistic drift Themyscira should either have its own language or dialect #and Donna should use it to say mean things under her breath #Jason Todd #I am not tagging anyone else their tags deserve to be Bat-Free #oh boy do I love how I can't make indents in even in html. Sorry for the eyesore whoever reads this mess

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undercoverpan · 11 months

Text

Jake sat in his empty marui. Neteyam had been brought to the tsahik earlier, with his family joining him. They were all there while he was checked over, and they were all there when said that he saw Spider again.

He remembers Neytiri's eyes growing wide in shock, then narrowing–, lips tugged downwards. She swallowed hard and grabbed Neteyams hand, staying silent. Jake found himself leaving, needing to reflect on his own. That brings him to the marui, sitting on the floor, legs crossed. Thoughts stewed in his brain, like grey clouds rolling in before a storm.

His son has seen Spider twice. The first, with his body riddled with holes, blood oozing like a red river. Injured, broken, bleeding, eyes cold and empty, hair matted and limp. Then beneath an ocean, so far deep that the light could not reach him. His touch like seafoam, his voice ringing out like a Pandoran siren, luring him to the depths. These couldn't be coincidences, no. Neteyam has no issues, none that would cause hallucinations to that extent. But the only other option was awful. Worse. God, Eywa, whoever could hear him, take mercy, take pity. He didn't know how to help if it was the other option.

"Jake Suli?" A voice asked. He recognized Tonowari's voice behind him. He turned to him, hating the concerned look in his eyes. "Our mates are calling for you. Come." And he got up and followed him. The walk back to the tshakis hut was quiet. The sun was going down, the moons now approaching. His tanhi glowed as the stars awoke, illuminating as they made their way back.

He is greeted by his family and Tonowari's. They are standing around Neteyam, who remains stoically silent, eyes glued to the floor. They turned to him, Neytiri quickly walking over and grabbing his hand. "Ma Jake." She said softly as she pushed her face into his chest. Gently, he placed his hand behind her head, pressing his lips to her forehead. "Ma Neytiri, what's wrong?" He asked.

Ronal looked at him. "Jake Suli," she said, "Your son is sick. I do not know how to cure him." She swallowed, eyes hard. The way her hands shook, the way Tonowari walked over to hold her hands and whisper reassurances in her ear, tells him that those are the hardest words she's had to say. She is the tsahik, he can't imagine how difficult it is to be faced with something you cannot heal.

"You are tsahik," his mate said hoarsely, "How can you not heal him?" She begged. The pain and desperation of a mother trying to help her child was like smog in the air, choking anyone who breathed too deeply. Neteyam himself refused to look at anyone. His gaze was steely, stubborn for someone who almost drowned.

"This sickness is not of Eywa," he said, all eyes snapping to Jake as he spoke. "It comes from humans. I–, I never thought it would come here." He locked eyes with Neytiri as she pulled him closer.

"What do you mean? What did they do?" She asked desperately.

He took her hands into his, like the feeling of skin on skin could ease her. "Spider is dead," he winced at the hiss that Kiri lets out, and the thrashing of Lo'aks tail against the ground, "But his spirit is still here." He speaks as clearly as he can, the only one in the room that currently understands what it means when someone's spirit remains after they die. "He's--he's hurting so much that he can't move on on his own."

The words were heavy on his tongue, with the weight of guilt and the sting of regret. It was the truth, it had to be. There were no other explanations, Spider was dead. He died, and yet, his spirit remained.

"Eywa has rejected him, then." Neytiri spoke as though it was obvious, like she always knew this would happen. "He is a demon, after all, what did he expect?" She was startled by the hiss that Neteyam let out, low and threatening. "Do not say that." He said harshly, only now looking his mother in the eye. His gaze was defiant, strong, as he switched between his mother and father. "Do not speak of him like that."

Silence fell over the room. No one said a word, as if to speak was to challenge the open hostility in the air. Never, in their entire lives, had Neteyam spoken like that. Not to Aonung, not to Lo'ak, and certainly not to his mother. Neytiri was speechless for a moment, as was Jake. He didn't know if his words were directed at Neytiri or him.

"Neteyam–," She hissed, eyes wide with disbelief before narrowing, "You will not speak to me like that." She sounded hurt, like she couldn't believe her eldest would show such defiance in the case of the demon boy that'd disappeared. She never thought for a second that he died. He was a child, with his father, with his people. With a disappointed sense of dread, she realised that of course the demons do not care for their young. Of course. She was–, she should've, she can still remember the look on his face–,

She wrapped her arms around herself, as if to steady herself. Later, she promised, she'd be guilty and remorseful later. Her son needed to be helped first.

"How do we fix this?" She asked, her voice hard. Jake lifted his golden eyes to meet hers, a deep sadness in them, like the sun reflecting on the ocean. "I don't know if we can–," his voice broke off, he gritted his teeth. "It had a lot of names, on earth, but they usually called it a, um," his gaze flickered, "a haunting. It's when a person's spirit can't pass on, so they stay behind. But the longer they stay, the more they lose themselves, the harder it gets to move on."

He explained it carefully, turning his attention to his son. The boy was looking at him with such wide and intense eyes, it sent a shiver down his spine.

"They always said that you need to remind them of who they were, to help them move on. I'm–--I'm not sure on how to do that." He hated how unsure he was. Whenever a situation calls for someone who's not a soldier, he's practically useless.

"Okay." Said Ronal, taking charge of the room. "We must all rest. Tomorrow, we plan on how to heal this…..'haunting'". She spoke with a level of calm and steadiness that Jake envied. Able to guide and command even in situations where you are surrounded by unknowns. Neteyam stayed in the healing marui, something about his throat stinging.

–----

Night had fallen, and Neteyam was still awake. The air carried a salty breeze, one that cut deeper into his skin than the forest did. One has grown accustomed to, he assures you. But tonight the air was cold and sharp, and tasted of guilt.

This cold was unusual. It was more of a presence than a lack of warmth. Like he could reach out and grasp it between his fingers and feel something other than air.

He breathed in deeply. The scent of charred meat entered his nose all too easily.

He could smell him through the smoke. Could smell the smell of trees and dirt coming from him, tempting him, luring him. Like he was a starving man, smelling a cooked teylu. He could almost feel the others' hair poking at him, like tiny needles digging into his skin. With a shaking hand, he reached out to the cold beside him….

And felt skin. Peeling, blistering skin, like paper beneath his fingers. He traced around where he knew the blue stripes were painted, imagining the sight behind his eyes. His skin is hot, so very hot. It reminded him of when they were young, and Spider got sick. He wasn't allowed to see him, but he disobeyed in secret. Rushing to the humans' home, he snuck in. He still remembers the fear he felt when he found spider trembling beneath his covers. So weak, so unusual, so frightening. He sat with him, silently watching over him. No words were spoken between the two, but Neteyam recalled that the silence was filled with…love?

He had looked at the boy then, with the burning need to hold him. He wanted to reach out and graze his skin, to feel his flesh beneath his fingers. To know he was not dying; that he was still here. But he could not. He remembers Norm saying something about making sure not to expose him to any Na'vi or humans, something about possibly worsening his sickness. So he stared and ached, desperate.

Funny how times change, hm?

Without care, shamelessly; he pulled the body to him. Wrapping his arms around the small figure, he noted the similarities and differences. Human skin pressed beneath his hands so easily, giving way with the smallest hint of force. Small hands, with calluses of bow and spear, placing themselves on his chest. A head, almost as small as Tuks', leaning into his shoulder. He could feel the other folding his legs, could hear the crackling and popping of bones like a hearth.

"Hey 'Teyam."

His voice was different from the singing he heard moments before. Hoarse, dry, like he'd been screaming and crying—,

He refused to let his thoughts wander.

"What're you doing in here?" As the other boy spoke, he couldn't help but notice that something was missing. Usually he could feel his breath tickling his ear, but he felt nothing. Swallowing, he answered. "I'm okay, just…had an accident while swimming." He said, not mentioning what it was. He could feel the others fingers thrumming against his chest. "Accident? Not the word I'd use." He mused quietly.

"I'd call that 'you being a stubborn skxawng.'"

He huffed. "Says the stubborn skxawng." He retorted playfully, tail gently pacing back and forth. The other laughed, a sound gentler than a floating atokirina, more wonderful than music, lighter than air. It made his chest feel less tightly wound than before.

"I learned from the best!" He said. Neteyam found it to be both true and untrue. If he was stubborn, he'd have insisted on a rescue mission. He'd have gone on his own. He'd have torn down the walls of the human stronghold with his own 2 hands. But he was skxawng, and he listened to his father. But he still got to cradle his human.

"Hey, Neteyam?" He asked, putting his hand beneath his chin. He felt no fingernails. He shifted so that his head was laid right in front of the other. "Are you tired? Sleepy?" He asked, playfully. "C'mon, open your eyes!" He could feel the other grinning.

He kept his eyes closed. "I'm sorry, Ma Spider, but I can't." He spoke quietly, his voice carried by the ocean wind. "Why not?" He challenged, "Look at me, please."

Hands grasped at his jaw, fingers slightly digging into his skin. "I can't open my eyes, Spider." He responded. The fingers dug deeper. "Why not? Open your eyes, look at me." Spider insisted. He closed his eyes tighter as the other flipped them over, face hanging inches above him. "You can't refuse the truth forever, Neteyam." He sounded different. He could hear the crackling of flames as he spoke, voices layered over him like a twisted sort of echo.

Burning hands caressed his face, a flaming hot temple pushed against him.

"You have to see to believe," he said hoarsely, "You have to see what they did." His touch felt like flames licking at his face, like it was practically searing his flesh. He bit his tongue trying to hold back a pained cry.

"No…" Neteyam whispered, feeling a lone tear run down his face. "Please, no…"

The burning died down, leaving nothing but a soothing warmth. He felt tears dropping down onto his face, warm and wet and real, like raindrops. Spider broke down above him, his legs giving way so that he crashed down on top of him. He could feel his entire body shake and shudder with every heart wrenching sob. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.." he said in between sobs, like a mantra.

He stayed silent as he, again, wrapped his arms around the other, trying to hold together the broken pieces. "It's okay, I don't mind." He says, eyes closed, trying to imagine a heartbeat beneath his fingers as he brushes against Spiders back. "No it's not! I don't understand!" He wailed, "Why am I so angry?! Why do I wanna hurt you?!"

He demanded, but not from him.

He can't hold Spider any closer to him than he already is, and it's times like this where he wants to march to the Tree of Voices and ask–, demand as to why Eywa did not let Spider form tsaheylu like all her other children? Why could he not take all the pain from him, even for just a moment? Why could he not become one, whole, for just a moment? Just one would be enough, would span throughout all eternity and last him his lifetime.

But he settled for whispering gentle reassurances against his skin, whispering his name like a desperate prayer, swallowed up by the salty breeze like a tasty morsel. And slowly, with eyes that never opened, he drifts to sleep. More tears roll down his face as he grips onto the other tightly. This is not the first time he's held him, but it is the first time he's felt secure enough to fall asleep with Spider in his arms.

So he sleeps, with warm flesh beneath his fingers. He doesn't open his eyes, because he doesn't need to see. He just needs to know he's there right now, with him.

Ghost Spider prt 3

Neteyam is metaphorically and physically refusing to See fellas, what shall we do

Also ghost lore!!! This makes me wanna do like a magic humans au?? Might have to look into this i love magic sm sm esp when witches

#spider soccoro

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