#I don't even have a barrel to hide under damn

[ameliathornromance]

"(Y/N)!" Your Orc partner roared.

Where had you gone? It was a routine raid, you should have stayed back and help everyone move supplies.

The fire that had been set to burn out most of the humans (your idea) licked the sky, buildings collapsed with a plume of ash.

It had all gone wrong. The whole point of the fire was to get human beings running and out of the way so that the Caravan could run in, take what they needed and leave.

But that wasn't what happened. The humans had fought back. They had started to drag up water from the well, and tossed it over the fires. The Orcs had no choice but to retreat.

But the humans drew their swords. And the Orcs had no choice but to defend themselves.

Bloodshed had ensued and the fire had gotten out of hand. Once your Orc had retreated to go and get you out of the fray, you were gone. You should have been hiding by the treeline, away from the madness.

"(Y/N)!" Your boyfriend shouted again. He ran past bodies, bodies of his own and humans too. The blood that had spilled made it difficult to maintain your boyfriend's balance. He slipped, and caught himself way too many times.

But he reached the centre of the town, he saw you. You clutched a bucket of water to your chest, soot smeared across your face while another Orc barked at you.

"(Y/N)!" Your Orc Boyfriend bellowed.

You jumped, but the other Orc snatched your bucket before you dropped it. He ran off as your Orc Boyfriend approached you.

"I-I..." you began but you couldn't finish.

"What are you doing?! You need to get out of here, now!" He snapped.

"But the Orcs, they're injured-"

"Don't worry about them, get to the wagon at the other side of town, my others will keep you safe." When you didn't move, your Orc barked, "now, (Y/N)!"

You gritted your teeth. You knew this was no time to argue, but you didn't want to just leave him here. But as a collection of angry human roars echoed from the other side of the village, you flinched.

"Go, now!" Your Orc turned away from you and to the human mob getting closer and closer.

"I'm not-"

"I'll be fine! Now go!" Your Orc Boyfriend shoved you away from him. Once you had the momentum, you took off into a sprint. You knew he was right, there was no way that you could defend yourself from that many people.

A few other Orcs ran past you to join the fight. You still didn't turn back. You knew if you turned back now, you wouldn't be able to keep running away.

The wagon, holding a couple of barrels came into view. The only Orc standing, beckoned to you, "come on!" He bellowed.

Your lungs burned, your legs ached, your arms were sore from helping the survivors. As soon as you reached the wagon, the Orc grabbed you and sat you amongst the barrels, providing you good cover. Should the humans decide to use bow and arrows.

You dared to look back. Where was your partner? Where'd he-

An answer appeared before you could even finish your thought. Your amazing boyfriend, barrelled out from a cloud of smoke, brandishing his axe. Humans nearby flinched, screamed, some even roared and swung back in defence.

The wagon had started to move, drawn by the Orc who had put you on the back of it.

A few humans sprinted to keep up your boyfriend, waving torches and pitchforks. But they only fell further and further behind as your Orc raced to catch up with the wagon.

You leaned forwards, holding your hand out to him, "hurry!"

With one final leap, he grasped onto your arm and crashed onto the wagon.

The wagon creaked under his massive weight. But it did not break. The supplies that the Orcs had stolen rustled as your boyfriend adjusted himself.

He lay on his back, panting, huffing.

"Damn human bastards." He breathed. "The others were good diversions. They said they'd catch up-"

You flung yourself on top of him and squeezed him tightly. Your heart thundered hard in your chest, adrenaline still rushing through your system.

Your Orc said nothing, instead, just placing his large hands on your back and holding you there.

It was a close call. Too close. For either of you.

"Promise me you'll never do that again?" You looked up at him. "Please?"

Your Orc Boyfriend looked at you and huffed, "Only if you promise to never go into another raid like that again."

Nodding, you settled your head on his chest again. His heart had slowed to a dull thumping.

As the voices of the angry humans died out, you felt yourself relax. You were both safe. And that's all that mattered.

#monster x female #monster x you #orc boyfriend #monster romance #orc x reader #monster x human #orc romance #monster lover #orc fiction #monster x reader #orc x female!reader #orc x human #monster bf #monster boyfriend

[foli-vora]

the sun will shine again

joel miller x f!reader

A/N: just a little self indulgent something I wrote for comfort when I needed it, but maybe it can be a little reassuring hug for someone here as well? If you're struggling, please reach out to your local helplines, friends, family, doctors, teachers, coworkers - you're worthy of your existence on this planet, and you're not alone ❤️

Word count: 2k

Warnings: heavy themes. Depression, thoughts of suicide and intent, mentions of a weapon (gun), Joel struggles with feelings but he gets the message across, Ellie is Ellie with a little needed comic relief, hurt & much needed comfort

You don't want it anymore. Any of it. You just want peace. You want to be able to wake without the lingering presence of something heavy weighing down on your heart, your soul. You want to be able to smile, and feel it curl on your lips knowing it's nothing but true, and it's not there hiding the ugly thoughts and feelings stirring in your mind. You just want to be happy.

Is that even possible? Does happiness even exist anymore? The world had been torn apart long ago - there is very little to smile for now. Maybe it wasn't worth the effort. Maybe this is all there is.

No.

No, this isn't all of it.

You're sure you feel happiness, even if it doesn't manage to make it across your features most of the time. You feel the tender warmth of it in your chest, the blissful ease of the never ending pressure threatening to crush you under its weight.

It happens now, despite the horrific events that seem to follow your footsteps. Ellie's a sweet thing. She hides it behind her stubbornness and sarcasm, but you spy a slight comfort building within her as time rolls on—a peace.

Joel mirrors it, and he fights it - God does he fight it. Of course you know why he keeps her at arms length, why he desperately fights to keep that void present, but lately, it's wavered. He smiles, laughs even. It's beautiful to witness. He deserves it all and so much more.

You on the other hand? The shadows have seemingly only grown outside of the QZ despite being free, creeping along and filling every vacant space in your mind. It's so damn heavy. Something's there, a presence that seems to know exactly when to strike with its poisonous words, and it's not long until a part of you starts to believe them.

You don't belong here. You don't deserve them. You don't deserve this. You should've died long ago. Why are you still here? They would be better off without you.

It's those thoughts that have you here now, staring numbly at the sun beginning to shine over the horizon with a weight in your hands. There's a harsh chill in the air that bites at your skin through your thick, tattered long sleeve, but you don't care. You won't be here when the snow eventually hits.

You had left your jacket draped over a sleeping Ellie, her cheeks and nose tinged pink from the low temperature. It wouldn't go to waste - she'll get a lot of use out of it. Your pack you'd left in its spot beside Joel's - he'll take whatever they need before they move off. You have nothing else of worth.

They'll be better off. You don't belong here. You don't belong anywhere. Everyone will be better off.

Your gaze drops to your hands where they cradle the handgun, the steel barrel now warm from your touch. You only have one bullet - you left the rest behind. You wouldn't need them, anyway. Joel'll get a use out of them. They'll both be safe.

Safer without you. Better without you.

So why can’t you do it? Why can’t you just get it over with? Why are you hesitating?

The last few months roll through your mind. Blurs of memories, of you and Joel, of you and Ellie, each one rolling through your mind and bringing that sweetly craved warmth back to your chest. You know why you’re hesitating.

It’s a battle between love and darkness, and you hate that the darkness is winning. You’re weak.

They deserve more than you.

“Watching the sunrise?"

The unexpected but familiar gravel has you jumping about a mile high out of your skin. Your head whips to where Joel is approaching quietly from behind, and you discreetly tuck the gun into the waistband of your jeans as you nod, forcing a strained curl of your lips.

"It's a nice view," he continues quietly, voice still roughened from the few hours of sleep he managed to get. "I wasn't expectin' you to be gone so long."

He had been resting when you left the little campsite, eyes closed and merely grunting in reply when you mentioned needing a bit of privacy. How long had it been since you left? How long had you been dragging your feet in carrying this shit out?

"I got distracted," you explain weakly, shifting slightly over on the unforgiving boulder you sit on so he can rest on it beside you, "sorry."

He notices your clear lack of jacket.

"You cold?"

"No," you lie.

He's watching you, studying you. You can feel it. You keep your eye on the horizon, taking in the pastel mix of blues and oranges stretching across the sky as the sun starts to rise further above the landscape in an effort to escape his scrutiny.

"You needin' these?"

Glancing towards him, you watch as he sticks his hand down the front pocket of his jeans before holding it out to you, noting the bullets rolling around his palm. Your bullets. There's something hanging in his gaze as it remains heavily fixed on you. Maybe a slight edge of suspicion? Challenge?

You don't manage to hold it long enough to find out.

"Uh, not that I know of. I think I'm good."

He makes a low noise of thought, "Alright. Well, why don't you let me check. Better to be safe than sorry, right?"

"Joel—"

"Come on."

The cold's long seeped into your bones now. You weren't meant to take this long. Another thing you can't do right. Moving takes a small bit of effort, your fingers now numb as they struggle to keep a firm grip on the weapon and pass it over.

Joel swiftly pops open the cylinder once he has the gun in hand, taking a long, quiet moment to examine the one single bullet residing in there. His thumb briefly brushes over the top surface of it, before readying the other bullets in between the grasp of his fingers.

"Not gettin' far with only one," he comments dryly, nimbly filling the cylinder and then flicking it shut with a noticeable click.

He doesn't give it back to you.

Instead, he reaches behind his back and tucks the gun down the waistband of his jeans beside his own, before fixing his jacket above them. He sighs, a deep heave of breath that blows out from his lips with a wispy cloud that carries away with the breeze as he seems to lose himself in thought.

You say nothing. There's nothing for you to say.

"Don't you ever," he starts thickly, voice cutting suddenly through the quiet, "think about doin' that again, you hear me?"

"Do what?"

You feign ignorance.

Whether it's because you don't want to acknowledge your earlier thoughts, or Joel to know about any of it, you don't know. It's silly—he would've found you eventually anyway. Maybe you're just a coward and don't want to face the reality of what he would think of you.

"Don't play with me—not about this.”

An apology sits on your tongue, but it doesn't make it past your lips. You should've known better than to play him as the fool. Joel's anything but stupid. He probably saw through you the instant he laid eyes on you sitting in the cold morning light without a jacket.

“I don’t say it, and maybe I should start, but I can’t lose you,” he rasps, deep brown eyes falling away from your face to follow the soft swirls of the clouds, “I can’t. And I know that’s selfish of me to say, I know it’s not what I should say when you’re feelin’ like this, but—Jesus. Ellie wants you here, needs you here. I need you here, and I know you’re carryin’ a lot in that head of yours but—I just... I’m here for you, alright?”

“Joel—”

“Quiet.”

Your mouth snaps shut immediately.

“I know it’s a lot, and I know it hurts—believe me honey, I know it fuckin’ hurts, and you’re tired and the other side just seems so damn good… but it’s not. It’s not. You… you can’t do that. God, you just can’t.”

The wind chills the hot tears that spill down your cheeks until they feel like ice. He looks at you then, as if sensing the heart ache making wet paths along your skin.

You’re weak.

His hands are hot as they cradle your face carefully, roughened calloused palms covering your cheeks and soothing away the agony filled droplets with a quick brush of his thumbs.

You can’t help but turn into the touch, your own hands coming to wind around his wrists in an effort to keep him close. He’s so warm. You let out the lungful of oxygen you’d been holding onto in your worry, watching the fog of it hang between your faces before fading away.

“I don’t know what to do, Joel,” you admit in a choked whisper, eyes dropping from something close to shame, “My head… I-I don’t know how to fix this—”

His hands press tighter against your cheeks as he angles and holds your face until your eyes are flicking up to meet his. Sincerity fills them, mixing with the ever present concern he hides behind those high almost impenetrable walls. It’s hard to focus on anything but him.

“It’s gonna take time, and it’s gonna be damn hard, but I want you to put it on me, understand? Put it all on me. I’ll carry what you’re strugglin’ with, alright? Hell, I’ll carry you. For as long as I need to. For the rest of my—fuck. Just—just let me help you. Please.”

He wants to do that? For you?

“What if it’s too much?”

“Then we’ll handle it together, like we’ve handled shit hundreds of times before.”

A few more moments of searching his eyes and you’re breathing a quiet okay. The heaviness still rests unforgivingly on your mind, but maybe you won’t struggle so much if someone was there to help you carry the load. Maybe, with time, it would get lighter.

That’s what you could fight for—the days where it won’t hold you down, and threaten to break you completely. The days where, maybe, it won’t be there anymore. Is that even a possibility? It doesn’t matter, you think you’re willing to find out.

His own eyes flicker between yours when your voice reaches his ears, before he gives a slight, barley there nod. His throat bobs with a swallow and then he’s resting his forehead against yours in apparent relief, lashes brushing his cheeks as his eyes flutter closed.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t ever need to be.”

“I fucking knew you guys were a thing.”

Ellie’s voice suddenly picks up from the tree line, her heavy feet trudging through the dense forest floor with the crunch of leaves and the snap of branches. Joel’s hands drop as he pulls away with a slight frown, levelling it on the girl making her way over, but it doesn’t seem to deter her in the slightest.

Despite missing the physical reassurance from Joel, you welcome the change Ellie unknowingly brings to the heavy atmosphere. You even manage a small smile, and it doesn’t feel strange as it stretches along your lips. There it is again—that lovely warmth from within you.

This is it. This is what you want, what you have. It’s just buried most of the time, but—but it’s definitely there. You weren’t imagining it. It’s there.

You’ll fight for it. You’ll fight for her, for Joel. You’ll fight for your peace.

“You didn’t need to hide it for so long—I’m not fucking stupid. I appreciate the jacket, by the way, but I don’t need you turning into an ice block on me,” she says, dumping your warm jacket over your shoulders before moving to your side and looking out towards the sunrise. “Holy shit, look at that view.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal x reader #tlou fanfiction

[suhjihanma]

☩ 𝕰𝖈𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖘𝖞 ☩

(Master list tag) - ☩Kink (4) : Drugs / Gunplay ☩Word Count: 1,899 words ☩Pairing: Kisaki Tetta / Shuji Hanma / Female!Reader ☩Content Warning: Gunplay and gun kink, mentions of drugs, alcohol intoxication, mentions of drug use, fellatio, intercouse with replacement of object, threesome, characters under the influence, mind-fuck, fear play. ☩Author's Note: Thank you tumblr for hiding my shit. Minors and ageless blogs do not interact. This story might contain triggering content. Another story is done. This was supposed to be written for day five, but I skipped yesterday since I was out with friends yesterday (and I was tipsy). Promise that I'll do two stories for this Saturday coming. So, apologies for my stories being out of order. Also, Tokyo Revengers Season Three is out. Rejoice. It's been so long since I wrote for Tokyo Revengers, I miss you guys. I think I had too much with this. Reblogs and likes are appreciated.

Two arms were gently wrapped around you. 

One arm felt more warm to the touch, tender-like, while the other copied the same body warmth. By the hands, one metal piece was holstered to fingers idling across the trigger while the other hand traced circles lazily across the cheeks brazen with slight redness. 

You don't know how in the world you got yourself in this situation with these two men.

Granted, they've always got themselves in bizarre situations where you question their sexual gratification. Captivated by their interests, you wonder how the average female would present her interests. A tail between her stiffened legs would gain a reaction as she heard about the interests that both men played in the bedroom. 

And a good play at that.

Some might place the blame on alcohol imports, specifically more related to Belvedere, and a few undisclosed pills that might have been improperly pressed, still the ravaging effects of being in your drunken stupor became more heightened as the sense of fear presented itself in the spotlight. A damn was less given as your body now squirmed briefly underneath their warm arms, making its absence known as the cold weapons being placed against your face. Protests awakened as the piece was now placed on your lips. The possibility of them being trigger-happy while under the influence was approximately slim, then again the remaining conscious that you had realized that acting under intoxicated stupidity was more than enough to get your head split across an expensive bedroom. Eyes glossed over fear as you looked over at both men. It was difficult to remain focused. The sense of reality became crumbling down as a warm feeling that felt like a hug was engulfed through your body. Visions of the two men become more heightened as you stumble out for words. Words that used to have meaning were now more or less scrambled with coherent phrases. 

You didn’t know what you wanted.

 How rude of these men to be teasing you in a state of weakened vulnerability. How dare one of them trace the barrel between thighs and have it lined towards your exposed sex. Looking downwards, you see the barrel tracing the opening of your folds, prying the opening of your vagina with the success of secretions decorating the dull, darkened metal that was etched beautifully in handcraft. 

“You can take a gun better than you can take a dick, huh, baby?” Hanma laughed before a familiar weight was pressed against your lips. As your mind carelessly wandered, so did the actions of what was going on. You knew there were lips pressed against yours, you knew that a tongue was forcing itself to intervene with your tongue. 

Did I take more than one pill? 

Were there even guns to begin with as we chatted over drinks?

Why does everything feel so fucking good right now?

 Questions rot your drugged brain as you find yourself reaching to one of the men that hovered over your body. A body that was heavily intoxicated with the sense of fear, pleasure, and hallucinations, your hands began to wonder over Kisaki. The hands drenched in sweat began to mix with his body above you, appreciating the structure of his lanken body that inhaled and exhaled ever so deeply as each moan pried from your lips. As to question why you were moaning, you couldn’t fully explain. Contradicting yourself can be considered an understatement, as you are now reaching out to questions that don't have answers in your drugged stupor. Your hands now reached to the exposed cock that was facing in front of you. Everything seemed so fast from the time that Kisaki was helping you unfasten his pants and well-designed buckle. Pants and huffs were all too present in the fast pace of it all.

Everything was suddenly going fast, yet time was moving slowly.

“I wan- I want.” The words couldn’t complete a full sentence as Kisaki above you guided your head to his well-endowed cock. A small hiss escaped from his mouth as he entered himself inside the walls made of warmth. Of all the times you were reluctant to take him, you were grateful that he showed patience as you babbled out nonsense. Granted, Kisaki wasn’t a man of notable patience yet, doped up women were an exception to sexual matters. 

Kisaki shushed you as he now grabbed a fist full of hair from under you, a muffled scream was let out as you sloppily bobbed your head, whimpers of gratitude were now present as the salted weight of his girth now began to produce small amounts of precum. Either the screams or muffled cries were an absolute turn-on to this man as he continued to thrust himself inside your mouth. Curses and grunts highly encouraged. 

“I know what you want, baby.” Kisaki grunts out before gently placing the barrel of the gun on the top section of your forehead. 

“No teeth.”

The cold tip sends a nervous chill throughout your sensitive body as you look up at him with fear in your eyes along with a dick in your mouth that's aching for a quick release, silencing the pitiful pleas that murmured from your occupied mouth. Kisaki could almost describe the scenery as embarrassing. The man overlooked you with haughtiness as he forcefully pressed the gun deeply against profusely sweating skin. You drunkenly contemplated Kisakis’ next move until your eyes closed tightly shut, small tears forming at the corner of your eyes. The coldness underneath was now penetrated towards your sex, another muffled cry was let out in response as the gun moved slowly inside of you. The twisting and turns grew to be nauseating as the effects were slowly beginning to wane. The foreign object that was being penetrated inside something that needed more made you want it even further, deeper, just anything that would satisfy strunged-out hunger. 

“A possibility we might add this to your toy collection. Keep fucking yourself on my gun,” Hanma jokes in front of you as he continues on with his thrusts, ones where they became out of rhythm that made you sigh and wriggle out of frustration. 

“Yo, Kisaki, is there a way we can preserve pussy juices on a gun? She is soaking my gun like crazy.” Hanma starts to laugh again before continuing with his unforgiving thrusts. Kisaki looked at him with eyes glossed over with pure hunger for sex, the well-attached mind not fully breaking from the continuous warmth that engulfed his cock. The man’s words of choice broke his concentration for a moment before sighing out in exhaustion.

Like a parent dealing with a child’s antics. 

“Why do you always say the most idiotic shit?” Questions Kisaki before looking over at you. His eyes were now looking over the endowed breasts that bounced from each thrust that came from Hanma’s thrusting underneath. One curse word slipped out of the man as he looked over at you again before holding the grip of hand more rough, almost causing you to slip away from the cock in your mouth. 

“Fuck”, A prolonged word dragged through his deepen voice as Kisaki came down your throat. No heed of a warning. You felt him twitch from the muscle contractions, that along came the saltiness and warmth of his cum reaching the back of your throat as you hungrily swallowed every drop. You continue your drunken ravish as you greedily wrap your tongue along his head, gently cleaning the opening of the tip before running your tongue on every visible vein that was present on his skin. It was either the lingering effects of drugs or alcohol, or it could have been the urge to want more pleasure as you wanted to take Kisaki whole. The heaviness of Kisaki dwindled as you opened your mouth. His cock slowly came from your mouth in a slight bounce. Your mouth grew from a sigh to a whine as the familiar coil was suddenly about to break. Time was of the essence as you looked over at the man that was continuously fucking your face, and also at Hanma in front fucking you with his gun. As your body reached its climax, nerves were singing through blissful peace. While they screamed of peace, you screamed out in pleasure. Several things intensified your high, yet the feeling of a drugged out orgasm was nothing more than being God in a falsified heaven. 

More than likely, the doped out feeling grew to be intense as your hips bucked to the motions of the gun that Hanma held in between your weakened legs. He couldn’t help but smile at the state that you were in. Once he recognized that you were satisfied about how much of a mess you made on his gun, he placed one of his fingers against your slickened folds. With fingers now laced with the orgasm you gave on yourself, Hanma places your wetness across his tongue, licking off each digit of his contaminated fingers. You whimpered and closed your eyes. Exhaustion soon gets the best of you, as you enjoy the false scenery of colors dancing across your eyelids. The visions that hit across your closed eyes became woven with the heightened sounds around you. The sound of heavy breathing becomes more plentiful as you enjoy the debauchery of the afterglow. That is until you hear a click.

Your eyes widened as you looked over at Hanma still in front of you with his gun still inside of you. Hanma’s fingers wrapped against the trigger and a cold sensation flew across your body. The effects of everything were now starting to wear off as you looked over at him with a blank-written stare. Thoughts were at a standstill as you looked over at him in complete awe. You didn’t know what to do as you finally shifted your body to the left, gathering what just happened.

The man above you smiled softly and patted the front of the barrel to your still-slick sex.

“There’s no bullet in here. I'm just fucking with you.” Hanma chuckled.

“Quite, literally,” Said Kisaki above you, his words of choice growing from a joking remark. “Still, the drugs that Sanzu gave us were intense.” Looking over the leftover pills scattered across the table, one of his free hands mindlessly rubbed the front of his forehead as he looked over at you with a gentle smile. 

“Still, you were really out of it.” Kisaki's eyes wander across your body pooled with shock laced with sweat and then towards the man in front of you. A smirk oversees the soft smile from earlier. You knew that smirk of his read nothing but trouble, but curiosity was going to kill you in the most brutal way possible. For what it’s worth, both men could do this all day with their sadistic tendencies. As submissive as you were in front of them, the fearfulness of it was steadily lurking at bay once the man in front of you nibbled against your ears, causing you to weep out from the sensitivity. His voice longed for honey and venom as he continued while suckling gently at the earlobe. 

“Then again, you would be more out of with our powder supply. Want to try it while we’re balls deep in you?”

#tokrev #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers fanfiction #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers x you #fanfic #tokyo rev x reader #tokrev x reader #tokyo rev x you #tokyo rev smut #tokrev x y/n #tokrev x you #hanma shuji x you #hanma shuji #shuji hanma x reader #hanma shuji x reader #hanma shuuji x reader #hanma shuuji smut #hanma shuuji x you #hanma smut #hanma x reader #kisaki tetta #kisaki x reader #tokyo revengers kisaki #tetta kisaki #kisaki tetta x reader #kisaki tetta smut #shuji hanma #kisaki x you

[delopsia]

Drive | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 1,900 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, Anxiety attacks, and Rhett's way of calming you down. That's all there is to this one

It's something that comes on every once in a while.

As random as entering your name into a raffle hat and as jarring as a lightning strike on a bright sunny day. Never something that you plan on or want to happen, but anxiety is an impatient force that waits for nothing and no one. 

Up until now, you'd thought you were okay. It's easy to fall into a trance when you're perched up on these bleachers between Perry and Cecelia, sharing a thick winter blanket as you watch the rodeo drone on. Mesmerized by the barrel riders and their nimble horses and the way golden dirt kicks up into a plume of smoke under the hooves of those bulls. You suppose that's how it managed to sneak up on you, the signs there the whole time but only visible in hindsight. 

All you're sure of is that it's the bickering between mother and son that started turning the wheel. The whisperings, Cecelia's hushed tones of disagreement, and Perry's much louder insistence that all of you take his side on the matter. But it was Royal's sudden barking voice that set you off, loud, exploding from behind you. So jarring and overwhelming that it broke down whatever walls were holding it back.

Now you're here, huddled up in the far corner beneath the bleachers, praying the peace will be enough to calm your racing heart. 

You don't have much choice but to wait it out. Rhett's the one who drove you here, and getting the keys to his truck, unfortunately, requires you to talk to him. Even if you could worm your way past the guys paid to keep the public away from the bull riders during the rodeo, there's no hiding your emotions from Rhett. 

Not Rhett, sweet observant Rhett who can pinpoint exactly how you're feeling just by glancing at you. Talking to Rhett means him figuring out that you're in the middle of shuddering through an attack. The last time this happened, he almost walked away from one of the most important rides of the season because he'd rather lose out on his dream than let you suffer through this alone. 

If you try hard enough, you think you can feel him wrapping around you, holding you close as he guides your head to rest upon his chest, where his heart sings the sweetest lullaby, just for you. But no matter how hard you try, it only feels like hugging a ghost.

This rodeo is too loud for you to conjure up and comfort yourself with his memory. Too many thumping feet and screaming cheers overhead, there's an ambulance fluttering its lights on your left, and it just keeps grabbing your attention out from under you. The man at the popcorn stand is yelling his advertisement too loudly; there's a little boy wailing because he dropped his ice cream. 

You don't realize Rhett's up next until his name blares through the air. The Abbott boy, they call him. Son of Royal Abbott, the youngest son with a championship in his pedigree but forever overshadowed by a victory that isn't his own. 

You wait.

And you wait.

But you never see him come bursting out of the chute. No, it's another cowboy that comes flying out, and then another, but none of them are Rhett. Your tired heart is picking back up, thumping loud in your ears as you try to catch up to speed. Surely you didn't miss it; you're too hyper-aware of every little thing that you can't miss a damn thing.

"Sweetheart?" 

Your entire body jolts as if you've just been hit by a live wire. God, since when was Rhett right behind you? 

"What are you doing back here?" You blurt, gaze flickering between him and the ring. There are only a few minutes left; if he doesn't get back out there now, he's going to lose this whole season. "You still have a ride left." 

Rhett's quiet as he reaches out for you, big, sweaty hands curling around your soft cheeks. Your head feels a little lighter, a little less like it's about to fall right off your shoulders. "Darlin', I already rode," he murmurs, so quiet but so loud in your ringing ears. 

Surely there's more that he wants to say, but he doesn't voice it. Offers you no explanation of how he caught your scent from the other side of the rodeo grounds or how he knew you would hide down here in hopes of preventing that from happening in the first place. 

What he does offer you, though, are wide-open arms. Arms that wrap around you so easily. Draws you into that big, warm chest that he says is meant just for you, where his heart manages to beat so loud that it seems to talk to your own, wordlessly coaxing it into beating in perfectly calm synchrony.

"I've got you," he whispers into the side of your head, "I've got you, I promise." 

Being wrapped in him is like being wrapped in a cloud. Fogging up your senses with his presence until you've found yourself lost in him, and it's like time stops. Just you, Rhett, and the gentle pitter-patter of his heart against your ear. 

His felt hat bumps at your scalp as he moves to rest his head against yours, scratchy, dirty cheek rubbing against yours. You're certain that some of that dust has rubbed off on you, squirming your cheek away. 

That only makes it worse.

"Now you ain't escapin' that easy," and Rhett only follows you, squishing his cheek against yours as you start to giggle, writhing in his arms, struggling to escape this strange and unusual punishment he's chosen for you. 

You're pressing your palms against his broad chest, weakly trying to push him away, but he doesn't stop until your cheek is surely covered in whatever sweat and grime he's collected over the afternoon. He pulls away, inspecting his handiwork, before pressing a kiss to your poor cheek.

Then another. 

And another. 

"Rhett!" You squeal in between your giggles, "Okay, okay, I give!"

"There ain't nothin' to give," he hums into your skin, "'m just making my baby feel a little better." 

He reaches into his pocket, and you couldn't be any happier to hear those keys jingle than you are right now. This routine. The one that never starts the same way twice but always comes to the same, cozy conclusion. Neither of you needs to say a word; all you need is to meet his hand halfway, fingers lazily tangling together, and start walking. 

His truck remains in the same spot you left it, on the far corner of the lot, directly beneath a light pole. The perfect little spot where nobody likes to park, saving his truck from any more unnecessary dings and scratches, but still well-lit, just in case you come back here by yourself. 

Just before you get to the truck, Rhett steps ahead of you, always the one to beat you to open the door. Car door, bedroom door, gas station door, it does not matter; as long as Rhett is nearby, you will never open it yourself.

"Got any destination in mind, doll?" He asks as you climb up into his passenger seat. 

You feigning deep thought, eyebrows furrowing as if you're considering every possible option, "wherever the cowboy decides he wants to take me." 

It starts with driving around town, always does. Down those tiny little back alleys that barely offer enough space for this old GMC. Through the outdated neighborhood, houses that were once nice and pristine when they were built in the late seventies but now mostly lie vacant, husks of their former glory. 

Wabang never really was a town to raise a family in.  

At the only stop-light in town, you unbuckle yourself and wordlessly scoot into the middle seat. Rhett smiles at you, lifting his arm for you to snuggle up under it and pressing a wet kiss to your temple the moment you've settled into him. He's warm, your own personal stuffed animal that's always eager to tuck you into him. 

Wabang isn't a large area, but it has so many back roads and hidden ones that only families who have been here for generations know about. Nobody really knows about this little dirt road that Rhett's turning onto. It's something you hadn't known until he first took you on it, and likewise, he hadn't known about it until his momma showed him a few years ago.

The radio quietly drones on, the only sign that time is still passing on these old, barely-there roads. Above your head, the stars in his headliner twinkle. Faint, barely noticeable until you happen to glance upward. Each hand placed by Rhett, all except for the one closest to his door, just beside the grab handle. 

You still remember him calling you up one night, telling you he had a very important task for you. Place the last light. You'd been the one to pick the spot for the final light; he taught you how to thread it through the hole and cut the fiber optic. And suddenly, it was all the more worth the month and a half he spent without a headliner. Lord knows Royal will croak before he willingly gives Rhett a full weekend off. 

As you glance back at the road, you realize you've come to a full stop.

"Is something wrong with the truck?" You ask, shaking from your comfortable daze. 

"Nah," Rhett hums, taking his hand off the wheel so he can cradle his palm along your cheek, thumb stroking the thin skin there, "just wanted to look at you."

It has to be uncomfortable for him to crane his head down to kiss you, but he does it anyway. A sweet lock of your lips, so slow that it's breathtaking, and with every tentative movement of his lips, you can feel just how much he loves you. If you're quiet enough, you think you can hear the way his heart sings for you. It's sweet love song that reminds you of who he adores most in this world. 

Thus begins the wind-down. 

Gradually, streets start to become familiar again, edging closer and closer to the Abbott ranch. But he's not headed toward the house.; he's headed to the endless pastures that bear witness to many a night like these. Comes to a park in the South pasture, just behind a thin tree line and some knee-high brush. The one place Royal will never come looking because he can't stand trudging through the briars and unruly undergrowth. 

The shuffling of places after the truck shuts off never gets any easier. Somehow, you and Rhett will always wind up becoming tangled up together as he tries to lay flat on his back in the seat without knocking you off. 

"C'mere," he yawns, beckoning you into his embrace. You've become so familiar with this that you no longer struggle to find a comfortable spot, already know that you belong right on top of that freshly inked tattoo on his chest. "I've got you." 

There's no telling when it'll strike next. Where you'll be when your heart starts to race, and your lungs can't seem to get enough air. Rhett might be there right next to you, or he might be slaving away in the West pasture, where cell service is sparse. It could be a small, fleeting attack that lasts just a few seconds, or it could last for minutes on end.

What you do know is that regardless of how intense or what triggered it, Rhett will always be there at the end of the day to wrap you up and take you for a drive. 

#rhett abbott x y/n #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott #ao3 oneshot #oneshot #rhett abbott outer range #outer range fic #outer range #outer range amazon #rhett abbott imagine #rhett abbott x you #reader self insert #self insert #x reader #reader insert #comfort fic

[trulycertain]

Raspberries

This actually takes place sometime after the Underdark. Don't even ask how weird my playthrough order was. Tav/Astarion, about 700 words.

They're a quarter-mile out from the monastery when the call goes up. "Raspberries!" Karlach says, and barrels towards the unsuspecting bush.

Lora lands more in a rapid saunter. She'd like to say she keeps her dignity intact, but by the end, she and Karlach are both red-fingered - more than usual, in Karlach's case - with any of the paint Lora put on her lips this morning long gone, the two of them giggling about flambéd raspberries. ("How do they still taste good after I've got to 'em?" Karlach says, licking heat-exploded fruit off her thumb.) Well, Karlach's giggling. Lora's is more of a cackle. A couple of raspberries quietly pluck themselves from the bush and float through the air to Gale, who gives her a wry, you-caught-me look as he bites into his finds. And Astarion... she expected complaint, and there is a mutter of "I refuse. A passing Death Shepherd might see us," but he seems too glad of a rest to get into full flow. He leans against the trunk of a tree, watching, in a way that invites trite panther metaphors.

Lora's the last to leave, relieved for a moment of quiet, easy joy. Karlach can seem to keep on going forever, can seem to find the hope in anything - might be the engine, but more likely it's just how she is - and Gale is often wry, as relaxed as Lora is but in that way where you're hiding pain. She knows it too well. After a day avoiding traps and lying with her life on the line, something little and stupid and joyous like raspberries might just, for a second, have been the answer to her prayers.

And there's a vampire loitering next to her, a brow raised in a way that's not his usual idle I'm above all this and could be at home enjoying a nice glass of vintage blood, I mean wine. Amusement is creeping in round the edges, the genuine kind rather than the teeth-bared one he so often resorts to. The little creases around his eyes are appearing - the ones that almost make him look like less of an insufferable toff.

"What?" Lora says, and then realises. "Shit. I've missed some, haven't I?" She raises a vague hand to her face, probably without much luck.

"You almost look like one of mine." But there's no sharp edge or hidden dagger in it, just amused... she'd almost call it fondness, if they weren't them. Perhaps a little melancholy mixed in, somewhere deep.

And then there's a pale, half-gloved hand under her chin, tilting her face gently down to him. Astarion's thumb strokes at the corner of her mouth, runs over her lower lip - a moment, soft as a feather, his eyes lingering on her mouth just a little longer than necessary. Her breath catches, stupidly; at that his eyes flick to hers, and a smile tugs at his lips. With the arrogant victory of their first bad decision, and their second, a predatory flash - but she swears for a second there's something... gentler. Truer, maybe, though she's not sure if he does that. And the arrogance is all him, too. But this... It's the thing she sees when he saves her from a dagger in the back, just for the barest moment, or when she lays down to sleep close to him by the fire and there's his confused half-second's hesitation at such ignorant trust. It makes him, somehow, for a half-breath under a shadowed oak tree, handsomer than she's ever seen him.

...Probably just Lora trying to give him more credit than he's due. He'd say as much. She's always had a good imagination.

"There," Astarion says airily, and rubs dark pink between his fingers. He makes a vague gesture to her mouth. "Though I assume you know - whatever paint you wear fled at the beginning of your little diversion."

Just over the rise, Karlach is guffawing, and Gale is saying, "No, I did not mean that Netherese wizards set their trousers aflame, though honestly, that whole regrettable chapter of history might have been much shorter if they had."

"Oh, damn," Lora says, and wipes at her mouth absentmindedly. "Come on."

Just like that, whatever softness was in him is gone, shut behind that idle-toff self-assuredness. They jog to join the others, and she tries to look less like they've been doing... something they absolutely haven't been doing. And that would be a terrible idea, anyway. Astarion's smug enough as it is. He probably doesn't even want -

A very fun bad idea. A one-off. Well, two-off. Absolutely.

#tav x astarion #astarion x tav #Astarion #Tav #Karlach #gale of waterdeep #My fic #Lora mctavish

[sprnklersplashes]

I'll crawl home to her: on his deathbed, inej asks kaz to stay. who is he to deny her?

whumptober: flatline/don't go where I can't follow

prologue (ao3)

cw: coughing blood, major character death

Many have speculated about how Kaz Brekker will die. The most popular was that his dirty deeds would catch up to him and that when he did die, it would be because he had finally bitten off more than he could chew. There were those in the Barrel who thought they would best him, be the champion who took down Dirtyhands. Some believed he would go out as he lived; a weapon in his hand and blood on his shirt. 

And then, there were the rumours that Kaz simply could not die. It was certainly plausible; after all his close brushes with death, the daring escapes that shouldn’t have been possible, it had become a serious rumour in the Barrel that Kaz Brekker was simply immortal, and anything that tried to kill him would simply slide away. 

Well, Inej has the answer now. Kaz can in fact die, and what kills him is not a random act of violence or a righteous hero. It’s an illness; one that made a home for itself some time ago in Kaz’s lungs and stayed unnoticed, hidden in plain sight. And Kaz went about his days, scheming, collecting, heisting, all unaware that the parasite had embedded itself in his body. When the cough developed and never left, he brushed it off as a mere cold. When his chest rattled as he breathed, he simply tightened his coat and told them he was fine. 

When he began coughing blood… he hid the handkerchiefs from them.

She’d cursed him at the time. Damn you Kaz she’d shouted, throwing the bloodied rags in his face. Why the hell would you do this? Why would you hide this from us? Kaz remained silent, eyes hidden by the brim of his hat. It was only after she had stormed out of his room in a rage that she realised he had been crying and she fell to her knees. 

Kaz doesn’t cry.

Inej went back into his room, and he told her everything. And since then, they had taken each day as it came. Kaz coughed more, Inej prayed. Kaz wheezed while walking, Inej prayed some more. Kaz collasped in the middle of the Crow Club, Inej spent six hours in the chapel, reciting every prayer she’d been taught a hundred times over. 

Slowly, Kaz was spending more and more days in bed, gradually growing too weak to even stand properly. Eventually, he relented and let her bring in a medik, who did nothing but listen to his chest and then confirm their worst nightmares.

“Make the most of the time you have with him,” they had told her.

That night, Inej climbed the church spires and screamed until her throat was raw.

Afterwards, she moved into his bedroom. Neither complained, and so they both stayed, him sleeping and her praying, as the new reality crept in and made them both prisoners. Inej would watch as her Kaz, her brilliant, ruthless Kaz, slipped further away from her. His eyes grew dull, his skin white, his frame reduced to skin and bones, until little remain but a shell of the boy she’d met at the Menagerie. 

And all that brings them to right now. Inej sits at the foot of Kaz’s bed, dagger clasped in her hands, and begins another cycle of prayers. In the background is the ever-present sound of his wheezed breathing, along with the scattering of rain against the window. Inej touches the tip of the blade with each finger, her Saint’s names muttered under her breath. 

“Inej.” The weak, strained sound of her name has her discarding her thoughts, her heart leaping to her throat. Kaz’s brows are furrowed, his pale lips pressed in a thin line. He shifts, legs twitching beneath hers, and his chest stutters like a failing engiene. He frowns, gasps, and tries again, “Inej.”

“I’m here.” In a heartbeat, she sheaths her dagger and crosses the bed until she’s beside him, brushing his hair from his face. It’s hard to tell whether he’s awake or dreaming these days, but either way, she’ll be at his side. “I’m here, Kaz, it’s okay.” 

It takes some more laboured breaths before Kaz can open his eyes. Just as he does, a coughing fit storms through him, causing the whole bedframe to tremble. Swallowing her panic, Inej grabs his outstretched hand, and continues to stroke his hair, his cheek, all the while telling him it will be all right. Her muttering continues, even when the coughing turns wet and a new instinct kicks in. One hand pulls him into a sitting position while the other snatches the cloth from the table to hold against his lips. As he shudders against her, her arm is around his shoulders, her knuckles grazing his hair. The fabric muffles the sound, but the bed continues shaking. Like a little dinghy caught in a vicious storm. 

When the coughing becomes hacking, Inej buries her face in his hair and presses thoughtless kisses to his head. It should be to comfort him. But the reality is less selfless than she likes; she can’t bare to see the crimon that stains the cloth.

Eventually, his shaking slows and the coughing dies down. Inej waits until its completely quiet before daring to lift her head. The cloth in her hand is almost completely scarlet. It squelches in her palm, blood oozing between her fingers. 

Quickly, Inej discards it, wipes her hands clean and returns to the bed. As she sits down, legs crossed, her hands are closed into tight fists.

Kaz is at least settled, pillows wedged between his back and the headboard. At first glance, he looks peaceful, but then she sees how pale is skin is. Even in the weak light, he looks almost translucent, punctuated by dark shadows beneath his eyes and a faint blue tinge to his lips. His watches her, eyes unfocussed, head cocked to one side. Low, shallow breathing fills the silence, minute by minute, until Kaz has the strength to talk.

“You’re sad.” Inej shakes her head. Her hair falls over her shoulders.

“No I’m… I’m fine.” She looks up, forces herself to smile. Her hands remain clasped between her knees. “How do you feel, Kaz?” 

He blinks at her, processing what she had said. Inej tries to think how he’d form entire heists in mere seconds. People had called him the most brilliant mind in Kerch.

He still is a fierce voice tells her. But that mind has been slowed by illness, by the medicines she’s tried and failed. A simple question now takes far too long to answer.

“M’alright,” he says. His hand, ungloved, moves across the blankets and sits atop her knee. She doesn’t know exactly when he took the gloves off. But when she rests her hand over his, carefully, slowly, he doesn’t flinch. Instead, he nods, and she thinks she sees him smile. 

Rain falls in steady, heavy sheets against the window, saving them from complete silence. She won’t force conversation, not when words feel so useless and talking takes so much out of him. She makes herself content and waits until he feels strong enough.

“You were praying.”

“I always pray,” she says with a shrug. Kaz nods and hums in agreement and at first she thinks that’s all there is to it. 

“What were you… praying for?” he asks. It’s a trick question. Inej bites her tongue to hold back the curses, because you already know Kaz, why are you making me say it?

“I’m praying for you to get better,” she tells him. “So that when you do, I can laugh at you for ever mocking my Saints.” He nods then, the movement so miniscule anyone else would have missed it. When he breathes out, its unsteady, laboured, his face tight like he’s refusing to scream. Before now, she had never heard such a thing come out of a human being. 

While he gathers himself, she touches her concealed knife and prays again.

“Inej…” he begins. He gasps, licks his chapped lips, squeezes her hand. Very slowly, as if it’s made of lead, he lifts his other hand and places it over hers. It’s cold as ice, colder even, but Ketterdam has made her very good at staying still. 

“Inej,” he says again. “It’ll be okay.”

“I know,” she tells him. She nods, smiles, even if none of it feels real. It’s all just orders to brain sends to her face. “I know. You’ll get better, and it’ll be okay.”

“No… Inej.” Kaz pushes himself up then, and panic catches like a match on a tinderbox. Before she can think, her hand is on his shoulder, helping him into whatever position he needs. He looks up at her, gasping, wet eyes glistening in the candlelight. “Inej… you’ll be alright.”

And now it’s her turn to blink. She turns the words over in her head, wondering what he could mean, wondering if he’s dreaming. Then, the words solidifies, and she jerks as if he had slapped her. 

“No,” she tells him. “ We will be alright-”

“Inej-”

“You’ll get better,” she tells him. “And if I have to fight the Saints themselves, then I will.” Her voice trembles, such conviction that she surprises even herself. “I will not lose you, Kaz.”

“Inej…” he mutters. “I don’t… I don’t want to… leave you like this.”

“Then don’t,” she replies. She sniffles, swallows the lump in her throat. In one quick motion, she plants her knees on either side of his legs, their hands still clasped. “You don’t have to.”

“I… I might.” Inej freezes. Kaz has rarely done anything he did not want to do, much less admitted to it. He ducks his head, squeezes his eyes shut. When he tries to breathe, chokes on it. Dry coughing shakes his shoulders and makes tears gather in his eyes. Inej rubs his back, whispers assurances, holds a cup of water to his lips.

And though its superstition, she looks over her shoulder, as if Death might be standing in the doorway to take him. 

When he finally finishes, his head falls back and his eyes slide closed. 

“Might be… time…” he pants. “Time to… pay the debts…” The words trail off, blurring into a drowsy haze. For a moment, she freezes, a sob or scream caught in her throat. Then she hears the rattle of his chest, sees the flutter of his lashes, and she forces it down. 

Soundlessly, she pulls herself a few inches closer. If he wanted, their foreheads could touch. After a nod from him, she takes his face in her hands. 

“Stay,” she pleads, repeating the words he said to her so very long ago. Her throat feels so dry, but she makes herself say it. “Stay here. Stay with me.” Despite his closed eyes, he smiles, though it’s little more than a twitch of a muscle. Slowly, his arm comes around her waist. She doesn’t miss how he sinks into the mattress as he does so. One gesture took so much from him. 

Kaz coughs again and she moves to get him water. Before she can though, he pulls her closer and moves so that his nose rubs hers. It took her by surprise, the first day he did that. She had laughed and told him he was like a kitten. Kaz hadn’t commented but afterwards it wormed its way into a million little moments between them. It brings her back to before this illness, the quiet moments they never thought they’d have.

With his face in her hands, Inej wills the moment to stay. For them to just be this, a girl cradling a boy’s face in his bed. 

“Please,” she begs him. “Don’t go where I can’t follow.” 

“You could… follow anyone… anywhere,” he wheezes. He whimpers. “But… maybe not… this time.” He coughs again, heavy as the rain outside. In seconds, she grabs a clean cloth and holds it to his lips. Blood doesn’t come this time, Instead, she dips it in water and cools his flushed cheeks. 

As it subsides, Inej settles him back against the pillows. His chest is heaving now, and a low graon escapes him as he curls inward. For the first time, Inej forces herself to keep looking at him. Regardless of the guilt piercing her heart, she must keep watching him. Because he is still here.

Blindly, his hand reaches and she takes it between her two, rubbing the skin like she can force warmth back into him. Slender fingers curl around hers and hold tight. Before he fell ill, he had started pressing kisses to her knuckles. When his hand twitches, Inej thinks for a moment he may be about to again. Perhaps he was. But then he grunts, wheezes, and their clasped hands remain still upon his chest.

Inej’s throat tightens. She tightens her jaw and bites her tongue until she tastes metal. She will not cry because he can’t kiss her anymore. She will not. It’s not about her.

(But how much of him has this illness stolen form her?)

Between her knees, Kaz’s legs shift. Inej stirs in time to see his eyes open weakly and his gaze turn towards the window. As watery light falls over his face, Inej finds herself wishing he’d look away. She doesn’t want to see the hollowness of his cheeks, or the red tinge in his eyes. But at the same time… he’s almost smiling. These days that smile is rarer than shooting stars. Can she really want to take this from him?

“It’s… it’s stopped… r-raining,” he gasps. Her hand in his, Inej turns and, for some reason she’ll never know, a faint smile touches her lips. It has indeed stopped, and what’s more; the sun now peeks through the clouds in small, silver bursts. It catches the raindrops on the glass, and an array of shimmering colours falls onto the windowsill. Their own little rainbow, she thinks.

“Yes,” she says softly. “It has-”

She turns, possibly to say something else or maybe to show him the rainbow, but the words halt in her throat. Kaz’s eyes have closed, his lashes resting against his gaunt cheeks. His hand is stiff around hers. Blood pools at the corner of his lips. Dazed, Inej rests her hand on his chest. Beneath her palm, there’s no beat of a heart, no broken breathing. Just silence, stillness.

Ever-patient, Inej waits. Just as she used to wait for a signal, she waits to hear something from him. She waits, blinks, waits some more. She counts. One minute. Two minutes. Three.

Four.

Five.

“Kaz?” Inej makes a small, choking sound. She sees, rather than feels, her hand reaching up to cup his cheek. He doesn’t react to her touch. Under her touch, his skin is cold, and hard. Like marble.

“Kaz?” she asks again, even though she already knows. It’s just her and a body, and Kaz Brekker is, at long last, gone.

Slowly, Inej falls to the bed. She moves as if following instructions; her arm wraps around Kaz’s waist, her head on his chest, her leg hooks around his. It’s the way they always are, the way they have learned and helped each other to be. It was this very room where they began shedding their pasts, piece by piece, intending to build something with what was left behind. It was here they began exploring themselves and each other, taking risks, being bold. Moving forwards, stepping back. Offering, giving, searching, finding things in each other they never thought possible. After those months and then years together, there was still so much left for them to do. A road untravelled, now closed off to her. Forever.

They were meant to have more time. 

It’s only when a wet patch grows on Kaz’s shirt that she realises she is crying. Silently, endlessly, a way she hadn’t done since she was fourteen and realised no-one was coming to save her. Hopelessness comes to meet her, just as it did then, and when it slithers beneath her skin, she knows without doubt it will stay.

She lifts her head and looks at Kaz again. 

“You were meant to stay,” she tells him. She balls up his shirt and says again, “You were meant to stay!” 

If he is sorry for leaving her, he doesn’t show it. There’s just her, and the tears that fall like rain against his cold skin. 

#six of crows #six of crows fanfic #kanej #kanej fanfic #inej ghafa #kaz brekker #whumptober 2023 #whumptober day 16 #yes i am very late thank you for asking #after 6 proofreads its here!!

[theimpurelily]

Your Fascination With Me

Word Count: 3,021

< Previous | Next > | Table of Contents

For whatever reason Riftan wasn’t able to meet up with Maximilian for the next couple days. It would have put him on edge if it wasn’t for the fact she seemed just as disappointed as he felt. With her being kept from him, Riftan found himself spending time at the training grounds with any knight that would approach him. Currently it was Hebaron while Triton stood on the side lines next to Gabel and a few other knights.     

Riftan couldn’t help but be reminded of their first fight in the tournament. Back then, his heavy swings took Riftan by surprise just as much as he surprised Hebaron by being able to block them. Now, both knew each other's strengths and abilities. Despite Hebaron’s love of ale and chasing anything with a skirt he was a fine knight and nearly an equal match with Riftan. Their sparring continued on and off for a few hours, leaving both drenched in sweat with their tunics long ago discarded.     

Their swords sparked and rang out across the training grounds with each clash loud enough to have drawn the attention of a few noblewomen. Hebaron was quick to point out the ladies watching them from the castle and they made no attempt to hide their gawking at the two. Hebaron seemed to be basking in the attention, making his movements a little flashier despite Triton’s protests while it put Riftan on edge. It didn’t help that he caught a glimpse of red hair as he was forced to turn his back to the crowd.      

Riftan tried his best to focus on Hebaron’s movement or Triton’s words, but his mind kept going back to the feeling of Maximilian Croyso staring at him. Riftan could swear the lady’s gaze was burning a hole into his back. The feeling left Riftan hyper focus on his movements, not with the goal of countering his opponent but to ensure he didn’t do anything foolish in front of her. As the current match went on with steel ringing in the air Riftan tried to pivot to see her again but Hebaron forced Riftan back to where he was before.      

Chuckling, Hebaron slowly grew bolder with his attacks.     

“You’re distracted today, Captain.” 

“I’m not your Captain.” 

“Fine, Commander.” 

“Vice Commander.” 

“No, that’ll be me.”     

Riftan snorted and quickly used the other man’s recklessness to his advantage. As Hebaron moved with a heavy swing, Riftan quickly focused back onto the fight and noticed a perfect opening. Expertly dodging the aggressive move, Riftan quickly pivoted back to facing the castle and its audience. Before the other knight could react Riftan twisted his blade to smack the back of Hebaron’s leg, possibly a little too harshly, causing the other knight to buckle just enough for Riftan to point his sword at the partially kneeling man’s neck.     

“Alright, that’s enough for you two.” Triton called out with a smile while the others chuckled. “I think you’ve given the ladies enough entertainment for today.”   

“I thought serving a noblewoman was one of our duties?” Hebaron said with a smile as he moved to stand back up straight, all while making sure to flex a little towards the ladies still observing them.     

“From what I’ve heard you've done quite enough servicing.”     

“Ha! Don't act so virtuous, Gabel. I know you’ve serviced just as many as I have.”     

“Damn you two,” Triton grumbled before speaking up. “If either of you dare sire a bastard while under the duke’s roof, I'll make sure to personally castrate you.”     

Riftan huffed a laugh along with the other knights despite himself. It somewhat helped him in ignoring the feeling of being watched as he approached a barrel full of rainwater. The cool water helped soothe his heated skin and calm his mind. However, when Riftan brushed his wet hair from his face his eyes landed once again on Maximilian causing his face to heat up again. Some small stupid part of him wanted to wave at her. It would no doubt make the lady flustered and blush, she'd possibly even start playing with her hair. It was something he had seen her do a dozen times now, but he would gladly pay his weight in gold just to see it a dozen more. However, he bit down the impulse. Instead, he watched as one of her maids whispered something to her before continuing to wash the sweat off him.     

“It’s rather peculiar.”     

Riftan glanced over to see Gabel standing near him. He wasn’t that surprised that he had somehow weaseled his way out of Triton’s wrath leaving Hebaron to take the brunt of it.    

Riftan was about to ask what he meant until he noticed that Gabel was looking at their audience.     

"How so? All they do all day is drink tea and gossip.”     

Gabel chuckled. “Oh, I don’t mean that. I mean the rumors surrounding lady Maximilian.” Riftan tried to be indifferent to her name being spoken but he still felt himself flinch.     

“What rumors?”      

Gabel lazily glanced up at Riftan before shrugging. “From what I hear she has some sort of affliction. Her father had to build a chapel on the castle grounds just to ensure she had hierarchs at her beck and call." Gabel moved to lean against the fence surrounding the training grounds, his eyes going back up toward Maximilian. “It’s forced her to stay on castle grounds which has made her quite the mystery.”     

Riftan’s ears began to ring as Gabel casually spoke of her health. That knife twisted yet again as all he could think of was the moment he just stood by and watched while she stood up to that lizard.     

I should have been faster. Why did I hesitate?      

Riftan kept his head down, watching the cloudless sky reflected in the water. The palm of his hands was starting to hurt from how hard he was clenching the rim of the barrel. Clearing his throat, he attempted to keep his voice level.     

“I still fail to see how it’s peculiar for her to be standing there.”     

The younger knight didn’t answer right away but Riftan could feel his eyes on him. “I just never expected a lady in poor health to show up as often as she does...another thing I find quite peculiar is your trinket.”    

Riftan looked over with a dark expression, his mood fully soured. “What the hell are you talking about?”    

Gabel smirked, seemingly unfazed by his vice commander's mood.    

"That.” he lazily pointed at the necklace. “I never figured you for the superstitious type. Or am I wrong in assuming that’s some sort of luck charm?”    

Riftan’s expression instantly softened as he stole a glance at Maximilian.    

“I suppose you could call it that.” he mumbled before moving to snatch up his tunic, it forced him to miss the peculiar look on Gabel’s face.  

As Riftan came up along the path towards the back garden, he found Maximilian standing there already waiting for him pulling anxiously at the sleeve of her dress. The fabric was a soft muted purple and the necklace he had given her sat just above the neckline. Her hair was sadly pinned up though he could tell she had been playing with it as a few curls had broken loose around her ears. Spread out on the ground behind her where they had sat before was a blanket with wine and a small assortment of fruits and tarts that looked to have been from yesterday's banquet.     

When he asked her how she acquired the stolen goods Maximilian attempted to look casual but her stretched out sleeves gave away her nervousness.     

"I-it’s a s-secret.”     

It made him chuckle, which made her smile. Riftan supposes he shouldn’t question it and just enjoy the little picnic she had created. He helped the lady pour out the wine and gladly took one of the offered stolen desserts while taking a place next to her.     

The wine was a little too sweet for his liking, but the desserts were still good despite being a day old. He was mostly just happy to see her eating something instead of ignoring her food. It made Gabel’s comment of her health slowly fade away from his mind even for just a moment.     

As they enjoyed the warmth of the wine, and the cool shade of the trees Maximilian asked him to continue with his story of the wyverns. Though there wasn’t much left to tell, Riftan gave into the lady’s pleading look with a soft smile. In the end he wasn't surprised to see she was still fascinated by Ruth and Maximilian, a look of relief washed over her face when she learned he had given some of the money to the mage.    

“Wh-what h-happened to Ruth?”     

“I couldn't shake free of the bastard no matter how hard I tried. He ended up becoming a mage for the Remdragons when I joined them.” He attempted to keep his voice steady, trying not to show too much irritation. He still didn't like how childish he was feeling, she was free to find another man interesting no matter how much it hurt.    

“Is h-he here?”     

Riftan shook his head, not trusting his words at the moment. Sighing, she all but started pouting as she popped a grape into her mouth. He wasn’t sure if it was his jealousy, the wine or the simple act of her quickly licking her bottom lip after eating, but his chest was starting to feel a little too warm.  

Why the hell am I like this? Over a fucking grape?  

“Wh-why not?”    

Riftan stayed still for a bit, silently panicking as he wondered if he had just said that out loud.    

“What?”    

“Wh-why isn’t Ruth...h-here?”    

The tension he had suddenly built up in his shoulders quickly relaxed.    

“Ah, he stayed at Anatol to watch over the construction while I’m gone.”     

She gave him a slightly worried look while tilting her head to the side.  

“Did...s-something h-happen?”     

And like that the tension returned as Riftan felt his stomach drop at the question. He wanted to be proud of his land but even after all the money he poured into it all he could show was dying crops, goblins raiding the fields and a half-built wall. He didn’t want to lie to her but the thought of her seeing him as some pathetic upstart with a dying land made him feel sick. It didn’t help that the lady seemed far more focused on his moments than normal, her eyes following his hands as he brushed away some of his hair.    

“It’s...it was abandoned after the Roem Empire fell so the castle and lands around it was crumbling when it was given to me.” He tried to sound nonchalant about it while running his thumb over the edge of his goblet.    

“B-but you’re f-fixing it?”    

“Naturally, it’s my land now. What sort of lord would I be if I left it crumbling and defenseless.” He quickly stole a glance at the lady fully expecting to see a look of disappointment or disgust, instead he found her smiling sweetly.  

“What?”    

“I was j-just th-thinking...” she started to trail off a little as her eyes went from meeting his to trailing down back to his hands. Frowning, he looked down to see if there was food or anything to make her stare, but they were clean. Feeling self-conscious about them he involuntarily flexed his hand out.   

"Of what?”    

“Wh-oh! W-w-well...” he looked over at her to see she was blushing while staring down at her own hands now. “A-anatol is t-truly b-blessed to h-have you.”    

Fuck.     

What magic did this woman have to make his emotions twist and turn in such a violent manner. Over the years he had built up an image of the girl in the gardens, of a girl he once believed would always just be an illusion. Everyone had heard rumors of how cold and calculating the duke was, of the schemes he played out to keep his influence. It was inconceivable that a man like that could raise someone to be so gentle and sweet.  

He watched as she continued to look down at her hands, twirling the stem of a grape between her fingers as that one curl broke loose to brush over her cheek. Riftan remembered his daydream from the other day, of her enjoying a feast at Anatol as his hand reached out towards her. The tips of his fingers gently ghosted over her flecked cheek as he slowly pushed the curl behind her ear. When the lock of hair was back in place his fingers continued to move across her skin, slowly brushing along her jaw stopping only when she turned to face him. The look in her silver eyes was indescribable but it still knocked him back to his senses like a bucket of cold water.

Why did I just do that?   

The silent tension building up between them broke at the ringing of the bell. Quickly, Riftan started to pack the picnic, needing something to focus on other than the pounding of his heart. After he was nearly done, Maximilian seemed to have broken from her own trance and started to protest against him cleaning on his own. However, there was little force behind her words due to her flustered state.  

Sighing, Riftan stopped and looked up at her, she was still looking at his hands. Sighing, he began to apologize but was quickly cut off by her speaking up.  

“D-d-do you t-t-train e-every d-day?”   

What?   

Riftan gave her a puzzled look, not that it did him any good as she still seemed more focused on everything but his face. Really? That’s what she wants to talk about right now?  

“Why do you ask?”    

“You c-c-caused a... s-scene y-yesterday.” she mumbled while moving to brush that curl behind her ear only she seemed to realize he had already done so making both blush.  

Riftan quickly cleared his throat. Maybe her sudden change of topic wasn’t such a bad idea.  

“Is that so?”    

Riftan took her hand and effortlessly helped the lady back to her feet. He watched as her eyes once again focused on his hand before moving to stare at his arm. He still couldn't find anything on him to fascinate her so much...unless. Testing out a theory, Riftan flexed his muscles as subtle as he could, the act made him feel completely foolish until he saw her eyes go wide. His face started to warm up again and it felt as if he was having an adrenaline rush. If this was what Hebaron felt got each time he flexed in front of any woman paying attention Riftan could understand why the oaf did it any chance he got.  

“I-it’s all the...maids and l-ladies can t-talk about...lady D-duranne has b-become q-q-quite t-taken w-with you.”    

Her voice broke him out of his thought and the small smile he had faltered slightly. He was sure she had mentioned that name before. Was this someone he should know? He tried to think back to his past introductions, but his realization mixed with the fact her hand was still in his was a little distracting.  

“Sh-she finds you...q-quite h-handsome...and is d-determined to d-dance w-with you.”    

“Well, lady Duranne will be disappointed.”    

“Y-you w-wouldn’t...dance w-with her?”

Riftan subconsciously ran his thumb over her knuckles as he thought about it for a moment, unknowingly making the lady blush like mad as he did so. A week ago, he would have given in and danced just to keep the peace with Triton. But now...looking down at her he couldn’t ignore the worry in her eyes or how quickly they shifted to a look of relief as he shook his head. While he brought her hand up to kiss it, he couldn’t help but find this situation to be truly baffling.  

How could you be jealous of anyone?     

“And what about you?” The question spilled from him before he could think. It was stupid, foolish and a little egotistical but still...    

“Do you find me handsome?”    

Maximilian’s blush only seemed worsen as it spread from her ears and down her neck. Her eyes darted once again to his hand and arm before going back to his face as she quickly nodded before slipping her hand out of his.    

Over the years countless women have called Riftan handsome and made comments of his body, even back when he was barely a teen. Not once did any of their attempts to win him over have the same effect on him like Maximilian’s simple little glances and timid nod.  

It wasn’t until a few hours later when Maximilian had long since left the banquet and half the knights were deep in their cups that Riftan felt as if he had just been punched in the gut as he bit into one of the desserts.  

Dropping the honeyed bread, Riftan quickly shot up to his feet and promptly left the banquet. He didn’t say anything to the other knights as they questioned or asked him to stay. He just sped up his pace while keeping his head down. When he found an alcove in the candlelit halls of the castle, he didn’t hesitate to head towards it and let out the breath he had been holding. There, hidden away from sight, Riftan slammed the back of his head into the cold stone wall as his face felt on fire and his stomach twisted in knots.  

“Way to a man's heart is through his stomach...”   

He had the sudden urge to hunt her down, to ask her about the meaning behind the picnic but it would be easier not to. Everything would be so much easier if what he felt could be ignored, if every touch or every look was just his imagination, that she didn't find him attractive or pleasing to be around, that the picnic was just a coincidence and had nothing to do with what he had said earlier. Because if it wasn’t it would mean Maximilian Croyso was attempting to court him.

#under the oak tree #utot #maxi x riftan #riftan calypse #fanfic #utot fanfic #under the oak tree fanfiction #forget me not #meet me in the garden #secret romance

[artist-issues]

Honestly the main beef I have with this whole snowwhite business is that i think at least forty to sixty percent of the magic that comes from the animated movie is like, the animals? that animation itself is probably the more accurate reason, I suppose. I don't know enough words to describe this accurately but i don't see how live action could capture the sheer delight of two birds wringing out a shirt, or a turtle being used as washboard, or raccoons trying to sweep dust under the rug before Snow White scolds them.

I think the animation style is just, a delight to the eyes. and cgi cant mimic that whatsoever yet unless your under a talented director that knows precisely what they are doing. and I don't think that kind of director would even work with Disney in the first place.

Unrelated but a while ago i was listening to some of the songs of the original cause i suspected that those were the most slept on songs of the famous Disney Song discography in pop culture, and something that leapt out to me in the I'm Wishing song, is that it doesn't really matter whether or not the Wishing Well is actually magic, because Snow White making a wish into a well that makes a loud echo is precisely what gets the Prince's attention, and thus, by making a genuine wish from the heart, actually made it come true, which is payed off in the end because her Prince remembers and searches for her, which also means that by making a genuine wish in faith right in the beginning of her story ensured her being found/woken up in the end of the film, which...is like really neat when you think about it. I have trouble thinking of any Disney Princess that makes an action right at the beginning of her story that ensures at least a part of their ending.

i wouldn't have realized it without finding your post laying out how cool the Original Snow White film was, so thank you.

as for the whole Snow White Live Action situation I did think a good portion of the situation was rather stupid, as when i heard that a live action was in the works I didnt even have the energy to roll my eyes becuase I honestly thought that the Mouse was scrapping the bottom of the barrel on that one. I do think that Ms. Ziegler was downright stupid about her comments and should have been far more tactful, and I also do think that a lot of the response to her comments were out of proportion. Its a shame because while i'm sure some of the response was based in pointless racism; I think a lot more of the internet response was just dumping their frustrations on Ziegler rather than the real culprit of the whole damn mess, which is the Mouse. (Also personally I have heard this chick sing and I don't think her voice matches whatsoever. tho the same can be said for plenty of the live action singing at this point.)

i really like your blog and find your writing interesting. Thank you for putting your blog out here. I don't agree with everything you write of course, but i appreciate having the chance to read them. I wrote this mostly for kicks cause i've been thinking of reaching out for awhile and i figured i might as well do it now.

hope you have a good day

I appreciate all this so much! (naturally I wonder which things you disagree with but I guess that’s neither here nor there) YES, totally, the part with the wishing well, that’s the idea! The Queen is all about disguises and tricks, and the Dwarves hide from strangers, but Snow White does neither of those things; she’s all heart all the time, and acts on faith, especially in her attitude.

I agree with you about Zegler, and I agree with you about the animation style. It’s all so good, and as the first animated feature film, it’s hard to imagine the story not animated. Everything is very soft, water-colored, and round. I don’t think any live-action attempt can come close to that while still looking…well, real!

Anyway. Thank you for your comments!

#Snow White and the seven dwarfs #Snow White #snow #sw #asked #answered

[teacup-tyrant]

Shadow & Bone 2.1: Live review/reaction

Remember when I did these first season? I did it again because I can't help it.

In this episode: We're finally at the bottom of the Barrel where we belong, Nikolai's boat looks stupid, and "there was only one bed."

-Haha Kaz forged them papers to get into Novyi Zem, of course he did.

-Wait where are Alina's neck antlers? I can't see them. Hiding under clothes?

-So I expected that the Crows would return to find Pekka Rollins had taken over the Crow Club, but I didn't expect him to turn it into the Kaelish Prince. How dare. This is all getting very Six of Crows-y very fast.

-No one arrests Kaz Brekker so easily, excuse me.

-He's sitting SO CLOSE to people he is gonna start to FREAK OUT and I am here for it. But also, where have we seen a situation like this before with Kaz being sandwiched between people in a prison wagon, hmmm? So I guess we'll have to expect to be in the same situation in Fjerda.

-Stop touching him stop touching himmmmmm

-One of my season 2 wishes was for Kaz to have contact moments like this with no explanation given and this scene just gave me that. Thanks.

-At first I was like UGH, the Stadwatch aren't wearing purple, but like many other shows in recent time, we're just getting darkness as a directorial choice here and I couldn't tell that they actually are wearing purple. Good.

-Is that Nikolai, whuuuut? His accent is very... something. It's strong.

-“And there was only one bed” Alina and Mal moment.

-“We are not vultures, we are crows.” Favorite line so far.

-So we're getting Kaz seeing through a guy as Sturmhond only for him to see through Sturmhond as someone else during the auction scene in CK? Nah. They blew another plot hole in the duology.

-(This was, she would soon realize, a common theme of SoC scene stealing as the show progresses.)

-We're getting Jesper being a fabrikator this early? Sure makes the Ice Court reveal less fun. But Kaz keeps people's secrets. So. Maybe no one else will know.

-ZOWI!! Man the Zemeni have a much better way at looking at things than the Ravkans do.

-How is Mal's old general randomly here? Why would he get the reward for finding Alina, like he can suddenly abandon his own post and go off bounty hunting. He's as much a deserter as Mal then, it makes no sense for him to be here.

-They're in the bottom of the Barrel? Finally. Right where they belong.

-Wahhhhh Kaz trying to protect Inej by sending her away already. And she says she's not leaving him, ouch my heart.

-The way Rollins says “Brekker” reminds me of Snape saying “Pottah” hahaha

-Omg Wylan playing flute on the street, I SCREAMED. What is this Ian Anderson way of playing the flute, I ask you?!?!? You're not supposed to make sounds like that on the flute. I played flute for 12 years and never have I made those kind of noises, Wylan, that is only a Jethro Tull kind of thing and any flute teacher will scoff at you if you even bring it up.

-There you go everyone, it WAS Wylan's bomb that saved Kaz from the Darkling.

-Was that Nina stopping everyone's hearts? It WAS! I knew it. She called Kaz “Angry Hat” ahaha that is amazing, I can't wait to see her have banter with him.

-Oh shit, they're tattooing murderer on him?! Brutal. My tattoo artist roommate would have something to say about the hygiene involved here. Or, lack thereof.

-I'm sorry, I hate the design of Nikolai's ship. It's clearly something “other” because it's not wood like the rest of them, but it just looks so flat and boring. It looks like bad CG, even the parts of it that aren't CG. It also looks empty and unlived in. It's too clean.

-Hahah Nikolai's steampunk crew. I forgot how steampunk-y book 3 gets. I've only read it once so uhhh I don't remember most of it.

-KAZ SAID THE LINE.

-Are we going to see the Slat? Are we going to see something become the Slat and all the gritty bottom of the Barrelness that I want?

-“The Barrel belongs to bastards.” You're damn right it does, get em!!

-Welp, I'm happy at the amount of Crow content we're getting. So what I'm seeing here is that... we're setting up how we get to the point where we start at Six of Crows. Sort of. So Kaz will come out of it with his gang back but living in a shithole. But Rollins still needs to be around for that, thus, we can't beat him properly this season. So.

Ok. NEXT.

Ep1 | Ep2 | Ep3 | Ep4 | Ep5 | Ep6 | Ep7 |Ep8

#shadow and bone spoilers #shadow and bone #shadow and bone season 2 #six of crows #teacupreviews

[gaycey-sketchit]

I am very much procrastinating on dealing with the Yiga Hideout because I got far enough in to see it’s a stealth mission and I do not like that. Stealth missions in games always make me so nervous. I like how in Age of Calamity I got to charge into this place and just fight my way through, that’s what I’d like to be doing here--logically I know I cannot do that, but I feel like it’d be much less anxiety inducing than having to sneak around.

#I don't even have a barrel to hide under damn #BotWblogging #respectfully me

[applesontheground]

Hey. Hey.

I need some like poly! Danbert x Reader. I always kinda like when Herbert is sorta oblivious to his feelings for either of them until he like sees them together. That's all I wanna give you, I think your mind is so incredible and I want you to go where it feels right to go with it.

Iove you so much! I am so lucky to call you a bestie and even luckier to have you write these two for me. Many smooches my beauty!

don't we all need some poly danbert... ♡ but yes, of course i'd love to do this for you!! here, take these longing gifs as the inspo for what i've come up with for you ;w;

also, you're so fucking sweet bug?? like omg i had to take a sec to really absorb this ask outside the request itself. you're too kind to me, really... ilysm 2 ❤

in your head it's worse 💉

NSFW | Word Count: 2,480 | Herbert West x GN Reader x Daniel Cain

contains: canon typical/body horror, solo with dan in the beginning, oral, injury to reader

🎼: x, x, x

From the beginning, you had assured Herbert that you wouldn’t be getting in his way. He didn’t say anything to make you do it, but he acted well and fine to make it clear that something had to be said.

Even after a couple months of you showing up, you felt the need to stand toe to toe with him one day and assure him that Dan was your only concern, being a friend from work. “Nothing more than that.” 

The subtext in the back of your mind that murmured “If I can help it.” felt like an open secret, something you couldn’t hide even with it being locked in a deep thought that you’d choke on before letting come forth -- especially to those scrutinizing eyes.

When his jaw only squared at the comment, you added that you weren’t stupid and knew a jealous stare when you saw one. “Really, I don’t want to distract him from…” You gave him a quick glance up and down and huffed, “Whatever you and him do outside of work. I’m well aware that it’s none of my business.”

Jealousy was easy to feign, call it an irritation rather than a burning hope that loomed overhead like an old lamp that held decades worth of dust and buzzed until your head pounded. Herbert didn’t know how to admit that needing Dan’s attention wasn’t why he gave you two such awful looks.

He wanted yours, too. He wanted both of yours, but that was no easy thing to even begin to put into words. All that he knew was that it was the reality of the problem between the two of you, and that it only got worse after he walked in on you and Dan.

Seems that you couldn’t help it after all.

You had to do a lot to make a scene jarring to Herbert West, but what he was witnessing from out of sight was enough to make his expression pull back in shock. At first, he didn’t understand what you were doing sprawled out on their sofa. It seemed that you were here on another uninvited drop-in, your head thrown back over one arm and your lower half covered by the blanket that usually rested over the other one. You almost looked asleep, and he was about to barrel in and throw the pen in his shirt pocket at you before your shoulders suddenly pulled forward, and you gasped through an open mouth. All in a way that was too intense to belong to an unconscious person.

It was then that he connected the legs poking out from underneath weren’t yours; the body they belonged to hidden from the waist up and kneeling against the side of the furniture, because he was just too damn tall to stay up there with you. Long fingered hands were coming up from underneath to hold your ribcage in place while you shivered under a force that wasn't hard to place. It was enough to make the exhale fall to the bottom of his chest, and then sit there as he turned back from where he came.

Dan’s recognizable voice emanated from under the scratchy fabric, raw as he came up for air from an act that anyone could put together. “You’re so pretty, I c- I can’t-” He cut himself off, your knees twitching underneath the blanket as you fought against a long, dragging moan that seemed as though it’d shake the walls from its volume. The slam of the basement door should’ve been enough to pull the two of you from the act, but when it wasn’t the other man had to bite his tongue again.

You could tell by the way the energy between you and Herbert had seemed to worsen overnight as indication that he'd seen what had happened. Again, for someone who was so acclaimed and quick to seclude, he sure liked to let you know just how badly he disliked you.

Despite this, you still rapped on their front door. “Come in, [Y/N]!” Dan called from inside, and you tried to ease the nervous knots that were making your body stiff by giving one last look off their porch and reminding yourself you were there for him and him alone. The more you wanted to just be friends with his roommate, though, the more that seemed to fall to the wayside. You were slipping into a pattern where it felt as though when you came over, it became a group effort. Even if he was just there to give you offending glances, it was like what was once a couple’s space had just enough room for three.

“Dan?” You faltered at the door, only holding the open edges of your jacket before taking it off, “Where are you?” A part of you found yourself even debating calling out for the other one, but a looming awareness that he didn’t care made you only suck in a breath, the name Herbert slipping off your tongue, back from whence it came.

In a beat, you recognized a shadow coming from the kitchen, but before you could call out again it bolted in. You were about to smile, thinking it was Dan with a spurt of energy trying to freak you out, get you riled up to goof off with him – but then you saw more than two arms on a human torso standing opposite the room from you and your stomach felt as though it had hit the deepest pit of your body.

As it approached you, you could clearly see the figure in all its glory. Still a little bloody and absent from the torso up – but it was making up for that with not two arms, not four – but six arranged in an almost haphazard fashion. They were slapping against each other, confused in their movements, and feeling to make up for being unable to see where they were going. You took one step back from it, sole rocking on a creaky floorboard, and suddenly the thing sprinted at you again, finding you out from either the audible sign or even feeling the vibration of the wood under its feet.

You bleated out, “FUCK, DAN!” Mind racing, you shot in the other direction, and then said the next name that came to your mind, something you hadn’t even realized until it sat on your tongue. It had returned just as quick as it had tried to hide, painfully on point with the character that came with it. “HERBERT!”

You spun on your heels a couple times, trying to find one of the corridors towards the back of the room but stopping dead in your tracks when the body froze. You could see it turning in every which way, feeling the wall closest to it and swatting miscellaneous objects off the side table against the wall, something cracking loudly against the hardwood. Your breathing was shallow, seeing the stitching was shockingly neat.

Only a doctor would be able to do it.

Dan’s narrow frame caught in your peripherals, and you turned your head slowly to look at him. Your eyes grew hard, giving him a slack jaw and a shake of your head. You glanced back at the fumbling body, and then mouthed at him ‘What is this?’

He opened his mouth, a world of explanation flashing behind his glassy green eyes, but quickly shut again when the creature took a step towards you. In a rough impulse, you bolted across the room yet again in an attempt to get away from it, barely able to breathe from the terror alone.

“[Y/N], over here. Come over here.” Dan stood close to the wall, one arm outstretched towards you and the other holding out to the body, like he would be able to do anything if it tried to run at him. Still, he spoke to you like one might speak to a baby animal, not an edge to it despite his expression fixed on the cadaver and breath hissing through his teeth as they struggled to unclench.

You took one faltering step, another sealed fate coming in the form of one of the six arms shooting out with a newfound precision and finding your shoulder. It grabbed you with enough intensity to make your vision flash white. The voice was taken out of you, every muscle flinching in a searing pain as its nails dug into you and it didn’t hold back when it pulled either.

Your muscles tightened at the force, and the noise that clawed its way out of your mouth in a choked gasp finally made Dan shoot forward and shove the body backwards. “Fuck-!” Your arm tucked against your side, cramps overtaking everything and making you let out a clumsy shriek as the body tripped on something it had displaced, falling backwards in a dramatic fashion and hitting the ground with a resounding thud that shook the house again. “[Y/N],” Dan whispered as he took a hold of you by the shirt, avoiding your arm entirely as he pulled you from where you stood and the both of you took one look at the back of the sofa before booking it.

When you were settled behind the furniture, listening for the thing to regain its senses and attempt to search for you, you spat under your breath, “Is this what you do when I’m not here!? You raise the dead, make whatever the fuck that's supposed to be!?”

Dan shook his head slightly, stammering, “I-I didn’t make it, [Y/N], Herbert-“ He trailed off again as you heard the other man slide in next to you, hiding behind the back of the couch. “Why?” You barked. Dan’s mouth opened, but another crash from across the room made him close it for a third time, trying to duck further down.

“Because I had to see just how many separate body parts could be added for a collective consciousness to merge into one.” Herbert answered for him, making you whip your head from one to the other. You persisted, almost like a child would but meeker in the way you spoke to that critical stare, “Why?” Glass shattered, raining over your head as Herbert replied, “Why not? To see if I could do it.”

You wanted to say something smart, ‘Well, you did it!’, but he was looking at you with pursed lips and a careful furrow of his brow – not in any sort of scorn for once, but for worry as he saw the way you were holding your upper arm.

Finally, you shook your head and looked at the ground, gently knocking your head back and then letting your eyes lock onto the ceiling. The throbbing in your shoulder was not helping, arm shying away from even the awareness that Dan was close to your side, and the thud of the body hitting the wall in a stupor only made you realize you could very well be killed by it.

At least I die here- The thought was smothered when you felt Herbert’s hand shoot under the sofa, looking for something. Your eyes fell down, Dan soon looking with you. “What-” The taller man began, but you flinching at the sight of a pistol made him jump, as well.

“Jesus Christ, where did you get that?” Dan asked. You bit your lip as your hand instinctively went to your ears, feeling him get up and feeling the resounding bang that was anticipated. You even ducked into Dan’s side, his arm curling around you and clasping you against him like your lives depended on it.

Herbert stared for a pause, slowly lowering the gun again. “...It was already dying. The dosage wasn’t high enough to-”

“…This-” Dan shook his head, looking down and murmuring right in your ear as you slowly pulled your face out of his chest, “This doesn’t happen every day, if that’s what you think.”

You were silent, trying to give him some sort of affirmation but unable to even nod. Herbert then muttered, “It didn’t live long despite getting the regular dosage. Could the use of extra appendages have expended too much-“

“It could have hurt someone. Could’ve hurt [Y/N].” Dan interrupted him, eyes growing hard again as he looked past you and at him now, “It nearly dislocated [his/her/their] arm because we let it get out of hand, just like we always do.” Herbert glared back at him, but then looked at you for some sort of say in the matter.

That was a first. When you moved your arm slowly, making sure it was still functional at the least despite the surging pain causing your expression to sour, he gave up. Dan wasn’t finished, and added with a sharper tone, “I’d like to have one friend in my life that isn’t subjected to this madness, you know. What if it-“

“It wouldn’t have.” Herbert cut him off, “It was under control.”

“Yeah,” Dan nodded, sarcasm so thick you had to disengage again, “Yeah, you sure did.”

As they both continued to talk, saying something about how the body didn’t have enough re-agent to live long enough to cause significant damage, and that it was a strike of luck that none of your bones were broken when it had its hands on you, you let a thought possess you before any better judgement caught up to it. The terror had ignited the worry, the thoughts, and the bad idea that had been sitting in the back of your head ever since the first day you had met the two of them. It felt as though anything could happen, and that was what got you to turn to Herbert on your right.

Grabbing his jaw, you cut off the next paragraph that was about to come out of his mouth with your tongue on his, connecting in a brief kiss. Feeling Dan shift to stare at the scene in disbelief, you whipped your head around and pushed your lips against his just as suddenly, a shivering hand still curled into the other man’s shirt.

Pulling off of him, you murmured, “…Just in case I don’t live long enough to tell you that I love you both.” Your hands unclenched to release both of them, your entire form relaxed in the glow of feelings finally getting out to breathe, and the post-adrenaline dopamine encircling your thoughts like a hug.

For once, both of them stared in dead silence, and you couldn’t recall if you’d ever seen them with so much emptiness behind their eyes before. Usually, it was you who was lost on what to do, looking to them for the answer.

To see them looking to you for a change? The corners of your mouth quirked as your eyes bounced back and forth a couple more times.

You could get used to that.

#herbert west x reader x daniel cain #herbert west x reader #herbert west x y/n #daniel cain x reader #daniel cain x y/n #slasher x reader #slasher x y/n #slasher requests #requests #notsfw #💉 #✏️ #me writing reani stuff: but what if a Creature came and fucking ripped th

[chocolatecakecas]

To Infinity and Beyond: baby!Jack truthing Birthday Ficlet

Today already looked like the perfect day. Warm weather, the sun shining, the birds singing, all the usual qualifications for "perfection". And if Dean had anything to say about it, it is also going to be, the perfect day.

Because Dean had planned out everything. Tents and tables spread out in the backyard of their new house, enough hamburgers and hotdogs to feed an army, a giant sheet cake in the freezer, and it looked like a Party City catalogue threw up all over their house, both inside and out. Hell, he and Cas even got a bounce house.

Yup, today was going to be perfect, Dean thought as he surveyed the backyard. He was going to make sure of it, nothing was going to go wro-

"To infinity and beyond!"

And the next thing he knew, he had a recently turned four year old, barreling into his legs almost knocking him off the porch.

(read the rest under the cut)

He looked down to see Jack already dressed in his outfit for the day. A shirt with Buzz Lightyear's costume printed on it, complete with little cardboard Buzz wings (Cas made them), purple shorts with a purple tutu, and of course, his favorite Buzz light-up sneakers.

"I'd say that was a bit of a crash landing there, Mr.Lightyear" Dean laughed, as he bent down to right Jack's scribbled cardboard wings. Jack just ignored his reference, instead letting out an excited shriek as he took in the backyard.

Every tablecloth, plate, napkin, cup, balloon, and cardboard decoration was covered in Toy Story characters.

Toy Story, was the end all be all in their house, because they were Jack's favorite movies. So everything, was 100% Toy Story, 100% of the time, hence the party theme. And his favorite character was Buzz Lightyear, hence the costume.

"Dee where's your costume?" Jack questioned, after he finally recovered from the shock of seeing the, probably, overdecorated backyard.

"Yeah Sheriff Woody, where's your costume? It's almost one thirty" Cas called as he stepped out the backdoor. Cas was already dressed in t-shirt with Jessie's outfit printed on the front, her matching red hat, jeans and of course, cowboy boots which Dea-wait shit they only had a half an hour left.

And he hadn't even double checked th-

"The backyard and inside of the house already look incredible. Go on and get ready before everyone starts arriving" Cas smiled sweetly, knowing how worried Dean was about today.

"I will, after I chec-"

"Dean, I promise, I'll double check all the decorations, and the food. Me and the little space ranger have got it covered, right baby?" Cas supplied, looking fondly over at Jack.

"Yeah me and Da got it! Get dressed Dee" Jack cheered, as hopped down the steps and raced "flew" across the grass cardboard wings flapping behind him.

"Go get changed, cowboy. Everything already looks perfect" Cas teased, pressing a quick peck to Dean's lips. And then he was bounding down the steps towards Jack, warning him not to go near the bounce house.

So Dean reluctantly walked inside, forcing himself to ignore all of the things he wanted to check on, and instead making a beeline for their bedroom. He quickly pulled on his costume, but unlike Jack and Cas it was the real deal, not just a graphic t-shirt, Dean had the actual shirt, the vest, whole nine yards. Jack had asked if Dean would wear a real Woody costume and, hey who was he to deny his kid on his birthday?

So with a sigh, Dean made his way back to the living room so he could reorganize the snack table.

He wanted everything to be perfect today. Perfect for Jack because, this was his first real birthday party after all. And because Dean's oldest memory was of his fourth birthday, his last birthday party actually since it wasn't like they were throwing big family bashes on the road. No, birthdays were a box of cigarettes from his Dad (if he even remembered), or Dean sometimes scraping together enough money to get a cake for Sam's birthday.

Which is why today had to go smoothly. Because Jack deserved the world, he deserved to have a good life filled with memories of big family parties with fun decorations and food and laughter. And Dean could give it to him now, give him what he and Sam never had. So today had to be special, it had-needed to be perfect.

"Dean, I don't think Jack is going to care if the clouds are a little crooked" Cas pointed out, amusement dancing in his voice as he walked into the living room.

Dean huffed a laugh, but didn't stop his mission to straighten out the paper "Andy's Room" clouds taped to the wall above the table. Cas just sighed as he gently pulled his hand away from the wall, turning Dean towards him.

"Dean I know how much you want to make this day absolutely perfect for Jack, believe me I do too. But he's going to love every single second of it. He's practically bouncing off the walls already, and the party hasn't even started yet" Cas assured as he squeezed Dean's hands.

"I know, I know. But he deserves to have the best damn birthday. Especially after everything and he's just- Jack shoul-" Dean started, only to be cut off by the sound of the doorbell.

"It's Uncle Sammy and Aunt Eileen! Can I open the door, please?" Jack called from down the hall, asking for permission.

"Yeah buddy, you're allowed to open the door. Let them in" Dean shouted back, unable to help the smile pulling at his lips when he heard Jack enthusiastically telling them about "all the cool decorations".

"See? Jack is already loving it! Now relax, and enjoy the party, cowboy. Everything is going to be perfect" Cas smiled as he made his way down the hall to greet Sam and Eileen. But not before giving Dean's ass a little smack.

A few hours into the party everything was smooth sailing, and Dean had only been scolded for readjusting some decorations four times. The kids Jack invited from his class were having a great time, as where their parents, which was especially great because not a single one of them managed to see a member of Dean and Cas’ family discreetly place their weapons in the spare bedroom (Dean wasn’t a fool, it was a party full of hunters, he wasn’t just gonna make a no weapons rule because what if something happened?). So then Dean and Eileen manned the grill like champs, Cas and Garth kept an eye on the kiddos in the bounce house, Sam had handled the Buzz Lightyear shaped piñata perfectly, while Dean organized the kids, making sure Jack was the one to break it. The sun stayed shining, the birds kept singing. Everything was perfect.

Until it wasn't.

And it was all Dean’s fault.

Dean's stomach dropped as he stared down at the now smudged faces of Woody, Buzz and half of the green aliens. Because Dean just smooshed the entire left side of the cake while trying to take lid off.

He just destroyed the most important part of the party, the part Jack was most excited about. Now Dean just ruined everythi-

"-come in star command, do you read me?" Cas joked, completely startling Dean, because how long had Cas been standing there?

"Dean, what's wro-oh" Cas sighed as soon as he caught sight of the cake. 

"I friggin smooshed the whole thing with the lid. It's destroyed we can't-the party and Jack and-" Dean rambled, heart pounding against his chest, while Cas took the life from his hands and gently set it on the other side of the counter.

"Dean, stop it's okay breathe for me. It's just the cake. It's not your fault. It's still edible, we can fix this" Cas soothed as softly cupped Dean's cheeks in an attempt to ground him.

"Hey are you guys alri-oh shit" Eileen gasped as she and Sam walked through the kitchen door, which caused Dean’s heart rate to pick up again.

"It's okay, it'll be fine. We can try to scrape some of it back together with a knife" Sam offered, quickly moving Dean and Cas to the side so he could get at the cake.

But it only made the faces look completely unrecognizable.

"Damnit, what are we gonna-"

"Dee! Can we have cake now?" Jack asked as he came racing into the kitchen, and Dean, Cas, Sam and Eileen quickly huddled in front of the counter to hide the cake from sight.

"In a few minutes squish, we're still uh-getting it ready" Dean managed plastering a wide, hopefully convincing smile on his face.

"Why don't you go jump around the bounce house again, buddy?" Sam suggested, which had Jack nearly bolting out of the kitchen again with a nod

"Make sure one of your aunts or uncles, or your friends' parents are watching you!" Cas called after him, which only got a tiny "okay Da" in response.

They all let out a breath when they heard the backdoor slam, and quickly turned to look at the offending cake again.

"It's not that late, what if one of us runs to store and see if they have ano-"

"They won't, we ordered this specia-"

"And there seems to be no sign of intelligent life anywhere" Claire joked as she entered the kitchen and quickly surveyed the mess before her, eyes widening when she spotted the cake. And Dean normally would have teased her the reference but he was too busy, freaking the fuck out, so he chose to ignore it.

"What do we do? We can't fix this, there's no time it's completely rui-"

"Wait, dude calm down. I have an idea, hold on a minute" Claire proclaimed, and swiftly exited the kitchen, which did pretty much nothing to calm Dean's panic. In fact he was getting desperate.

"Do you think Rowena might have a spell-"

"That's not how magic works. But honestly Dean, I'm sure Jack won't even notice-"

"The kid can recite the entirety of Toy Story 2 from memory and you don't think he's gonna notice Woody is missing his entire head?"

"Alright, start grabbing the Toy Story figures and wash them off. Then we can put them all over the cake instead, and cover up the horrifyingly smeared faces" Claire ordered as she came back into the kitchen with Kaia in tow, and box of Jack's toys in hand.

And Dean could have cried from relief (he did).

"Holy shit Claire you're a genius" Dean praised, as he quickly began sifting through the box.

"I know, I know. Now c'mon, I want cake"

And a few minutes later everyone was gathered around the dining room table, singing a completely off key rendition of Happy Birthday. Jack was seated in the center of it all, with a half smooshed, slightly lopsided, plastic figure covered cake, with Dean and Cas crouching on either side of him. Jack hadn't even commented on the completely smeared face of Woody or Ham, he was just clapping along, bouncing in his seat. In fact, he the biggest smile Dean had ever seen on his face, and he teared up at the sight.

"Blow out the candles and make a wish, baby" Cas encouraged, and Jack attempted to do just that. Only succeeding when Dean secretly helped blow out the candles for him.

"Yay! To infinity and beyond!" Jack shouted again, as he stood up and jumped on his chair. The room easily erupted into laughter, while Charlie and Jody each snapped pictures from across the table.

"Alright Lightyear, let's not fall with style into the already smooshed cake" Dean joked, as he quickly stabilized Jack, which only caused everyone to burst into more laughter.

So, Dean scooped up Jack, sitting in his chair and placing him on his lap, while Sam offered to cut up the cake. And Cas took plopped down in the chair next to them, sliding him and Jack a plate.

"Are you having fun at your birthday party, baby?" Cas questioned as he handed Jack a plastic fork.

"Yeah! Claire jumped in the house with me! And Danny and Sarah and me played in the sandbox! An-and we played tag, and Aunt Donna played too! And the cake has all my friends on it, see!" Jack rushed out all in one breath, stopping to point at the now sliced cake. By "friends" he of course meant his actual Toy Story figures of course. But before Dean could even react to any of that, Cas was whispering in Jack's ear, and pulling away.

"Thank you for all the party things, Dee!" Jack beamed as he turned and threw his arms around Dean's neck.

And Dean's heart clenched as he tightly wrapped his arms around his kid, feeling a tear roll down his cheek. He looked back up to see Cas smiling widely at them, so Dean whispered something in Jack's ear too. And then Jack was off flinging himself around Cas' neck.

"Why doesn't all the family get together, I can take the photos" Marissa, the mom of one of Jack's friends offered.

And soon the three of them were surrounded by their family on all sides. Everyone laughing when Marissa suggested they all say "yeehaw" instead of cheese. Jack giggling when Claire zoomed over, and bent down so she could smoosh their faces together for the obligatory "silly face" picture. Dean quickly swiping icing on both Cas and Jack's noses, causing Cas to tip Dean's cowboy hat and Jack to shove a handful of frosting on Dean's cheek.

So maybe it wasn't the flawless, smooth sailing birthday party Dean had planned. But the weather stayed warm, the sun still shone, the birds still sang. His family laughed, and ate and had a blast.

And Jack looked about as happy as they had ever seen him, as he ran around the yard with his friends and played games with his family. Dean would even go as far to count it as a complete success. Especially since Jack asked Cas, "when can we have a big party again?", as they tucked him into bed later that night.

So as far as Dean is concerned, it was the perfect day.

Tag list:

(please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!!💛)

@wormstacheangel @smiledean @shelikestv @chaoticdean @midnightwings-deancas @jellydeans @sunshine-jack @archervale @wikiangela @organicpurplepants @you-cant-spell-subtext-without @writtendevastation @tkdwolf2012 @doemons-blog @sinnabonka @rolling-stoned-girl @skylerkernaghan @icefire149

@shadowywerewolfqueen @the-cookie-navy @thelahatiel @thefantasyfiend @castielle-deanna @aestheticflyer26 @multi-fandom-imagine @x-mypeopleskillsarerusty-x @wellofwoes @becky-srs @multi-fandom-dark-lord @perfectkoaladream @castiel-for-lunch @it--hurts--to--become @bowtiesandneckerchiefs

@dakiaty @feraldean @teamfreebees @keshetcas @hrh-princess-bea @martymar1963 @midnight-sparks-studio @slipper007 @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @winchester-novak @lyonessrampant @angelic-bee-enthusiast @nguyenxtrang @idiot-on-the-hill @ethicalbitch @fandoms-and-things @doreschary @confix @milfcodeddean @seraphcastiel @seraphlm

#toy story 2 IS jack's favorite movie i will not be debating this. he is a boy of taste #dean and cas are secretive and dont trust the mail ahshdha #this is so self indulgent toy story 2 is my favorite movie of all time #this is based off when my parents accidentally smooshed half of the cake at my 3rd bday party and did exactly this asfhajdhah #so this is literally just a bunch of toy story references i apologize for nothing i had to hold myself back from making even moRE #de and da supremacy because its both parts of 'daddy' and he started calling them that when he first started to talk but it stuck #also its written from deans pov bc i couldnt write from actual 4 year old jack's pov so i apologize for that #HES FOUR!!!! #baby jack truthing #baby!jack #happy birthday jack!!!! #dean winchester #castiel #sammy #eileen #claire novak #destiel #destiel fic #bec writes #nougatparty #dad!dean #dadstiel #userzaddy #seraphcastiel

[feelinglikecleopatra]

I do have a request: Can you do a Kanej shot where Kaz picks Inej bridal-style? Please, please!

I have not read anything like this for the two (the usual hand- holding is kinda too obvious by now) and ik how picking up bridal-style is a bit too much contact for them but let's assume they get better with touching and contact over the years- and 'Kaz picking Inej bridal-style' will be peak fluff if you don't decide otherwise!

Please Write this! :) (it had be totally fine if you don't want to)

hmmmm okay, interesting... i mean, arguably he holds her bridal style in soc after she's stabbed by oomen but i'm assuming you mean something fluffier lol

this is a bit of a challenge (creatively) cause inej being inej doesn't really need anyone carrying her, like, ever and, to boot, a disabled boy who uses a cane is not the best candidate for the job. buuuut i did have one little idea that i thought could be cute so, here you go!

let me know what you think!

~

inej can't stop looking at them.

its a very rare thing for her to own something pretty just for the sake of it, something meant to be kept in a box and only worn on special occasions.

the soft leather and supple soles mean the pumps are amazingly comfortable despite the two-inch heal. they're dyed the colour of ripe plums, a deep purple, which nina insisted suits inej's colouring perfectly.

and, even better, they’re perfect for tonight.

in the midst of kaz and her busy schedules, including her tendency to run off on the wraith every few months, they’ve made a habit of going to the van eck's for dinner whenever she's shoreside.

for tonight's dinner, inej is wearing her favourite cream blouse tucked into charcoal pants that taper at the ankle and, of course, her new shoes. the whole ensemble makes her feel very dolled up. though in her childhood, walking the high wire, and not to mention her time at the menagerie, the outfits she wore were many times more extravagant.

it's not like her friends expect finery. kaz certainly doesn't. but inej doesn't regret the choice when, in the darkness of his rooms, he lets his eyes slide over her and tugs on her belt loops gently.

"i like the shoes," he says lowly, settling his hands on the flare of her hips.

"is that all?"

his gaze drops to where she left the top buttons of her shirt undone, revealing the slope of her chest. humming, he slips one hand under her collar and cups her neck.

"i think so—can't think of anything else." with a thumb he tips her chin up to him. the disparity in their heights is not so great with the extra couple of inches so he need only bend down a little to brush his lips to hers. "you look beautiful," he says against her mouth before pulling away.

"hush, kaz, you'll make me blush," inej says it lightly but her tone is belied by the way her breath quickens as he smiles.

"that's the goal, my darling inej."

"we're going to be late."

"let them wait. it's only jesper and wylan."

laughing, she pulls out of his grip. "you know how wylan gets. i will not have it said that i caused him distress, come on!"

in the end, they arrive just in time.

dinner is a simple affair but delicious all the same. and besides, inej thinks, the company is worth all the lobster and caviar and bizarre delicacies in the world.

all night, inej watches her friends laugh and flirt and tease, unapologetically joyful in each others company and it makes her heart ache to think how far they've come from their years spent living at the mercy of desperation and pain.

of all the things jesper and wylan serve with dinner, inej likes the champagne best. it fizzes and skitters over her tongue, a delicate dance that makes her head feel light and fuzzy in the best possible way.

when the dessert is brought out, inej nudges her foot against kaz's under the table, tapping the toe of his polished shoe with the toe of hers. other than a subtle quirk of his eyebrow he doesn't acknowledge the contact.

there's a challenge if ever she saw one.

with one leg crossed over the other, she manages to slide her foot up the side of his calf, which garners her a twitch at the corner of his mouth. resting her foot against his good knee gets him to drop his hand under the table and reach for her ankle.

she's tipsy, drunk almost, but the feeling of his warm hand wrapped around her ankle has all her already disarranged thoughts dissembling entirely.

the warmth of his palm seeps into her skin and his thumb tracks back and forth in a slow movement inej knows is unconscious.

it gives her a moment to watch her man, to take in the way his throat works as he swallows a sip of champagne, his long fingers wrapped around his fork, the candlelight playing in his coffee-black eyes.

she finds herself quite entranced by him, endlessly counting the parts of him she loves and misses when she’s away.

some obnoxious, slurring voice in her head is telling her to list them aloud, to the group, now. the voice is sure he wouldn’t mind. inej knows better.

though she cannot be held accountable for her actions in such a state of inebriation, she resists, content to be distracted by the feel of his hand on her ankle.

by the time they’re standing on the threshold of the van eck mansion again, her promising wylan she'll be back before she ships out and kaz enduring jesper teasing him about something she'll have to get details about later, inej is swaying slightly with the background buzz of one too many drinks.

keeping one hand on his cane, kaz offers inej his arm. when she grins up at him and takes his proffered arm, his answering smile means he's very nearly laughing at her.

"don't!" she pouts.

"what?" he's all innocence.

"don't laugh at me!"

of course, kaz laughs anyway.

the way home seems long to inej. an interminable, meandering amble through the city.

beneath an iridescent spray of stars, ketterdam’s colourful facades feel wholly different. their light and music dance in the inky canals, giving life to another world beneath the waves.

arm in arm, kaz matches his pace to inej’s—almost clumsy as it is. and although the air is warm she can’t help but lean into him, the firm line of his body a precious support.

too soon, they’re back in the barrel, facing the slat. but there, in front of their door, is a large puddle, one might even go so far as to call it a minor flood.

kaz, being the sober one of the two, notices it first. when inej goes on blithely, apparently unaware, he catches her by the hand.

“awww, you wanna hold my hand?” inej coos, nose wrinkling in delight.

“no—i mean, yes, of course—but look.” kaz points at the puddle with his cane, not hiding his amusement. blinking slowly, inej looks at the slat and at the puddle and at kaz. “your new shoes,” he adds, helpfully.

“my new shoes!” inej brings a hand to her mouth, gasping. “they can’t get wet. i—i’ll have to take my usual route.”

it takes kaz a second to catch up as inej heads toward the back of the building, with the clear intention of scaling the outside.

“inej, i’m not going to let you climb a building right now.”

“oh please, you can’t stop me.”

he takes her hand again and all inej can do is blink down at the contact. “what if i asked very nicely?”

“hmmm…” leaning into him slightly, her ascent forgotten, inej says, “alright, go on.”

“please,” he whispers, tucking a stray lock behind her ear. “we’ll find some other way in, one that doesn’t give me heart palpitations.”

inej frowns at the front door, stymied in a way she normally never is. “but how? kaz, i can’t ruin my new shoes!”

one moment, she's pouting up at kaz, trying to make some kind of order out of the syrup of her thoughts, and the next, she’s in his arms.

without hesitation, kaz has scooped her up—one arm supporting her back, the other under her knees. what he’s done with his cane, inej can’t tell and she’s too lightheaded to try and figure it out.

“kaz!” a giggle escapes her and inej presses her face into his chest, trying to slow the beating of her heart. “put me down! you shouldn’t carry me!”

“why not? you’re light as a feather.”

then, kaz walks through the puddle (his own nice shoes be damned) and knocks on the door.

inej doesn’t see the look on pim’s face, she’s too busy studying the underside of kaz’s chin, indulging in the feel of his body against her, the feel of his hands on her back and legs.

“she’s fine,” kaz answers an unasked question as pim beckons them inside.

“actually, i’m quite drunk,” inej adds, primly.

the smile kaz gifts her is slow and unerringly fond. “yes, you are.”

~

a/n: well, there we are. can’t believe i managed to sneak in a little footsie (saw this @anonniemousefics' post recently and just had to).

#kaz brekker #inej ghafa #kaz x inej #bridal style #soc #fluff #my writing #requests #just2bubbly #drunk!inej #has that ever been done #who knows #now it has

[slashbitch2]

never judge a mom by their car

this was entirely self indulgent but enjoy :)

Carla Dunkler hated you. No, scratch that. She wanted to fuck you. Or both maybe?

Every morning you'd drive past in your perfect, not dented, car and parallel park like it was the easiest fucking thing in the world. It was hot, and infuriating. Then, she was subjected to your kid (adopted, so no mom bod) and his impeccable manners. He'd get out the car, go to your window to say goodbye, then stroll into school like he owned the place. Which he might've, because you were loaded.

Carla didn't consider herself a particularly self-conscious person, yet seeing your perfect parenting induced a certain amount of self-doubt. In comparison, her son still ran into school like he was ten years old, barrelling through the groups of students without so much as a "Thanks for driving me, mom" or "See you later".

To be fair, she could just stick him on the bus and save herself the trouble of waking up early for an ungrateful son, but then she'd miss out on her favourite part of the day.

"Morning!" After saying goodbye, you'd always get out the car to watch your son walk away, and without fail, would call out a greeting or wave politely. Only to Carla though, never anyone else, like you were mocking her.

She hated to admit it, but you'd gotten into her head. It made her feel special, and simultaneously ridiculed.

In response, she'd wave back and usually mutter something insulting under her breath. Today's was, "Go back to fucking your yoga guru or something." Chosen simply because you looked like the kind of person to do yoga, and because she could totally imagine you with a fit, younger man.

The image made her more envious than she'd anticipated. Envious of the imaginary supermodel guru, or you? She wasn't sure.

Now, at this part of the routine, you'd hop back in your super-car and drive to your super-job. Probably to earn more in a day than she did in a week (judging by the suit you wore). Meanwhile she'd be at the spa, waxing god knows what.

---

Somehow, Carla's day had gotten progressively worse, which only encouraged her reckless driving. Perhaps if she were lucky, the car would crash and she'd be saved from suffering through another stupid fundraiser. Maybe she'd get stuck in traffic and arrive so late that the bake sale would've already ended. But then Amy and Kiki would be disappointed. It was a lose-lose situation.

As she pulled into the school car park, you crossed her mind. It was likely that you were already inside, selling some homemade cake that looked to be straight from Pinterest. In comparison, she had nothing to contribute. Although, even if she'd stopped to pick up a store bought cake, it would've surely been put to shame by whatever you had made. Stupid, fucking perfect-

An ear-piercing screech tore Carla away from her stream of insults.

"Oh, shit."

She'd turned too early, ramming straight into the side of another car. A flawless, not dented, perfectly parked car. Double shit. It was yours, she realised with a sigh.

The realisation was the final nail in the coffin, in her coffin. You probably knew some fancy lawyer and were about to sue her for everything she had, which wasn't much currently. Sighing, she let her head fall forward onto the steering wheel with a surrendering thud. Of course it was your car. Fate just had to do her dirty.

She had two options:

Commit a hit and run. Pretend she never made it to the damn bake sale.

Find and confess. Pray that you'd avoid litigation.

However, one thing she didn't count on was that you were leaning out the car window, looking directly at her. It'd have to be option two, then.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped out the car, braced for the worst. Walking shamefully through the car park with you watching her every move, she grew embarrassed. Why the fuck was she still wearing her work clothes? Why was she walking so stiffly? How the hell had she managed to hit your car?

Neither one said anything until she was stood next to you, crouched down to peer through the window.

"Guess that's what I get for hiding in the car." You cackled, completely unexpectedly.

Carla chuckled in relief. You didn't appear mad. "And that's what I get for arriving late, apparently."

You continued to laugh. The carefree, gleeful gesture had to be the best thing she'd seen all day. She liked seeing you happy, wanted to make you laugh again. Though, now wasn't the time for it.

With much difficulty, she fixed her image, regaining some sense of cool indifference. "We should probably exchange insurance details or whatever-"

"Oh no. Don't worry about it." You waved a hand dismissively, reaching to grab your bag from the passenger seat. "I hated this car anyway. Been looking for an excuse to get rid of it."

Carla jumped back as the door swung open suddenly. You paused, placing a hand on her shoulder, demanding eye contact. "Seriously, you did me a favour."

Before she could process anything that'd just happened, you were walking away. In most situations, Carla would've just taken the win and mentally repressed the event. But not this time.

"What even are you?" She called, chasing after your ridiculously fast pace. "How are you so casual about this?" She finally caught up as you were opening the door. God, you smelt so good up close.

You pursed your lips thoughtfully. "I'm a little high right now. That might be why." Without another word, you left her standing in the doorway.

She hadn't been expecting that. This was a whole new side to you, a whole new you. An example of 'never judge a book by its cover'. Or more accurately, never judge a mom by their car. Although she loathed to admit she might've been wrong about you, showing up high to a bake sale cleared any previous assumptions that you were a snob. In fact, Carla Dunkler didn't hate you at all.

And she definitely wasn't about to let you get away.

#carla dunkler x reader #carla dunkler

[kinglazrus]

Not Your Danny – Ch 1. Moving Day

Phic Phight | Next | FFN | AO3

Submitted by @ecto-american: After Danny’s untimely death, his family and friends turn to Dani for comfort. She was so much like him in every single way. And she never felt more like a clone. A replacement for the “real” thing.

Summary: Maddie and Jack learn a lot of things about their son after his death: his powers, his secret life as the local hero, the truth behind his accident three years ago. And his clone who is so much like their boy. When Dani gets the offer to join their home, she thinks it's too good to be true. And she just might be right.

Word count: 2761

Two weeks after Danny dies, Danielle moves into his bedroom. It's a lacklustre affair. Dani has no belongings to bring with her, except the few trinkets stuffed in the pockets of her shorts. She only owns one pair of clothes, two of you want to be technically and count her ghost form. But that's tenuous at best when you consider the circumstances of her creation, and that her clothes were created withher, not given to her. She doesn't like to think about that too much, though.

Neither of Danny's parents are home for the occasion. Dani doesn't blame them. Her face time with Maddie and Jack Fenton over the past three years equals an hour at most—hour and a half if she really pushes it. And most of that time was with an ectogun between them. If she counts the times where she hasn't been staring down a glowing green barrel, then it's probably only five minutes, maybe less. And that only happened a few days ago.

Suffice to say, Dani and the Fentons don't have a good relationship, or a relationship of any kind. So she doesn't blame them for being out of the house when their dead son's clone, who they only recently found out about, takes over his bedroom. Although take over might be too strong of a phrase.

Dani floats next to Jazz, hovering in front of Danny's open bedroom door.

"Is it... okay?" Jazz asks.

Dani drifts inside, turning her head from side to side as she looks around. She likes the blue walls, and the open brick on the outer wall is kind of cool. The bed, covered in a purple bead spread, topped with a fluffy pillow, looks softer than anything she's ever slept on. The room is nice, if a bit messy with Danny's stuff still inside. Posters decorate the wall, some about space, others from some band called Dumpty Humpy. The shelves are stuffed full of books and model spaceships. His dirty clothes lie next to an open hamper in the corner of the room.

The sight surprises Dani more than anything.

"What are you gonna do with his stuff?" she asks. "Do people usually just," she gestures toward the room, "leave it like this?"

"What? No." Jazz shakes her head and quickly wipe her hand across her eyes. "When someone dies, their family or friends eventually pack their stuff away. Not always right away, though."

"Two weeks isn't long enough?"

Jazz's breath hitches. "Don't– don't say that. It's inconsiderate."

Dani's cheeks go hot at Jazz's admonishing tone. "Oh. Sorry." She floats further into the room, if only to escape the awkward air settling between them.

If Dani didn't know any better, she would guess that Danny had just stepped outside for a second and would be back any moment. Lowering herself to the floor, Dani settles on the carpet and walks toward the desk. A controller of some kind sits on the desk chair, its cord tangled with a headset. Dani picks the controller up and turns it over in her hand. She only vaguely recognizes the X logo in the middle of it; her travels over the past couple of years haven't exactly involved a lot of gaming. Or any.

There was a small handheld system she picked up at a garage sale once. She carried it for a few months but lost it somewhere along the way.

Dani tosses the controller onto the chair and turns back to Jazz. "So, now what?"

"Well, if you're not comfortable with Danny's things still being in here, we can get some boxes and start packing. I think we have some in the basement. If you want." Jazz tacks on the last three words with a soft voice.

"No, it's fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, course." It's just stuff, after all. Dani doesn't quite get it, which also means she doesn't care. If the Fentons don't want to move Danny's stuff yet, then it can stay. He was their son before he was Dani's cousin/DNA source.

"Okay. I guess I'll just... let you get settled, then. I have to work on some plans for the memorial, but Mom and Dad should be home in a couple hours. They said they wouldn't be gone long," Jazz says.

Dani nods. A few seconds of silence pass, and once it's obvious that neither of them is going to say anything more, Jazz turns and walks down the hall. Finally alone, Dani lets her ghost form fall away. The transformation rings prickle as their bright light ghosts over her skin, and when it fades, she's left in her typical shorts and hoodie. Dani rubs her arms until the prickling fades, then flops onto the bed.

Damn. It really is the softest thing she's ever lain on. And the blankets are warm. They smell like Danny, too. That's something Dani never thought she would think. She didn't even realize Danny had a smell, but it's hard to ignore now. It's not the most tangible smell. The best word Dani can find to describe it is crisp, like a cold day. She would bet her beanie that it was because of his ice powers, an ability they had never shared.

Dani shakes her head. Everything is weird enough right now. The last thing she needs to be contemplating is how Danny used to smell. It's also, like, a super creepy line of thought, yeah? Yeah.

As she stares up at the ceiling, a blur of movement catches her eye. Her gaze jumps toward it, in the corner of the bedroom closest to the door. A small brown lump clings to the ceiling. A bug, no doubt. Dani can't tell what kind, and she doesn’t care enough to find out. It's not too surprising, considering how messy Danny's room is. There's probably some old pizza hiding under his bed or something.

Dani rolls onto her side and closes her eyes. A little bug doesn't bother her, not after the places she's slept. And if the Fentons won't be home for a while, and Jazz is busy, she might as well take advantage of her new bed and the next few hours to get some shuteye. God knows she needs it.

—

Maddie feels sorry for Vlad's receptionist. She bears a striking resemblance to Maddie herself, with short auburn hair just a touch redder than Maddie's own, a curvy frame, and a sharp, pointed chin. She's even wearing blue, bless her heart. The girl is pretty, and young, and kind. Can't be too far out of high school, and hoping a job at the mayor's office will look good on her resume. Maddie hopes it pays off. The girl deserves it for putting up with Vlad daily. Working for him seems to be taking a toll on her, judging by the distressed look in her eyes when she looks up from Vlad's appointment book.

"I'm sorry, there's no appointment for you. I don't know if I can let you in," she says.

Maddie sighs. "Mr. Masters left me a message"—or several—"asking me to come in."

"I'm really sorry, but he didn't mention expecting you... oh no." The receptionist's eyes widen and she starts digging through papers on her desk. "Did I forget to write it down again? He got so upset last time."

Maddie reaches out and touches her shoulder, stopping the frantic search. "It's all right, dear. It's not your fault."

She suspected, when Vlad left numerous messages on her cellphone rather than calling the house, that something more was up. How Vlad even got her cellphone number she doesn't want to know. She will also be changing it very soon thanks to this incident.

"He's particular about his meetings," the receptionist says. "I really can't let you in."

"Just let him know I'm here, and I'll take care of the rest."

The receptionist nods. While she goes for the phone, Maddie steps away from the desk and turns back to the waiting area. It's empty besides her and the receptionist—not surprising this early on a Monday, and all the better for Maddie. She pulls her cellphone from her purse and checks the time; It's just after eight. Dani is due at Fenton Works soon, but Maddie and Jack won't be back until noon, at least. The reminder makes her wince.

Missing half of Dani's first day at home isn't ideal, but Maddie wants to get this meeting over with as fast as possible. They had other plans in the city, anyway, made before they invited Dani into their home. Better to get everything done at once.

Maddie eyes plush waiting room armchairs, wondering if there's any point in sitting down, when the receptionist calls out, "Mrs. Fenton?"

Maddie opens her mouth to answer, but her phone—still in her hand—buzzes at that moment. Jack's name stretches across the screen. "Excuse me." She steps toward the elevators on the far side of the room and turns her back to the receptionist, the closest semblance of privacy she can get, before answering her phone. "Hey, Jack. Is your meeting done already?"

"Not even close! How goes the shopping?"

"Fine so far. I forgot we didn't ask...." She tenses, feeling the receptionist's stare at her back. "We didn't ask what she might need, so I'm just grabbing the basics. Do you want me to pick something up for you? Are you waiting on the park board?"

"About that... I'm with them now, and—what day did we settle on for the memorial, again?"

Maddie shakes her head, but not out of annoyance. Jack forgetting the day hardly surprises her. He tends to forget the little details. If anything, it makes her feel grounded. The past two weeks have been a lot, to put it lightly. A lot of changes. A lot of revelations. But she can always rely on Jack to be his usual self.

"A month from today," she says.

"Thanks, baby! You're the best! See you later." The phone beeps as Jack hangs up. Maddie sighs while the corner of her lip twitches upwards. It's the closest she's come to smiling since Danny died. She holds like that for a moment, caught between the ache choking her heart and the desire for things to get better. They won't, not for a long time. She won't fool herself into thinking otherwise. But it's nice, for a moment, to pretend things might be okay.

"Leaving Jack alone with the DPR? I feel sorry for them." Vlad's slimy voice ruins the moment after the first syllable.

Maddie tenses, clutching her phone tighter, and turns to face him. "Vlad. It's bad business to ask for a meeting, then make your guest wait."

When Vlad smiles, his whitened teeth cut a bright slash across his cheeks. It's too wide, too sharp. Never reaches his eyes. Maddie remembers, long ago, when Vlad had a soft smile. He used it sparingly, doling it out to only the most deserved. She can't imagine him smiling like that now.

"Well, I don't mean to be presumptive, but when I phone a friend hoping for a visit, I expect them to stop by my house, not my work."

"Your mistake, then."

The receptionist's typing falters. Her have yet to stray from her screen, but Maddie already knows she's listening in. Vlad probably does, too.

"Natalie!" he snaps.

The receptionist jerks upright. "Yes, sir?"

Vlad rests a hand on Maddie's back and pushes her forward. She moves, if only to step out of his reach, and heads toward his office. Vlad reaches into his suit jacket as he walks. He pulls out his wallet and pinches a few random bills, tugging them out without looking. "Take a break. I'm sure you could use a coffee to perk you up."

He leans in front of Maddie to drop the bills on Natalie's desk. The contact makes Maddie grimace, and she hurries ahead into his office. When she turns, Vlad is already closing the door. The last thing Maddie sees of the waiting room is Natalie's frown as she glances at a paper cup sitting in plain view on her desk.

"Now, Maddie." Vlad turns. Rather than heading to his desk, he steps toward Maddie and touches her arm. "How are you doing?"

"You left me seven messages just so you could ask that?" Maddie brushes Vlad's hand off. In three long strides, she cuts across his office and takes one of the visitor's chairs. While the waiting room had plush armchairs, these are made of dark wood, armless, with firm leather cushions and straight backs. A deliberate choice, no doubt.

Vlad comes up beside her, his hand on the second chair. Before he can sit, Maddie swings her purse off her shoulder and drops it on the empty cushion. Vlad pauses, glances between her and the bag, but relents and takes his seat at the desk instead.

His chair sits considerably higher than Maddie's.

"I can imagine the pain you're going through right now," he says.

Maddie's fists clench. "Can you really?"

"Believe it or not, yes, I can." He pauses, giving her a chance to respond. But whatever question he wants her to ask, whatever game he wants to play, Maddie refuses to give in. She might have put up with him once, but after what he's done, he will be lucky if she willingly suffers his presence ever again after today.

She waits for Vlad to elaborate.

"I'm sure you've wondered, all this time, where Danny went whenever he disappeared for hours. Being our city's young hero explains a lot of it, yes, but to be honest, that wasn't everything." Vlad stops to take a deep breath, closing his eyes for a brief moment. It's quite the performance. "To tell you the truth, he was often with me."

Bullshit! Maddie wants to shout, but she bites it back. Her jaw aches from how hard she clenches her teeth.

"I discovered his secret a long time ago and gave him a safe place away from home. You know, when conversation at the dinner table got to be too much." Vlad pauses again, letting his words sink in.

Maddie hates that she knows exactly what he means. All those times she and Jack discussed their inventions, their plans for when they finally captured the ghost boy. Most of what Vlad is saying might be a lie, but the truth within it cuts her deeply. "Really?"

Vlad might think himself a great actor, but he's apparently ignorant to Maddie's own deception. He nods at her questioning tone, eyes low and mouth pressed into a grim line. "I understand this is hard to hear. I did my best to make him feel safe, and we actually became close. Over the years, I came to think of him as something of a son. And his death has affected me deeply."

He stands, trailing his hand along his desk as he walks around toward Maddie. His shoulders droop, as if Danny's absence weighs on him. It really is a good performance. Peering closer, Maddie sees that he even looks pallid, and purple bags rest under his eyes. A look easily accomplished with some pale foundation and smudged eyeshadow.

"It's like a piece of me is missing without him. I'm sure you feel the same. We need each other, Maddie. To make us whole again."

Vlad reaches toward her, but she ducks away from him, slipping out of her chair. His hand falls through the empty air and he stumbles, nearly falling into the chair.

Now he's being ridiculous, Maddie thinks. She could have fallen for the makeup and the sob story if she didn't know better, but the off balance act? The distressed look in his eye when she pulls away? She's insulted that he thinks she would fall for it.

"You're right Vlad. I'm in pain. Danny is gone and it feels like he took a piece of me with him when he died. But I have my family to help me through it." She grabs her purse off the other chair and heads for the door. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere to be."

"Madeline, please—"

"Vladimir!" Her shout tears at her throat. She turns on him, blinking to fight back the burn in her eyes. He stands frozen where she left him, crumpled pathetically against her empty chair, one hand still outstretched. Maddie swallows the lump in her throat. "Enough."

She leaves without another word.

Next

#phic phight #phic phight 2021 #notyourdanny #nyd chapter one #phanfic #phicc #dp fanfiction #danny phantom #dani phantom #danielle phantom #hurt/comfort #family #danny phantom fanfiction #trans danny #trans danny fenton

[scorpionyx9621]

I Hope Hopeless Changes Over Time: A Red Hood and Batman Fic

*Source of the image I found off of Pintrest. I tried to find the original artist but the link on Pintrest led to a dead Tumblr account. If anyone wants to find/point out the account to me so I can give proper credit to the artist please please do.*

I wanted to make a fic based on an ask I did from the lovely @dilfbatman about Jason and Bruce. I hope people enjoy this mini-fic that I've expanded upon.

TW: Blood, Physical Assault, Suicide Ideation, Swearing. Bruce being a shitty father but trying. Jason having demons 

3.75K words. 

Bruce was uneasy about Jason staying over at the Wayne Mansion. Even with other members of the family around. Jason has done so much wrong and has hurt so many people. However, at the end of the day, Jason still is his son. So when he gets a call from Jason in a hushed voice asking Bruce to stay the night. He hesitated for a second, but acquiesced, Jason was nothing if not independent, so to be asking Bruce outright to stay at the Wayne Manor meant something was wrong.

"Master Jason wouldn't reach out to any of us unless something was gravely wrong, Master Wayne." Alfred had reassured Bruce, who was staring absentmindedly at the glass case which housed Jason's old Robin costume. The costume that Jason had died in. Bruce always tried to repress the memory of holding his son's cold, lifeless body. The pain he felt from losing his parents burned in his heart as an everlasting stab wound. But the pain from losing Jason, his son, it was too much to bare.

"I'd be welcoming to Master Jason, but keep your distance. Master Damian is spending the night at Jon Kent's house, Master Richard is in Blüdhaven, and Master Timothy is with the Teen Titans tonight. I'll rest assured Jason doesn't try anything to harm you. But don't try to encourage a confrontation." Alfred explained. He always seemed to understand Jason to a tee after he came back to life.

"I don't know how you do it Alfred, you can read the boy like a book." Bruce had retorted. Cocking a half-smile to the man who raised him since his parents died.

"Master Wayne, Master Jason wears his heart on his sleeve. He always has. And one of the reasons why you two fight constantly is because, for as terrific as a detective you are, you are horrifically inept in reading the emotions of your children." Alfred had stated, those words bit Bruce. He wasn't expecting such sharp words from Alfred. "We failed Master Jason. And he's hurt, he's been hurt for years because of it. However he keeps choosing to come back and try and trust again. We needn't come at him with accusations of ulterior motives, but we should be supportive." Alfred stated.

"But cognizant of what Jason is capable of." Bruce added back. Jason may need help, but he's still dangerous. He has tried to kill Bruce and the rest of the Robins multiple times. He wants to trust Jason and warm up to him again. But the man who wears the Red Hood and stalks the streets of Gotham killing those he deems criminals is not his son anymore.

Alfred and Bruce greeted Jason as he walked in the large double doors of the Wayne Manor. The first thing Bruce noticed was the dark circles under Jason's eyes. It seemed as if the man hadn't slept in days. Jason was wearing sweatpants and a fitted black wife beater, accentuating his muscles. Jason would have looked more intimidating had his body language not suggested he was as disheveled as he was, physically and mentally.

"Thanks Alfred." Jason had said meekly towards the butler. He took one step into the mansion and looked at Bruce. Bruce noticed as soon as Jason's eyes met his, his tired irises contorted into anger. His lips pursed downwards but Jason chose not to say anything. Instead just walking past Bruce pretending not to acknowledge him.

"Master Jason, you will be staying in the guest suite on the main floor. I've already prepped everything for your arrival. Please make yourself at home." Alfred had said. Jason just shook is head as he headed towards the hallway leading the guest suite. Bruce didn't notice it immediately but the stench Jason had emitted stung in the air. It smelled like stale liqour and body oder. It seems Jason hadn't bathed in days. Bruce had wanted to say something but chose not to.

The evening went by quietly enough. Jason had taken a shower and changed into another fitted wife beater but still sported a tired energy about him. Alfred had put together a beef pot roast for dinner with red potatoes, carrots, onions, and celery over garlic mashed potatoes. A favorite dish of Jason's. The three of them ate quietly as Bruce continued to size up his son. He was conflicted. At one point he saw the man who blew up the head of a Gotham security force member with a torture decide he had created. On the other hand, he saw the boy who would beg for Bruce to buy him more books after he finished the maximum amount a library card would allow for a week in the span of 3 days. The son who told him being Robin gave him magic.

The dinner ended as it began. With awkward silence and the father-son duo eyeing each other. One with cautious trepidation and the other with abject hate. Bruce had decided not to go on patrol tonight as he felt he needed to be at the manor should anything happen while Jason was here. An uneasy sense of dread built over Bruce as he had said good night to Jason as the two passed by each other in the halls. Jason simply spat 'Bitch' at Bruce and walked into the bedroom. Bruce had been bad with other people's emotions, but something didn't sit right with the way Jason was carrying himself. He had decided to stay up tonight regardless. A sense came over him after being sworn at by Jason. A sense he hadn't felt in a long time. He felt as though his son needed help.

————————————————————

"You're a monster"

"Jason is a murderer"

"Stay away from Jason, he'll kill you."

"No one wants you around, Todd"

"You're just a good guy trying to be bad"

"This is the kid you had to replace me with as Robin? Bruce he's pathetic."

"I can't believe my daughter wasted the Lazarus Pit on a miserable failure like you."

"Maybe I'd be better off dead"

Jason tossed and turned. It's been days. He couldn't get the voices out of his head. Those whispery, moany voices that taunted and tormented him. He knew it was a result of the Lazarus Pit. Ever since Roy died and everyone left him the voices started taunting him again. He tried everything he could to get the voices to stop. He drank, he read, he worked out, he did everything he could. The only way the voices became quiet were when he was beating the ever-loving shit out of some criminals. This was not the mindset Jason had wanted. He wanted to go back to being supported by Bruce, the man who betrayed him. He knew that Bruce was weak. He couldn’t kill the Joker because of his weakness. 

Jason got up and walked over to the connecting bathroom to the suite that he was staying in. He went to the sink and splashed some cold water on his face. Against his better judgement, Jason looked up to the figure he saw in the mirror. He took note of his jawline, his face, his green eyes, his muscles.. but one thing that caught his eye was the fucking skunk streak of hair at the top of his head. The physical reminder of his dip in the Lazarus Pit. He had just re-dyed the spot not two days ago and it already came back. He did everything he could to try to hide the streak. It’s what he hated most about his new body. The pit wiped away all of the scars he had on his body. And any new fresh scar or wound would just fade in a matter of moments due to the effects of the pit. The only thing that ever stayed was that damned streak. 

Jason had nothing but disgust and contempt for the man he saw in the mirror, which, ironically, was himself. 

“You’re just using the sarcasm to hide your hatred.” 

“It’s your fault that everyone hates you.” 

“Killing the sick of the masses to save those who are weak is your calling” 

“Those reptiles deserve to die” 

“I don’t want to kill unless I don’t have to.. I don’t want people to hate me..” Jason tried reassuring himself. The voices in his head kept getting louder and louder. “I want Bruce and everyone to love me again....” He continued to try to re-assure himself. It was a false sense of hope as always. His mind soon wandered to a moment where he was on top of Dick in a fight. Confronting his older sibling and reciting a quote he had heard from a Japanese philosopher and optimist as he had the barrel of a gun placed against his older brother’s temple. 

“Do you know what the most convenient phrase in the world is, Dickie? It’s ‘I’m sorry.’ Anyone who hears that is obligated to forgive, no matter how hurt or angry they might be... There's no more disgusting phrase in all the world. It's used to displace your suffering unto others so you can escape your sins... The moment you employ it, your suffering becomes the other person's. A thing can be unforgivable, but oh, if they apologize... I say there's no reason to accept that suffering. You don't have to forgive them. Cast aside the mask of your conscience.“ 

“Stop this. Please stop this.” Jason had begged aimlessly into the air. He didn’t want to live like this anymore. He didn’t want to live, period. He just wanted all of this to end. He had caused so much pain and so much suffering to the people of Gotham all so he could attempt to hurt Bruce. But those words kept repeating in his head. He knew he had to stop this. He needed help, he wanted to go to Bruce and explain what was going on but Bruce would just have him institutionalized. His murderer of a son starts hearing voices in his head? A one way ticket to a padded room. 

Jason suddenly stared back into the mirror and saw something he detested. The green eyes that stared into his soul. The one he hated more than anything else. Was himself. This thing was staring him in the face mocking him, and he wanted it gone. 

“Do it Jason.” the voice had beckoned from the mirror. “Kill them all. Slit Damian’s throat and watch the fucker bleed. Bash Tim’s stupid face into the concrete until there’s nothing but mush. Rip Dick limb from fucking limb. Watch Bruce as you choke the last bit of life from his eyes. I promise all the pain will go away once all of this is done.” the voice sounded almost sweet as it promised to do all of this. Jason just retched as he saw the green eyed monster promising poison to him. He felt his vision fade to black. 

------------------------------------------------------------------

STOP IT. SHUT. UP. 

*CRASH* 

Bruce had jumped up from the chair he was sitting on in the library, the voice came from the suite that Jason was staying in. Bruce didn’t have time to think. He just ran towards the noise. He threw the door to the suite open and ran to the bathroom. There he saw Jason in front of a heavily cracked mirror. Jason was hyperventilating and he saw blood oozing from Jason’s fist which was pressed against the mirror. Bruce saw from the reflection that Jason had split open the left side of his lip seemingly from a shard of glass. It wasn’t long before Jason glanced up at the imposing shadow in the mirror and noticed Bruce’s presence. 

“YOU STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME BRUCE.” Jason had shouted at his reflection. Jason was shaking. Bruce had wanted to assess the injury that Jason gave himself. But he knew he was cornering a scared animal if he pressed any farther forward. Bruce stood their frozen. Pondering between trying to press forward upon a killer, or to check up on his son. 

“Jason, I just...” Bruce was cut off by another scream as Jason turned around. 

“IF YOU COME ANY CLOSER I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL KILL YOU WHERE YOU FUCKING STAND YOU PIECE OF SHIT.” Bruce finally got the cue. The hitch in Jason’s voice. This is the same hitch his voice made when he was a kid and was angry at Bruce. Alfred was right. This is his son. And right now Bruce needed not to be the Batman approaching the Red Hood. He needed to be Bruce, to help his son. 

Bruce walked forward to Jason, still shaking as blood oozed from the gashes of glass on his fist. Bruce decided against everything in his gut telling him to stop this criminal. This monster who killed for sport and to prove a point. He needed to help Jason, his son. 

Bruce was knocked back by a fist to his chest. Glass imbedded itself into Bruce as he felt the sting of their shards. Jason was right, he was going to hurt Bruce if he approached. Oracle was right, Jason had been abusing venom. The quick gain in muscle mass was proof enough but the stinging pain in Bruce’s chest also proved that hypothesis. Jason barred his teeth as his eyes displayed a seething hatred. Bruce would have been frightened on any other day. Today, Bruce felt a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time. Bruce collected himself and got up to approach Jason again. 

“I TOLD YOU I’M GOING TO KILL YOU BRUCE. I FUCKING HATE YOUR GUTS. I WANT YOU TO DIE. I WANT ALL OF US TO JUST FUCKING DIE.” Jason screamed even louder this time. A hot stream of tears worked their way down Jason’s cheeks. Bruce no longer saw a rage-induced monster but the boy who took a tire iron to his gut on the streets of Gotham. The boy who would was thrilled at every opportunity he got to show Bruce the A’s on every test he got in school. This was his baby boy who needed his help. 

“Jason Peter Todd that’s enough.” Bruce said firmly, but not harshly. Jason stared directly into his eyes. “Jason. I want you to listen to me.” 

“Go to hell you motherfucker.” those words which escaped Jason were laced with poison. Bruce didn’t waver. 

“You can punch me as much as you want Jason and I’ll deserve all of it.” Bruce came closer to Jason. Jason proceeded to physically make himself smaller. Like a scared animal. Bruce remember what he did to Jason after he had seemingly killed The Penguin. How he beat Jason to within an inch of his life. His heart plummeted to his stomach as he saw Jason cower like a scared dog over his approach. 

“What are you going to do Bruce, beat me to a fucking pulp again? You hate me more than you hate the fucking Joker, don’t you?” Jason asked. Bruce truly saw the fear in those green eyes. He had to take a moment and realized just what he was doing. He unclenched his jaw and relaxed his shoulders as he approached Jason. This time he was back within striking range of his son. 

“Jason. I failed you. I have been failing you for the past 10 years since your death. I have failed this city and this family in providing the protection it needs. I couldn’t kill The Joker because I’m weak.” Bruce sucked at emotions and emoting. But Bruce hadn’t felt this shaky and wavering since the day he lost Jason. His son needed to know the truth. He deserved to know the truth. “Jason I never hated you. I hated the actions you have taken against the people of this city. But I’ve come to realize that the hatred and contempt I’ve held is because you do what I can’t do.” 

“Oh so now you’re coming over to apologize? I don’t owe you shit after what you’ve done to me.” Jason had stated. He may have been acting like a pinned animal. But his mouth will never not cut like knives. 

“Jason, when we had fought in the abandoned apartment. And you had the Joker with you. You had tried to shoot me after I had turned away from you.” Bruce said. Inching ever closer to Jason while trying not to be imposing. “In that moment, I threw the batarang because I knew you were going to retaliate against me. But I need you to know in that moment I turned away. I turned away because I decided I wasn’t to be the one to decide the Joker’s fate. He had taken your life and it wasn’t up to me to decide. I want nothing more than for the Joker to pay for the countless lives hes taken and ruined.” Bruce swallowed hard as he felt tears beginning to well in his eyes. “I failed you because I couldn’t kill the Joker. But in that moment, I wanted nothing more than to have my baby boy back. I wanted you back in my life. I still want you back in my life.” 

“Bullshit. Fucking BULLSHIT.” Jason spat at Bruce. The emotions were flooding out of his face. Anger, hatred, fear, but most of all sadness. Jason’s voice began wavering as he began to cry. “If you loved me why in the fuck have you never realized I’ve been trying to help the people of Gotham. Instead every time I take matters into my own hands all I meet are your fucking fists. I hate your guts Bruce. We’d all just be better off fucking dead. It’s all Hopeless. I’m hopeless.” 

Bruce took a deep breath. He tried to find his resolve. He wanted nothing more than to be able to reach out to his son again. “You’re absolutely right Jason. I’ll bet Gotham would be a whole lot better without me. Without the pain I have caused. And no amount of apologies will fix the pain that I have caused you. No words will ever take back the transgressions I have taken against you.” Bruce was crying this time. “But know this. You always have been my son. And I love you so much. The day I lost my parents was agony. The day I lost you, I felt like I had lost myself I felt I had died a bit inside.” Bruce choked out. “We both have done so much we regret. If I could take back all the times I hit you I would do it in a heartbeat. But no amount of sorry will take back that pain. I shouldn’t be in the position to be asking this. But I just want my son back.” Bruce swallowed. “You have every right to hate me, but I will never stop loving you. You aren’t hopeless and you never have been. You never have been a burden. You are valued by so many people. I. I love you my son. I love you Jason."

Jason’s face relaxed from a position of contempt and hatred and soon was overcome with years of pent up tears. Jason let out a hearty scream as he proceeded to weep and sob. As if a dam had broke and was threatening to engulf a town in an apocalypse. Bruce went against everything he had known and was screaming from the inside of his body and wrapped Jason in a hug. He was almost as large as Bruce himself and barely fit around his arms. But Bruce held his son and hugged him tight. Jason was crying uncontrollably. 

“I’m hearing these voices. They’re telling me I’m a monster and a killer and that I should kill all of you.” Jason shouted between sobs. “But I don’t want to. I’m so afraid Bruce. I don’t want to hurt anyone unless I have to.” 

“Just breath Jason. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Let it all out.” Bruce had solidified his resolve and worked on being there for Jason. He couldn’t run away this time. His son needed him more than ever. And Gotham be damned. He’s not making this mistake twice. He’s staying here. For Jason. 

It felt like hours before Jason had run out of tears and sobs. Jason was fading and seemed like he was about to fall asleep. The shards of glass that were imbedded in his hand seemingly prevented Jason from bleeding out. Bruce had saw Jason’s eyes glaze over as his breathing calmed. 

“Jason, I’m going to pick you up and take you to bed.” Bruce had said, asking for permission from his second son. Jason simply nodded as he starred off. He was numb now. The pain seemingly gone for the moment. Bruce lifted Jason up and was taken aback by just how heavy his son was. He truly was 225lbs just like his records showed. This wasn’t the son who hid under the cabinets when Bruce first brought Jason home. But Bruce still saw the boy as his son nonetheless. As Bruce laid Jason on the bed Alfred had approached with a first aid kit. Proceeding to begin to clean up Jason’s hand. Jason was so exhausted he barely felt any of the picking and pulling or the iodine going into his wounds. He kept his eyes fast forward on Bruce. 

“Bruce. I. I’m sorry.” Jason had said meekly. 

“Don’t apologize Jason.” Bruce had stated. He ran his hand through Jason’s hair, giving a soft massage to his scalp. “You get some sleep now. I don’t think you’ve rested in days.” 

Bruce had remembered the time he had read Jason to sleep. This time he had thought back to a poem that struck him from his phone. It was from a famous lyricist and singer. As Bruce pulled up his phone he had found the poem and recited it as Jason fell asleep. Things are far from perfect or even better. But tomorrow was going to be the first day of the rest of his and Jason’s lives. 

“They told me once, ‘there's a place where love conquers all’

A city with the streets full of milk and honey

I haven't found it yet, but I'm still searching

All I know is a hopeless place that flows with the blood of my kin

Perhaps hopeless isn't a place

Nothing but a state of mind” 

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pHEW GOD THAT WAS LONG. I hope you all enjoyed the fic! This was my first published attempt at angst and whump and while I feel some parts are cringe. I am proud of what I made. 

Big thanks again to @dilfbatman for inspiring this fic. The inspiration of the title is the song Hopeless: by Halsey. The quote about I’m Sorry is from the character Shadow Maya Amano from Persona 2: Innocent Sin. And the poem at the end is the first part of the lyrics to the song Good Mourning by Halsey. 

#Jason Todd #Red Hood #Bruce Wayne #Batman #Whump #Angst #Hurt/comfort #Non-ship #Bruce being a good father #Jason trying his best #Jason getting the rest he deserves #The two have gone through so much but they can get help #TW Blood #TW Physical abuse #TW Swearing