4. I too am disembodied: Mrs. Waterford (T; 1,617 words; 18 May 2017) Music is composed, a picture, a speech; you are a picture of composure, you used to compose speeches. You still do, sometimes, rarely, oh so rarely, for foreign dignitaries, praising the progression of your country, the country you helped form. It is what you profess to have faith in, yet faith has eluded you. It is a form without content. An act.
The Raven Cycle
1. He wonders what to say and whether to say it: Kavinsky/Ronan (T; 500 words; 07 May 2017) For the first time in over a year and a half, you consider going to confession, to cleanse your soul of the sins you’ve committed this past week.
2. I’m variously sweat or shudder: Kavinsky/Ronan, Kavinsky/Prokopenko (M; 500 words; 10 May 2017) You’re about ready to dissolve when his phone rings. Kavinsky, of course, has to answer.
3. No warning from either of us: Kavinsky/Ronan (M; 2,205 words; 13 May 2017) Business AU. Niall Lynch has expanded his business of procuring rare items. In his absence, Ronan takes over the helm, although he has no real interest in it. That is, unless it means one-upping Kavinsky.
8. Les liaisons dangereuses: Kavinsky/Prokopenko (M; 1,500 words; 27 May 2017) Artist AU. You shouldn’t be surprised when he drags you into the men’s room, although somehow you are.
The Walking Dead
6. I found out what it means to be believed: Daryl/Jesus (T; 500 words; 22 May 2017) Hand to heart, Paul’s imagination can spin him some wild adventures, but the real thing is, without a doubt, yet unsurpassed.
A/N: I’m not quite set on the title for this one yet, it will probably change in the future (Hopefully something better can be thought up). I’m glad I’m finally able to finish at least one of my drafts, its like my creativity is in hibernation due to the recent change of weather D: But I’m not the biggest fan of this, cause im still trying to get back into the swing of things. I really hope this isn’t too bad, and that it’s a good read for some of you. (Do let me know if there’s any mistakes or something doesn’t make sense; I have been very all over the place these past few weeks.)
Side Note: Abigail is the daughter shared by Jason & the Reader.
“Will Daddy come home tonight Mama?” The innocence was evident in Abigail’s voice, her young mind unaware of her mother’s stomach performing somersaults at her words. Once the clock strikes midnight it will mark exactly 21 days since Tim’s death—21 days since her father crept back into his reckless ways.
“Remember what I told you Abigail?” Y/n gently caressed Abigail’s hair, a small sigh falling from her lips as she took note of the undeniable resemblance she had to her father. “No matter where you are, where he is. Whether it’s night or day, sunny or cloudy. The love he has for you will always be with you, even when he’s not around.” Her hand traced a small circle around Abigail’s heart, “Right here.” A tiresome smile curled at the young one’s lips, her small frame molding against her mother’s as she drifted off into the night.
Tim’s death has been anything other than easy, the Wayne family dynamics shifting and causing a rift between the lot. Who’s to blame becoming an inevitable argument at attempted family dinners.
Amid the chaos, Bruce had asked Y/n to plan a personal ceremony in honor of Tim. Out of the sheer respect she held for her in-law she accepted, which ignited the downward spiral of none other than her spouse—Jason Todd.
Relieving herself from the warm clutches of her daughter, Y/n quietly entered the hallway of the small apartment. Her arms curling around her in search of warmth, the growing cold from Jason’s absence becoming unbearable.
“You talk like I’ve died again.” The gleam of blue irises matched with an single white stripe of hair stood in the threshold across from Y/n, the familiar but faint outline of an J scarring the individuals left cheek.
“What else can a mother tell a child who’s been neglected contact from her father who decided to disappear for weeks?” Y/n pushed passed him into their bedroom, “What else Jason?!” Anger was boiling over inside her as she was no longer able to contain it.
“The truth!” Jason trailed closely behind, his emotions reaching their peak desperate for a release—his wife receiving the burden.
“What?!” Y/n threw her hands up in exasperation, taking long strides to enclose the gap between her & the man who’s slowly become a stranger. “That her father is an selfish—inconsiderate asshole?!” She dug a harsh finger in his chest. “Tim’s death is noexcuse to abandon your family Jason! You have no idea what it’s like to look into Abigail’s—our daughter’s eyes every night you’re not here, assuring her things that I’m just as in the dark about as well. You’ve fallen back into your vicious cycle and I don’t think I can go through the process once again—we can’t.”
“Then don’t” Jason hissed through gritted teeth, his hand circling her wrist restricting her from any further contact with him. “For a year—a fuckingyearthe beatings never stopped.”
“When the“robin”the people didn’t trust died at the hands of Gotham’s most notorious villain, the bat didn’t give a shit.” He continued, his jaw set in a tight line.
“I wasn’t mourned Y/n—I wasreplaced.”
His grip loosened, the silence of realization falling amongst them.
A moment later, he was enveloped in a warm embrace which brought him to his knees, his arms curling around his wife’s small frame pulling her tightly against his chest.
“You never forgave Bruce..” Jason hung his head low in response, his hand thoughtlessly tracing the outline of his childhood branding.
He refused to indulge in the reflection of his life, growing tired of throwing salt on his profound wounds. Tired of his endless infliction of pain he placed upon the ones he cared for most.
It was time to let go.
It was time to end the cycle.
“I’m sorry.” He breathed.
Providing no explanation he detangled from her, his feet carrying him towards the window which sat ajar. With the small turn of his head he gazed at her, then away, his heart constricting at the pain that lay in her eyes.
She cradled her head in her hands, the tears flowing freely. The soft pounding of footsteps against the fire escape set her reality in stone…