the-holy-pigeon

Latest Posts by the-holy-pigeon

COURTING YOU? SINCE WHEN?! Featuring Savanaclaw!

requested ask from here!!!!

While courting, wolves will stay close to their potential mate and typically will not leave their side if possible. They are also very affectionate and will nuzzle, lick each other, and will even walk side by side.

Jack Howl! Who’d recently begun acting… strange, to you, recently - face avoiding yours entirely when you sat or walked next to him, ears perked up and tail wagging when you’d offered him a hug that one time.(though he swatted your affection away. Huh.) Shoulders brushing against yours a little too purposefully during movie night, forever complaining about how your uniform was never neat, always helping you readjust your tie, dusting off imaginary dirt off your clothes whenever you meet, bashfully looking away when you asked him why he was being so nice(“Well, we’re… in the court - no, nevermind.”) Things went downhill(or uphill, maybe?)when he started to return your affections, nuzzling his nose against yours or your neck, almost whining when you tried to pull away, pawing at you to stay with him, for just a little while longer… earning sniggers and off-handed comments from both Leona and Ruggie, teasing Jack on how he was really piling it on ‘em, huh, getting one too many complaints from Leona, about how you smelt just like him… wait, what? Jack Howl, who was certain you’d agree to meet his family over the school holidays - you started to court him first, after all, and he was certain they'd absolutely adore you :)))

While courting, male hyenas will often shadow their potential mate to foster a relationship, approach a female and repeatedly take a few steps toward her and then a few steps away, even if the female doesn't react to his approach, and bow low to the ground to show submission to the potential mate, as female hyenas tend to be more aggressive than their male counterparts.

Ruggie Buuchi! Who was acting shifty again - walking behind you but scuttling a few steps back if you ever noticed him, face a mix of fear and hesitance, before returning to tailing you - but he was Ruggie, so you quickly dismissed his behaviour as Ruggie just being Ruggie again.(Which worked wonders for the poor hyena’s heart, now fully sure you weren’t going to bite his head off if he got too close.) Following you around school like a shadow - a skittish, blushy one, sure, but still a shadow nonetheless - attempting to mask them as chance encounters, though after a while, he was fairly sure you knew he was just making up excuses to hang around you at this point(not that he minded much.) Walking you to essentially anywhere you went, copying your actions to a tee - if you ate, he would eat(not without stealing bites off your plate, though), if you took a nap, he would take a nap.(on your lap, preferably, but only if you let him) Being more affectionate to you in general, wrapping his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder, though he was quick to bend down and apologise if he ever felt like he was overstepping. Pupils practically turning into hearts when you let him nuzzle his nose against your neck from behind, hiding his burning face into the crook of your neck for nearly ten minutes before he pulled away.(A successful mount - Grandma would be so happy, shyehehehe!) Inviting you over to his home in the Savannah over the school holidays, grinning despite your confused expression. “What? Granny’s been dying to meet my dear mate, it’s only expected, shyeheehee.” :))))

While courting, lions typically approach their potential mate and engage in actions like nuzzling, head rubbing and licking, followed by ‘tended courtship’ where the male follows their potential mate, shadowing them and engaging in behaviours such as rubbing, pawing and gentle biting.

Leona Kingscholar! Who had started to cling to you like a particularly annoying leech, dragging you to his favourite napping spots and holding you hostage in his arms, head slotted perfectly into the crook of your neck ignoring his usual schedule of skipping school in favour of following you around instead - walking you to all of your classes with a glare venomous enough to scare off anyone trying to talk to you, so ‘conveniently’ standing outside them when they happened to end.(not slick, Leona, not slick at all.) Rubbing his head against yours on one such kidnapping occasion, smile a tad bit too smug when you repeated the same motion to him, before you tried to get up and was met with a scowl and his hands pawing at you back to the grass, his arms firmly wrapped around your middle to prevent further escape attempts(sucks for you, I guess) Things escalating when he bit you, square on your neck after a nap, expression strangely nervous, before brightening up considerably when you decided to be petty and promptly nipped him back on his collarbone, for ‘payback’ (nevermind how your face felt like it was burning, how he grinned and pulled you in for a celebratory nap, once again locking you in his embrace) Knocking on your door the day before the school holidays, flopping on your bed, seemingly done with life before he spoke - “Falena keeps on bugging me to meet my mate. How about it? Can’t say Sunset Savanna’s the nicest place to visit, but you oughta get used to it - visiting in-laws, and all that. …What? D’ya think you could court a prince and get away scot-free? ;))

hey, if you liked this… check out Octavinelle’s or Diasomnia’s versions?

alternatively; check out the Savannaclaw masterlist?

Revenant portrait I draw over a few lunch breaks this week 💙

I was a little unsure about Nightreign at first, character customization is super important to me...but Revenant really grew on me! I actually like her a lot >///<

The Uncanny Spiders First Problem

Kurt Wagner (Uncanny Spiderman Version) x GN!Reader Vigilante

Kofi

Masterlist

Warning: Once Again Goofy Shit

Kurt couldn't help but take in the New York skyline. He never thought that his time away from the X-Men would be like this.. Sure the constant crime was hard but moments like this-

It made it better.. especially with everything going on in his life.

Sure he missed his friends at the X Mansion, and yes he missed being 'The Amazing Nightcrawler' but it was best to lay low and lick his wounds so to speak-

And there were worse ways to do so then by being a sub in Spiderman in The Big Apple.

It was a dream come true-

...

'Bonk-'

Anddddd now an empty can bounced off the top of his head taking away from the awe of the moment.

“Hey, Creepy Crawly. You’re in my spot.”

Kurt’s ears twitched, and he turned to see a you leaning against the rooftop access door drinking what seemed to be beer. Kurt noticing the clear disguise suit that kept your identity hidden- something that a normal people wouldnt wear.

Kurt blinked confused “E-Excuse me?”

“I said..” you repeat slowly this time, taking another swig of your drink, “Youre. In. My. Spot. I called dibs. So, fuck off"

Kurt stared at you, his tail flicking in irritation. “You… call dibs? On a rooftop?”

“Yeah-” You as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Dibs. It’s a universal law. You can’t just ignore dibs.”

Kurt crossed his arms. “I’m fairly certain ‘dibs’ doesn’t apply to private property”

“Says who?”

Kurt sighed heavily feeling irritation already building in his system “Who are you?”

You shrugged tipping your drink in a mock toast. “No One. But I assume you’re the new Spider-Man flavor of the month, or whatever. Gotta say, dig the tail- Way more fuckable that way"

Kurt ignored the comment, his tail lashing behind him. “What are you doing up here then?”

“Drinking" You say casually “And watching the bank across the street. You?”

“I was enjoying the view” Kurt said, gesturing to the city. “Until you decided to assault me with a Bierdose”

“Assault is such a strong word”

He grumbled under his breath and You can't help but grin “I was just getting your attention. You were standing there all broody- Little emo bit faze hm?"

Kurt felt a bubble of embarrassment in his chest “I wasn’t being broody... or emo"

“Sure you werent sweety" You humm in a soft coo.

“Anyway, like I said, I called dibs. So unless you want to share the roof for the price of some fun, or you fuck off.”

Kurt stared at you pretty much horrifed behind his mask at the blatant perversion “You're unbelievable....”

“And you’re still here,” You chime, taking another swig of your drink.

“So, what’s it gonna be Spidey, You leaving, or are we fucking?-"

Kurt sighed, deciding it wasn’t worth the argument. He turned to leave, but something then seemed to catch back in his brain- turning back in his heel as he looked up at you.

“Why are you watching the bank?”

You cocked your head to the side as if as confused by him.

“Why are you wearing a Spider-Man suit with a tail? We all have our quirks.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“And yet, it’s the one you’re getting"

You can tell he's silently seething, It's honestly really fun- Sure you can't see his face well but that tail was so damn revealing in his emotions it was hilarious.

“Relax. I’m not robbing the place am I?"

Kurt narrowed his eyes at you “Thats what I'm trying to figure out-"

“Well you cant be mad at someone just on the roof watching the city? Not a real reason to arrest someone unless you suspect them of going to do something-”

You hum, something in you able to tell he was a bit of a goody goody. Most would have arrested a rando watching a bank however he just sighed clearly conflicted, You could practically smell the conflict rolling off of him too.

“You’re up here, in a full suit, drinking, watching a bank, and you expect me to believe you’re not planning something?”

Once again shrugging at his evaluation and clear logic-

"How do you know I could be a leather Dominant on a lunch break who gets off watching banks?-"

He looked away from you quickly the second those words left you.

Hm-

You could practically feel his blush through that mask of his, making you cackle rolling off your and moving down to meet him face to face.

"Awwww you're a innocent one huh?"

He moved away from you fast, clearly still embarrassed. However unfortunately for him you were easily able to close in that space he had tried to create.

"Thats cute~ I always did have a thing for those sweet innocent types"

You leaned in close to his masked face, clearly flirty in nature as you see his tail wrap around himself like a worried kitten.

Damn thats so Cute..

"I-I nein- I'm-"

A grin spread across your lips as you leaned in close, barely a inch from his face which made his eyes widen-

RINNGGGGGG!!!!!

RIINNNGGGGGG!!!

The loud painful shrill of the Bank alarms blasted through the entire city block.

Kurt jumped in surprise at the noise as he turned to look back at it. His eyes now as wide as saucers he saw the doors broken from the inside out- he turned back to look at you.

However it was like youd vanished from thin air, Leaving him still a blushing mess and not knowing what to deal with first.

"Hurensohn!!!"

PLEASE! WHERE IS THE LOVE FOR MY FAVORITE LITTLE NERD?! HES SO PERFECT!

Fanfiction writers, I beg of you...

Saja Boys x Rumi’s Sister! Reader

A/N: K-Pop Demon Hunters has me in a chokehold and I have so many ideas floating around in my head but I’m really bad at actually writing and executing them. But I had to write something to help with this fixation. Also, I don’t know how the Honmoon works. Like, can anyone alter or control it after some training? Do you need to be born with a certain predisposition? So, I kinda just made some stuff up.

Edit: Now has Part 2! Part 3! Part 4! Part 5!

‼️SPOILERS FOR KPDH‼️

“Okay, you guys are just going down there, right? I’m gonna go pick up some groceries,” You tell the three girls in disguise.

“Thanks, (Y/n)!”

“Thanks.”

“Thanks, (Y/n).”

Sighing, you wave over your shoulder as you separate from the girls. You managed their wardrobe and visuals, you were able to take the vague ideas in their heads and their music and bring them together in stunning visuals while maintaining their individual styles and own input.

But, you were also Rumi’s twin sister. You grew up alongside her under the guidance of your Aunt Celine. You trained with her, learning to fight, dance, and sing with her. However… You were never able to tap into the Honmoon like her or Mira or Zoey.

Which meant you couldn’t debut with your sister or help her with the Honmoon. All you could do was support her and the other girls how your Aunt Celine taught you: Cover up, keep your patterns hidden, cook for them, clean for them, make sure they always look beautiful, no fractures or faults in their image. And no faults of your own must ever be visible either.

You love your sister, there was never any doubt about that. And you love Mira and Zoey too, they were practically your sisters too. But you couldn’t help but feel… invisible and jealous sometimes. You wanted to perform too. Just once.

“Excuse me, miss?”

You were shaken from your thoughts by a smooth, male voice and a colorful flier being held out to you. Looking further up, your eyes widened and your face warmed at the sight of such a handsome guy right in front of you. You were no stranger to beauty working in the idol industry, but wow. Soft, black hair, warm brown eyes, clear skin and a soft smile. Your heart couldn’t help but skip.

“Uhm, I’m sorry,” You shook your head, trying to focus on listening to what the boy said. You couldn’t help but swallow thickly, your face still hot, “Can I help you?”

He smiled kindly, “My friends and I are having our debut performance this afternoon just a street over. We’d love for you to come watch and support us.”

Flustered by his charm and his beauty, you took the flier from him. “The Saja Boys…” You read. Looking around, you tried to spot the rest of his group.

You were startled when an arm suddenly landed on your shoulders. Actually, make that two arms.

Looking up, two more gorgeously unreal guys were on each side of you, an arm around each of your shoulders. One was a buff beauty with shorter magenta hair in a yellow beanie, his shirt hanging on for dear life. The other had longer pink hair that framed his face in a heart shape.

“That’s right,” the long haired guy smiled on your left.

“We’re the Saja Boys,” the buff guy on your right smirked. The two boys spun to slide into place on each side of the black haired guy, the three posing. “I’m Abby,” the muscle man posed, flexing which caused his shirt to strain.

“I’m Romance~” He blew a kiss at you.

“And I’m Jinu,” the black haired guy winked, smiling which made your heart pound all that harder to be the center of attention of three gorgeous guys. “We also have Baby and Mystery who are passing out fliers somewhere as well.”

“Right here, boss.” Oh great, more hot guys to make your heart explode.

A mint haired guy looked at you out of the corner of his eye as he walked past, joining the other three with a cool air. Another guy with long, pastel hair that covered most of his face walked past as well. Did he just smell you…? Was he purring…?

Oh boy. These boys were gonna give you a heart attack at this rate. Your heart was racing and you felt so flustered and awkward having their attention. “Uhm, wow, sorry, I’ll try to be there to support your debut! If you’ll excuse me,” You gave a small bow. Escape. Too many hot guys.

“You promise, sweetheart?~”

Your face flushed darker and you hurried away faster, “Y-Yup! See you there! Good luck!” You had groceries to get.

After getting enough groceries for you and the Huntr/x girls, you checked the time and noted that you had time to see that debut performance. The girls hadn’t texted that they headed back yet so they must still be at the doctors. Carrying the bags, you walked over to the other street, which was only a little more crowded than usual.

It seemed like you were just in time as a cloud of pink smoke grew in the middle of the street. You got closer as music started to fill the street and from the smoke, the five boys appeared.

“Don't want you, need you~ Yeah, I need you to fill me up~ 마시고 마셔 봐도~ 성에 차지 않아~ Got a feeling that, oh, yeah (Yeah)~ You could be everything that~ That I need (Need), taste so sweet (Sweet)~ Every sip makes me want more, yeah~” The black haired guy, Jinu, seemed to take the main vocals. The song was so bouncy and catchy that you couldn’t help but bounce your shoulders as the crowd grew around you. You got pushed to the front of the crowd and blushed as Jinu winked at you. You blushed, holding your groceries tighter.

“You're all I can think of~ Every drop I drink up~ You're my soda pop~ My little soda pop~ Cool me down, you're so hot~ Pour me up, I won't stop~ You're my soda pop~ My little soda pop~”

Okay, Huntr/x would always have your whole heartfelt support as your favorite group, but the Saja Boys were also really good… Like, if you weren’t Rumi’s sister, you might’ve jumped ship…

You were just a girl after all…

You blinked when some of the boys started blowing kisses into the crowd, launching hearts out of thin air. If they were just debuting, how’d they afford such great special effects…? These boys must’ve worked hard.

At least you thought so until you saw a flash of demon patterns and eyes on some of the boys.

You gasped. Were they… like you and Rumi? Part demons? Wait, no, they can control their demon features, you and Rumi can’t. No matter how much you tried to hide the growing patterns inching across your skin, it never worked. All you could do was cover up with long sleeves and pants.

They were just performing though. The girls would probably kill them as soon as they could once they caught wind of this demon idol group, because demons were all evil, emotionless creatures… But, if they were just demon guys performing because they wanted to perform, if they were nice demons, then wouldn’t that help prove that it was okay for you to live too…?

They helped the girl at the corn dog stand and gave those stressed kids some gifts, and they didn’t try to suck a soul once.

Your heart pounded, not just with how attractive the five were, but with hope.

The performance ended as the boys took their final poses before taking a moment to wave and send kisses into the crowd. As you scanned the group of boys, Romance sent you a flying kiss, Abby flashed you some finger hearts, Jinu’s smile widened at you, Baby raised an eyebrow at you, and Mystery gave a head nod.

What were you supposed to do now…?

I love your selkie Jade fic!! It’s so good and so creative! I need a Floyd courting fic like I need air, maybe where Yuu has no idea what Floyd strange behavior is, but the octavinelle crew is acting very odd and extra smug when they see Floyd and the prefect together

🐬💥💌Request received! Thank you for your message, your delivery is ready~

THANK YOU!!! I’m glad you liked the Jade Selkie fic AH!!! I really wanted to write a Floyd version too hehe, hope you enjoy~

Floyd Leech, ft. Selkie

Jade! Azul!

Floyd was confident no one would dare take his pelt. It was easy to steal a selkie’s pelt when it was left unattended (like Jade’s) or hidden (like Azul’s). Floyd always knew where his was - always, always, on his person.

When he had to go to the surface to attend NRC, their father gave him two pieces of advice. One, always pay attention to your footwear. And two, always keep your pelt with you. Whether it’s in your bag, over your shoulders, or under your clothes.

People expected Floyd to be more lax with his skin, but he took the advice to heart more than Jade, who liked showing it off tantalizingly to those grubby landers. So, Floyd’s pelt was always under his clothes. He hated the feeling of extra layers, but he hated being parted with the pelt even more. The very thought of being taken away from the ocean made his human skin crawl.

Imagine his panic when he couldn’t find it once he returned to his dorm after club practice.

He’d tied the pelt securely underneath his basketball jersey, and practice went off without a hitch. He was fired up that day too. He’d won points left and right, and left the gym feeling great. Up until he realized his pelt was no longer snugly tied to his torso, and his heart dropped. He’d passed through the gym, the entire school, the mirror chamber, and through the Lounge up to his dorm. He could’ve lost it anywhere. To anyone.

Jade opened their dorm door to see Floyd flinging things around their room, and launching himself to Jade’s side to dig through his things. “What in the Seven’s are you doing, Floyd?” He didn’t even need to a response when Floyd turned to him with sheer panic on his face. Jade felt his throat tighten. Floyd lost his pelt.

Meanwhile, you stared at the… cloth? in front of you. Earlier today, you’d stopped by the gym while running errands for Crowley. As you made your way across, you noticed a teal heap amidst the basketballs. You knelt, curious, and picked it up. Wait, isn’t this what Jade and Floyd wear?

You didn’t really know what it was, only that it seemed special to them. You never wanted to be rude and ask him about it though, since you figured Floyd had his reasons for hiding it, while Jade has his own for flaunting it.

That thing was massive. You didn’t even see a zipper on it, so it couldn’t be a jacket. Not to mention, it felt kind of… leathery, almost. Like fish skin or something.

When you got to Ramshackle, you folded it neatly before tucking it in a spare shoebox you had. It had a few jewelry pieces in it with shells and pearls. You also chucked a shoe polish in, as well as some funky patterned socks you didn’t want. You decided to leave them in, tucked under the cloth. Maybe Floyd would like them.

The next day, you walked into Mostro Lounge with the box. You overheard some students freaking out, whispering about Floyd being in one of his moods, but this time it was even worse.

You frowned, suddenly nervous. Floyd’s freaking out? Why? You clutched the box a bit tighter. Was it because of the cloth?

In Azul’s office, Floyd was damn near about to blow the whole dorm up. It took Jade wrestling him down and Azul placating him, to get him to calm down just a fraction.

Even now, Jade had to keep watchful eye on him while Azul had a million contracts on his desk, hair wild from running his hands through it. Currently, Floyd was staring listlessly at the wall, bouncing his leg wildly. Who could have possibly been brazen enough to take Floyd’s pelt…? Jade and Azul had an understanding. They’d make them pay for this.

You overheard someone say Floyd was in Azul’s office, so you knocked on the door. “Hey, is Floyd in there?” You called, walking in. Jade glanced at Floyd, who seemed to at least compose himself in front of you. How interesting.

You stopped in front of Floyd, who looked up at you from the couch. He looked up at you, irritated. You cleared your throat, presenting the box to him. “I found your… belongings so I thought I’d give it back to you. It was in the gym, I figured you didn’t want to lose it.”

Floyd’s eyes zeroed in on the box, sensing the pelt, and he grabbed it from you. He nearly tore the top off, but at last he had his pelt back. He almost tore his uniform off then and there to feel it against his skin when he suddenly stopped.

You gave it back to him. You, gave it back to him. You gave it back.

Jade and Azul stared wide eyed at you and Floyd. You cleared your throat uncomfortably, “I also put some extra stuff in the box too, if you want it.”

Floyd lifted the skin a bit, and his eyes went wide. Glittering jewelry, shells, and pearls nestled in the folds of the pelt. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, and Jade and Azul gasped.

“Oho?” Jade said, grinning slowly. “Oho?” Azul looked shocked. Floyd lifted the pelt out, and more jewelry fell out between the folds. Jade lifted his hand to his mouth, looking sly, “how forward of you, (Name). And in front of us, too.” Azul rose an eyebrow, pleased, “I must say, I didn’t expect you to be the pelt thief. What an interesting development.”

Floyd was quiet, staring at everything in shock. He didn’t expect this from you, Shrimpy. You always were able to surprise him, but this took the bait. It was like everything started to make sense.

You had to know what you’d done. You gave Floyd jewelry, something merfolk did when they wanted to show affection. Not only that, you gave him things directly related to his interests. He eyed the shoe polish with interest, grinning widely. This was textbook courting rituals.

“Ne, shrimpy really is the best~” He stood, mood completely changed. You shrank back a bit as he leered over you. As he gazed into your eyes, you felt the acute sense that you just did something big.

“Don’t you worry Shrimpy, I’m gonna repay you back real good~” Floyd winked at you. You smiled nervously, conscious of the others’ smirks, “I-I should go.” You scurried out of Azul’s office, hearing Floyd’s raucous laughter echo behind you.

Floyd’s kinda weird today, you thought. You didn’t particularly mind it, though. Although dealing with Azul and Jade was a doozy.

Azul ran into you earlier, although you weren’t sure it was on accident. He’d hummed cryptically, with that sneaky businessman smirk he had when he knew something you didn’t. “I must say, it was incredibly forward of you to present Floyd’s pelt, especially with extra gifts. He was energetic all night, he hardly did any Lounge work,” Azul’s words somehow held little annoyance. Confusion filled you. His ‘pelt’? And the jewelry and shoe polish? Was it a big deal?

Azul continued, “You should find Jade later. He will want to speak to you, especially to go over your plans.” Your brow furrowed, echoing “plans?” Azul nodded, amused. “It’s more informal, since we’ve known you before. Just to discuss matters - the timing, ideal circumstance, your intentions, so forth.” He’d walked off before you could ask more. Your head swam.

You hadn’t been able to properly speak to Jade. He was all cordial smiles and, surprisingly, bowed to you multiple times. An amused smile graced his face, and he seemed to revel in your alarm. He’d brush past you just before you could ask him anything, and was always replaced by Floyd bounding up to you and taking you into his arms in giggles.

Ever since you gave him the box, Floyd was strangely clingy. His constant hugging and nuzzling you was borderline affectionate, and it made your heart stutter and stomach feel fluttery. You noted that he was wearing the jewelry you stuck in the box, next to the pelt peeking out of his shirt.

“Hey, (Name),” he said while leaning against you. You were both in the library. Floyd insisted on accompanying you everywhere, and seemed to be exhausted with how much he was yawning at you. “We should go swimmin,’ I’m bored here.”

You sighed, shutting your notebook. “I have work to do, Floyd.” You spied a couch nearby, “you could take a nap maybe, if you’re tired?” Floyd looked you up and down, before grinning. “Nah.”

He tossed you over his shoulder, and you shouted, making the ghost librarians shush you loudly. “Floyd!” He laughed and ran out before the ghosts could catch him.

He ran you all the way to the back of Mostro Lounge by the private fish tanks, where the tanks for the merfolk were. Finally he put you down, still cuddling you as the blue light from the waters washed over you.

Seeing the tanks, you suddenly remembered Azul talking about a pelt. Your mind flashed to the cloth you picked up from the gym. The skin-like texture. Floyd’s moodiness. The secrecy. You’d heard the word ‘Selkie’ being thrown around before, and you knew Floyd was a mer. The thought hid you like a truck - if the pelt belonged to Floyd, then was he a Selkie? Your heart pounded. And you gave the pelt back to him.

Jade walked in, holding a drink and potion in hand. “Ah, Floyd, you’re back.” Floyd grinned at him, shaking you side to side in his arms, “hey Jade~ me n’ Shrimpy are going to take a swim!” Jade smiled pleasantly, gaze locking onto you. “Could I have a moment with (name), please? It should only take a minute.”

Floyd pouted, but Jade gave him a look. Finally, let you go with a little sulk, but not before giving you a final squeeze. “I’ma be back, Shrimpy!~ Don’t go anywhere!” He flounced off, leaving you with Jade.

Jade handed you the drink and potion. “This is on the house, and this is an underwater breathing potion. I thought you may need one,” he said cryptically. You smiled warily at him, and you dumped the potion into the drink to mix it.

Jade sighed happily. “Mother and Father will be so thrilled.” You sipped your drink, throat feeling dry. “What do you mean?”

Jade continued as if he didn’t hear you, “please be gentle to Floyd. He’s never done this before, but I’ve never seen him so besotted with anything before.” Jade suddenly became serious, looking you in the eye. “You will not hurt him. And you won’t need to worry about him. I assure you, our parents took our lessons quite seriously where courting was concerned. He was always the one to wear his heart on his fins, so to speak. He’s quite romantic at heart, really.”

You nearly choked. “C-courting?!” Jade nodded, slowly grinning mischievously. “Of course. You made your intentions quite clear when you gave Floyd back his pelt. With some lovely courting gifts, no less.” Jade looked fondly at you, patting your shoulder. “You will be a welcome part of the family. Usually gifts such as jewelry come much later in the courting process, but I expect you’ll be betrothed quite soon with how taken Floyd is with you.”

Now you actually choked. “He- what?!” You couldn’t lie, you weren’t exactly upset about Floyd liking you, but courting? This was fast. Jade nodded. If he sensed your growing panic and confusion, he certainly ignored it (or found it entertaining) as he smiled at you. “Yes, he was quite pleased that you were the one who found his pelt. Ah, young love~”

You downed your drink as Floyd bounded back to you, sweeping you up. “Shrimpy~ I’m back!” He’d stripped off his outer garments. His pelt was draped over his shoulders like a towel, and he grinned down at you. “Let’s go~ I’ll keep ya safe, promise!”

As he waded into the waters, you decided to just accept your fate. You reached up and kissed Floyd on the cheek, pressing your face to his gently. He squished you against him as the water rose and his lower half meshed with the pelt, turning back into his eel form.

He rubbed his cheek against yours, “I’m happy you gave me back my pelt, Shrimpy.” You felt Floyd smile against your face, and you hugged him back. “Y’know what? I’m happy too, Floyd.”

THE MAN THE MYTH THE EEL!!! Floyd!!!!!

Courses Offered at NRC

There may be other classes that have been brought up in stories/events, so please don't hesitate to point any out to me if there's any I'm missing. These will be listed alphabetically.

Alchemy

Trey and Azul's best subject.

Supplies for Alchemy can be bought at Sam's store.

Ancient Incantations

Leona and Jamil's best subject.

Translated as Ancient Magic in EN.

Animal Linguistics

Ruggie's best subject.

Art

Rook's best subject.

Astrology

Cater and Ortho's best subject.

Changes and Comparisons of Abbreviated Incantations with Regards to Ancient and Modern Magical History

An elective course.

Translated as Abbreviated Spellcasting in Ancient and Modern Magic: Changes and Comparisons in EN.

Chemistry

Supplies for Chemistry can be bought at Sam's store.

Defensive Magic

Jack and Malleus's best subject.

Translated as Protection in EN

Flight

Epel's best subject.

History of Magic

Lilia's best subject.

Magical Analysis

Ace and Sebek's best subject.

Translated as Enigmics in EN.

Master Chef

An elective course.

Translated as Culinary Crucible in EN.

Music

Floyd and Kalim's best subject.

Translated as Musicology in EN.

Physical Education

Deuce and Silver's best subject.

Poison Refining

An elective course taken by Cater, Vil, and Lilia.

Potions

Jade and Vil's best subject.

Translated as Potionology in EN.

Supplies for Potions can be bought at Sam's store.

Practical Magic

Riddle's best subject.

Summoning

Idia's best subject.

Requested by Anonymous.

crow choir: seven minutes ── batfamily x neglected!reader

( sd 13-05-25 ) they’re kind of mean aren’t they? calling you to hang out the one time you can’t. the world’s become buttery and thick, only bits of your vision slipping through drooping eyes.

# plotline. before the world goes dark, seven minutes play out in your head, a mean reminder to what you're leaving behind. happy memories, with friends, family, people and things you'll miss.

you have nothing to miss. no-one who'll miss you back. what are your last seven minutes? a freak accident in an old apartment, a quiet kid failing to make their family want them, a youth full of feeling everything and not enough of everything and an accident in an old apartment to mirror the first.

will your murder of crows come and sing to you, just this once? seven minutes later, you're nobody. were you ever, anything but nobody?

important note: this is a series reboot for the original crow choir, written in attempt to... well, write better! you can read the original series here.

˖ 𑣲 chapters /min.

⋆ min. one: the egg

⋆ min. two: hatchling

⋆ min. three: nestling

⋆ min. four: flight

⋆ min. five: juvenile

⋆ min. six: adolescence

⋆ min. seven: youth

⋆ min. eight: mourning

general story disclaimers: anything that the reader/people around the reader does... i don't condone. warnings include: substance abuse, animal abuse, underage smoking/drinking, child neglect, gore, assault, self-harm, mental disorders.

# taglist. ask to be added / removed !

@.lettucel0ver @.marsmabe @.alishii @.1abi @.c4xcocoa @.bbmgirll @.sirenetheblogger @.privatebumblebee @.noone1233nobody @.4ishere @.mev-fizzah-writes @.quack-a-vasion @.myjumper @.pix-stuff @.callenreesevzx @.cupid73 @.nininehaaa @.nisarelle @.jjsmeowthie @.ollyissleepy @.uppersurper @.angwngss

PART ONE: THE SCRIBE

Synopsis: You had just one mission, hidden in a scribe's robe, swinging ink-dwelling brushes, trading ink for silence and coins, and then vanishing. But curiosity killed the cat, and gold buried it.

Pairing: Lahan x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Content Warnings: I wrote this without reading the light novel (blame my lazy ahh), so Lahan is ooc, I make up lore because why not?? Morally grey reader, Lahan is slightly an asshole, lowkey a smartass, reader is a spy, slow burn but not yet??

You’ve worn three faces in this palace. 

Today, you’re a scribe. 

You've been one a month.

The archive chamber smells of old paper and dried ink. You're not here for the golden coins, but for those precious records (and for the coins, too).

Your job is to sit at the back, copying useless poetry in an elegant structure. The real documents stay tucked beneath your sleeve until the time of your departure.

The archive chamber is silent. Peace rules on the room, held together by brushes’ strokes, whispered names, and paper scrolls just beginning to open.

Too much tranquilly, silence that could be broken any moment.

You hear footsteps, click-clack against the wooden floor, as the scribes who went about halt in their places. 

Once more, you can be certain it's him. 

You suppress a sigh as you finish copying the poetry you were tasked to transcript with your finest handwriting.

He doesn’t speak. He never does right away. 

You return and carefully repaint over the missing spot, the sound of the rustling of his clothes as he nears you unsettles you slightly, but you have to keep that silly act of yours.

His presence looms over you. You can feel his gaze scrutinizing, analysing every single one of your motions, as if daring you to slip. But you can’t.

Your hand repeats mechanically every single one of the movements you studied before even being positioned in your role. Perfectly.

You can’t afford nervousness, as it only would lead you to your demise, but can you help it? 

“You made a mistake. The characters are slightly curved to the right.”

He spoke as he stepped forward, but not exactly at you, but rather at an unfortunate scribe who was seated to your left.

Said scribe gives a nervous cough, and Lahan’s gaze shifts to you for a mere instant.

You can almost feel the change in the air as he turns his attention toward you, examining you with an uncanny precision that makes your hand tighten its grip on the brush, almost putting the ink over the wrong place.

Almost.

You wonder if he has already figured you out, and if he’s letting less than what he knows.

“You’re quite focused today, scribe,”

His voice is smooth, deceptively sweet, but you can feel the tension. Surely, he knows it, or he suspects something. You curse the damned day this man gained his perceptive skills, oh, it would make thing easier for you, too, if he wasn’t as sly and cunning as a fox.

“I am trying to avoid errors, my lord.”

Your tone is calm, controlled as your eyes get lost in the traced characters. His gaze is like a needle, nibbling, scrutiny is evident in his demeanour, and you know one thing for sure: it’s unnerving you like never before. 

He hums and drifts towards the other scribes, and after some minutes, he leaves. 

Those days he did that a lot. 

You remember the objective that brought you there, those pretty coins you adored oh so much, promised by those shady people who you wouldn’t trust even if you were at your lowest — which, to be honest, you kind of were.

But now you had a single mission to see the things you cherished the most: money. Which could definitely buy your happiness right now.

Of course, first you had to give them the scrolls you had carefully placed beneath your long sleeves, but that would be as easy as stealing a kid’s candy.

Your patron was some resented noble from a clan who had once done dirty treats with the Imperial Palace and now wanted to see it burn after his son was exiled for breaking some stupid norm. You just happened to be there. After all, what couldn’t a mercenary like you do with such a great pay promised to them?

Of course, the object of desire of your patron would be hard to get among the many documents in that palace. For now, you would focus on gathering small scrolls with information that could absolutely turn the tables between the clans.

狡

When the sun rolled down the sky, you were almost alone in the archive chamber. Only a few scribes were there, and you were growing slightly impatient at how slow they were at copying the damned scrolls and poems when your working turns were almost over.

You kept feigning to stock the scrolls when you were actually looking for more interesting objects, but who knew if it would actually be there? Surely, something as important as a scroll containing valuable and compromising information shouldn’t be left in the archive room, where anyone could enter and find it, right?

When the last scribes left, you found yourself pacing around the dusty shelves of the back, where the head scribe avoided at all costs the presence of others rather than himself and a trusted few. The smell of ancient books tickled on your nose, making you sneeze a couple of times, and when you finally found some amazing information, you heard the same click-clacking sound of footsteps.

Their owner was slow, but they were firm, and you certainly didn't know whoever the person was. You couldn’t be spotted there after your turn was over, so you scurried away, leaving a mental note to get more documents when you had time.

吝

In that same chamber, a curious figure stood against the frame of the door with an amused expression on his face.

“This will surely be interesting to deal with.”

His eyes analysed the room. Desks filled with traces of dry ink, half written scrolls and abandoned brushes. Everything seemed normal, if it hadn't been because he had caught that shadow jumping out of the window.

He stepped close, click-clack, until he reached the wooden framed window that gave access to the pavilion and, further, to the gates where hundreds of officials left the golden cage that was that palace.

He scanned the dusty shelves until a peculiar thing caught his gaze.

Cloves?

“Why are these here?”

A small cluster of cloves sat on the ground. His eyes narrowed slightly.

Cloves were quite hard to find, as they were reserved only for exceptional dishes made for the consorts or for the emperor, why would they be in an archive room out of all the places in the Imperial Palace?

He kept that information in his mind and, without hurry, he left to his devices.

吝

Bitter.

You chew on the bitter cloves you always keep in your pocket.

Your jaw tightens as you stare at the ones you dropped yesterday—

right where you stole the scrolls from the shelf.

It was a habit of yours. You always carried them when you were on missions. They helped you sort your mind, chewing on them was your way of dealing with the stresses of your job.

You only hope no one has seen them because it would mean that you had left evidence of staying in the archive room when you were not supposed to be there at all. Besides, who carried cloves on their pockets? You, of course.

You sit back on your desk, until a scribe walks towards you and places a hand on your shoulder, making you jump in your place.

“Master Jinshi wishes to speak to you.”

You nod and make your way towards the pavilion where his office was.

You chew the cloves again and again.

“Perhaps he found out about me not being an actual eunuch? Or maybe it's the false documentation?”

The bitterness spreads across your tongue, sharp and unrelenting, it burns down your throat, leaving a lingering dry heat that makes your jaw ache.

But you don’t stop.

You focus on the taste, trying to forget where you are.

But your body betrays you. You shiver as the thought of being discovered wanders in your mind.

You knock softly on the sliding door. Once. Twice.

“You may enter.”

You slide the door open, take two steps and bow deeply.

“Master Jinshi, how can I be of assistance?”

Jinshi stares at you with that charming expression of his, and that sickeningly sweet tone of his.

“There is a matter I hope you can assist with.”

You nod politely.

“I’ll do my best, my lord. What do you need from me?”

Master Jinshi regards you steadily from across the room.

“Your skills are needed for a matter requiring careful attention. You came here recently, so perhaps you haven't noticed yet.”

His eyes sharpen as he halts, a more serious expression replacing the sweet mask he wears.

“But there has been a great number of scrolls that have disappeared from the archive room.”

He gestures toward Lahan, standing quietly nearby.

“You will work together on this assignment.”

How come you haven't noticed him before? Has he always been there? Now that you think of it, that man seemed to be in the right places at the right moments.

He bows slightly. You can only sense the slight shift in his demeanour once Jinshi speaks at you. It's almost as if his eyes are splitting you in layers, trying to know who and what you are exactly in that palace.

“I am Kan Lahan. It's my pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“This matter requires your utmost care and subtlety.”

You nod and swallow slightly, keeping that facade of yours, but your eyes seem almost eager to walk away from there as soon as possible given the way they wander through the office.

How would you explain that you were the reason why those scrolls and documents were disappearing?

Notes: I saw that there was such a small amount of Lahan fanfics, so I decided to take matters into my own hands. I hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing this. I'm sorry for taking this long to post this (the whole story, this is just part one), but I wanted to write it well and evolve the story I had in mind coherently. Of course, I wrote this instead of studying and finishing my research project. Procrastinating and hyperfixating on fictional characters is not the best combo, lol, but stay tuned for the next parts. I hope you all have a good day/night, and take care!

Ancient Dreams In A Modern Land

Chapter 8: Sometimes, I wish Someone Out There Will Find Me

Masterlist Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 (Here!)

Detention was actually the worst that could happen.

Being in detention is a form of punishment where a student is required to stay after school, during lunchtime, or recess period to complete extra work or assignments. Sometimes, even doing cleaning work around the classroom under the supervision of a teacher.

She would have preferred doing the cleaning over this.

Mr. Munroe decided the best form of detention for running around the halls and causing a ruckus (she found it stupid that it was against the rules to run in the halls. How was she supposed to know that? She had never gone to school before) was for the three of them to sit in silence in his classroom until extracurricular club activities were over.

Thankfully, Bobby didn’t have official practice that afternoon; his only plans were to practice with her in the field by themselves. But the detention would go to his track record, which wasn’t a good thing.

Goldilocks, now named Warren Worthington III (what a posh name-), almost gave a hissy fit over the punishment because he had practice with the debate team. Mr. Munroe quickly stopped his complaining under the threat of extending his detention.

And now, all three of them sat at different desks. The silence was interrupted every few moments by the loud snores of Mr. Munroe, who slept in his chair with his legs over the desk and arms crossed.

They had already tried a few times to sneak off, thinking the teacher was a heavy sleeper and wouldn’t notice it.

They got proven wrong. 

Six times.

And that was enough humiliation for the rest of the day.

“Ughhhhh,” she groaned from her desk at the front right corner, just in front of the teacher’s desk. He had sat her there after making the mistake of putting her near the door on her second escape attempt.

Her feet shuffled against the floor, making the sole of her shoes squeak from the friction as her fingers refused to remain still. Cracking knuckles, tapping, tracing shapes, rattling the desk, amongst other things.

It was hell. She needed to move-

“Stop. Moving.” Warren hissed, three desks behind her. Sitting on the second line of desks, while Bobby sat on the third line, on the second desk.

She glared at him over her shoulder, mouthing ‘make me’, her right knee bouncing and accidentally hitting underneath the desk.

A sharp snore from Mr. Munroe’s desk was warning enough to keep them quiet for a few minutes.

“Can’t believe you dragged me into this-”

The girl groaned, throwing her head back. “Do you only complain?!”

Warren huffed, nose scrunched in offense, with his arms crossed. “I wouldn’t complain if I weren’t here because of you-”

“I already said I was sorry!” She turned half of her body in Warren’s direction, catching Bobby’s attention from his improvised desk drawing session.

The blonde boy gave her a harsh glare, jaw twitching, and eyebrows furrowed. He had been like this for the past hour and a half. Chiding and arguing to the air, and getting on her nerves. It had been by a pure miracle that Mr. Munroe hadn’t gotten up from his nap and done something about the wailing boy.

Or maybe he was tuning them out, not caring as long as they didn’t get in a physical fight.

Either way, Warren had made it his personal goal to make guilt eat her alive.

She already felt bad enough for getting Bobby into trouble, even after he had told her it was all alright. Said he preferred this over playing catch by himself in the field, which only made her feel even worse. 

And she had also apologized to Warren as well, knowing he was also dragged into this without fault (then again, he was the one who gave away their position to Richard by yelling in the halls-), but that only seemed to aggravate his attitude towards her.

Whatever he was angry about was more than just the detention.

The only positive outcome of this whole situation was the fact that Richard got a chew out from none other than the grumpy teacher who got all of them in here in the first place. Bobby had to pinch her so she would stop snickering under her breath and at least pretend not to look so smug at Richard getting his ass handed to him by a man shorter than him.

All because he wasn’t an official guardian and was getting onto the school grounds without proper permission. 

The universe worked in mysterious ways, truly.

“What’s your goal here, man?” Bobby drawled out, genuinely curious. Warren scoffed, disbelief in his face as he put his attention on the other boy. “She has already said sorry. There’s nothing else she can do.”

“What she can do is take responsibility and admit she can’t keep her word when it comes to deals.” He claimed, which made her sputter in offense.

“What deal are you even talking about?-”

“So now you have amnesia out of the sudden?” He probed with sarcasm. “What else? Hit your head and forgot how to answer texts as well?”

The dead silence for a few moments made both boys look directly at her, expecting another quick quip from her. Instead, they got a squittish, almost stressed expression on her face. Eyes wide and unblinking. Lips inward and posture shirking on her seat.

“...Oh, you’re fucking joking-”

She interrupted Warren, “For the record, I did hit my head, and lost my phone, and everything is a bit muddled-”

“Oh my fucking God-” Warren groaned out, hands going down his paleing face.

“But, I got a new phone out of it! So, it’s not that bad-”

“Actually,” Bobby was the one to interrupt this time. “It is bad. And the bar is in hell if you think getting a new phone is the best outcome of this whole situation.”

The girl rolled her eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Warren snapped out of his internal crisis to give her a pointed look. “I have the feeling that you did mean it-”

“Same here.”

“Oh, fuck both of you-”

A loud ringtone made them shut up and turn towards the now-waking teacher. He grumbled under his breath, taking his legs off the table, and rummaging through his bag to pick up his phone. With a narrowed glare at the call ID, he got up from his chair with a grunt and walked towards the door.

Not before addressing the teens, who followed his every move.

“I’m right in the hall, so no daring escapes, Wayne.” pointing at her with his finger as he stepped out and closed the door. The girl waited a bit before mocking him with exaggerated facial expressions.

Bobby chuckled while Warren shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching before thinning out.

That was enough for her to get up and sit in the chair at the desk right in front of a puzzled Warren. Bobby didn’t hesitate and sat on the desk beside the blonde, giving him a grin and a shrug in response to his wide stare.

“Alright, let’s clear up some things.” She assented. “Because I would rather not talk about how messy things are at home, and I would prefer not to have any issues with anyone at the only place where I can stay away from them.”

Warren’s gaze shifted to something she couldn’t place. Mostly, because saying that it softened wouldn’t be accurate enough for someone like Warren, who has been showing annoyance and anger from the very first impression.

With a short nod, that shift in his eyes was gone, intrigue now written in them.

“Fine, but we still got a deal.”

Bobby frowned, nose twitching as he leaned forward on his seat. “What is this whole deal thing? Can’t be that serious… Unless it’s about money-”

Warren cut him off with a deadpan tone. “It’s not money. We both have plenty of that, even if Wayne here doesn’t dress like so.”

“Rude.” She muttered with a pout. But Warren continued.

“Our deal was an agreement.” He clarified. “Wayne here, needed a companion for her musical piece at the school’s recital. She needed someone to play the violin while she played the piano. We've been practicing for weeks nonstop until last week.”

And last week, the real Wayne died from drowning, and someone else took hold of her body. 

‘Fuck my luck, seriously.’

“And now,” Warren sighed. “Not only am I finding out the true reason why you didn’t answer my texts, but that you have also done a complete one-eighty in personality.”

“I haven’t changed that much,” she frowned. She was pretty sure she and Wayne weren’t that different.

Both boys gave her dumbfounded looks, especially Warren, who for the first time laughed in a mockless manner.

“Actively avoiding your so beloved older brother and preferring school over spending time with your family? Yes, you have changed that much.” Warren chuckled under his breath. “And that’s without mentioning your attitude and charming manners.”

“I’ll pretend you didn’t just insult my wonderful manners.”

“But he’s right,” Bobby butted in, shaking his head. “Not the insult thing, of course. But you have changed. I had never seen you be so…”

Warren took it from there. “So outgoing. So loud. So chatty.”

While Bobby argued about why he was making it sound like it was a bad thing, the young girl began to delve into her own thoughts. Was she really that outspoken? She hadn’t thought about it. After all, she was pretty much relying on what information Wayne could give her. And all of that was surrounding the family. On how she can’t trust them. How much hurt they have caused. How lonely and painful it had been for Wayne to live in that house.

Nothing much about who she was. 

Who she truly was.

Her likes. Her dislikes. Her quirks. Anything that made her her own person.

It was a sad realization. But it also made her feel relieved. Relieved that she was different from her, that someone had noticed. That she didn’t have expectations, at least from these two, of how she should act or pretend.

And not saying she wasn’t doing that with the Waynes. But most of her behavior was influenced by what Wayne had shown her. Always on guard and needing to be defensive over anything and everything because it’s what Wayne needed from her. What she deserved because she was no longer able to speak for herself.

And she would do it ten times over. But that didn’t stop it from being tiring and so so lonely.

“Hey, you alright?” Bobby’s cold hand softly shook her shoulder, making her lift her gaze towards the now concerned boys.

Before she could say anything, the feeling of wetness going down her left cheek made her go still. She quickly wiped it away, rubbing the side of her nose while clearing her throat. Trying to disimulate.

“I’m fine. Must be the dust in the room.” She said roughly, knee bouncing.

Warren began to prattle, an awkward and anxious expression as his ears reddened. “I didn’t mean to- I mean, I didn’t expect to make you cry. Don’t listen to shit of what I said- I didn’t-”

It was funny to see how much of a mess he became over some tears, it made her chuckle. Which quickly put a stop to Warren’s yammering and gained a deep relived sigh from Bobby.

“It’s fine, just realized something.” She clarified, making sure her face was dry with the sleeve of her uniform.

The boys exchanged glances, deciding to leave it there for now. If she wanted to say it or talk about it, it would be better if she made the first step.

And she was glad for that.

“You said it was a deal,” her tone mild, changing the subject quickly to avoid any deep talks or emotions. “ What’s your side of it? That’s why you agreed to it, right?”

Now it was Warren’s turn to look like a deer in headlights once again. He cleared his throat, avoiding looking at Bobby, who was looking quite eager to hear his part of the deal. Part of Warren wanted to kick his chair so he would fall off and stop staring at him, but he held it back.

“Yeah. I helped you out with your recital, and then you would help me out with being my plus one to my father’s gala.”

As Bobby choked on his spit and Warren tackled him with a red face while screaming, she stared at an empty corner with a blank expression.

Suddenly, exorcising a spirit wasn’t sounding so bad.

──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────

“I’m not joking, Barb! A man like that couldn’t possibly be a teacher!”

The woman held back her laugh, nodding with a hum as she scrolled down her phone. Both of them were sitting inside Dick’s car. He switched his sports car to another simple model when he decided to bring Barbara to the academy as emotional support for when it was time to pick up his sister from detention.

A detention he found completely unjustified.

Barba thought he was being melodramatic, but Dick was standing tall on his perception and couldn’t be moved from it.

He swore those boys were the ones to be blamed.

It made sense! His defenseless little sister had no way of standing against those brats. They were taller. Bigger. Malicious teenagers, looking to take advantage of her timid, empathetic, and good nature.

That was why she was acting like that: defensive, prickly, and distant. It was an act of avoidance so she wouldn’t bother the family. Distanced herself from them, from him, just so she could shoulder such a heavy burden by herself. 

His sweet, poor sister, how alone did she think she was to turn to such a thing?

How could he even handle the fact that he had been ignoring the signs for so long? She had tried to reach out multiple times. A simple hello. Asking about his day. Texting him invitations to recitals.

It was like getting dumped in a tub of ice-cold water the moment he scrolled down their Messenger chat.

‘Hope everything is alright at work. Remember to take some time to rest!’ ‘Hey, Alfred told me you were dropping by. Do you think we can go to the movies together?’ ‘Heard you got a recognition at work today, congrats!’ ‘I've got a recital by the end of the month. I hope you can come for just a little bit.'

A bullet to the head would have hurt less than the realization of how bad he fucked up.

Not a single reply. Not a single one from his side of the chat room.

But that didn’t matter now. He had messed it up, but he’s still got time to make it right! Because his sister was a good person. She was filled with pure goodness, and she would understand that he was trying to fix it. That he was there for her now, and that everything would be alright. Everything would go back to the way it was, and it would be even better, because he won’t leave.

He wouldn’t leave. Not again.

╰───────────✧──────────────╮

Gotham Police Department: 10 years ago

Dick had been taken away from his dinner quite rudely. Both Alfred and Bruce were acting out of sorts with the sudden call from Gordon.

He wasn’t really listening to it, mostly focused on not dying from starvation. Until Bruce had marched out of the kitchen towards the garage, and Alfred took away his plate of food and told him to get in the car as soon as possible.

The two of them didn’t answer any of his questions on the ride to the police station.

But Dick took notice of the faint tremble in Bruce’s left hand. Even when they stepped inside the busy building.

Gordon had been sitting on a bench outside his small office. A small lump was covered by his thick police coat right beside him, their small barefoot legs not able to reach the floor. The policeman was talking quietly to the unresponsive child, whose face was half hidden by the coat and only showing their dark, wide eyes.

As they got closer, Gordon gave them a quick glance and patted the child’s head before standing up and greeting them.

Dick’s attention remained on the kid, tuning out the adult’s conversation as he approched them and sat carefully besides them.

The child was a girl, judging by long lashes and wet curls on her head. Her gaze remained on the floor, staying as still and as quiet as possible. He even had trouble hearing her breathing, thinking about how she could even do it if her mouth was covered by the neck of the coat and nose twitching every once in a while.

“-it was the neighbors who called us. The girl was standing under the rain, screaming for help.” “-have any wounds? Is she sick?” “-a few scratches. But I’m mostly concerned about the mother-”

Bits of conversation filtered through Dick’s ears, looking over his shoulder at the three man before deciding it wouldn’t do the girl any good to listen to them.

“Hey, I’m Dick.” He greeted quietly, smiling down a her.

The girl gave him a glance from the corner of her eye. It took a bit before a small voice muttered what he guessed was her name.

He kneeled on one knee so he was able to look her eye to eye. She was drenched in rainwater, noticing small goosebumps on her legs. The only source of warmth she had was the giant coat around her, and she didn’t seem anywhere near to let go of it.

A frown came up to his face when he looked at her feet. They were raw red, with a few cuts, and with some dirt around it.

“Well, that is not good. You’ll catch a cold like this.” He said with a grin.

She only stared at him, head tilting to the side and nose scrunching.

He began to take off his jacket, using the sleeves to dry her legs. He ignored her flinching, muttering soft apologies, and asking her questions to keep her distracted.

“-never knew! She never told me about it!” “How is Lady Bianca? Has she been internalized?” “-haven’t heard much, but she is under sedatives.” “-she always took her pills. Wait, does he know about this?” “-still in Arkham for now. Nothing has gotten out yet.”

Dick then took off his shoes and socks, slipping the socks in the tiny feet with a laugh when they slipped down. Obviously too big on her.

That got him a small giggle from her, twirling her ankles and making the slip down more.

“Dick” Bruce’s exhausted tone made both of them look up.

The man gave the girl a quick glance before addressing the teenage boy. Crouching down with a grunt before speaking lowly.

“Stay with her for now. I have to talk to Gordon about some papers, and then we can all go home.”

Dick looked at the girl and then back at bruce, nodding with a smile.

“Sure, I won’t leave her alone.”

╰───────────✧──────────────╮

“Huh, is that the teacher?” Barbara’s voice brought him out of his daze. He also noticed how his fingers ached.

His knuckles were white from how hard he was gripping the steering wheel. Dick quickly let go of it and rubbed his fingers, turning his attention towards Barbara’s field of vision as his mouth curled into a disdained grimace.

Right. The teacher.

From the very first impression, Dick could tell the man was rough around the edges. Broad and burly build, accompanied by a brutal presence and dark old eyes. His voice was deep, almost sounding similar to Bruce if it weren’t for the growly edge it had while he was reprimanding the boys and his sister.

Of course, like any responsible older brother, he butted in and tried to talk with him so she could get out of trouble.

Then, he got his own type of reprimand for trespassing onto the school grounds without being a legal guardian. To Dick Grayson, Logan Munroe was a man that shouldn’t be around children if he was going to punish someone that innocent and obviously coerced into this scheme.

At the moment, Munroe stood by the front entrance of the school with a pouting Wayne at his side. She had caught sight of the car, to which Dick waved from inside with a sweet smile.

To which she grimaced and turned her back towards the vehicle.

“Wow,” Barbara laughed. “She is not very happy to see you.”

“She is just upset about the detention,” Dick muttered before honking the horn of his car.

But she only crossed her arms and didn’t look back.

Logan frowned at the display in front of him. He certainly wasn’t expecting this on his first day of class. Much less in such a pretentious academy like this one. It was simple work. Pretend to be a teacher, gather intel around the city, and detect possible awakening mutants nearby.

He had hit the jackpot with having three mutants in his class.

Three possible victims for whatever messed-up scheme was going on around Gotham.

At first, he wasn’t sure if the kids were even aware of their powers. He needed to encounter them separately from the other students so their smells wouldn’t mix and confuse his theory. And if it was by divine intervention (which he would never call it so), all three of them ran into him and lay at his feet.

Quite literally.

So what if he pulled out of his ass some made up rule about running the halls? He wasn’t supposed to be smoking inside the halls anyway, and the kids had ruined a perfectly good cigar.

He was petty, so what? He got what he needed, which leads to the current situation.

The Wayne girl was odd. 

Not a bad odd, but a familiar odd.

The fidgeting, the impulsive attitude, the out-of-context comments, and the way she needs to move constantly. Hell, that pout and posture she had right now was like having a walking deja-vu.

All that she needed was some white hair and running shoes, and she would look just like Pietro-

HOOOOONNNNKKKKKK

Which led to the honking annoyance at the front gate.

“Ain’t that your brother, kid?” He nodded towards the car, where a red-haired woman began to hit the guy over the head and yell at him.

She huffed and turned her nose. “Nope. I’m walking home by myself, actually.”

Logan hummed, scratching his jaw before crossing his arms. “You’re a long way from your home, bub.”

The girl muttered under her breath and kicked some imaginary dust off the floor, silently cursing while avoiding looking at Logan and the shaking car with the couple arguing in the background. It was almost non-existent murmuring to her, but to Logan, it was loud and clear.

‘That isn’t my home.’

The man grunted out a heavy sigh, already picturing what was going on here. He nodded to the side, signaling her to come closer so she would pay attention. She dragged her feet slowly, her posture slouching with a glare at him.

‘Yeah, I’m gonna need some DNA tests from Hank after this.’

“Alright, kid, let’s make a deal.” He offered, which got her attention. “You get in that car and go to your house-”

“That’s a shitty deal-”

“Language, kid.” He snarled before clearing his throat. “You go to your house, and I’ll see if I can get you in the track and field team by the end of the week.”

She suddenly perked up, a wide grin breaking on her face. Logan felt pleased at that reaction.

“Since you seem so fond of running around and staying horrible hours away from your house, I would prefer if you wouldn’t crack your head open by running in the hall-”

His breath was knocked out of him by the sudden tackle of the beaming and squealing girl. Logan only patted her shoulder awkwardly while looking to the side with a groan.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you,” She bursted with a jump as she stepped away from him, quickly taking off towards the car while waving widely at him with the biggest and almost manical grin as she continued to thank him until she climbed in the backseat of the car.

As the car drove off, Logan just waved slowly with a smirk once he noticed how the young man glared at him from the rearview mirror.

That would be the least of his problems. He needed to make some calls.

──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────

Bruce couldn’t remember the last time he had set foot in his daughter’s room.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had set foot in this side of the manor.

Her bedroom was colorful compared to the rest of the halls and rooms in this dusty old mansion. With paintings and crystals hanging from the ceiling and stained glass windows. A messy desk and unmade sheets in the bed.

So much life in a tiny room in the corner of a dark and gray mansion.

His fingers traced the wooden carvings of the wardrobe, as his eyes swept around for anything out of place that could give him a clue.

Letters. He was looking for letters.

Bruce kept all his correspondence and documents about Wayne Enterprises and personal things in his office. Anything else was in the batcomputer or in the cave document archive.

The letters Bruce was looking for were supposed to be under lock and key, hidden in a secret compartment on his desk cabinet. It could only be open with a key that he always kept with him. Nobody knew about this compartment. Not even Alfred.

The letters were meant for one person. He had never opened them.

He preferred to sweep them under the rug. It was for the better.

Better for her.

She didn’t have to know he had been reaching out. 

The farther away he was, the better.

Bruce had allowed the letters to come in for the first few years. Two letters each month, along with a present on her birthday. He had deemed it harmless. Respecting Bianca’s wishes to keep a good relationship with her brother, just so their daughter could have an uncle.

A criminal uncle, but still an uncle.

That was until that man dared to claim custody over her. Showing up with Bianca’s testament and signature in the middle of a patrol night.

It said that as soon as he was deemed sane by his psychiatrist, and continued to go to therapy, Bianca’s daughter would be passed to be under his tutelage. 

It had been a dirty tactic, but Bruce managed to keep him locked up and hide the testament. Along with the letters that kept coming twice a month.

Why didn’t he destroy them? Probably because there was still a sentimental part of him that prevented him from doing so.

Now, he regretted keeping them instead of burning them.

Someone had sneaked into his office. Someone had found the compartment. Someone broke into it. Someone took the cards from-

“What are you doing in my room?”

Bruce hadn’t heard the door creak open, so he was caught off guard by his daughter’s sudden appearance.

She stood by the edge of the door, her school uniform wrinkled and hanging a bit off her body. As if it were a size too big for her. Her braid was almost gone, the hair tie loose over her shoulder. The school bag was hanging on her hand, letting go slowly until it reached the floor, and she walked deeper into the room.

She was frowning, eyebrows twisted in annoyance, and shoulders tense.

He wasn’t wanted here.

“Heard you got into trouble at school,” He replied, his hands slipping away from the wooden wardrobe. “Mind telling me what happened?”

“You can ask Richard about it. He was there.” she countered with a shrug. Sitting down on the edge of the bed and staring directly into his eyes.

His hand twitched at the dark color of her eyes. Still unfamiliar with how to handle the pressure in his lungs whenever they clashed with his own.

“I’m asking you.”

“And I got homework to do, so go ask him.”

Bruce said her name in a warning tone, “If you are mad at me, you must talk about it. That’s how it works.”

His daughter aimlessly looked around, gesturing with her hands. “Oh, I am not mad. Not at all. Just a bit busy to talk to you right now.”

She got up and began to shove a startled Bruce out of her room by pushing his back towards the door. Taking advantage of catching him off guard, so he wasn’t putting all of his weight on his feet.

Before he knew it, she had slammed the door behind him and locked it.

Just as he was about to knock on the door and maybe force it open, his phone vibrated with an incoming message. Muttering as he harshly took the phone out, Bruce cursed to himself as a message from none other than Clark asking him to come to the watchtower for an urgent meeting.

Bruce stomped away with a snarl, his steps echoing on the hall farther and farther away.

Meanwhile, she let out a sigh of relief as she slumped down against the door with her legs stretched on the floor. Her head was banging softly against the wood with her eyes closed.

“A warning would have been nice, you know?” She offered to the room.

The lamp on her nightstand flickered on, making her open her eyes as Wayne began to communicate.

“... --- .-. .-. -.-- .-.-.-”

SORRY.

She shook her head with a tired smile. “Is fine. But we gotta talk. Like real talk.”

Getting up from the floor with a groan, she suddenly regretted slamming down on the floor like that as she sat down on the bed once again. Taking one of the pillows and hugging it to her lap, biting her lip as she waited for a sign from Wayne.

The sudden shift in weight on her right side was answer enough.

“So, I met Warren today,” the lights in the room turned off.

“C’mon,” she groaned with a laugh. “A heads up would have been great, but I handled it very well. I think…”

The light bulb of the lamp began to dim up, which gave her some relief that Wayne was still there and willing to listen.

“He told me about the recital. And I want to know if you wanted me to do it.”

Wayne was a ghost, and ghosts have unfinished business if they still remain on the mortal plane. That’s what she had gathered from those restless nights in the library with Wayne as company. 

If Wayne’s unfinished business was tied to the recital, then she would have to do it- 

“-. --- .-.-.- / -.. --- -. .----. - / -.. --- / .. - .-.-.-”

NO. DON'T DO IT.

That answer made her frown. “Are you sure? Warren told me you practiced for weeks.”

The lamp trembled as its light flickered. “.. - / -.. .. . ... / .-- .. - .... / -- . .-.-.- / - .... . / ... --- ..- -. -.. / -.. .. . ... / .-- .. - .... / -- . .-.-.-”

IT DIES WITH ME. THE SOUND DIES WITH ME.

Wayne’s presence was felt against her back. She returned the gesture by leaning back with a sigh. Her head tilted back to look at the strings of crystals hanging off the roof.

“As long as it is what you want, I’ll respect it.”

Wet clumps of hair draped over her shoulder, the sound of a shrilling breath invading her ears. A faint whisper brought some comfort despite all the wrongness surrounding her.

“Thank you…”

“All good, as long as you are alright with letting me alter the deal.” She chuckled, playfully shoving with her shoulder at Wayne’s suddenly solid back. “If I am going to a gala, at least let me gain something that benefits me.”

Wayne’s laugh was more like nails on a chalkboard. The lights flickering and books rattling on the bookshelves. Crystals tingling and ringing. Even the bedsheets fluttered and hovered around the edges.

The scene felt somewhat familiar to her. Things floating around and moving from side to side by an unseen force.

It wrapped her in a thick blanket of blissful, homely feelings.

Their laughs echoed down the halls, making the lights of different rooms in the manor flicker or cut off. A few of the members of the family were startled by the sudden failures in the electricity. Somewhere in the house, Dick was cursing and yelling for falling on the bathtub while looking for the light switch.

“Oh, that’s right!” She suddenly straightened up, turning around to look at the now still room and empty spot behind her. “Did you find anything that could lead us to what Rio wants? Any clues?”

Wayne stayed quiet for a few moments until a wave of wind made her hair tie fly off, which gained a complaint from the girl. Then, the lights answered once again.

“-. --- .-.-.- / .-- . / -. . . -.. / .... . .-.. .--. .-.-.-” 

NO. WE NEED HELP.

The girl sighed roughly at that, picking up the tie and twisting her hair up. “And who could probably help us with this? Anyone in your mind?”

Wayne’s reply almost made her choke on air.

“-- --- -- .-.-.- / .-- . / -. . . -.. / -- --- -- .-.-.-”

MOM. WE NEED MOM.

──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────

Eastview, New Jersey - 10:45 PM

“It’s weird,” Billy mentioned out loud. “I can feel her, but I can’t pinpoint it in any direction.”

He sat cross-legged on the floor, slouching over scattered maps and scribbled notebooks. His room was a mess. One of his walls had a pinboard with a map of the states. Multiple pins with a red string wrapped around them, creating a bizarre web of red all over the board.

Billy huffed, throwing away his pen to the other side of the room. His shoulders tensed as he glared down at the mess of papers.

As if intimidating them would be enough to give him answers.

“Perhaps,” Agatha drawled with a flare as she hovered in her transparent form over the boy and his mess. “We could hit the road for once and for all. Getting fresh air does wonders to the young mind, y’know?”

Billy glared up at her. “We can’t leave.”

His expression flattered as he looked at the framed family picture of the Kaplans on his desk. It was from the bar mitzva. Both the parents and he.

Well, it was actually William Kaplan in the picture. 

Not Billy Maximoff.

“Not yet,” he muttered. “Not until I have her location. That way, I will know where to start looking.”

Agatha bemoaned in protest, floating around the room until she lay over on Billy’s bed with a dramatic pose. Hand over her forehead while complaining.

“Who knew being a ghost would bore me to death? You Maximoffs only take the fun out of the afterlife!” Billy just rolled his eyes at her scene, looking back down at his organized mess.

That’s until his eye caught sight of a small closed book, almost hidden beneath his bed.

His spell book.

Billy flicked his fingers, the book flying directly into his hands. Agatha made a questioning sound, flying to look over Billy’s shoulder as he flipped through the pages quickly with an intense stare.

“Anything caught your attention, Billy-Boo?” She snickered once her mind started to piece together what his apprentice was planning on doing.

“Just a thought,” he muttered, getting up from the floor and walking towards the board on the wall. His gaze wandered around the scattered pins, murmuring under his breath while gripping the spellbook rather tightly.

“If something or someone is blocking her physical location,” He turned around, moving the mess on the floor with a snap of his fingers. Then, threw his book towards the bed and waved his hand so a marker landed in his fingers.

The boy began to draw on the floor, as Agatha hovered rather smugly at his side.

“Then this perfect time to put those beautiful mind powers of yours to good use, am I right?”

Billy hummed. “Not quite. I’m still on training wheels for trying anything that drastic.”

“However, The Dreaming is an uncharted field. And that could work.”

Agatha cackled loudly at that.

Maximoffs. So entertaining. 

──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────

Author's note: Hello, everyone! It's been a CRAZY week for me. Finlly finished my semester , thank GOD. Got to work on a play after such a stressful semester, pulled a muscle while slipping on fake blood after spining on a stripper pole (Im fine, just a bit tense on the back). And also, finally got enough time to work on my short film script befor starting the summer semester (bc I like to torture myself, obv.) Hope you all like this chapter, remember that I love to answer and read comments and asks. Let me know what are your thoughts and theories of what is to come! Also, added the translations to morse code in the fic too! Lots of love and tight hugs, GG✨

Tag List:

@bat1212 @kneelforloki @1abi @galaxypurplerose @yhin-gg @cxcilla @momentomoribitch @stargirl404 @initial-ari @welpthisisboring @icefox8155 @bunniotomia @alittlelostmoonchild @devotedlyshamelessdetective @shycreatorreview @nirvanaxx1942 @soulsire @ryuushou @rinkydinkythinky @lithiumval @ithoughtthinks @reeyy0-2 @cssammyyarts @lordbugs @ilovecoffe0 @kore-of-the-underworld @fortunatelydifferentqueen @vanessa-boo @livingund3ad @aelxr @im-so-goddamn-tired @lovebug-apple @staarflowerr @xoxoyukixoxo @whyiseveryuseenametaken

Bonus Memes:

I did some more Vergil doodles cause he’s so beautiful to draw

it took me two whole weeks to create this illustration... do you think it was worth it? 😂 a small tribute to the finale of the second act of arcane and one of my favorite scenes from the series. even now, i feel like crying every time i rewatch that final scene.. poor isha 🥺

You never know who's sitting in the next booth.

The Void breaching containment like

The Bob(sentry) Masterlist

Deathtrap & Bob Stuff

Deathtrap & Bob¹

Deathtrap & Bob²

Deathtrap & Bob³

Deathtrap & Bob⁴

Deathtrap & Bob⁵

Deathtrap & Bob⁶

TWST - Dorm Analysis: Morals and Values

What gets a person sorted into one dorm or another? What dorm might you end up in if you were to attend the illustrious Night Raven College? Well look no further than here for the answers to your struggles and questions!

Truth be told I saw somebody try and do this once, but their analysis felt rather biased and left me unsatisfied, so here’s a little something I like to call: “Soul’s Deep-Dive Analysis into the Morals and Values of the Seven Dorms of Night Raven College”!

Keep reading

Ok ok hear me out, remmick x reader, established relationship, that’s full of fluff.

Where reader is curious about remmick’s vampiric traits, holding his face softly to see how the light reflects in his eyes, how his teeth sharpen, and how his claws grow. Basically fluster this man till kingdom come lol

Gender neutral reader if you don’t mind!

Have a great day/night :D

Let me look at you||Remmick x Gender neutral!reader

Summary—y/n loves to admire Remmick’s vampire features.

Word count—473

A/n—keep em coming please I’m starving for this man…and the others too!

Remmick was brought to your attention. The easy kind the way your hand would find his absentmindedly the way your laugh softened just for him but this? This kind of attention was disarming in a way even centuries of unspeakable behavior couldn’t prepare him for.

You say across his lap legs loosely draped over his arms resting on his shoulders. Your fingers feather-light on his jaw. the sun begging to dip low warm orange light leaking through the curtains you tilted your head lightly studying him.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice a touch raspier than usual. Suspicious.

“Looking,” you replied simply.

His brows furrowed. “At…?”

“You,” you said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Your eyes. The way the light hits them. It’s kind of beautiful.”

He blinked. Once. Twice. And then, just like that, his pupils flared, not entirely human anymore, a glint of gold flickering through the red and he looked away.

“Don’t do that,” you said softly, gently guiding his face back toward yours. “Let me see you.”

Remmick swallowed hard. If his heart could still beat the way it used to, it’d be thundering.

You leaned in, your thumbs brushing over the sharp edges of his cheekbones, studying the way his fangs just barely pressed into his bottom lip when he was trying not to smile. Or panic. Probably both at this point.

“Can I touch it?” you asked.

He nodded, slow and unsure, and you traced a fingertip along the corner of his mouth, brushing the edge of one sharpened canine.

His breath caught.

You smiled. “They’re sharp.”

“They’re supposed to be,” he muttered, voice low and flustered, eyes darting to the side again.

“Don’t hide from me, Remmick,” you whispered, thumb brushing his cheek again. “I like seeing all of you.”

The words settled over him like a warm cloak, and he looked at you again, truly looking at you with something unguarded in his expression.

And then you brought one of his hands up, turning it palm-up in yours.

“I’ve never seen your claws like this,” you said, watching the tips lengthen ever so subtly. “Do they just… come out like that?”

“They react to, um… instincts,” he said, voice tighter now, struggling to keep the shift in check under your gentle gaze. “They’re… involuntary.”

You grinned. “So you’re saying I’m making them come out?”

Remmick groaned softly and buried his face in your shoulder, completely done.

You laughed and wrapped your arms around him, hugging him close. “You’re adorable.”

“I'm a terrifying monster dove. I’m not supposed to be adorable,” he said into your sweater.

“Mmhmm. A terrifyingly cute monster” you teased, pressing a kiss to his hairline.

He sighed. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

You held him a little tighter. “Too late for that, Remmy”

Experimental Obsession

Pt 10

Prev

Barbara watched through the security cameras as (Name) walked around the mall with Jason. Her mind would flash back randomly to when the girl was barely a year old. Back to when she could walk and dance. Dick would hold her in his lap while Barbara practiced. Each move was done to rounds of giggles and claps from the chubby little toddler.

Than it changed. Barbara couldn't dance anymore and Jason was suddenly gone. (Name) kept asking questions that no one could answer. Suddenly it became all to easy for Barbara to drown herself in work. "Where are the culprits? What's the status on the blood analysis? Are the suspects still in the building? Why did they commit this crime?" All easier to answer than "Where is Jay? What happen to your legs? Are you okay? Why is everyone so sad?"

Now watching (Name), Barbara felt frustrated at how hard the questions had become to answer. How in a family of paranoid individuals all obsessed with control did one member disappear for two years? Not just any member but the most vulnerable one. Barbara rubbed at her eyebrows before looking back at the cameras. Jason had left her with Roy, who had put a number in her new phone.

A phone. Barbara swallowed, fingers itching at the keys. They had used Bruce's card to purchase the phone. Putting it on Jason's plan, Barbara could find the number and remotely hack in. "It would just be one little tracker. Just in case."

She took a deep breath but paused. Everyone always got mad at Bruce when he invaded their privacy by doing these things. Could she really do that to (Name)? Barbara looked back at the camera footage to see Roy lead the girl into a store. "Do it Barbara."

Barbara spun around to see Bruce behind her. His arms were crossed watching the footage just like she was. Barbara placed a hand to her chest taking deep breaths, "You scared me." She looked back to the computer clicking on to the next video feed, "Are you sure we should do that? Don't growing teens need their privacy?"

"What if her kidnappers come back for her?" Bruce countered, "We've gotten lucky so far that nothing has happened."

"The evidence Jason found suggests they might not return for her." Barbara shrugged. Even she could admit she wasn't very convincing. The argument was too weak. Bruce leveled her with a serious look. Barbara sighed, "It's only for emergencies."

"Of course." Bruce nodded watching as Roy handed (Name) a box of hair. He blinked looking to Barbara, "What are they doing?"

"Shopping, apparently. With your credit card." Barbara sighed, "on the opposite side of town from where Jason told Dick."

"Get ready to go. We'll meet them down there." Bruce turned to leave the Belfry. Barbara looked back to the computer. (Name) was moving through the store with Roy walking close behind. Kori came into the frame holding a collar for the new cat. The two girls laughed petting the kitten while Roy went and paid for the hair dye.

She looked so normal and happy. Barbara found herself smiling as she watched the screen. She could still see that bright toddler who was amazed at her dancing again. However, the incident at the breakfast table flashed briefly. The fear in her eyes mixing with betrayal.

"Just one little bug on her phone to alert me...... us if something is wrong."

Ra's was in leagues headquarters, planning the training course that his new student would use. (Name) has natural talent that needed to be refined. His daughter had been right on that. However, getting the girl to join the league, especially with who her father was, would be a challenge. Thinking back to his encounter he paused.

She had been so much more like her in person than just through the camera. If felt like he was looking at her age for the first time in over 500 years. The best part of all, was that she had look at him like she knew him. She was clearly confused by that knowing but had known all the same.

"Father, I have made the necessary preparations." Ra's nodded at Talia's words. They had prepared a room for the girl, fully ready to bring her to join the league. Though her paused in that line of thinking. Assuming everything they had learned so far was true, the girl would not react well to another 'kidnapping'. It was also just bring the bats in fully enraged.

"Those won't be necessary for a while."

"What about our plans?" Talia looked at Ra's with disbelief. Her mind was running through a hundred different scenarios. Her cold calculating gaze give credit.

Ra's looked back to the training plan, "Would it not be better to have her come to the league willingly? She would be less likely to run and would return to us if the Wayne's steal her away."

"Slow and steady to win the race." It clicked in her head with a wicked smirk. Ra's mirrored her expression merely tilting his head to Talia. His daughter nodded to him, "I'll adjust my plans. Focus on making her trust us."

"You also have to turn her against the Waynes." Ra's made a nod in her training plans. "Make it so she can't trust them."

"Oh, that will be easy." Talia nodded, turning to leave the room. "We'll have our new heir to the league soon."

You and the Outlaws entered Jason's apartment. Laughter filling the air as everyone walked in. Churro was in the pet carrier, napping. Every time you looked at the carrier you smiled wider. Was getting a cat a smart decision in your plan for revenge? No, but you could leave the little guy there. The kitten had been abandoned just like you, with no willing to save them.

Two abandoned creatures finding one another. It made you smile once more as you eyed the carrier. You were pulled out of your reverie by Jason groaning, "What are you guys doing here?"

Looking from the cat carrier you joined Jason in groaning. The entire family stan you and Jason were crowd in the living room. Bruce sat in Jason old recliner, legs crossed, looking like the perfect image of a billionaire. Dick was sitting on Jason's couch with Damian and Tim next to him. He had an arm over the back of the couch, yet his chill posture was betrayed by his sharp judging eyes.

Tim was focused on his phone, reading something but he looked up to nod at you. Damian was intensely focused on you. His gaze was sharp and assessing as he began studying you. Cass, Steph, and Duke were sitting on the floor around the coffee table. There was half finished round of go fish. Duke gave you a bright smile but there was something off about it. Cass was looking at the carrier with piqued interest. Steph was looking at you like it was the first she had every truly seen you. It was her gaze that was the most unsettling.

Barbara was sitting in her wheelchair with her laptop in her lap. The charging cord for said laptop was plugged into the outlet not too far away. She was typing furiously, eyebrows scrunched up as she focused on something. Her expression was a mix of anger, disbelief, and confusion.

"Glad to see you too." Bruce answered half sarcastically. "How was red lobster?"

Jason shrugged, "Nothing looked appetizing. We ended up meeting the Outlaws at Burrito Bucket."

"Really?" Dick said a bit too causally, "and you didn't tell us this because?"

You rolled your eyes at the family's questions. Turning back to the cat carrier you opened the door and gently lifted Churro out into your arms. Everyone paused at the sight of the animal. Damian stood from the couch and began to walk towards the cat. He kneeled down next to you looking at the cat with wide eyes, "Whose cat is this?"

"Mine." You began to gently scratch under Churro's chin. Damian reached out and began to stroke Churro's head. The kitten mewled as they slowly woke up.

Bruce gave Jason a flat look, "I said no more animals."

"To Damian. You never said anything to (Name)." Jason smirked slightly. He gave Bruce a defiant look as you press a hand to your mouth to keep from laughing.

Your biological father gave Jason a weird look before looking at the Outlaws, "Can you guys give us a minute? This is a family matter."

The Outlaw looked between each other before awkwardly shuffling out. Barbara finally looked up from her laptop. Her face morphed into one of pity as she caught sight of you. She looked down at the laptop before glancing around the room, "I decode the hard drive Jason found in the facility."

"What facility?" The air in the room began to feel heavy. Your stomach began to bubble making you feel sick, worsen by the tighten in your throat.

Duke stepped forward, gently taking your hand. Jason sat down behind you. It made you feel trapped in place. Duke took a deep breath, but Jason beat him to it, "We found where you were held for the last two years and recovered a hard drive alongside some paperwork."

The world dropped out from under you.

Taglist:

@stove-top96 @00hellohello00 @mysticalhills @yhin-gg @twismare @charlenexoxo1 @a-lurking-fae @moondust-clouds @darkumbreon92 @jsprien213 @bellethesleepypotato @time-shardz @randomlyappearingartist @kittzu @bat1212 @vanilliona

@welpthisisboring @plsfckmedxddy @tulnukaz @eyeless-kun @daisy56789 @dandelion-delusion @damianwayneisthebestrobin

@crazycaoticsimp @sirenetheblogger @1nternetc4t @lilithskywalker @jamespotterfan @fandomly-obsessed @itsberrydreemurstuff @bad4amficideas @wpdarlingpan @type-ink @wrenbirde @shadowytravelerlover @lunayaps @magdelenacarmila @tsxukikami

[for the last time || в последний раз]

chapter warnings: n/a (damian just rambles a bit on how much he dislikes reader lol)

01. | 02. | » you are here | ... |

From the eyes of [ Robin ]

Roughly 20 hours before the events of 01.

The morning was dull and overcast, the pale light filtering through the manor’s tall windows with the insistence of a persistent fog. Damian descended the grand staircase with deliberate, measured steps, his sharp gaze sweeping over the pristine foyer before turning toward the dining room.

Breakfast was always a tedious affair, but tolerable with Alfred’s efficiency. And—most days—endurable by the girl’s silent presence. She would usually be seated already, picking at her plate with the nervousness of a bird, her eyes darting between her food and whatever book she’d brought to the table.

Today, the seat across from him was empty.

“Good Morning, Master Damian,” Alfred greeted, setting down a neatly folded napkin beside his plate. “Eggs, toast, and sliced fruit as usual. Would you prefer tea or coffee this morning?”

“Tea.” Damian slid into his seat, gaze flicking to the empty chair again. “Where’s the girl?”

“The Miss has not made an appearance yet.” Alfred’s brow furrowed as he poured the tea with steady precision. “Have you seen her this morning, sir?”

“No.”

Alfred’s fingers tightened slightly around the teapot before he resumed his usual elegance. “I shall send her a message, then. It’s unlike her to miss breakfast without a word.”

Damian scoffed, already cutting into his food. “Perhaps she finally decided to skip the unnecessary pretenses.”

Alfred’s look was a measured thing, the kind of quiet reproach Damian had grown adept at ignoring. “Very well, Master Damian.”

The room lapsed into silence, punctuated only by the soft clink of silverware against fine china. Alfred moved about with his usual efficiency, though there was a new stiffness to his movements, something Damian noted and promptly dismissed.

Minutes later, Grayson strolled in with all the gracelessness of a man who’d only just dragged himself from bed. His hair was tousled and he was already smiling, as if he expected the world to greet him with the same warmth he poured into it.

“Morning, Damian. Alfred.”

“Good morning, Master Richard,” Alfred replied, setting down another plate.

Damian didn’t bother with a greeting, his attention already straying from the room. He finished his meal quickly and rose from his seat, ignoring the curious glance Grayson shot his way.

“Going somewhere, Lil’ demon?” Dick asked around a mouthful of toast.

“My morning stroll,” Damian replied curtly, already turning toward the hallway. “Try not to do anything foolish while I’m gone.”

The hallways of Wayne Manor were vast and labyrinthine, but Damian knew them all by heart. It was a routine of sorts, to walk them every morning. Familiarity bred comfort, or perhaps it was more a matter of asserting his own existence within these elaborate, yet hollowed walls.

He passed the gallery, a corridor adorned with paintings and photographs from every era of the Wayne family. Damian rarely gave them much thought, but today his steps slowed, eyes narrowing as he studied the long line of frames.

One of the oldest photographs showed Grayson at twelve, smiling with infuriating exuberance beside his father, who looked decidedly uncomfortable with the forced cheer. Jane was there too, small and stiff at six years old, her posture awkward in a frilly dress that didn’t suit her.

Another photo showed the three of them, with Todd newly added to the lineup. Jane was probably nine, her eyes brighter with her lips curled up into something much genuine, more attuned to the cheerful energy Todd brought with him. Grayson had been fifteen then, already growing into his role as the dutiful eldest.

The progression continued down the line. Jason’s surly adolescence then absence, followed by the portraits with the appearance of Drake, Richard’ steady maturation, to then the doe-eye’s awkward transitions between childhood and whatever she was attempting to be now. And then Damian himself, glaring with unhidden suspicion in his first formal photograph, Bruce’s hand a heavy, yet not an unwelcome weight on his shoulder.

They were all there, framed and preserved like insects under glass.

But there was another photograph Damian hadn’t noticed before as it was placed far up the wall, it's dimensions small that it could easily be overlooked unless one had the stature of a person who'd gone through puberty. It was old, in black and white, the edges faded and worn with time, encased inside an intricate silver frame. It was a photograph of a woman standing alone, her hair elegantly styled, eyes alight with something Damian couldn’t quite define. Curiosity, perhaps. Or amusement.

The initials engraved in the plaque beneath the frame read.

M.W.

He frowned, tilting his head. The girl’s mother? That was unlikely. Her lineage was no secret within these walls, though it was a matter so rarely spoken of that it had taken Damian time to piece it all together. She was Bruce’s blood. His half-sister. Although he could never bring himself to call her that out loud.

Damian regarded the photograph again, his eyes narrowing as he studied the woman’s features with the meticulous scrutiny he applied to all things. The curve of her eyes felt familiar, their shape mirroring the girl’s in a way that left an uneasy knot in his chest.

But there was something wrong about them.

They were bright, yes, yet clouded—somehow. As if some unseen weight pressed upon them, shadowing the edges despite her composed smile. It was a gaze that seemed almost distracted, as though the woman were looking at something far beyond the camera’s lens.

For a moment, Damian felt something like recognition. A restlessness he couldn’t place, an unsettled thread that frayed at the seams of his thoughts. But he dismissed it as quickly as it came.

Whatever ghosts lingered in those eyes were of no consequence to him.

He scoffed, tension coiling in his shoulders. The resemblance, if it existed, was irrelevant. She was soft—fragile in a way that grated against everything he was taught to value. The others spoke of how she’d been indulged: by Grayson, occasionally by Todd before Drake took the mantle of Robin, and even by Pennyworth. Curiously, never by his father. He'd come to realize there was a void there—an absence of interest, as if the girl, his daughter, simply didn’t register.

He would not waste his thoughts on shadows.

She had never earned her place here. Not like he had.

With a huff, Damian turned away from the photograph, his brisk footsteps echoing through the empty hall. Whatever Alfred’s concerns were, they weren’t his. The girl would show herself when she decided to stop hiding away like a coward.

And if she didn’t, well—Damian couldn’t bring himself to care.

Taglist: @kneelforloki

I just can’t get out of my head the headcanons that the sparta boys (dante, vergil, maybe nero?) just acting like cat demons

Dante

this man in his devil trigger looks impossing, so intimidating, yet the moment you call his name, his wings perk up in the similar way a cat or dog's would

his eyes would dialiate upon seeing you as loud purrs would eminate from him, chirps would soon follow also that are just the cutest things you've ever heard.

he's that excited to see you that hes constantly chriping, purring as he makes his way over to you excitedly as his wings flutter and his tail vibrating at a rate of which your eyes could hardly keep up with. and soon your within his arms as he's purring loudly, content with you being in his arms.

only for it to be a heaping pile of dead demons stacked ontop of each other and he's looking at you as though waiting for your approval.

dante's devil trigger is extremely talkitive, especially towards you in the forms of chittering, purrs and trills as he tries to show you something he had found that his demon mind thinks will impress you even more.

just give his head a rub between the horns and his tail is viberating once more and his wings are outstretched to their fullest wing expansion.

and they are fucking huge! a good couple of feet on each of them as a matter of fact.

dante is the equivient of an orange cat, always craving chaos and doing shit he's not supossed to and for some reason you'll find him on the rafters of some abandoned building, lounging there as he naps.

he takes alot of naps, most of which are on your lap and he doesn't let up for a long while, seriously if you were to move he'll get pouty and be vocal as demonic screams that you assumed were akin to yeowling, will occur until you come back to him.

he will also show you his tummy, however unlike Vergil -who will rare do this- he will want you to rub his tummy, it's a weakness of his and you'll be rewarded with the loudest of purrs and one of his tail latching onto your wrist, keeping you there as he basked in the affection being given to him.

he pushes your hand down in means of being playful, he want's to exert some energy, so play with him for a bit until he tires himself out.

Vergil

this man will probably act the most cat like in his devil trigger, the biggest.

he could be in your lap, this hulking blue demon but his claws would be running over your head, over your arms

as though he was trying to groom you in some sort of way without accidently hurting you with his sharp claws.

Vergil had told you about demon courting and how they'd tend to groom one another to show a deep bonding between the two, an excuse to spend time together as well as affection.

he's terratorial. so expect him to suddenly come up to you and rub himself against your body, making sure your covered in his scent.

even if you were about to fall flat on your ass everytime this hulking mass of a devil presses himself against you constantly, even burrying his large head into your chest for good measure.

he chirps or clicks at what he views as prey, he could be content in your lap, your caressing his scaley/leathery skin until his head is up, eyes are dead set on something you can't see and suddenly he is chirping/clicking as he gears up for a hunt before hes back in your lap and you are left bafled at what has just happened.

sometimes he'll be gone for a while, just completely unexpected, though then again how can you loose sight of a blue demon in the first place? anyway he'll worry you sick with how long his absence continues, so much so that when he does come home, he'll carry himself in a way that extemrely unlike him.

his head is lowered as he appoaches you stealthily and slowly, his tail between his legs as you tell him how worried you were about him, fearing that he might've gotten hurt. he knows he's done wrong and will seat himself next to you in hopes you'd pet him or scratch his horns, anything, he's begging you with those massive demon eyes for your affection.

but he has come prepared, with a gift and no it's not a dead demon, but instead a small gift that he found while he was out, a really pretty broach that must've been dropped somewhere. you accept the gift and vergil is purring as he pushes his head against yours, happy that you have accepted his appology.

bonus: this sassy little bitch will push your hand away when you've petted him too much and will look you in the eye while doing so.

Nero

his devil trigger will show his affection by slow, prolonged blinks in your direction, to show he loves you and that his trust was very much intact with his demonic form.

nero, much like his dad, in his devil trigger is terratorial, so don't be surprised when he makes sure your covered in his scent as much as he can whenever he can.

pushes his head against your lips when you give him kisses.

the first time you do this as the moment you kiss his forhead, he's still as though comprehending your actions before huffing and pushing his head against your lips for more kisses, so congratualtions youre stuck there for the next few hours.

he kneeds you quite often, it doesn't matter where you were or if you were sitting or standing, you're going to get kneeded by him regardless as a show that he was perfectly content with you.

same thing when he's making buiscuits on your thighs, tummy, chest or back before he goes to sleep cuddled on your chest, it's him being content and happy that you were here with him and is more then wanting to show you.

he -unlike Vergil- moves your hand when petting him is to guide you towards an area he wanted petted more then the area you were focued on petting.

nero doesn't give you gifts to appologise like Vergil does, he gives you gifts out of a need to keep his mate feeling appreciated.

not that you needed anything to feel appreciated, nero did that enough with his affection and actions alone, but he felt as though he should at least find you something and he manages to scavange a few pretty gifts for you. he makes little chriping noises when he sees that you like them, this only encourages him to do it even more.

[for the last time || в последний раз]

chapter warnings: suspicions of a missing person

01. | 02. | 03. | » you are here | ... |

————

From the eyes of [ Red Robin ]

Roughly 20 hours before the events of 01.

Tim’s body ached with exhaustion as he descended the staircase, his steps dragging slightly against polished wood. Last night’s patrol had been relentless, the city’s usual madness amplified by whatever criminal conspiracy happened to be brewing. Not to mention the hours-long Monopoly game Dick had insisted on dragging him into post-patrol.   

Tim rubbed his eyes, still sore from staring at computer screens and Gotham’s unforgiving nightlife. A sugary cold drink was the first item on his agenda. Food, a power nap in his room, and then back to work. That was the plan.   

But as he rounded the corner to the dining room, he nearly collided with Alfred about to make his way up the stairs, a silver tray balanced perfectly in the butler’s steady hands. The tray was laden with breakfast—toast, tea, scrambled eggs, and sliced fruit arranged with Alfred’s meticulous precision.   

“Morning, Alfred,” Tim greeted, his voice rough from lack of sleep. “Delivering breakfast in bed to the princess of the manor?”  

“Good morning, Master Timothy,” Alfred replied with his usual calm warmth. “Indeed. It appears Miss **** has elected to sleep in this morning.” 

That was weird. She doesn't oversleep.

Tim raised an eyebrow at this. “****? Sleeping in?”  

“Quite,” Alfred said, though there was a slight furrow in his brow. “Though I admit, it is rather unlike her.”   

Tim’s fingers tapped against his crossed arms, a familiar beat of unease thrumming through him. **** was consistent, if anything. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d missed breakfast altogether. At least, that’s what Damian often complains about daily—her quote-unquote, insufferable, feeble attempts at connection first thing in the morning.

“Here, let me help you with that.” Tim reached for the tray, noting the extra dishes balanced along the edges. “You’re carrying too much as it is.”   

“I assure you, Master Timothy, I am more than capable—”  

“Seriously, Alfred. Then at least let me knock. You’ve got, like, five different things in your hands,” Tim interrupted, shooting him a tired but earnest grin. “I’m not taking no for an answer.”   

Alfred’s mouth tightened, but he relented with a small nod. “Very well, sir. If you insist.”  

They made their way up the stairs once more, and down the hall toward ****’s room. The door loomed ahead, as unremarkable as ever. But Tim’s mind kept circling back to the fact that ****’s door had been locked the previous night. He remembered Damian’s grumbling and how the kid had looked genuinely irked about it.   

Tim balanced the tray in his hands and knocked lightly on the door. “Hey, ****? Breakfast delivery.”   

No response.   

He knocked again, harder this time. “C’mon, ****. It’s Alfred’s food. You don’t wanna miss out.”   

Silence.   

Alfred shifted beside him, his gaze growing more concerned. Tim tried not to let his own worry show. But a chill crept down his spine, stubborn and cold.  

“She’s probably just passed out,” Tim said, but even he could hear the doubt in his voice. “Still, I should at least check.”  

He crouched down, his fingers brushing against the floor as he pressed his palm to the thin gap beneath the door. The air that seeped through was warm. Way too warm.   

The AC was off. And in the thick of Gotham’s humid summer, that could only mean the room was stuffy and unbearable. Which wasn’t like her at all. She didn't like the unbearable heat.  

“Alfred, do you have a key to her room?” Tim asked, his voice lower, more urgent.   

Alfred’s expression turned grave. “Indeed I do, sir. One moment.”   

The butler withdrew a small brass key from his pocket, his fingers steady despite the tension coiling in the air. He handed it to Tim, who wasted no time in unlocking the door.  

“****?” Tim calls out to her before the door swung open with a faint creak, revealing her room. He realized just now that he'd never been inside her room before.  

It was...pristine. Neat, but lived-in. Posters of musicals and theatre adaptations on the walls, a hanging framed photo of her sporting a silver medal wrapped around her neck with Alfred on her side—presumably the aftermath of some swimming competition, books stacked on her nightstand, notebooks and sketch pads scattered across her workdesk, different sizes of canvases with paint leaning against the outmoded walls. Her bed was unmade, sheets tangled in a careless heap, but that wasn’t unusual.  

What was unusual was the utter lack of her presence.  

No sign of ****. No figure with a blob of hair peeking over the top of her desk chair. No groggy complaints about being disturbed.  

Tim’s heart kicked up, his sleep-deprived brain jolting into full alertness.  

“She’s not here,” Tim muttered, stating the obvious. His eyes sweeping the room with the precision of a detective cataloging evidence.   

“So it would seem,” Alfred said, his voice composed but undeniably troubled.   

Tim’s gaze snagged on her laptop, closed but not powered down, the faint glow of sleep mode visible. No phone in sight. He can attempt to track that. He crossed the room and snatched the laptop off the desk. If **** wasn’t here, then he needed to figure out where in the world she’d gone.  

“I’ll check her laptop. See if she left anything behind—texts, messages, anything.” Tim spoke quickly, his mind already racing ahead. “Alfred, can you—”  

“Alert the others?” Alfred finished with a slight nod. “At once, sir.”   

Tim met Alfred’s eyes, something cold and uncomfortable settling in his gut. “And wake up Bruce. Let him know ****’s she—she might be missing.”   

“Yes, Master Timothy.” Alfred’s voice was calm, but his hands trembled just slightly as he took the now-abandoned tray and moved toward the door.  

As Alfred departed, Tim’s fingers clutched the laptop like it was the only thing tethering him to sanity.  

**** could be missing. And if she truly lost contact yesterday afternoon, then she'd been gone for approximately 20 hours.

Something in chest began to twitch and tighten.

Just four hours left before it hits twenty four.

That was alarming. 

Tim should've made an effort to question himself why **** broke her pattern last night. It was way too off for her to do. **** was consistent, too predictable. He knew she liked her routine and didn't just easily break them, no. So why break them now?

His mind screamed five words over and over again.

I need to fix this. I have to fix this. He has to fix it.

I need to fix this. I have to fix this. He has to fix it.

I need to fix this. I have to fix this. He has to fix it.

I need to fix this. I have to fix this. He has to fix it.

I need to fix this. I have to fix this. He has to fix it.

I need to fix this. I have to fix this. He has to fix it.

I need to fix this. I have to fix this. He has to fix it.

I need to fix this. I have to fix this. He has to fix it.

I need to fix this. I have to fix this. He has to fix it.

I need to fix this. I have to fix this. He has to fix it.

I need to fix this. I have to fix this. He has to fix it.

I need to fix this. I have to fix this. He has to fix it.

I need to fix this. I have to fix this. He has to fix it.

I need to fix this. I have to fix this. He has to fix it.

I need to fix this. I have to fix this. He has to fix it.

I need to fix this. I have to fix this. He has to fix it.

He didn't like this at all.

Taglist: @kneelforloki @shycreatorreview @pearlyribbons @homeless-clown @daffy-the-duck @1abi

✶⋆.˚ MOTHER OF HIS FIRST CHILD. ── VERGIL

୭˚. ᵎᵎ summary: tell us, what is it like to be the mother of the firstborn of the sparda demon's eldest son?

୭˚. ᵎᵎ content warnings: F! and pregnant!reader, headcanons, a little touch of obsession and possessiveness, light content.

⭑.ᐟ Vergil trusted no one to ensure your safety, and that of the little life you was carrying in your womb, other than himself; only he was fit, capable, and — for obvious reasons — worthy to do so. — he was, perfectly, magnanimous.

⤷ The protection that Vergil declared to you tasted of possessiveness, — perhaps, dominance — an obstinacy — almost as frightening as his desire for power — never considered by the half-demon man; he had never idealized that he would maintain that role.

⭑.ᐟ “She carries something that is part of me, that has my blood.” — The man, son of Sparda, proclaimed with honor, a passion that had never burned in his chest, a pride that would be so abrupt and valuable; a feeling that, perhaps, his father had felt for his mother — Therefore, you upheld the honor of the Sparda lineage.

⭑.ᐟ It was impossible to explain, to elucidate the exorbitant obsession that Vergil developed for your safety, swearing on his life and that of all the lost souls in the underworld; submitting to an obstinacy for you. — He always maintained this fixation on your life, he never stopped having it, but, after his first suspicions, and confirmation, of your pregnancy, Vergil expanded it.

⤷ Over time, Vergil developed unexpected habits, never seen or requested by him or another soul close to him. — He was right about all of them; he did not deny or disregard any of them. — Even with your small reprimands, claiming that they were not so prudent, Sparda did not abandon them.

⤷ Present in the residence, identical to his family's old home, while you remained resting, Vergil remained standing in front of the bedroom window, with his eyes fixed on the horizon. — Similar to an escort, you once said that to him; in the first seconds, he didn't understand the humor. — Soon, he walked to your bed, remaining by your side.

⭑.ᐟ The son of the demon Sparda, who fought eminently against his twin brother and sought to overcome him at all costs, never maintained or knew how to handle moments of affection, vulnerability, tenderness in his life. — He never felt truly loved by his mother, questioning her favoritism towards the other son. — Soon, Vergil began to understand, to conceive of that current experience by your side.

⤷ Little by little, step by step, Vergil got used to it, confronted himself, and paid attention to small actions towards you. — In addition to guidance, communications coming from you. — Like running his hand over your belly, regardless of how far along the pregnancy was, and every time, he felt the child kick, move; identifying and feeling the father's contact. — The expression, which was always based on a brusque seriousness, turned into admiration, a dazzlement in his eyes.

aaahhhhhh beautiful!!!!!!!!!

Day 20: Tattoos

always loved how they were subtly matching each other

Petty Jealousy ❣

Tav's companions cannot fathom them potentially having other friends. ❥ Astarion/reader, Astarion/Tav, but also Companions/reader. I'm a Tavrem supremacist. ❥ Contains my own personal headcanon for why the companions call them "Tav" instead of their first name, which is justification for me loopholing the eternal problem of xreader writers having to wince when they use "F/N" or "Y/N". ❥ They/them pronouns for Tav/reader!

“Look,” Astarion hisses, “look at that!” 

5 pairs of eyes land on the offender of the night (which, to their surprise, isn’t Astarion) who conversed pleasantly with the leader of their party. A half-elf with a sharp jaw, proud brow, and mirthful eyes looks extraordinarily ordinary compared to their merry band of freaks. 

“Who is that, again?” Shadowheart asks absently. “Tav suggested I rest for today instead of mapping out the Underdark with the party, and the next thing I know, they’ve brought back another little companion.” 

Astarion’s jaw twitches. He snaps out, “Companion or complication?”

Gale crosses his arms, shrugging, used to Astarion’s temper running hot then cold. “His name is Nilmorn - a luthier. Tav took an interest in his wares. He makes a living selling stringed instruments in the Underdark. Strange place to sell such things.” 

Ugh. Astarion sighs, shaking his head. Leave it to Gale to traipse over the obvious. A sharpened mind like his would surely know that this Nilmorn has no place here, if not to be a bloodbag for him to slurp on. Beyond that, what use does this pretty boy have? Nilmorn sells wares that are utterly useless to them. He’s quite boring and one-dimensional, too, a character that strays too much into the side of “moral good” for Astarion to tolerate. 

 “Yes, yes, Gale, but have you considered how strange it is that he has invited himself to our camp?” Astarion flares out his hand towards the wizard, as if handing him common sense on his palm. 

“I,” Gale begins, blinking his wet, beautiful brown eyes at Astarion, “invited myself to this journey, Astarion. I am quite hurt you forgot. I thought what we had was special!” 

“Yes, but you’re weird!” Astarion exclaims. “You’re a freak with a bomb in your body because of your situationship with Mystra! That,” Astarion points an accusatory finger in the direction of Nilmorn, in which 5 pairs of eyes look at him again, “is someone so unbelievably normal he doesn’t even have any, any…” He gestures, articulates with his hands to placate his words. 

“No dubious motives?” Shadowheart offers, a smirk coyly playing on her lips. 

“No complicated backstory?” Wyll pipes in. Astarion’s eyes flicker to him, and irritation seeps into his skin when he finds Wyll smiling wryly, as if the warlock is in on some joke he is not picking up on. “No, I don’t know, god that has let him down in some way, shape, or form?” 

“Certainly no skills for fighting.” Lae’zel, thank the gods for Lae’zel. Her smooth voice hides none of her displeasure, and those sharp, slitted eyes stare across the fire to dig daggers into Nilmorn’s back. “Useless. We have no need for string-ed instruments. Let Tav pick one, and send this half-elf on his way.” 

Yes. Yes. Astarion nods eagerly.

“Hmmm. I almost envy his mundaneity,” Karlach adds,  “but I mean, he’s not that bad, Astari. Man’s just trying to make the world a better place, one string at a time.” 

Astarion almost throws up. He looks to the other companions helplessly. “Darlings. Please tell me you are not going to let Karlach get away with saying something so putridly motivational.” 

Karlach tosses her head back and cackles, much to Astarion's chagrin.

“Something is obviously bothering you,” Shadowheart states bluntly. Her green eyes watch his expression carefully in the firelight; she finds something there, but does not say it outright. With an exhale through her nose, as if it is painful for her to attempt a conversation with him, Shadowheart decides to throw him a bone: “Are you jealous?” 

He does not catch the bone. The bone slams right into his head as he stares at Shadowheart, slack-jawed and scandalized. Him? Jealous? “You must be joking.”

“Aw,” Shadowheart croons, another one of her insufferable smirks toying on her lips, “you are.” 

If he had mindflayer powers beyond reading her reprehensible surface-level thoughts, he would make Shadowheart’s head explode. Or something. 

He must establish his dignity in the group once more. He cannot handle more of this, especially not with Wyll grinning so wide, not self-aware enough that if he did not have a sexy demon controlling his life because he didn’t read the terms of conditions of a motherfucking contract, Astarion would bully him more.

“That is not the point here. Look,” he says. “I am just saying that our Tav is desirable in every way. Physically, we can all agree that Tav is attractive. Yes?” 

Yes. They all nod their heads. 

“Tav is a little strange, but they are our leader, and they got us this far somehow. Who knew caring about other people could go a long way.” 

Yes. They all nod their heads, except Wyll and Karlach, who look amongst the group with sheer disappointment on their faces. “Gods,” Karlach groans into her hand, “we– we need to unpack that later, gang. That’s just really sad.” 

“Lastly, Tav is strong. Strong enough to split apart the mountains and the sky, I imagine.” Strong enough to bury Cazador into the ground, hopefully. “Strong enough to face a god unwaveringly. Strong enough to persevere. Strong enough to be kind, despite everything. Despite what they think, they are charismatic, and they are the entire package. The only person who does not know of their value is Tav themselves.” 

They watch Tav’s lips quirk into a smile as Nilmorn holds a lyre out for them upon his smooth hands. Smooth, no sign of scars, no sign of complications. Just so unbearably mundane. Unbearably good. Unbearably kind. 

Unbearably unaware of their true nature.

Nilmorn does not know why they nicknamed them Tav, despite their name being [F/N]. Their unstoppable quench to loot everything and anything set back their timeline by weeks, no doubt. Reaching into barrels, reaching into the pockets of bandits, reaching into damn silk cocoons, reaching into whatever their curious little hands can salvage. It annoyed Astarion at first, but then Tav would find all of these weapons and armors and foods and coins and books. Normalcies and luxuries that made camp life feel less of a drab and more exciting. 

The gleaming, golden dagger at his side? They found it. The boots, the armor, the enchanted rings and necklaces they either found, bartered, or killed for their companions. Thus - Tav, short for tavara, the word meaning wares and merchandise; a clever little nickname Gale came up for their leader who is too good for all of them combined. 

“Any other party could whisk them away, you know,” Astarion says. “Tav could find a party of good, decent people, unlike any of us, without the mess and complication and hurt we cause them, and leave. Remember, my dears. It is not us who is irreplaceable. It is Tav.” 

How long would Tav tolerate him? Not long, he thinks. Long enough until he has expended his use for them, surely, but not forever. That's why anyone who wants Tav beyond sex or strength is a threat. If he hadn’t seduced his way into their heart, he wouldn’t be here where he stands, with a group of people who make him feel a little less alone. 

No doubt he would be in a cage on the back of a covered wagon that belongs to that disgusting gyr, Gandrel, his chain to Cazador growing shorter and shorter.

Silence. Tense and still. They watch as Tav laughs lightly, eyes alighting with amusement as Nilmorn cracks another joke. 

"You should meet my other companions," they hear Nilmorn offer, "I just know they would love to have you."

Revelation slams into each and every one of them like a magic missile.

“He’s not that funny,” Shadowheart mutters. She bends down, hands gripping tightly around the handle of her mace. “I don’t know why they are laughing that hard.”

“He can try to leave with his head on his shoulders,” snarls Lae’zel, “just say the word, Astarion.” 

Excellent. 

“What-” Wyll turns to Gale and Karlach. “We should stop them, shouldn’t we? There are no implications of this man trying to steal Tav away, he's just being nice, you worthless cunts! This is not fair to him!” 

“We’re in the Underdark, aren’t we? Super deep. Doubt anyone who cares for him will come looking for him.” 

“Karlach!” 

“Astute observation! To make this all a little easier on us, I can most certainly put this man to sleep.” 

“Gale?!” 

“Go on, Lae’zel,” Astarion grins wickedly, “attack!”

“Oh, hells,” Wyll stumbles back, then turns quickly to the other direction towards Halsin. “Halsin! Halsin - they’re trying to murder someone again!” 

❥ Additional links: kofi | ao3

i love non-sexual intimacy and astarion having no bloody idea how to handle it, so of course i couldn't resist writing 3000+ words about it. enjoy!

let the pulses run (astarion x gender neutral!reader, baldur's gate 3)

Astarion waits for it. Expects it.

A beseeching glance, a teasing smile, a flirtatious remark. Hells, even an outright proposition - he can’t quite imagine you pulling it off, but at least it would be something familiar. 

And yet - nothing.

Well, he amends as you settle beside him before the campfire, perhaps not nothing. 

“How is it?” you ask, a solemn slope to your brow as you take in the wound on his arm. A lucky shot from a rather unlucky goblin, who’d received your rapier to the gut for his troubles. 

“Oh, this?” He raises his arm, nonchalant. The wound had stopped bleeding, but it wasn’t a pretty sight. “Barely a scratch, darling.”

Your brows furrow. Liar, they say. 

“You’ll need blood.” You take a second glance at his arm and grimace. The scent of iron clings to the air. “A lot of it.”

Astarion tilts his head, allows a few silver curls to fall artfully across his brow. You track the movement, though your gaze is quick to dart back to his own. He fights a smirk and loses. “Astute, aren’t you? Yes, I’m afraid I’ll need to do more than my usual share of feeding tonight to fix this mess.”

You say nothing in response, not at first. He wonders if you’ll actually say it, or if you’ll hem and haw yourself to death trying to free the words from your tongue.

“If you truly have need of it,” you begin, reaching up to touch your fingertips to your throat. The mark from his first feeding had long since faded, but you remembered where his fangs had struck. 

“How generous!” Astarion exclaims, a little touched despite himself. It took a certain amount of fortitude to offer yourself to a hungry vampire, after all. “If you’re certain - “

You don’t answer with words, merely tilting your head and baring your throat to him. Astarion longs to draw out the suspense, tease you with the anticipation of his bite, but that furrow hasn’t left your brow and he finds himself unwilling to add to your worries. Besides, his body cries out for the meal you’ve so graciously offered, practically rejoicing as he lowers his mouth to your throat.

There’s a certain… intimacy to be had during the act of feeding, he’s learned. Not so much in the bite itself, but in the aftermath: the pull of precious blood, the quickening of a pulse, the flush of warm, living flesh. 

Astarion has never felt the like, not until he first drew blood from you. To know that this is what he had been missing for all the centuries he’d spent feeding on vermin makes his hatred for Cazador climb higher, though he pushes thoughts of his former master far from his mind before they can truly take root. He will not think of his tormentor here, not with you. 

You draw in a breath; it sticks in your throat, your pulse beating like a drum in the back of Astarion’s brain. He can smell your skin, the sweat and blood from your latest battle mingling with the scent of sweetgrass and rainwater, the scent of you, light and sweet against the back of his tongue. 

He can smell more than that. Unease and pain cling to you like a film while he feeds, but beneath that, clinging to your flesh like a limpet, he finds what he’s been searching for - the familiar musk of arousal.

Well, then, he thinks victoriously, feeling a shiver work down his spine as your blood coats the back of his tongue. There’s all the proof I need. 

He had wondered if your lack of amorous advances had been due to disinterest, but no. The body doesn’t lie, and yours was basically singing, crying out its need with increasing frequency the longer his fangs remained buried in your throat.

So then why? Why did you flit away from his advances like a rabbit evading a predator? He knew what you wanted and had no qualms about giving it to you. It would cement your trust in him, bolster your growing bond. Your union would be advantageous to you both. 

He’s so consumed by his thoughts that he doesn’t notice your hand moving until it’s braced against the back of his neck, your palm warm against his skin. He waits for your signal to move away, hungrily swallowing another mouthful of your sweet blood in case it happens to be his last, but all you do is reach for the riot of curls at his nape and pass your fingers gently through them. Once, twice more, until you’ve built up a steady rhythm.

It feels… well, it feels rather nice, actually. It’s far from the first time someone has ever run their fingers through his hair, and yet your touch feels… lighter in comparison, unweighted by sensual delight or a precursor for greedy lust. You’re not touching him in anticipation for more - you’re just… touching him.

It confuses him so greatly that Astarion finds himself pulling away before he’d truly wished to, feeling more than a little bereft when your fingers slip from his hair and land, half-curled still, in your lap.

“That will do, darling,” he mumbles, pushing himself to his feet. It’s a good thing the blood loss has dazed you somewhat, or else your eagle eyes would have quickly taken notice of the bewildered expression upon his face. “A boar or two will more than suffice for the rest. You should sleep, while you’re able.” His nose wrinkles, and he can’t help himself from adding, “But perhaps bathe first.” 

Your eyes narrow at the thinly-veiled insult, but you push yourself clumsily to your feet and head for the river flowing near camp. “Keep your eyes about you while you hunt,” you call to him over your shoulder. “There may still be goblins about.”

He doesn’t know how to tell you that goblins - and hunting, for that matter - are among the last things on his mind. He merely watches you walk away, his fingers creeping to the thatch of curls you had so gently carded through, and wonders what the hell he’s supposed to do with you now. 

Your growing affection for him remains more than apparent as the days pass. You’re devoted to finding a cure for the parasites that writhe within your minds and playing savior for everyone you meet along the way, but in the moments between - slivers of time carved out for rest and respite - you gravitate toward Astarion, leaving the vampire torn between petty satisfaction and growing confusion, because you simply refuse to acknowledge his increasingly thinly-veiled offers to fuck you. 

It’s ridiculous. Madness, really. The number of conquests under his belt had grown too numerous for Astarion to recall, his expertise in the art of seduction unmatched, and yet you remained unmoved by his every attempt. Oh, you would flush, your eyes would flit about as though you couldn’t bear to meet his gaze, your body itself would sway towards his like a tree bough rocked by the wind, but still you would play at ambivalency. 

Astarion might be inclined to believe himself incorrect - a rarity, to be sure, but stranger things have happened; that your reaction to his bite was merely a result of the intimacy of the act rather than any true desire you might hold for him, and yet your behavior afterwards serves to lay that theory quite soundly to rest.

You’ve become quite… tactile, with him, as of late. A bracing hand on his shoulder whenever an enemy’s attack knocks him off his guard, elbows brushing whenever you’re gathered near the campfire, even a rather memorable moment where you’d brushed his curls free of his brow late in the night, your hand hovering in the air between you and a bewildered expression writ across your face, as though shocked that you’d actually done it.

It’s driving Astarion mad, wondering what could possibly be going on inside that skull of yours. The thought of tapping in to the tadpole’s power just to catch a glimpse passes swiftly through his mind, but to his eternal chagrin, knowing somehow feels more daunting.

Besides, he’s… curious. Curious as to what you’ll do next and how he may react to it, and so he doesn’t ask you to stop. You would, if only he were to indicate a dislike of your touch, and yet to do so would prove the vampire a liar, for he finds that he actually quite enjoys the fleeting brush of your fingertips across his brow, or the firm, comforting weight of your shoulder against his. 

Gods, what has he gotten himself into?

He ponders his plight late into the night, until his eyes slip closed and he’s confronted by another new pressing issue - nightmares of his former life and dear old master, memories of previous torments and casual cruelties assaulting his mind from every front. 

Astarion twists upon his bedroll, fingers spasming atop his chest as Cazador flits through his mind like a phantom. Sweat beads on his temples, leaving his curls damp. Fear bubbles through his blood like some molten creature.

“Astarion.”

He awakens with a shout, his dreams clinging to his mind for another awful moment before their claws finally release him. You’re the first thing he notices as soon as he’s set himself to rights, kneeling by his bedside with a discomfited expression upon your face. It had been your voice, then - yours, not Cazador’s - that had called out to him, broken him free of his agony. 

His lips try to twist into their customary smirk, but fall short of the goal and tremble instead. He presses them into a firm line. “Apologies, my love,” he murmurs, grimacing at the drying sweat along his brow. “Did I wake you?”

You shake your head. “I had first watch,” you explain. Your hand twitches at your side. You want to touch him, he realizes. Reassure him. By the gods, with the way he’s feeling right now, Astarion might actually let you do it. “Are you alright?”

“Wonderful,” he bites out, reaching up to push sweaty curls free of his brow only to find that you've beaten him to it, your fingertips callused and blessedly cool against his skin. The urge to swoon like a damned maiden is nearly overwhelming, and yet Astarion resists, only allowing himself the luxury of closing his eyes and indulging in your touch for a few brief moments. 

“Nightmare?” Your voice is low, dreadfully soothing. Keep talking, he thinks, pushing his brow into your palm. Don’t make me do it.

He hums in the affirmative. Your fingers drift to the crown of his head, smooth through the flattened curls at the base of his skull, and rest there, holding him. 

“Cazador?” The name sounds like a curse on your lips, and might as well be for all the vitriol you spew it with. 

Astarion’s lips twitch. It shouldn’t thrill him, the ire you hold for a man you’ve never met, but he knows it’s there simply because its bearer has caused him harm. You’re protective of those you hold dear. 

“The one and the same,” he mutters into the curve of your shoulder, having allowed his chin to rest there while your fingers curled around the back of his neck. You smelled of embers from the fire and the sweetness of the cool night air, and Astarion breathed deep, soothed by the scent. 

“What do you need?” It’s a gentle query against one pointed ear, and for a moment Astarion stares beyond your shoulder, beyond the camp, all the way to Baldur’s Gate and Cazador’s cold, cruel gaze, waiting for his return. You’re silent, patient for his response, and in that moment Astarion is certain that you would give him anything, if only he would ask. 

He could ask for you - for the distraction that your body would provide this night, and you would give it to him. You would trust him with it. 

He can see it so clearly, the rapture of it driving the echoes of Cazador’s voice from his head. But he can see the aftermath, too, and your disappointment when you realize that it’s all he can truly give you, and only because he knows of no other way to be. 

“I don’t know,” he murmurs into your shoulder, and it’s the truth, for all the good that does him. 

He feels you nodding, feels your cheek resting against his hair, feels more than hears you say, “Let me know, whenever you figure it out,” and listens to the faint beat of your pulse until his dreams seem like nothing more than misshapen fragments, unimportant, without teeth. 

Something shifts between you then, or perhaps it’s more appropriate to say that something settles. His machinations cease, insomuch as he stops trying to manipulate you into bed, though teasing you with ill-concealed innuendo remains a habit he can’t quite shake. 

You’ve promised to help break Cazador’s hold upon him, and judging by the sharpness in your eyes whenever the subject is pressed, you’re determined to uphold it. 

You care about him; of that, Astarion is more than certain. He sees it in the way you look at him, feels it in the touches you bestow. He hears it, your pulse as clear to him as the warmth of the blood in your veins. He’s earned your trust, your affection, your protection. And you’ve earned his. 

How could he keep it from you, when you’ve not only unearthed his past but vowed to help him escape it? How could he guard himself against you when he’s seen that fire in your eyes, watched you wield it against that vile drow who’d called him a thing and urged you to allow him to bite her?

Astarion shudders at the reminder. If it had been Cazador in your place, he would have taken the offer without thought, without care for Astarion’s comfort. But not you. 

It had angered you - not just the drow’s request, but her flippant disregard of Astarion’s autonomy.

“Astarion is his own person,” you had said, practically spitting the words through gritted teeth. “And he said no.”

You were still angry, by the looks of it, if your gritted teeth and flashing eyes were anything to go by. 

“Are we going into battle?” he calls out, catching you as you’re about to stomp by.

You jerk to a halt and give him a look, completely confused. He bites back a laugh.

“It certainly seems so, judging by your face.”

“My face?” You reach up as though to check, and this time Astarion does laugh, a soft huff that seems to startle you, but also leave you looking incredibly, undeniably… fond. It’s… well. It’s a nice look on you.

“You’re angry,” he explains, reaching over to rub the furrow from your brows. You go cross-eyed trying to watch him, and another laugh bubbles from his throat before he can stop it.

And ah, there’s that fondness again upon your face. He feels warm beneath that look, full, as if he’s freshly fed. 

“I am angry,” you murmur, drawing closer. “Her ignorance, her arrogance - it infuriated me.”

“Obviously,” Astarion quips, lips twitching as your mouth twists in annoyance. He allows the humor to drain from his tone before he continues, a touch more solemnly, “Thank you. I appreciated that.”

Your head tilts. “What did I do?”

Astarion huffs a breath, astounded by your obliviousness. “I spent two-hundred years using my body to lure pretty things back to my Master. What I wanted, how I felt about what I was doing, it never mattered.” The memories, though old, are fresh, and he does his best to shake them free of his mind. This isn’t about that. This is about you. “You could have asked me to do the same, but you didn’t. And I’m grateful.”

“I never would,” you return, and your words are firm. Resolute. You need him to believe them. “It wouldn’t have been right, forcing you to do something you didn’t want to do.”

“You’re the first to think so,” Astarion murmurs. “The first not to make me feel like something to be used and discarded.” He had still been living as though he was exactly that, he realizes. Still a puppet, a pawn to be ordered about at his master’s whim. But that wasn’t who he was, anymore, and he would never be that way again. You would aid him in making sure of it, and not simply because he’d seduced and manipulated you into doing so. You would do it because you wanted to. Because you cared. 

Because you were his friend. 

“Thank you,” he repeated, a lightness to his shoulders that he hasn’t felt in centuries. 

You stare at him, throat working for a moment as if you don’t know what to say in return, and he smiles. Silly thing. 

But then you’re stepping forward, a determined glint to your eye, and Astarion is left with no other recourse than to gawk over your shoulder as you wrap both arms around him. Your cheek comes to rest against his shoulder, your chest settling warmly against his, and Astarion - 

Astarion crumbles. His arms come up to wrap around you, gingerly at first, until he hears your sigh - a soft thing, sweet, happy - and then he’s squeezing you against him, brow falling to your shoulder.

Gods, when was the last time someone had embraced him like this? He wracks his mind and still fails to recall a single moment where he was gathered so close without an ulterior motive to facilitate it. 

He doesn’t want to let you go. It’s an intimidating thought. A terrifying thought. And yet the terror doesn’t make it any less true. For the first time in centuries, he wants - he actually wants something, just for him, just because.

He wants you.

It would be easy for the fear to consume him, then, fear that this will crumble to dust beneath his hands like so much else, and yet you won’t allow that terror to seep through. It can’t, not with your arms curled so sweetly around his waist, your smile tucked against his shoulder, your pulse a soothing beat in his ears, assuring him without words that he had been right all along.

You want him, too. 

───kissing while climaxing

his lips doesn't leave yours—not even for a second. every thrust is met with a desperate, open-mouthed, spit-filled kiss. "fuck, baby—" his voice is rough, breaking between the slick sounds of him driving into you. his grip is tight at the back of your neck, holding you in place, forcing you to take his gasping moans against your lips. "you feel so good, so fucking tight—"

his tongue slides against yours, sloppy, needy, like he’s trying to swallow every sound you make. he’s close, and you can tell— by the way his hips stutter and how his groans turn more broken.

"kiss me, baby please—" he demands, almost a whimper, catching your bottom lip between his teeth. "keep kissing me—don’t fuckin’ stop—"

his body tenses, shudders, and then he breaks, moaning straight into your mouth as he spills inside you, hips jerking, fingers digging into your skin. he groans against your lips, deep and wrecked, his cock twitching with every pulse of his release.

even as his body trembles and continues to gasp through the aftershocks, he doesn’t stop kissing you. slower now, sloppier, like he’s still drunk on the feeling and needs your mouth to keep him grounded.

"fuck," he breathes, pressing one last, lazy kiss against your lips, completely spent. "you’re fucking perfect."

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