Your horse hurts you and now him and Arthur have to have a word
“Easy- I gotcha, I gotcha,”
You knew Arthur had you. He’d had you the week you’d been stuck in bed, healing your bruised ribs. When you laid flat on your back, breathing in pain, Arthur stayed with you. He stood, lingering over like a fretted nurse maid.
Whenever John came back from an injury, Arthur only loved to tease him about all that bed rest.
When it came to you, limping into camp, painted in dust and mud, Arthur didn’t let you take one step without him and a week was not enough rest for your injuries.
But if you were gonna be stubborn enough to greet the catalyse of your injuries then he would hold your hand all the way through.
“Careful here,” said Arthur, arm in yours as he kicked away sticks and rocks.
“You gonna build me a path all the way to my own damn horse?” You teased.
“I’d build’ya a path away if I had it my way,” he grumbled in his usual manner.
You rolled your eyes. For all his protesting, he never got bored of telling you how you should still be in bed, how you’re not healed, how your horse- your dearest friend- should be nowhere near you. “Oh, I know you would.”
Arthur huffed as your horse, reigned in and waiting, stood. “C’mon, sweetheart, put me outta my misery. Go back to bed.”
“If I stay in bed another day my legs’ll forget how to walk,”you protest.
Arthur shrugged. “Well that’s fine, I’ll carry you everywhere.”
At first, the doting from Arthur had warmed you, partly healed you but you missed your horse. You missed the world going by and the wind in your hair.
“I could take you out on my horse,” offered Arthur. “Make y’comfy.”
“I’ll be more than comfortable on my horse.”
Arthur scoffed. “The horse that bucked you off and ran at the first chance.”
“It was not the first chance,” you argued. “There’s been more than a dozen and he’s stayed loyal, as loyal as you.”
“I woulda laid down my life,” said Arthur. His arms were steady, his hold directing you to stop in front of him. His calloused fingers brushed the high of your cheek bone as he brushed back strands of hair. “Listen- just don’t rush, okay? Scared me half to death when you came limpin in, d’ya hear?”
You smile softly up at him. He was giving you warnings, you were sure but it was all soft words and caring touches. “And they say you’re all hard and mean.”
Arthur tutted and looked around the camp. “I am,” he insisted. His lips however, sort your cheek and kissed it quickly. “Wait ‘ere, I’ll bring 'im round.”
Only after he’d made sure you were alright did Arthur get to your horse and you waited, sitting on a stool.
Karen and Lenny were hanging there, a deck of cards out between them.
“Good to see you out,” said Lenny.
“Happy to be out.”
Karen snickered. “Thought Arthur would drive himself mad, walkin’ in circles, mutterin’ around. I thought he’d go and sell your horse himself. It was Dutch that told him not to.”
If Arthur had sold your horse you’d walk all the way into the town to get him back. But he knew better.
“Then I’ll have to thank Dutch.”
“Look at him!” Lenny gestured over to Arthur, laughing to himself.
He had your horses reign in the ball of his fist, head low as he assured everything was in place.
Karen laughed. “He’s talkin’ to your horse!”
And he was. As you pushed yourself to your feet slowly and walked over you could hear the low tones of his.
“You hurt her, you’re lucky she’s givin ya a second chance,” you heard him. “If it were me…. I dunno. Guess your a good horse, yeah-“
Arthur pet him and you stood without moving an inch to listen.
“Now listen: if it were my way she’d still be restin’ but I have no jurisdiction. We both care about her, I reckon I love her you know, more than you anyway, so be nice, be gentle, huh?”
A heat bloomed at your cheeks. It was not the first time Arthur admitted he loved you, or adored you, or needed you but every time he did it was like hearing it for the first.
Arthur pulled out some sugar cubes, holding them out in the palm of his hand. Your horse licked them up. “Ah- that a boy.”
“You talking about me?” You walk over, lingering close to Arthur and your horse.
Arthur chuckled, resting his hand on your back. “Jus makin’ sure we’re on the same page, ain’t that right, boy?”
To your surprise, there was a flicker of hesitation as you looked at your horse. A phantom feeling of being thrown off overcame your body as it caved into Arthur.
Maybe he’d take the chance and pull you into him, insist upon it being too much too quick.
Arthur’s hand steadied you, fingers curling into the back of your shirt. “Take your time, m’ right ‘ere.”
Your horse looked at you, head bowed, eyes wide as if begging for you to understand his sorrow. There was a tilt in his head, a want to nudge you but he was unsure of himself.
“Hey boy,” you greeted. You cupped your hands together and waited for him. “You miss me?”
Your horse bowed and settled his head in your hands, breathing softly. It was easy after that, to run your hands down him, to feel the plains of muscle as he moved around.
Quickly, you and your horse were one and the same again.
Arthur watched. He wasn’t jealous as the attention was on the horse, he was perhaps a bit cautious but he watched you smile, wide and beautiful and all he wanted was to help you on.
“C’mon then!”
Arthur led you around the side. His hands were firm on your hips as he helped you up. “Foot here- careful now-“
“I got it.” You hoisted yourself up and only winced through the ache in your ribs, the most they’d been moved in days.
Arthur watched. “You good?”
“Fine,” you mumbled, shuffling in your seat to find comfort.
Arthur fretted. He patted your shins and looked around your horse, making sure everything was in place. He checked with every tighten and every pat.
“Remember what we said now,” said Arthur. For a moment, you thought he was talking to you. But you looked to see him engaging the horse with his attention. “You take care of her, y'hear?”
You rolled your eyes. “Arthur.”
He gave you a soft tilt of his lips. “M’only teasin’” but he levelled a look of seriousness to the horse before walking around to you.
“I’m gonna wait right here,” he said, arms crossed.
“You should rest,” you said. “Now that I’m ok, Dutch is gonna have you working.”
“Right here,” he repeated. “Now don’t be long, alrigh’?”
There was little else to say to discourage him you knew. So you kicked your horse into a trot from camp.
It was slow and gentle and the horse responded to every move you made and wanted to make. Even a week off, he still knew how to ride.
With soft encouragement you and your horse easily made it to the outskirts of camp, where Javier kept watch and nodded at you.
You looked back once and true to his word, Arthur stood there.
Arthur Morgan wasn’t a man who said things he didn’t mean. If he said he was gonna wait there then there he would be on your return.
He’d asked to come with you. He said he’d give you space. Said he just wanted to be close, for his own sanity.
You’d said no, insistant upon proving you could ride again. But you knew you could. Now, all you wanted was Arthur.
You tugged your horse a little of the way back into camp, enough to have Arthur alert.
“What is it?” He called out to you.
“Think I might need some help when I get out there, you know?” You yelled back.
Arthur was grinning, already whistling for his horse by the time you’d turned back to wait at the edge.
The heavy hooves of his beloved horse sounded and quickly Arthur and his horse trotted around you, a smirk under his hat.
“Frettin’ gets you places, don’t it girl?” He proposed as he pat his horse.
“Just didn’t want you frozen there if a big gust of wind came,” you teased back, falling into the easy rhythm of riding and loving him.
He chuckled, his horse circling you once more before he came to halt next to you. Arthur leant into his horse, the reigns tight in his hold. “C’mon girl, let’s show ‘em how it’s done.”
Adding onto your amazing post about Jason not reviving his partner with the Lazarus pit, but I always imagined what if reader died because of thier relationship with him, someone did it to get to him or threaten him.
He would be consumed by the guilt and think that he was the one who caused thier death, if he wasn’t with them, if he wasn’t selfish and wanted to be loved by them, they would still be alive.
Maybe in some extreme scenario he would revive them, but he can’t bear to be with them after, and they’d be left to deal with the Pit’s madness, maybe they’d forget about they’re death because it was fast and unexpected, so all they know is that Jason dumped them and suddenly they’ve started feeling more cynical and tense, having thought and tendencies they never had before.
And god, just imagine after doing all this how poor Jason would feel…
Oh my god I love the way you think.
Try as he might to protect them, Jason has more enemies than allies in his life. He surrounds himself with death and destruction, so who would be shocked that eventually he would infect the Reader with it too?
Imagine if it wasn't even some large villain like the Joker who got to them, instead just some goon of a gang that happened to have it out for the infamous Red Hood. A nobody that Reader happened to run into in a dark alley of Gotham. Simply at the wrong place at the wrong time.
It would be utterly laughable. The partner of the legendary Red Hood, taken down by an easily forgettable foe.
"If he wasn't with them, if he wasn't selfish and wanted to be loved by them, they would still be alive" that LINE IS CHEF'S KISS.
Just once, just for once in his life Jason wanted to have something sweet. Something warm, caring, untouched by the darkness of the world. To come back home late at night not to the cold, empty loneliness of his grungy apartment, but to the Reader's light that they brought to his life. How utterly naive and selfish of him.
The idea was rash and unthinkable. If it was selfish of him to love Reader, then it would be even more selfish of him to want to rip them out of Death's tight grasp to continue loving them even more. It was in a moment of utter desperation that he decided to use the Pit. In a crazed state of mind, not caring what his family may have to say if they ever found out.
Yet, as he delicately dipped the Reader's body into the poisonous pool of green, reality would hit him. The weight of his actions would tug at his consciousness. The realization that he was about to inflict the very pain he had nightmares about on his love would hit him like a truck. It was too late to turn back, though. Too late to turn back time and be forced to listen to their pained screams as their soul returned to the living. So, what would he do instead of living with the embodiment of his sin? He would run.
And the Reader? The poor, poor Reader, scared and alone as they took in their first breath of air since death. Choking, throat burning, their own body feeling unfamiliar to themself. Their first thought would be of Jason, for their last memory was that of fear and despair. Why? They couldn't seem to remember, the Lazarus Pit removing any and all memory of their death like you said. Yet, Jason would be nowhere to be found, and they would be stuck in an unfamiliar place. Miles upon miles away from where they called home.
Now how they get back home is up to interpretation. Maybe Talia, who allowed Jason to use the Pit in the first place, realized what happened and took pity on the partner of the sibling her dear son was so fond of. Or maybe the Reader somehow managed to find their way back to Gotham all on their own. Either way, there is one similarity to these two scenarios.
Jason is nowhere to be found.
No longer did he return home. No longer did he answer his phone, in fact he had their number completely blocked. Even interrogating the Bat family would prove to be useless, their lips sealed with grim pity in their eyes. It sickened them.
Then the Pit madness...
It starts small at first. Assuming the Reader wasn't a very violent person before their death, they would be shocked at the thoughts that would pop into their head. Simple inconveniences, such as a stranger shoulder bumping into them on the street, would brew irritation and anger like nothing they've ever felt. Conversations that felt meaningless would be cut off with swiftness they never had the courage to muster up before. Then, as the day's passed, urges would be felt. The need to hurt. The urge to punch, slap, throttle, anything. Anything to release the newfound instinct to harm. It terrified them.
And Jason? Jason would live with the guilt knowing that they were out there somewhere, scared and alone, dealing with it all alone. Just as he did. Living with the guilt knowing that he just inflicted the greatest punishment there was on his lover.
Here is the post @gummyghouls is referring to and thank you SO MUCH FOR ENTERTAINING my work.
“My poor baby,” Phainon cooed, tightening his arms around you. One rubbed up and down your back, whilst the other rubbed deep and soothing circles at the base of your neck. Right where the culprit of your misery lay.
You couldn’t bring yourself to mutter anything back, the pressure in your head basically incapacitating you. It started off small. An annoyance but not enough to prevent you from doing the household work you promised yourself you would get to. Phainon was at work and the house was a mess from the procrastination of you both. However, as the day progressed, the ache in your head grew worse and worse until you decided to settle for a small nap.
What a joke.
The thirty minutes you promised yourself turned into an hour, and then another, until you woke up hot, sweaty, mouth dry, and head absolutely pounding. Time was an illusion, reality was abstract, your mind in a haze.
And that’s how Phainon came back to you.
“Shh,” he comforted when you let out a pained whine, a sharp ache striking you right between the eyes. If you had the strength to look at him you would see his face crumpled in such agony that you would think he was the one suffering. And in a way he was. Seeing you writhe at the torture your own body subjected you to while he could do nothing but comfort you brought him more pain than anything else could.
So he would not leave your side. Not even for a second.
As much as I would utterly LOVE to think Jason would use the Lazarus Pit if the Reader ever died, I just don’t think he would actually have the strength to.
Every night he remembered the burning pain in his lungs, his chest, his very soul. The way he was stolen from death’s hands and shoved back into his broken body to be used and abused once more.
And you, his love. His fragile, sweet love who lay dead in his arms. It wouldn’t feel right to rip you away from your newfound peace like he was. To inflict the same suffering that he would only wish upon his worst enemies.
So, instead, he would give you the burial he had taken from him. He would dig your grave with his own hands and gently lay you to rest with the flowers you oh so loved. And while nonreligious, after what he’s been through, he would find himself praying to any god that you would never be disturbed.
“What happened?” you nearly shrieked, wide eyes bulging at the sight of your precious Izumi’s hair.
Long, black hair similar to that of silk lay tangled and matted upon tiny shoulders. The braid woven into it did nothing to protect it from the onslaught of rain and mud buried deep into it, instead making it worse with a huge knot at the base of her head. You didn’t even want to imagine the work it would take to scavenge it all.
“We got a little too enthusiastic outside,” Iroh chuckled, but even he could not hide the nerves in his voice as he too looked upon the state of your daughter's hair. He was in no better state than she was, clothes dripping on the palace floor and mud footprints trailing behind him. He, however, had the luxury of lacking any hair that could have suffered from the outdoor activity he and Izumi insisted on.
Jumping in mud puddles amongst the rain. You cursed yourself for begrudgingly allowing them to do so.
“I can see that,” you hissed, though the older man took no offense to it. Not with the years he spent with his nephew, your husband, in his teenage youth. “What I mean is the obvious tornado in my daughter’s hair!”
“Don’t be mad!” Izumi pleaded, trudging in her robes that now weigh down on her heavily. You rushed over to peel off the outer layer, leaving her in her underclothes, to prevent any further accidents. Like her tripping over her now heavy clothes. “We had so much fun!”
“Yes!” Iroh repeated, smile not budging at the glare you threw at him. “That we did, little Izumi. Tell them about that large puddle you found.”
“Oh yeah! It was,” she expanded her arms out as wide as she could, ignoring your fussing as you evaluated how on earth you were ever going to fix her hair, “thiiiiiiis big! I almost slipped at first, but I made the biggest splash ever in it!”
“I can see that…” you nervously chuckled. “Sweetheart, what about your hair?”
“What about it?” She innocently blinked.
She would soon realize just what you meant.
“Ow, ow, ow!” Izumi shrieked, pulling forward and placing a hand over the spot of hair you pulled on. “You’re doing it too hard!”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry,” you said between clenched teeth, grimacing as you looked at the comb you were using to attempt to pick apart the huge knots in her hair. There was dozens of accidentally ripped hairs, and your heart broke at the pain you knew you were causing your daughter.
“I truly am sorry,” Iroh apologized for the hundredth time. “I didn’t realize that her hair would suffer such,” he lifted the half of the hair he was helping out with, “travesty in this weather. I never had to worry about this with my son or my nephew.”
“It’s fine,” you sighed. “I know you meant no harm by it. I’m just worried we might have to cut it at this rate.”
Izumi let out a loud gasp, wretching away from you both as if you burned her. “No, no, no!” She shrieked, protectively covering her hair while she was at it. “I don’t want it cut! No cut!”
“I know you don’t, baby, but we might have to. I don’t want to spend hours pulling on your hair if it’s only going to hurt you.”
“But…” Your daughter sniffled, and she allowed you to coo and reach over to wrap her in your arms. “But I like my hair…”
“It’ll grow back,” you attempted to reassure, but the tearful look in her eyes made even you feel doubtful about the idea. “It’ll be nice and long again in no time!”
“Your father once cut his hair, you know,” Iroh piped in, catching the younger one’s attention. “For him, it meant a new beginning. A new path in his journey for honor.”
“New beginning?” Izumi repeated back.
Iroh nodded. “Yes, and it could mean the same for you. Plus, I think you’ll look cuter than he did.”
That got a giggle out of her, finally, and you sent a grateful smile over her head to the older man. He gave a playful wink in return.
“So, what do you think? Can I cut your hair? I think you’ll like that a whole better than us tugging on your head again.” You gently ran a hand up and down your daughter’s back as she thought about your suggestion.
“I guess…” she pouted.
And pout she did as you got up, grabbed the scissors, and proceeded to chop to her shoulders.
. . .
“What happened?” Zuko gasped, gazing at the disaster sitting in the middle of your’s and his room.
Your daughter sat in your lap, teary eyed, surrounded by remnants of her once luscious hair, while Iroh attempted to cheer her up with all the cheesy jokes in the world.
“We had to…” you winced, allowing Izumi to scramble up from your lap and run to her father’s open arms.
“Papa!” She cried, sobbing once more as Zuko brought her to his chest. Ever her father’s little girl. “My hair was a big mess and they tried to fix it but it hurt so they had to cut it but I didn’t want to cut it but it was gonna hurt again,” she took a deep breath to finish her ramble. “And now it's short!”
“I see…” Zuko consoled, looking to you and his uncle for confirmation. At your nod’s his face softened, although he still appeared slightly awkward at all the sobbing Izumi was doing. Ever the socially stunted man he was. “I think you look very pretty, though.”
Izumi sniffled. “Really?”
“Really,” Zuko nodded, waddling over to your spot on the floor and plopping down next to you. “The prettiest. In fact, I think it looks a lot cooler than mine.”
She gasped, touching the ends of her hair. “Really!” She repeated yet again, this time with a squeal. Her face turned red at the compliments from her father, but then she gasped for what felt like the hundredth time and pointed at Zuko. “You should cut your hair too! Then we can match!”
The speed at which your husband’s face was laughable. “Oh, I don’t think-”
“Yeah, why don’t you?” You giggled, waving around the scissors you still held. “I think you two would look adorable with matching hair.”
Amber eyes whipped over to Iroh, pleading with him, but alas the older man simply laughed. “The young lady,” he waved over to Izumi, “has spoken. I think it’s in your best interest to listen.”
“It’s just hair, it’ll grow back!” She repeated your earlier words, seeming more confident in herself knowing her father would look just like her soon enough.
Knowing he was outnumbered, the Fire Lord sighed. “Lets get it over with…”
This a drabble I wanted to get down because I got Sunday on the brain and I miss him dearly. I haven't played in so long so forgive me if this is like, out of date to the new world.
Thinking about Winged Halovian Nameless! Reader with Sunday. Obviously, winged Halovians are rare, and with reader always traveling on the express, they never learned how to care for their wings and feathers until Sunday joined the crew. I can imagine the reader having even tucked them beneath their hair for so many years to hide them because of the attention (and accusations of copying a certain idol wherever they go) causing them to kind of just... Forget they have them.
At first he doesn't really say or do much with you, he's just trying to be as helpful as he can to The Express with his newfound freedom. He's in shock one day when your wings are in particular pain that day and you left them rest on your shoulders instead of being tucked away.
Sunday is horrified at the lack of care towards them. Sure tucking them away is fine for short periods of the times but never having properly preened your own feathers properly plus the constant oils from your hair (that sometimes went days or weeks without proper washing due to being on a planet that didn't have that luxury) made your feathers brittle and some even painfully ingrown.
"so um.... Do you- what do you use to wash your wings?" He would ask tentatively, trying to not immediately offend the reader in his first proper conversation with you since joining.
"shampoo and conditioner??" He's stunned.
"let's maybe.... Not do that."
That night begins the first night of a long drawn routine that he puts himself through every night and now drags you to do the same. He preens your feathers, rubs all the essential oils needed to keep the skin healthy, soothes the ingrown spurs, and gives you the general daily care they'd need. Once your wings are no longer as damaged, he's likely to bring it down to the typical once every one to two weeks. But the self care nights never really cease even when you're plenty knowledgeable and capable of doing this yourself. It's hard when he's just so good making the process so calming and relaxing.
Sunday who helps winged halovian reader become more comfortable with keeping their wings exposed rather than tucking them away into their hair. Practically raising his chin in pride when people comment on how beautiful they look.
Warnings: Heavy angst, character death, just lots of death talk in general
A particularly bad attack on Earth leads to hundreds of casualties around the world. Many lives are lost…including that of beloved superheroes and their loves.
Bruce Wayne
He dies with you in his arms.
No one ever expected Batman, the Dark Knight renowned for escaping death, to ever take his last breath. It was impossible. Improbable. The Angel of Death themself struggled to collect.
And yet, the time came.
No one was worried at first. Batman, Bruce Wayne, always prevailed. He always had a plan A through Z, and a second set if those ones somehow failed. Nothing could surprise him whether it be ghosts, aliens, even Dracula himself. It was almost as if the universe itself bent at his whims.
It was Clark who found you and him.
He didn’t register it at first, didn’t even think about it. There were mass casualties from the devastating catastrophe. Many had not survived, a fact that he was personally forced to face as he listened to each and every civilian heartbeat cease to beat. It wasn’t until they began the city cleanup that he realized he failed to hear that of a familiar one.
He didn’t want to believe it at first. There was no way the man closest to him, the man whose intellect rivaled that of even the smartest villains, was just…gone. So, he went searching.
And that’s how he found you both.
It was clear that you had been the first to die. Body set in rigor mortis, blank eyes clouded over as you stared up at the sky. Bruce was behind you, desperately cradling your body to his chest as he lay slouched against a nearby building. He quickly deduced the situation, noticing the bloody blast on your chest. You had somehow, someway, gotten in the middle of battle and suffered for it. Bruce must have found you and in grief, didn’t care if he was found unarmed as he held you in your final moments. The similar wound on his own chest showed as much.
Batman’s own love and grief had been his undoing.
Dick Grayson
He took his last breath with his arms wrapped around your body, as if protecting you from the fatal blow that took your lives.
It was the man who he once called father who found you.
Once the battle came to an end, he desperately followed the tracker he installed in each and every one of his kids' suits. He had to, needed to, account for them all. It didn’t matter if Dick and Jason were grown, if Tim and Steph had the smarts that beat his own, it didn't matter if Cass and Damian could survive even have a nuclear blast if they wanted to. They were his kids.
And so were you. The person who brought forth a new light in Dick that he hadn’t seen in quite some time. He wasn’t the first Robin when he was with you, wasn’t Bludhaven's adored Nightwing…he was just Dick Grayson. Bruce Wayne’s precious son.
Which was why Bruce felt his heart drop when he neared the rubble pile of an oh so familiar building. Your’s and Dick’s, the shabby little apartment you both called home.
He should have known something was wrong when, through all the chaos and bloodshed, he didn’t catch even the barest glimpse of his son. The blue and black suit that he recalled you loved so much nowhere in sight. And now he knows why.
It seemed in the chaos you were unable to leave your apartment building. It was possible you were trapped, or maybe you got caught up attempting to help a neighbor escape before you because that was just the kind of person you were. Either way, you somehow didn’t make it out of the building in time.
And his son, oh his beloved son, always a lover at heart would not leave you in vain.
Bruce didn’t even want to think about whether or not in the end his son accepted fate's cruel hand. If he fought till the bitter end for your lives, or if he decided that death with you was better than life without. He knew his son and his love for you, and knew that in the end a life without you was one he couldn’t imagine his son bearing.
As Bruce neared the rubble and saw your bodies in the midst, strong arms tightly wrapped around you to bring you close to Dick’s unmoving chest, he could only thank that Death decided to take you together.
Jason Todd
He passed with his hand in yours, his fingers intertwined with yours. Arm stretched out as best it could in his final moments to get to you.
His partner in crime, Roy Harper, had been the one to find him. Not his family, but a fellow outcast. And one of the few to notice his slow disappearance in the battle for Earth.
Though the man decided to fight with his family: his brothers, sisters, and regrettably his father, that didn’t mean the rest of the Outlaws decided to just neglect him. No, just as they would family, they all kept tabs on one another throughout the battle. Which was what made them all slowly begin to panic as Red Hood sightings began to progressively turn to none during the war.
Jason wouldn’t be one to abandon a fight, especially as dire as this one, unless…
They didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t even want to consider that you somehow ended up in the crossfire. You, who just as they held Jason near and dear in their hearts they did you. The civilian who never left the man’s side even in the darkest of times.
His love, his life, the very air he breathes.The kind of love poets of old would weep at.
Once the battle was over they all decided to spread out to find their lost comrade. High and low they searched, through rubble and ruins, desperate to catch even a glimpse of the familiar red helmet he wore.
They didn’t have to search far. It was obvious where he would run to if he needed.
Just a few roads down from a nearby safe haven bunker you both lay. Cold, stiff, but together. It was as if in your final moments you both were still so hopeful you could hold each other just one more time. However, fate wasn’t so kind.
A blood trail behind Jason indicated that in his final moments, no matter how painful, he used every last breath to crawl to you and secure your hand in his.
In your restless dream, you see your mighty village. The Northern Water Tribe. A nation built upon frigid ice and snow, yet carried the warmth of union and community.
Late at night you delude yourself into thinking that the hot wave of heat that the Fire Nation brought was really the icy wind of the North. Where the constant sweat and heat stroke was actually the familiar threat of frost bite. A place where you could eat all the seal jerky you craved, instead of having to settle for burning your tongue off with chili covered komodo chicken.
A land where you could freely love and express your culture with those who loved and understood it just as much. Yet here you were, seemingly five hundred miles from your home. In a nation where yours might as well have been a stain on the prideful grounds of the fire country.
The people didn’t say it to your face, but you always had a keen sense for others. You could hear the mutterings under the breath of servants. The scornful looks the ambassadors gave you when you sat in meetings with Zuko, the way they eyed you with distrust. As if you were a spy sent by the Northern Water Tribe to infiltrate the newfound patriarchy of the Fire Nation.
That one was one of your favorite rumors there were.
Your husband had tried soothing your worries, tried reassuring you that it was because fear still lingered within people from the old ways. But, you couldn’t help but be spiteful of the fact if it were true. Why did you have to bear the scorn of people unwilling to change their hateful ways?
And as you stood in the balcony of the palace, gazing down into the distance where you saw the bright red flames celebrating the upcoming new year of the mortal world, you wished for nothing more than to be home.
“I’m so sorry,” Zuko had sighed, regret shining in his eyes that you oh so loved. Yet, at that moment, they scorned your person like the embers they resembled. “We won’t be able to travel up North this year.”
“But…” you pathetically stuttered, feeling your heart sink into your gut. It had been a particularly hard month, the holidays bringing forth a newfound wave of disgust from the fire citizens rather than the hearty cheer and love you would have known back home. The one thing pushing you to get through it was Zuko’s promise that you would celebrate in your home land this year. “...but why? You promised me we would.”
The sound of your voice cracking practically punched the air out of the Fire Lord’s lungs. “I know, I know my love but…the Chamberlain said-”
“Oh, so we’re listening to the Chamberlain for once now?” You accidentally snapped. “What? Any other day you would brush off whatever nonsense he has to say but now he suddenly speaks the truth?”
“The Chamberlain,” Zuko raised his voice, fighting over yours, “has mentioned that tensions are rising within the dozen towns still loyal to my father. If we were to prioritize celebrating with the Water Tribe their distrust will only boil over!”
“So you agree with them, then? That there’s an ‘us and them’?”
“What?”
“Don’t act like you don’t see it,” you yelled, waving an arm out, as if waving to the nation as a whole. “This place, it’s people, they see me as an anomaly. As a threat! They don’t see me as a person like they are, and here you are about to prove their point!”
Irritation flashed upon Zuko’s face. “I didn’t say that! You’re putting words into my mouth!”
“But it’s the truth!”
“No it’s not,” Zuko finally yelled. “You’re being ridiculous! This is why they all hate you!”
That silenced you. The fact that your own husband, your other half, your only anchor in a foreign country that spited you, had thrown such a statement in your face. It proved the irrational fears that you didn’t dare say, the ones that lay deep down within your soul, correct. That maybe the illogical thoughts of the people would eventually get to him. That eventually, he would see that they were right to hate you.
The hurt must have shown on your face, for Zuko’s face dropped and suddenly he was at a loss for words. “W-wait…wait, I didn’t mean it like that-”
You hadn’t the heart to listen to his excuses, though, and turned around without a word and left.
That was two days ago, and since then neither of you had shared a word with one another. You slept in one of the many guest rooms the palace held, and kept your eyes down on the rare occasion you walked past each other. Zuko never attempted to initiate any conversation when you did anyways.
You didn’t expect him to try today either. New Year's Day. A large celebration was to be held in the ballroom of the palace, but you couldn’t stomach the thought of attending. Not today. Not when you would only continue to prove that out of the hundreds in attendance, you were the only odd one out.
So, it came as a shock when you heard footsteps coming up behind you. You nearly jumped in surprise when a body came up next to you, but then you recognized the scent of smoky wood. It was unfortunately comforting, creating a relaxing reaction within every inch of your body. Spirits, you hated him for it.
For a few minutes you stood in silence, neither of you able to find the words you needed to say to one another. In the distance, you could hear muffled shouts and cheering from the festivities, and suddenly you remembered just what Zuko was missing.
“Don’t you have a celebration to attend?” you muttered, looking down at your hands clenching the banister.
“You weren’t there,” he said back, staring ahead. At what, you had no clue, but if it helped him to think so be it.
“Didn’t think I was wanted. You know, with how much your people hate me and all that.”
Zuko let out a heavy sigh, finally turning his head to look at you. “I didn’t mean that and I shouldn’t have said that. It was wrong, and it was hurtful, and I never mean to hurt you.”
“It was,” you nodded.
“And I didn’t just hurt you, but I also broke a promise by unfair means.”
“You did.”
“What I mean to say,” he took a deep breath, “is that I’m sorry. I’m sorry for how I behaved, I’m sorry for what I said, and I’m sorry for breaking my promise again. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
It was your turn to sigh, looking up from your hands and into his eyes. “You hurt me. You really did hurt me…but, it’s not your fault. You’re the Fire Lord, it’s your duty to look out for your people and if being with me-”
“Don’t,” he rushed to interrupt, stepping forward and grabbing your arms. Despite his alarm, his grip was gentle. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. I love my nation and its people, but I will never love it more than I love you. Never. In no life, this or the next, will ever choose it over you. You will always be my number one, my light, my fire, my very soul. You hear me?”
“Oh Zuko…” you breathed, blinking back tears at the confession. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.”
“You shouldn’t have had to,” he said, pulling you into a hug and tucking your head into his neck. “I’m sorry I allowed any doubts to fester in your mind. It’s my job as your husband to quiet those, and I now know I need to do a better job at it. Which brings me to step one of that.” He pulled away but only slightly, body still desiring to be near yours. “Would you like to join me in the ballroom?”
Your face dropped in a frown once more. “Zuko, I don’t know…”
“Trust me,” he said, bringing up a hand to your face and gently caressing your cheek with his thumb. “Please.”
How could you ever say no to a face like that.
. . .
It was the scent that knocked you back first. For months you’ve had to adjust to numerous spices used in every dish. The chili pepper gave you insane allergies and burned uncomfortably in the back of your throat. Yet, as you entered the large room…
“Is that arctic hen I smell?” You nearly shouted, whipping your head around to look at your husband in awe. All you got back was a smug smile in return, and with a roll of your eyes you evaluated the large banquet before you.
Instead of the dishes you’ve acquainted yourself with in the past year you see all of the very ones from your homeland. Seal jerky, seaweed, giant sea crab, and so much more. And there, at one half of the table, were the familiar blue colors of your people.
“What…what is this?” you breathed, mouth agape at the sight.
For a moment Zuko looked sorrowful, before he shook it out of his head. “I meant it when I said we couldn’t go to the North this year. Not just for…” he grimaced, “what I said earlier, but because we just have too many things on our plate to make the trip. So, I thought to bring the North here instead.”
For a second you couldn’t find any words to respond with, shock overtaking your entire being at all the sights, smells, and your mouth watering at the potential taste of it all. At your silence, Zuko seemed to get a bit uncomfortable. “Do…do you like it?”
“Like it? I absolutely love it!” You cheered, throwing your arms around him and bringing him into an embrace. “Thank you so much!”
He chuckled. “Don’t thank me yet, you haven’t tried the food yet. I don’t know if the chefs made it all exactly up to par.”
Uncle Iroh is incredibly fond of you and actively searches for you during the day so you can spend time together.
You don't mind this at all, you adore your uncle-in-law who's more like a father to you, just like he is to Zuko. So whenever Iroh invites you to do anything, you're already following him, both of you walking side by side as you talk happily.
Zuko loves this; he loves that his uncle has taken you as his own and treats you like a daughter. It was something he never really worried about—you and Iroh are easy to love with your sunshine-y personalities so you two being the best of friends is a surprise to no one.
But.
He does have one complaint which is that Iroh may be taking up too much of your time.
Zuko understands that he's busy with Fire Lord duties and often has to fight for free time. But when he does get that free time, you're not there to spend it with him. You're off into town with Iroh to see a play or visiting an animal sanctuary to see the platypus bears.
Which is fine, it's great!
He's happy that his two most favourite people in the world are getting along so well!
But.
He misses you.
So in a ploy to win back some of your time, he uses his Fire Lord powers to grant himself a day off. Yes, his Grand Chamberlain throws a tantrum but Zuko believes he deserves to spend uninterrupted time with his wife.
The next morning rolls around and Zuko wakes up to you staring at him, puzzled, in the nestle of his arms. He smiles sleepily at you and you smile back, amused when he comes in to nuzzle at your sleep-warm cheek.
"You're still in bed," you point out.
"Yep," Zuko says, his lips softly dragging over your skin.
"And no one has knocked on our doors yet."
"I've noticed."
You don't say anything for a second.
"...You took the day off, didn't you?"
Zuko smiles. "I did."
You pull back a little, your hands coming up to cup his face. He leans into your touch, eyes slipping closed.
"Your Grand Chamberlain was furious, wasn't he?"
"Yep." He turns his head into your left hand so he can kiss your palm. "But it doesn't matter because I'm the Fire Lord so tough."
You snort and when he opens his eyes, he greeted by the beautiful sight of you grinning.
"The power's finally gone to your head," you tease and Zuko finds that he wouldn't mind if it did if it meant he got to spend more time with you.
Later in the day, when having tea with Iroh, you excuse yourself to the washrooms, leaving Zuko and Iroh to chat between themselves.
"It's good to see you finally take some time for yourself, Zuko," Iroh says, sipping at his tea and Zuko smiles.
"I needed it," he admits. "It was getting to a point where I wasn't able to spend enough time with her and I didn't like that." He then gives his uncle a look. "Plus with you occupying her attention every second, it was hard to get my wife for myself."
Iroh takes another sip of his tea. "Why do you think I took up most of her time, then?" He grins widely. "She was bored, you needed the rest and you missed each other immensely."
Zuko blinks, his brow furrowing before his eyes widen comically.
"You set this up!" He accuses loudly and Iroh hides his grin into his tea.
"And you're forever predictable, my nephew."
When you come back, you're greeted to the sight of a still shocked Zuko and a very amused Iroh.
STOP WITH THE “Jason Todd is nonchalant when he’s in love” PROPAGANDA. BOOOOOOOO TOMATO IT
that man would rather DIE AGAIN than be nonchalant. even when he’s trying to be, he’s a terrible liar who makes it obvious when he likes someone. and in these headcannons I made shit-ly, I will-
Jason Todd who has very pink ears the moment you tell him he’s cute
Jason Todd who has sweaty palms the WHOLE time you hold hands for first time
Jason Todd who lets out the biggest snort when you make one of the worst jokes known to man
Jason Todd who trips on air walking simply walking to you
Jason Todd who runs over a pothole while looking at you walking to your door which made him practically FLY out of his seat
Jason Todd who panics with getting you flowers and ends up buying you the whole store on Bruce’s credit card
Jason Todd who fixes his tie a whole fifteen times while he waits for you to open the door to your first date
Jason Todd who breaks down in sobs after an intimate moment
Jason Todd who still feels Jokers hands on him
Jason Todd who sobs even more after you gently rock him and forth, skin to skin, whispering affirmations
Jason Todd who makes you breakfast in the morning, accidentally burning the eggs and bacon
Jason Todd who watches you in awe and disgust because you still ate the burnt food
Jason Todd who makes a playlist based off your favorite songs and songs that remind him of you.
Jason Todd who plays that playlist everyday without fail
Jason Todd who memorized your phone number and knows your voicemail by heart
Jason Todd who thinks about you or him taking each others last name
Jason Todd who buys you everything and anything. Books, snacks, clothing, as long as you’re happy.
Jason Todd who lets you decorate his apartment, motorcycle, helmet.
Jason Todd whose first kiss with you is awkward and really bad due to the fact that he’s nervous
Jason Todd who names the stray cat he took in after you but adding Jr. at the end
Jason Todd who learns how to do your hair
Jason Todd who stops being Red Hood after a few more years because he hates the look on your face when you see him hurt
Jason Todd who does odd jobs but lands a Liberian job while you’re off achieving your dreams
Jason Todd who finally feels peace after he becomes a stay at home husband, taking care of the house. And most especially you. He takes care of you like you took care of him when you both were young.
Jason Todd who got you by never being nonchalant
—
I had an urge to write this my bad, this is so shitty PLEASE. I wrote this while watching 90 day fiancé, it was bound to be terrible, should I make more stuff like this
In which you decide to help restore Mrs. Waynes renowned garden.
Ever since the tragic passing of Thomas and Martha Wayne the manor garden had become nothing but a ghost of the past.
What was once the pride and joy for Bruce’s mother was now over-run with weeds, vines, and deceased plants. With the death of the Waynes came the death of some of their legacy, one being the garden you stare upon.
Rustic statues that were once a spectacle to behold looked as if they would crumble with a mere flick. Cobble pathways were cracked and was more dirt than once polished stone. And the great fountain in the center of it all was now covered in dust, leaves, and filled with what looked almost like sewage water from the constant rain in Gotham.
You certainly had your work cut out for you.
“Are you sure you don’t require any assistance,” Alfred once again asked, suddenly appearing by your side within a blink of an eye. You almost had to resist the urge to gasp, never getting used to how the older man seemed to come and go like the wind. “This will be quite the endeavor. I would hate for you to injure yourself in the process.”
You smiled. “I’ll be fine, Alfred. This is something I want to do myself. It wouldn’t feel right if I had you do most of the work.”
“You say that as if it would be a crime,” he chuckled, turning his head to assess the garden as you did. “I can still remember how this area used to once brim with life. Mrs.Wayne had quite the green thumb back in her day.”
You gazed at the man for a few seconds, absorbing the longing in his eyes. You often forget that Alfred had lost just as much as Bruce did the day the Waynes were murdered. The two obviously dealt with their grief differently, but that didn’t mean the man didn’t feel any less pain than your husband did. “Do you ever miss those times?”
He sighed. “More than you know. I will say, though, nowadays the manor almost feels as it used to. Of course Master Dick and the other children brought some life back into it, but you my dear I have seen brought forth a light to Master Bruce and his home that I have not seen in quite some time. I see how much you care for him, and him for you. That is more than I can ask for.”
“Thank you, Alfred,” you smiled, sharing a few moments of silence together. You wish you could have seen the manor in its prime. Martha and Thomas still thriving, Bruce a man who would have never known loss…but then, you guess, you wouldn’t be standing here today. Ready to take on a new endeavor for the man you loved, and he you. “Alright, I guess I better get started then. Do you mind telling me where the gardening tools are?”
…
It had been a long, long day for Bruce.
Reports, paperwork, meetings, it seemed never ending. Wayne Enterprises was on the cusp of making a new technological breakthrough and he personally needed to evaluate everything to make sure it was ready for launch. A great, tedious process.
A long day indeed…
So to say he was disappointed when he walked through the front doors of the manor, only to be greeted by just Alfred was an understatement of the century. Not that he loved the man any less than he did you, but he was particularly looking forward to his ‘welcome home’ kiss today.
As the older gentleman took his coat to hang, Bruce mentioned your name. “Where are they?”
His suspicions only rose when Alfred looked as if he was keeping down a particularly mischievous smile. “Last I saw they were in the gardens, Master Bruce.”
Bruce felt his eyebrows furrow. “The garden? Why would they be there? It’s a mess.”
“I guess you should ask them yourself.”
And so he set forth to do so. The walk felt like it was taking forever, with exhaustion dragging at his bones and slight trepidation in his wake. It was an unspoken rule for everyone to avoid the garden, not out of fear or respect or anything of the sort. There just was no point to it anymore. At least, that’s what Bruce tried to justify his avoidance with.
It just wouldn’t feel right.
If anything, though, Bruce didn’t feel anger nor betrayal at you suddenly appearing in the garden. No, far from it, he could never. Instead in its place was not just curiosity, but worry. The garden was teeming with life and not in a good way. There were weeds, thorned vines, bugs of all sorts, etc. What if you got hurt? What if a deadly bug stung you or what if you happened to come across some poison ivy? Alfred himself hadn’t been able to bring himself to step foot in it for years, without any upkeep who knows what you would come across?
Not to mention the weather was horrendous, per usual in Gotham City. It didn’t make the realization any less heart dropping. Did you have a jacket? Were you even wearing proper gloves built both for the cold and the harsh greenery you were facing?
Bruce felt he got his answer when he neared the backdoor and heard muffled, distant shouting.
“Stupid, worthless gloves! Fuck me!”
The worry evaporated and amusement soon replaced it. Always the charmer weren’t you?
He opened the door, ready with a cheeky quip about how you would rather make love to a glove than your own husband, but the words died out as he stepped into the windy cold.
On one half of the garden he could recognize the overgrowth, the neglect, the way time had permanently stopped since…since his mother’s death.
But on the other side…
On the other side you stood, hunched over your hand. One gloved hand cradled the other, glove removed and brought to your face to inspect what he could see from a distance to be a bit of blood. Worry spiked in his heart, but to his chagrin he just couldn’t move. Couldn’t get his legs to race over to you and cradle your hand instead, to kiss the pain away and personally remove whatever rotten plant it was that brought it. Yet, instead of disheveled shrubbery, you stood in the midst of a neat, lively thicket. Dirt was everywhere, trashbags full of torn away invasive plants surrounded you, but there was also beauty.
Fresh, new batches of flowers were planted. Roses, dandelions, gardenias, and so much more. The bushes were nicely trimmed, and even some of the older statues were scrubbed down so there was less dirt and moss and more shining stone.
It almost looks how it did back then…
“Ow!”
Your pained yelp brought him out of his stupor, snapping him out of his thoughts and finally giving his legs the will to move. You must have heard his rushed footsteps, turning your head just as he neared you and gently snatching your hand into his. “Bruce?”
“What is it?” He asked, attempting to follow the trail of blood to wherever you may have been injured. “Are you okay? Does it hurt?”
“Just a bit,” you winced. “I didn’t notice the rip in the glove and a thorn tore through my hand.” Tore wasn’t an exaggeration, the ripped skin trailed from your finger tip down to the palm of your hand.
“We need to go inside and bandage this. You’re done for the day.”
“What? No!” You ripped your hand away from his, standing before him indignantly. “I’m not done yet.”
“Done with what, sweetheart?” Bruce sighed, already knowing what you were referring to. He would be an idiot to not have connected the dots otherwise. What he couldn’t understand was why? Why were you putting in such effort to restore his mother’s garden? As a gift maybe? Your anniversary wasn’t for a few more months though. Just for the sake of it? Why do it personally, though, why not ask Alfred to do it for you?
You could read him clear as day, and understanding dwelled in your eyes. For one of the greatest vigilante detectives there was, he was still quite the dense man.
“Do you like it?” You mumbled, suddenly shy as you turned to look at your handiwork. “I made sure to personally pick out all the flowers I heard she loved.” You didn’t have to say her name for him to know who you were referring to.
“She did,” was all he could muster to answer, memories of the past flooding his mind. Of when he used to play, driving his mother up the wall whenever he picked a flower or two to give to her, not understanding the sentiment she had for them when she had so many. Oh, how he took such moments for granted. Then he remembered his earlier question. “Why did you do all of this? You know Alfred would have been more than happy to help.”
“Oh I know, he practically begged to do it for me,” you playfully rolled your eyes. “I just thought it was time to give it a new chance. A new beginning. A way for us to make new memories. I wouldn’t have been satisfied if I made Alfred do all the work. I wanted it to be special for us.”
And special it was, Bruce thought, surveying the area once more. “You have her touch.”
The confession made you beam. “I would have loved to learn from her.”
“She would have loved to teach you. She was always disappointed that I never shared her love of gardening.” Suddenly, he remembered his earlier concerns. “We still need to deal with your hand.”
You jolted, as if suddenly remembering your injury sent a wave of pain down your hand as a reminder. “Oh, right.” You began the trek up the cobblestone path, but paused just as you made it to the door. “Do you want to help me after? I think it would be fun for us to do this together.”
Thinking of deity Rafayel who has to mimic human behaviour just to make you feel at least. He’s very capable of walking through this life without the rise and fall of his chest taking in air, but just for the sake of your little head leaning onto him, he mimics your breathing pace, forcing his heart to beat in tune with yours.
Sometimes, he has to remind himself to blink, especially when he’s with you. You’ve mentioned it once or twice in passing that his gaze is… intense. Staring at you like he’s trying to memorise every single little detail, from the curve of your lips to how many strands of hair dip from your fringe-
Rafayel would just laugh then, a dry sound. Before he follows up with a snarky little quip about how mesmerised he is by you. But then on, he reminds himself to blink. Slowly, carefully, like a beast trying to appear harmless.
It’s hard for a deity to understand how a human feels. But masquerading as one comes a lot easier.
Rafayel would gladly put on a show of normalcy, if it meant that his presence could be your norm.
“My poor baby,” Phainon cooed, tightening his arms around you. One rubbed up and down your back, whilst the other rubbed deep and soothing circles at the base of your neck. Right where the culprit of your misery lay.
You couldn’t bring yourself to mutter anything back, the pressure in your head basically incapacitating you. It started off small. An annoyance but not enough to prevent you from doing the household work you promised yourself you would get to. Phainon was at work and the house was a mess from the procrastination of you both. However, as the day progressed, the ache in your head grew worse and worse until you decided to settle for a small nap.
What a joke.
The thirty minutes you promised yourself turned into an hour, and then another, until you woke up hot, sweaty, mouth dry, and head absolutely pounding. Time was an illusion, reality was abstract, your mind in a haze.
And that’s how Phainon came back to you.
“Shh,” he comforted when you let out a pained whine, a sharp ache striking you right between the eyes. If you had the strength to look at him you would see his face crumpled in such agony that you would think he was the one suffering. And in a way he was. Seeing you writhe at the torture your own body subjected you to while he could do nothing but comfort you brought him more pain than anything else could.
So he would not leave your side. Not even for a second.
baratheonpilled
janainaart
blakekathryn
yousharknotpass
