Give me your thoughts: did Lucien break the leash from the king, or did the king break his leash? If Lucien broke it, did he know he broke it? Or does he think the king did it?
Ok. So Lucien. He wore a fox mask the entire first book, and he is an Autumn Court defect living in the Spring Court. Plus he has that Mad-Eye-Moody eye. It seems like his eye allows him to see things with that eye others can’t. So my thoughts are:
Option #1: maybe Lucien can see the magic the king used to leash him, and then he knew just where to apply his own magic to that he could break the leash and go help Elain.
Option #2: would be, that mister fox is a sly mofo, and he’s had that kind of power all along. Maybe he isn’t as nice/abused/innocent as we all think he is.
Option #3: the magic used to leash him and Tamlin wasn’t that strong and the only reason Tamlin didn’t break free is because (just like Under the Mountain) he didn’t try.
Option #4: (comes from @highfaelucien!) the mating bond allowed Lucien to summon the power to break the king’s leash, and the king let him help Elain because it wasn’t a threat to him.
Option #5: the king broke the magic leash on Lucien because he likes to screw around with people.
This was inspired by this lovely piece of art by @laquilasse. She’s amazing and I love her. Please go check out her wonderful art!
He almost doesn’t make it in time.
Or maybe he doesn’t make it in time. Because when he drops through the skylight
and takes out the two thugs standing over his son, Dick doesn’t move. And when
Bruce finishes with the men, he’s crashing down on his knees next to Dick, praying,
wishing, hoping that everything’s
okay. That Dick’s not—
He’s not. He’s not. Dick’s chest is expanding and deflating, if only ever so
slightly, and when Bruce checks, there’s a pulse. The odd thing, though, is that Dick’s
eyes are wide open, staring sightlessly into the middle-distance, and Bruce
realizes that wherever Dick is right now, it isn’t here.
Those bastards are going to pay.
Bruce focuses on Dick, scoops him
up into his arms, and Dick still doesn’t react. It’s—hard. To see this
energetic boy reduced to nothing but limp limbs, and Bruce grits his teeth
against the emotions tightening in his chest. He has to get back to the Cave,
has to take care of Dick. He can feel
(He won’t. Not if he can help it.)
“Hang on, Robin,” Bruce whispers
into the air as his hold on Dick tightens. “Just hang on. We’re going home.”
“I’m sorry,” Leslie says, and she
won’t look at Bruce anymore. “There’s nothing I can do for him.”
“You’re a doctor,” Bruce says
Leslie’s face tightens, but when
she speaks, her voice is flat. “But not a miracle worker. Either he snaps out
of it on his own or he doesn’t.”
“What can I do?” Bruce asks.
“Just be there for him.”
Bruce is slumped in the chair next
to Dick’s bed in the manor when Alfred finds him. Bruce doesn’t look up from
where he’s waiting for Dick to magically get up from his bed, to shake off his
catatonic state and start flipping off the banister or swinging from the
chandelier again. It doesn’t happen. Nothing happens. Just like nothing’s
happened for the past two days.
“Sir,” Alfred says, and it’s quiet
and edged with grief, but his face gives away nothing when Bruce turns. “I
believe you have meeting with Mister Fox this morning at ten o’clock.”
“Cancel it,” Bruce croaks, and then
he slumps back in his chair.
“I’m afraid I cannot do that,
“Lucius will understand.”
“Considering the backlash of the
last few headlines, I believe Mister Fox would like you there to help him mitigate
the damage,” Alfred tells him not unkindly. “It will only be for two hours at
the most, and Master Dick will not go anywhere. To that, I will make sure.”
Bruce doesn’t want to leave—he hasn’t left, really. Only to shower, use
the bathroom, and take his anger out on the bastards that had done this to Dick—but
Alfred would never lie to him, and there’s a fierceness to his voice that has
Bruce seriously thinking it over. It’s only for two hours, and this backlash does need to be dealt with.
So Bruce nods and says, “Okay,” and
he leaves his son to Alfred’s care, and hopes that he won’t regret it.
When he gets back, nothing has
changed. Dick still lies in the bed, IV attached to his arm because they can’t
coax him to eat or drink anything, blue eyes staring into space. Bruce skips
the chair entirely, and he settles carefully on the bed next to Dick, pulling
the boy in so that Dick is in his comfortably in his arms.
He wonders what will happen now.
Dick’s catatonic, and it doesn’t look like he’s getting better. Bruce can’t
grieve, because Dick’s not dead, but the manor feels like a graveyard, so cold
and lifeless without a cheerful twelve-year-old to paint the walls with
laughter and happiness.
Bruce misses it.
He wonders what Dick is seeing.
What’s got him so caught up in his own mind that he can’t come back to reality
anymore. He wonders if he’ll ever get Dick back now.
He wonders and wonders and wonders,
and he dares to hope.
Bruce startles awake, and he looks
around Dick’s bedroom blearily, trying to figure out what woke him up. It takes
a second, but he registers the sound of crying. And when he looks down, his
chest tightens and he can’t breathe.
It’s Dick. Moving and crying and alive. He’s sobbing into Bruce’s chest,
fingers twisted in Bruce’s T-shirt. It only takes another moment before Bruce
is sitting up sharply and cradling his son in his arms, hunching over him, as if this way he can protect Dick from the whole world. He cups the back of Dick’s
head, presses Dick’s teary face back into his T-shirt, and just holds him.
Bruce chokes, and he almost can’t believe it when Dick’s hands twist the
material between his fingers tighter.
Dick’s alive, he’s not catatonic, and Bruce
prays and wishes and hopes it stays that way.
“I’m okay, now,” Dick reassures
him, but Bruce doesn’t believe a word. The boy’s eyes are still rimmed red from crying, he’s shaking slightly, and there’s something fragile to
his expression that makes Bruce think Dick could shatter at the slightest
touch. Dick smiles a bit wider, a bit more genuinely, at whatever expression is plastered on Bruce’s face. “Really, Bruce. I’m okay.”
Bruce doesn’t think so, but Dick isn’t
staring at the ceiling with sightless blue eyes anymore, so all Bruce says is, “I’m
glad your back.”
Dick laughs tearily, throws his arms around
Bruce’s neck, and whispers, “Me, too.”
Hey y’all, so I was watching The Shallows today and wanted to watch
another movie, but decided against it as I’m home alone tonight and have
problems with letting my mind get the better of me… So I came up with
this little thing… Sam x Reader, Dean fluff, spoilers for movie mentioned Reader’s
watching a movie and has Sam and Dean join her, then they continue…
later that night she suffers the consequences of her actions, and so
“I love you both so much. It’s time for me to
go.” Blake Lively’s character, Nancy, said on the TV. I let my bottom
lip quiver and my nostrils flare, but I refused to cry. It was just a
movie after all. “Whatcha watching,babe?” Sam asked as he walked past the lounge. “The Shallows.” I said into the pillow I was holding close. I could feel him standing behind the sofa, watching to see what was happening. “Come on little guy, you’re okay.” She said, shepherding the seagull onto the broken surfboard. “What’s
happening?” Sam asked, intrigued. I let go of the pillow and stuck my
hand in the air, waving it for him to take a hold of. When I felt his
fingers tangle with mine, I pulled him down toward me, over the back of