#literally i think this is a short fic-

[lady-phasma]

A willing pawn

Daemon Targaryen x fem! Dornish!reader

A huge thank you to @zaldritzosrose for this amazing board. You read my mind and I don't know how you did it! An equal thank you to @black-dread for providing the missing puzzle piece to make this fic work.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, hurt/comfort if you squint, little bit of size kink, use of an infantilizing pet name (because Uncle Daddy Daemon), flimsy plot, creampie (and I truly did not plan what was going to happen there, Daemon just does whatever he wants in my brain, cheeky bastard)

Summary: You had a mission in the Stepstones, but he wasn’t as fearsome, this prince, as you had been led to believe. I’m not sure about my soft!Daemon but here he is. 4k words

The encampment was dark, lit only by dying fires. This night had been chosen because it would be moonless. Your soft-soled shoes were silent on the rocky earth as you crept between tents. You had planned your path at sunset, marking in your memory where the prince’s tent stood. As the orange light had faded from the sky, your stomach had begun to knot and twist with anxiety.

Could you really follow through with this? You knew you were able but were you capable of such a thing. The circumstances didn’t offer you any choice in the matter. Prince Qoren Martell wanted to avoid the costs of war, in gold and lives. His war counsel thought of every possible measure they could take to win this war, including involving House Yronwood. You were a cog in a larger plan and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

You ducked around another tent and tiptoed to the edge of the large royal tent. This is as far as you had gotten in your strategy. From this point forward you could only hope for luck, as stealth wouldn’t matter when faced with the prince’s guards. You were sent here with the barest of plans and what little plan there was, was foolish. You listened for movement inside the tent and heard none. As you neared the front you expected a half-dozen guards but saw only two. You held your breath.

You couldn’t walk right up to the tent and demand to be let in. Sneaking in seemed to be impossible, but if you could, what next. Your heart pounded in your ears. Godsdamn it, you thought. You let out a shaky breath and slunk back into the shadows. When you turned around you almost walked face-first into a giant wall of armor.

The guard almost threw you into the tent but did not relinquish his grip on your elbow. You grunted and jerked your arm away from him as you stumbled into the large room. You caught your balance and stood up straight. The ground was covered in rugs. A table laden with maps and documents stood in the center. Next to it sat the Prince.

“We found this creeping about outside, your highness,” the guard grumbled.

Prince Daemon lounged in his chair, legs outstretched, crossed at the ankles. He was peeling a pear, paused mid-knife-stroke, and looked up from under his brows. They raised slightly, seemingly amused, but he didn’t bother to lift his head. He resumed his peeling.

“Leave us,” he commanded without looking up. You heard the guard’s armor as he left but didn’t take your eyes from the prince.

“What terrible deed have you been sent to do child?” He didn’t look at you, only sliced a bit of pear and popped it in his mouth. When you didn’t respond he brushed aside papers to make space on the table and laid down the knife and pear. He wiped his hands on a napkin, dropped it next to them, and stood up. Finally, he looked at you. He finished chewing, swallowed, and wiped one corner of his mouth with his thumb.

He strode toward you, sucking the pear juice off his thumb and assessing you. Much of your face was covered by your hood, stay strands of dark hair were visible but your features were cast in shadow. He dipped his head slightly and looked closely, standing only a few paces in front of you. His silver hair swung loose from his shoulder. The violet of his eyes was unnerving. You squared your shoulders.

“I am no child,” you replied, leaving off the honorific. He was no prince of yours.

“Is that so?” Daemon reached for your hood and flicked it back from your head. The only hint of surprise he allowed to show was a brief widening of his eyes. You were well aware the effect your father’s blue eyes had when set against the sienna skin you got from your mother. You narrowed your icy eyes at him.

“I’m gown enough to make it this far into your camp, am I not?” Daemon chuckled and flipped his hair back over his shoulder. He clasped his hands behind his back and smiled at you.

“I suppose so… but you did get caught, little one.”

Your cheeks flamed and you wanted to strike him but the smile on his face caught you off guard. Had he just winked at you? You were too frustrated to think and that wink made your blood boil. This was not going at all how you had expected when the guard snatched you up. Daemon didn’t so much as blink when you moved your hands from inside your cloak to push your hood back further. He was amused with you. The handle of your dagger glinted in the candlelight and caught his eye.

“So you were sent here to assassinate me?” He smiled that infernal smile. “Would you say it is going well?”

“Time will tell,” you answered through gritted teeth. Then he laughed at you, actually laughed. You clenched your hands into fists at your sides.

He took a step toward you and you tensed. You hadn’t the faintest idea what this man would do. You had only heard the rumors and propaganda in Dorne. When he reached out, you tried to take a step back from him.

“Uh-uh,” he commanded quietly. Then his hand dipped into your cloak and before you could move to stop him, he snatched your dagger out of your belt. He spun it lazily around, watching it dance in the light.

“This might have done the trick,” he spoke to the blade, not to you. “But I imagine someone with more experience should have been entrusted with it.” His eyes flicked back to your face. “Though, perhaps there were none as fierce as you.”

With absolutely no thought in your mind, you lunged forward and tried to grab the weapon from him. He deftly moved it out of your reach and grabbed your wrist with his other hand.

“As I said: fierce,” he quipped. You tugged your arm against his grasp to no avail.

“But I must!” You almost snarled at him. His expression wasn’t surprise but interest. He let you go and turned to lay your weapon on the table. When he faced you again a small smile was set on his mouth.

“Must you?” He raised an eyebrow. “If a child assassin has been sent to slay me, Dorne must be desperate indeed.”

“I am not a child! I am a woman grown, of 20 years!” You had no idea why this infuriated you but the prince knew that it did. He grinned again.

“Pardon me, my Lady. I should have said a ‘small’ assassin,” he mocked you. It was somehow kind. You were taken aback by his jest, by his demeanor. You hadn’t taken the time to pause and evaluate Prince Daemon. You had only been concerned with the ramifications of your failure.

Now that you looked, you saw a man not much older than yourself. A man who moved with experience in battle, with an ease not unlike your own. Graceful, even. Then he did the most unexpected thing. He extended his hand, offering you to sit in the chair opposite his. You had come here to threaten his life and now he was treating you like a guest! You gawped.

Before you could decide what to make of the situation, Daemon slid down into his chair and stretched his legs out again, completely unwary of you. He glanced at you one more time as he reached for his unfinished pear. You were too shocked to do anything other than sit. You closed your mouth and sat down across from him. You slipped your cloak off of your shoulders as you sat. Your common clothes weren’t uncomfortable but you weren’t used to them. You tried to adjust them as you sat but instantly became more frustrated. Daemon’s eyes on you didn’t help to easy your new-found insecurity. You were meant to have been unseen.

“Who sent you?” The blunt nature of his question startled you.

“And why should I tell you?” you retorted. You were behaving as if you were at home entertaining men you had grown up with. This was madness.

“I believe I am owed an explanation as it was my life you were planning to take. Also, what else is there to do?” He popped a slice of pear in his mouth. His eyes didn’t leave yours. “Let’s start with your name, shall we?”

You hesitated, but he was right: what else was there to do. You could sit in silence until he decided to have you executed. You could try to run from the tent only to be caught and executed sooner. So you told him your name and your house name.

“Very good,” he tossed the knife and pear back on the table. “What did Martell threaten? What predicament did he put you in?”

Your eyes widened. Was Prince Martell’s reputation so tainted, so sullied, outside Dorne?

“Not him,” you spoke quietly. “Though I suppose, ultimately, he knows. We are not a political house but we have wealth that is necessary for Dorne to succeed.” Your eyes flicked down from his at the last word. You weren’t sure why but you felt ashamed for being in this position, had all along if you thought about it.

“So if not the prince himself…” Daemon paused, waiting for your answer.

“His war counsel,” you replied. “They have many strategies in play, I’m sure, but one is to ‘motivate’ certain houses to bring the war to an early end. I have no knowledge of the other plans. I only know that my father was threatened. Whatever that threat was, it was powerful enough for him to send his youngest daughter to the Stepstones.”

There it was. You had spilled it out to the enemy in a gush and felt like vomiting or crying or fleeing. You looked up from your lap. Daemon was studying you. Once again he surprised you. Perhaps you expected him to mock you but the kindness on his face somehow made your situation more real. You bit your lip to stop the tears. You would not cry. You were angry and frightened and when the prince had called you a child it made those feelings more real.

“What choice did you have?” He sounded almost compassionate. This couldn’t be the petty tyrant you were warned against, who would rape, or torture, or kill you if you were caught. “You came all this way on an errand not of your choosing and meant to go through with it. That’s more than a little honorable, don’t you agree?”

You had no idea. You were confused and overwhelmed and angry. You had never been a zealot, but you had been more sure of your mission when the target was evil or cruel. Perhaps he was at times, but not now.

“I suppose so,” you muttered, trying to look anywhere but at him.

“Well what do I do with you now?” He leaned forward in his chair. “I can’t set you free. Yet I don’t want another prisoner. And you don’t want to return home as a failure. I can see that. I could keep you as a hostage and demand gold for your safe return. Would that keep your honor intact?”

You blushed, not just from his nearness but from the fact that he could see your thoughts so clearly on your face. You and your family would be dishonored if you returned unsuccessful. It would also be unfavorable to the prince to appear compassionate to would-be assassins.

“It would,” you answered. “But I do not think the ransom would be paid.”

“No? Not for a young woman as fierce and cunning as yourself? Not for someone so precious?”

Your eyes flicked up to his at this curious word. You watched him, suspicious, as he slid out of his chair and knelt in front of you.

“I think you’re quite frightened of either choice: being sent home or being held here. I don’t want you to be frightened. Maybe the Crone had a purpose for bringing you here.”

You felt your breath catch. He looked so sincere. He was intoxicating but you believed him. You didn’t want to feel relief at the prospect of no longer sneaking, hiding, being a stowaway, but you did. Almost instantly, you imagined a hot bath, a dress and not these rags, and food that wasn’t brown. Then something else flashed in your mind and the heat returned to your face.

Daemon slowly reached out to you and stroked the side of your face. He skimmed a lock of your hair with his fingers, watching it catch the light. Its deep brown shown with hints of gold. You studied him closely. When he turned his gaze back to you, your heart pounded in your chest. His eyes searched yours as he cupped your cheek in his palm.

“Gevie,” he whispered. You thought it was High Valyrian but you weren’t sure. Your lips parted almost involuntarily as you looked up at him. He leaned toward you, silver hair cascading off his shoulders. You felt his lips on yours and closed your eyes.

His hand holding your face felt safe. His lips were warm and tasted of pear. You dared not move. You were overwhelmed and confused. However, there twisted in your belly some need, some desire for him. Your chest ached with the delicious feeling of being safe. You didn’t question how this was possible so far away from home and with your “enemy” no less. So you kissed him back.

Daemon slid his other hand to frame your face. His kiss wasn’t rough, but it was deep. You had kissed men before, you were experienced in the most basic of ways. You realized now that all the men before had not kissed you, they didn’t see you. They saw a Yronwood daughter or practice for their marriage beds. You had made those choices willingly. You weren’t concerned with being married for political reasons and had enjoyed your freedom. Until now. In this moment, you felt… precious.

Tentatively, you raised a hand to him, your fingertips grazed his jaw and neck, and came to rest on his chest. He slid his hands from your cheeks as he broke the kiss. As if waiting for your permission, Daemon rested his hands on your upper arms. You kissed him in answer. His arms swept around you and scooped you up as he stood. Your head spun but you steadied yourself by putting your hands on the back of his neck.

Daemon sat you on his bed and smoothed your hair back from your face. He stepped back and pulled his shirt over his head. He dropped it on the floor as he leaned down to kiss you. You made room for him on the bed, drawing him toward you with your kisses. He knelt between your legs, kissed your neck, and slid a hand under your shirt. You arched your back, pressing into his palm.

He brushed the underside of your breasts with the tips of his fingers and his other hand glided up your ribs. He pushed your shirt up above your breasts, fixated on your hardened nipples. His hair slid over your chest as he took one nipple in his mouth. He propped himself up on one hand and cupped your breast with the other. You moaned and writhed under him. You instinctively ran your fingers through his hair and held him against you. Daemon groaned and the sound vibrated from your chest to your core. When he pulled away you realized you had been grinding against his leg and flushed. He smiled down at you.

Wordlessly, he guided you to raise your arms so he could remove your shirt. Then he began to unlace your breeches. You watched his muscles move as he slid your pants off. You lifted your hips and giggled a little when you plopped back down on the bed as he tugged them off your legs. You weren’t shy but the action was awkward and you were quite exposed now. He tossed the breeches on the floor and smoothed a hand up your thigh. He stared, rapt, at the dark hair between your legs, so different from the silver of his own.

You bit your lip as you looked from his face, down his chest, and to the evidence of his arousal. His breeches looked uncomfortably tight now. His hands absently stroked your legs and your lower belly but paused as you sat up. You held him between your legs. When you kissed his stomach he hissed in air through his teeth. Your hands grazed over his hips and to the laces in the front of his pants. You let your fingertips glide over the shape of his erection before undoing the knot. You kissed seemingly every inch of his stomach then looked up at him as your hand dipped inside. His face was curtained by his hair as he looked down at you. You smiled as you stroked him.

Daemon moved his hands from your legs, smoothed over your hair, and then gently pressed your shoulders back. You laid down, already missing the feeling of him in your hands, but the sight of him between your legs was almost as pleasant. He leaned over you, kissing your forehead gently, then your lips, and pressed his forehead against yours.

You gasped as his fingers slid between the lips of your cunt. He licked his lips and continued to explore your wetness. Stroking, searching, learning. He circled your opening, your clit, and back again. One finger slid in easily and he grinned. You lifted your mouth to his as you lifted your hips to his hand. He slid in a second finger.

“You are so tight, little one,” he grinned down at you. You rocked your hips against his hand and moaned in reply. You placed one hand on his arm, pulling him deeper into you. With the other you smoothed his hair behind his ear and trailed your fingers down his jaw. You drug your fingertips over his lips. His eyes were dark as he watched you pleasure yourself on his hand.

“More, Daemon, please,” you moaned, saying his name for the first time. Hearing his name come from your lips pleased him immensely.

“Say it again,” he breathed as he curled his fingers inside you.

“Daemon, please.”

Slowly and with a tinge of disappointment on his face, he pulled his fingers from you. He was enjoying the sight of you but couldn’t wait any longer. He freed his cock from his breeches. Then he slid his hands up your thighs to your lower back. As he sat back he guided you onto his lap. The transition was clumsy at first, legs bumping and twisting. You both smiled as you held onto his shoulders. When you knelt over him you rubbed your clit against his cock. You rested your lips against his forehead as you rocked your lips. You moved your mouth nearer to his ear and murmured his name.

Daemon lifted your ass and placed you above his cock. With one hand between you, he guided himself into you. You sank down onto him slowly, watching his face. He clenched his jaw tight. You felt his hand move back to your ass. He let you set the pace, let you move against him. You pulled up and then sank down again, taking all of him. The moan that came from your lips was lewd and deep. You clutched at his neck, the back of his head, fingers entwined in his hair. He groaned but did not move to meet your hips. You rocked back, then forward, finding your rhythm.

He kissed your chest and breasts. His hands stroked your ass and lower back, constantly moving. You leaned forward slightly and pressed yourself against him. At this angle he wasn’t as deep in you, but you found friction against his stomach. You ground your hips into him, almost, but not quite able to get what you needed.

“Seven hells,” he panted against you. His hips had begun to move in time with yours. Your fingers twisted tighter in his hair and you tried to find that much-needed angle again. When he realized what you needed he slid a hand between you. You threw your head back as his fingers circled your clit. You sped up, fucking him hard. He kept pace with you, circling and pressing his fingers against you. You couldn’t keep a steady rhythm. You felt him brace your lower back with his hand and pull you closer to him, steadying you, supporting you. You felt your climax tug at your core and sank further onto his cock with each stroke.

“Come for me,” Daemon whispered into your neck. You did. You cried his name, clinched your fists in his hair, and buried your face against his head. You sank all the way down onto him, thighs resting on his as you shook. Your cunt spasmed around his cock but he didn’t stop moving his fingers. He pressed into you with his hips, rocking under you, and bringing forth tiny gasps from you. You lips found his and you panted into his mouth. Tiny sounds mingled with his name flew out of your mouth with every movement of his fingers.

When you thought the overstimulation might be too much he moved his hand from between you. He slid his hand under your arm and pulled you down onto him by your shoulder. A new wave of pleasure crashed into you as he spilled into you. His hips stilled, holding his cock deep inside you. He came panting and moaning your name.

You wanted to sink all of your weight onto him. It took too much effort to support yourself on your aching knees. Neither of you wanted to move yet, though both of you needed to. You released your hands from his hair. You kissed him and smoothed his hair back from his face.

You smiled at him as you rose shakily from his lap. He helped you as much as he could, but your legs were numb and your head was empty. You all but fell back onto the pillows. He watched you grind your hips against the air as the last of your climax left you. His eyes were locked on his seed sliding out of you. He leaned forward, his legs shaking as well. You watched him through half-closed eyes and settled yourself on the bed. His fingers slid through his cum and you twitched as he grazed your throbbing clit. He looked into your blue eyes as he gathered more of it on his fingers. You smiled seductively as he leaned over you and raised his fingers to your lips.

You opened your mouth, your eyes never leaving his, and he painted your tongue with his seed. You closed your lips around his fingers and let him feel you swallow. He slid his fingers out and surprised you by kissing you deeply, tasting himself in your mouth.

You moaned into the kiss and wrapped your legs around his waist. You playfully pulled his weight on top of you. He let you but also guided you both to lay on your sides. Your legs intertwined and you were a tangle of limbs for a moment. Then you buried your face into his chest and breathed in deeply. You sighed as he smoothed your hair and rested his chin on the top of your head. You were quite small in his arms. Daemon breathed deeply as he stroked down your back, your buttocks, and up again. You curled against him, one hand between you, the other resting on his hip.

“I have you now, little one,” he murmured against the top of your head.

Masterlist

#soft!daemon #literally freaking out because this doesn’t feel like Daemon at all to me #but seriously let me know if this is believable #but I like reader so much I think there may be a part 2 #daemon Targaryen x fem!reader #daemon x fem!reader #daemon x dornish!reader #daemon x poc fem!reader #x reader #x fem!reader #daemon targaryen #house yronwood #house of the dragon #hotd #matt smith #daemon #daemon fic #hotd fic #smut #daemon smut #hotd smut #I cannot write anything short I’m sorry #I’ll try to make the next one shorter #poc fem reader #poc reader #daemon x poc!reader #daemon x reader #woc reader #daemon x woc!reader

[cuubism]

I see your "Dream yelling at Desire because 'how dare you make me have feelings for Hob!!'" and raise you "Dream yelling at Desire because 'how dare you make Hob have feelings for me!!'" because it's the only logical explanation for why Hob would claim to want someone like Dream

[ cat screaming crying . jpg ]

Dream storms into Desire’s realm, steps thudding on the uneven floor, rage propelling him forward. He cannot remember ever feeling such anger, such betrayal towards his sibling, not even when he had learned they were behind his imprisonment.

Desire’s games have always gone too far, but this is beyond trying to teach him a lesson, this is beyond what Dream can reconcile, this is simply cruelty.

“YOU,” he thunders, the air shaking around him as he stalks up to where Desire is lying casually on a chaise lounge as if they haven’t just ripped Dream’s one comfort in this life out from under him. “How dare you.”

“Brother, dear,” drawls Desire, popping a grape into their mouth with not a care in the world, “it is rude to simply fly in without even knocking on the door. You wouldn’t like it if I did it to you.”

Blind with fury, Dream grabs them by the throat and hauls them to their feet. Desire lets out a choked gasp, genuinely startled by his vitriol. Their pulse trips under Dream’s thumb.

Desire cannot be killed through something as simple as strangulation, but it truly is tempting to try. “What,” Dream snarls, grip tightening, “what have you done to Hob Gadling?”

Desire blinks at him, torn from their alarm by confusion. “Whomst? Listen, I know you know everybody’s name and their kinkiest fantasy but I honestly can’t be bothered with the details, you’re going to have to fill me in.”

The rage in Dream’s core only flares hotter. “Enough of this charade, you know exactly what you’ve done.”

“No, seriously, I have no idea what you’re—”

Dream whirls away, leaving his sibling staggering in the wake of his grasp. “Was it not enough?” he demands, staring sightlessly into the gleaming red curves of Desire’s realm. “Was the vortex not enough? Was a century of imprisonment not enough for you?” His voice cracks halfway through, and it’s mortifying. “Truly, your hatred of me is untempered by even the slightest compassion.”

Desire’s voice is quizzical when they next speak. “I am starting to wish I was behind whatever this is that seems to have pierced you straight through the heart. I’m afraid my own arrows have missed that organ thus far.”

“Hob Gadling,” Dream insists, but Desire’s seemingly-genuine confusion has him wavering. It’s not like them not to revel in their own victory, and oh, this has been a victory, Dream feels laid lower than even a century in a cage had managed. “You are manipulating him.”

“Once again, I don’t know who that is. But he’s clearly excellent ammunition so I’m certainly going to find out once you leave.”

Dream flexes his hands at his sides, summoning his control. If Desire truly was not behind this, then he’s already made a mistake in coming here. Best not to offer anything else.

Being in Desire’s realm makes this stoicism difficult. The very space brings emotions to the surface, drags feelings up from his stomach that he’s tried so very hard to tamp down. He tastes blood at the back of his throat, his stomach churns, his skin prickles with sweat.

Desire stalks up behind him, sensing all of this. “Now I am curious,” they murmur, dragging a finger up his shoulder, over the collar of his coat and along the back of his neck. “Now I must know what’s go you so riled up.”

“You think you have earned such things?” Dream says through gritted teeth. His heart is pounding hard and uneven such that it physically hurts in his chest, the weight of the Threshold bearing down.

“No need to earn, you can hide nothing from me here.” Desire circles around him to his front, dragging their finger along his collarbone until it lands right at the base of his throat. They look at him from under their lashes, all smug satisfaction. “You are all tangled up in the realm of Desire, aren’t you?”

Dream moves to storm off, but Desire blocks him, nails pressing into his skin.

“Nah-ah, no running away. Let your little sibling help you, hm? As you may know, I am rather wise in matters of the heart.”

The look on Desire’s face is craftiness, glee, not charity or wisdom.

“I neither need nor wish for your assistance,” says Dream, voice hard. “On this, or any other matter.”

“But there is a matter.” Desire leans in and speaks right in his ear. “I can smell the heartsickness on you, Dream.”

There is nothing Dream can say in response to this. Any denial would only be read as falsehood, for Desire does not lie – of late, Dream feels sick with wanting in Hob’s presence, hunger so sharp it turns over into nausea, much like the first time Hob had pushed him to eat after his captivity. How cruel, then, to have his pain eased, his desires sated by a reciprocation that cannot possibly be truly felt.

There is nothing to say, so Dream doesn’t speak. Silence, of course, is its own answer.

“You know, if there’s one thing I have always admired about you, big brother, it’s your willingness to destroy yourself for the sake of passion,” Desire continues. “You’d think that’d be my sort of thing. Who’ve you lost yourself on this time? Demigod? Demon? Dryad? Vampire?”

Dream glares at them, but does not speak.

Desire’s face absolutely lights up as they realize. “Oh. My. God. Is he human? Dreeaaammmmm, my my, maybe your little time out did change you, after all.”

Dream turns away, refusing to give them the satisfaction of confirming. Though he knows this reaction is also a confirmation.

Desire claps their hands. “Oh! I’m so proud of myself. Look at this! Look at the softness of your heart. Look how I can bruise it.”

Dream’s heart, indeed, gives a painful thump. “Should you dare to touch him, even the old laws will not protect you.”

Desire sighs, flopping back onto a couch, legs crossed, head propped in their hand. “Why bother? You’ll destroy it yourself, and that’ll be much more fun.”

I hate you, Dream thinks, like a petulant child. He hates, also, how any argument with Desire makes him feel that way, feelings crowding at the surface of his skin, throat tightening, mind spinning in a chaotic churn. His muscles clench so hard he thinks they might have snapped, were he human, then he forces himself back into a semblance of ease.

There is no extracting himself from this situation with any dignity.

“Interfere with my affairs again,” he warns darkly, “and I will destroy you.”

Then he storms out of the Threshold.

“Love you too!” Desire calls after him, a grin in their voice. “Good luck with your human!”

--

When he’d found Hob at the New Inn, thirty-three years after he’d meant to arrive, Dream had not known how he might be received. Friendship extended once may not be extended again after so brutal a rejection, and so prolonged an absence, no matter that the latter offense was not within his control.

Being met with a smile, then, and an easy acceptance of his apology, like Hob had already forgiven him long before Dream had stepped through the door, had been a revelation. Something had settled in him that he had not known was knocked askew. Could there, truly, be one thing in his life that was allowed to be easy? Where Dream’s missteps were not met with scorn or vitriol or world-shaking consequences, but with grace and the chance to try again?

It seemed improbable, but still Dream had grabbed for it with cold, shaking fingers. Had held that unlikely flame between his palms. Had watched as it grew, hotter and brighter with each smile Hob sent his way, with each gentle brush of fingers as he pressed cups of tea into Dream’s hands, with the hug Hob finally managed to wind him into, once Dream had told him of the true reason for his absence in 1989.

Hob’s grace, Hob’s generosity in inviting someone, something like him into his home, into his life… Dream did not quite know how to hold it, so unlikely it was. He tried, though, oh he tried. And he swore he would not mess it up, not like he had when Hob had first offered his friendship.

He has now, quite royally, messed it up.

He very much doubts Hob will be so generous this time.

He finds Hob where he left him, sitting on the couch in his flat, a book in his hand. He doesn’t seem to be concentrating on it; his thoughts feel scattered in ragged, disturbed daydreams.

He doesn’t even startle when Dream materializes next to him. Though he knows it can be startling to humans, Dream has not been able to break himself of just appearing where he needs to – traversing the long way from point to point is not how he works. But aside from the occasional, teasing, I have a door, you know, Hob never truly complains about these disturbances to his day.

Dream means to offer him an apology. To say, I should not have walked out when you said that you loved me. To say, I am supposed to be better, I am trying to be better.

Instead, just as Hob looks up, the words that trip out of Dream’s mouth, pushed by the flurry of Desire’s realm still pounding within him, are, “Did you speak truly, Hob Gadling?”

Which is a ridiculous question. Dream does not think he has ever heard Hob speak a lie. Still, Dream must have the answer.

Hob’s expression shifts through several incarnations, none of which Dream feels capable of reading. Finally, it settles on the same soft, exasperated understanding Dream remembers being presented with when he’d said, I know thirty years is truly quite late, at their reunion, before he’d told Hob why he was late.

Grace, then. He is to be offered grace, again.

His emotions are still so close to the surface that he has to physically swallow down what he feels about that.

“Of course, I did,” Hob says, and there’s a hint of nerves in it, but he pushes through, he always does. “I wouldn’t lie to you about that.”

His gaze is genuine, open, and no, Desire had not lied – Hob’s feelings are no manipulation of theirs. And while it is tempting to search for other answers, spells or illusions or any number of other causes, Dream knows, deep down, that he will come up empty.

Hob’s feelings are true, are his truth, confounding though that is.

Dream no longer feels capable of holding any of this in his hands.

Instead, he kisses him.

It’s like he is pulled forward by a force outside his own body. He goes to Hob like he had gone to the sugar in the tea Hob had made him, that night at the inn when Dream had first realized how long it had truly been since he’d eaten; he goes to him like he had gone back to the Dreaming after being freed, returning home breathless, lost, changed.

Hob catches him against his mouth, hands cradling Dream’s face. His grip is solid and warm, and he kisses Dream like he looks at him like he speaks to him, with a care Dream hardly knows how to accept. He leans into it anyway, he leans in.

“I wasn’t fishing for a kiss when I said that, you know,” Hob says when they part, still lingering close enough that Dream can feel his heat, his breath. “I meant it in more of— well, that way, for certain, but really, any way you wanted to take it.”

“Any way,” Dream repeats, not sure he comprehends Hob’s meaning.

“Yeah, you—” Hob cuts himself off, letting out a breath, thinking. His hands slide from Dream’s face down to his shoulders, and he holds him there. “I. You just. I want you to know that you’re loved. Not demanding anything of it. Just telling you. Take it however serves you best.”

Dream stares at him, his whole being tripped and restarted at a new rhythm, and Hob gives him a sad smile.

“It’s too big to hold,” he says, and taps his chest. “In here. And besides, I wanted you to have it.”

Dream had had it. Only he hadn’t quite known what he had. The sunshine of Hob’s smiles, sustaining him, a bridge between distant points of light.

Finally, he manages to say, “I felt it. You have been my succor. My… only.”

Hob has captured him more effectively than Burgess’s snare, but this capture is not a prison. It hurts, oh, it aches, but it never wounds.

Hob smiles at him again. There’s still something pained in the creases around his eyes. “I know.”

He’s still touching Dream. His hands run over him, up his neck, over his throat, along his collarbone, and—

catch, on the collar of his shirt, above his heart.

“What happened?”

His voice is tight, now, worried, and— yes. There are bruises on Dream’s chest, crawling up over his breastbone. He had felt them form, and hadn’t stopped them.

Hob’s expression darkens further the longer he looks; he drags the collar of Dream’s shirt down, trying to see how far the damage spreads. “You’ve got bruises all over you. Dream, what happened?”

What happened is Dream stood in the Threshold and his heart beat so hard it drummed right through to the surface of his skin. What happened is it hurt so badly his form shifted to give reason for the pain.

“Desire,” he says, and he does not mean his sibling.

Hob doesn’t seem to understand, but he smoothes a hand over Dream’s heart as if to wipe the bruises away. Dream could will his body to return to its original, unharmed state, but he does not. He lets the blood stay pooled beneath his skin.

Hob sighs, tugging Dream’s coat tighter around him, shielding him from further injury. “Come here, you. You strange creature.”

He pulls Dream in, though he does not have to pull hard. Dream tucks his face into Hob’s neck, reveling in the warm scent of him, woodsmoke from the fireplace down in the inn where they’ve now spent many a long evening, basking in the heat of the flames. Hob’s arms go around him.

Absolution. Dream does not think this is a gift that has ever been granted to him.

“I would also love you,” he says. “If you would accept it.”

“If I would accept it?” Hob repeats. “Darling, your love is a privilege.”

Dream’s heart, in all its bruises and blood, finds rhythm again, and he thinks, though he certainly doesn’t pull away from Hob to check, that his skin clears up partway, too.

#dream literally STOMPING into desire's house and screaming at them #desire being like why are you hitting yourself? while wacking him in the head #truly sibling behavior #dreamling #the sandman #dreamling fic #dream of the endless #hob gadling #desire of the endless #my writing #i made dream like. way too self aware in the first draft of this. then i had to go back and make him LESS self aware lmao #like first draft dream: hm i think perhaps i am doing this because of my past trauma 🤔 #me: babygirl u are not that self aware try again #as per usual. this started as a short little drabble. and got much longer. and much more serious XD

[skyward-floored]

*shuffles in* the people wanted to see it, so I’m posting it. Here’s a scene from an oc Link story, the Hero of Sages. He’s got six sisters, in case you didn’t know.

This is before he’s a hero, but not too long before, maybe a few weeks? I’m also trying to figure out how old he is, maybe eleven or so... I’m still working things out. But have this scene in the meantime.

————————————————————

“C’mon Berry, the cuccos need tending!”

Link frowned as his sister pushed a basket into his hands and began shoving him in the direction of the coop, bracing his feet and pinwheeling his arms as she pushed.

“But it’s your job to do the eggs,” he said, struggling against her hold, “and the cuccos hate me!”

“I’ve got to study,” Iris huffed, pointing towards the coop. “Grandpa says I need to focus more on history, and that means I don’t have time for chores right now. So cuccos. Go.”

“But I did them for you yesterday! And I already have to hang the laundry ‘cause Lily is busy!” Link protested, but Iris wasn’t swayed, turning away to head back to the house.

“Sorry Link, you’ll just have to do both. I’ll make it up to you later!” she called behind her as she jogged away, and Link drooped.

Their grandfather had always worked on studies with his sisters, but in the past week, he’d been practically obsessive about it, constantly pulling them away to have them listen to him lecture or read or whatever it was they always did. It seemed like they did practically nothing but study lately.

Leaving Link alone to do all the chores.

Link sighed and dragged his feet as he walked to the cucco coop, looking at the birds with a nervous frown. The cuccos had never liked him, and he usually avoided their coop like the plague.

Which is why this is usually Iris’s job, not mine!

Link swallowed, and edged his way inside the coop, stepping around the birds as he tossed food on the ground. He quickly collected their eggs while the birds were distracted, only having to suffer a few pecks from the stubborn remaining few.

He’d almost finished gathering them all when he accidentally stepped backwards, right onto a cucco’s foot. The bird shrieked in anger and leapt at his face, and Link spent the next several minutes yelling as he tried not to get clawed to bits by the entire flock of swarming birds.

He finally managed to escape the coop, slamming the door behind him and panting as he clutched the basket of eggs to his chest.

“Whew...” he gasped, then jumped as a cucco made a hissing sound behind him.

Link stuck his tongue out at it, then winced as the motion made his face ache. He wiped at his cheek, frowning at the blood on his hand, then sighed as he remembered one of the bigger birds had slashed him with one of its claws. Not to mention all the smaller scratches the birds had left on his hands.

Great.

Link dropped his now-bloody hand, and walked up to the house to drop off the eggs, steps heavy. He could faintly hear his Grandfather talking in the other room when he set the eggs down, but didn’t linger, turning around and walking back out of the house.

He certainly wasn’t going to get any help here.

Link pushed their gate open and headed down the hill and into the village proper, cheek stinging with every step. He would have been grumpy enough without the scratch, but every throb was a reminder of the repeated busyness of his sisters. It seemed like he’d barely seen any of them the past week, and the multiplying chores were only adding to his grief.

“This is all that dumb monster’s fault,” Link grumbled to himself, hiding his cheek as he nodded hello to some of his neighbors.

He headed straight for the general store near the village entrance, brushing off stray feathers from his clothes as he went. Nobody much was really around at the moment, which Link was immensely grateful for, since he didn’t want anyone to come out and start fussing over him, and doubtlessly laugh at his unfortunate cucco injury.

The way this week is going, that would be about right, he thought with a sigh.

Link finally reached the store, and paused to look up at the sign like he always did, eyes trailing over the colors one of his sisters had helped paint. Then he walked inside, the door jingling, and saw his oldest sister sitting at the counter, marking something in a book.

“Del?” Link asked, and she looked up, immediately zeroing in on the blood on his cheek.

“Oh Berry, did the cuccos get you again?” she asked in a slightly exasperated voice, and Link nodded as she hurriedly stood up and came around the counter. Del tilted his cheek up, studying the scratch with a worried frown, then went back behind the counter, gesturing Link to a stool. “Those birds just have it out for you, don’t they?”

“They never peck Iris,” Link grumbled, still a bit annoyed at his other sister.

Del sighed, and pulled her own stool up beside his, pouring something on a cloth and reaching out to clean his face and hands. It especially stung on his cheek, but Link held still while his sister cleaned the cuts, her motions quick and practiced. Del then put a bandage on his cheek, and smoothed it out, making sure it would stay.

“There you go. All done,” Del smiled at him as she leaned back, and gave his unhurt cheek a pat. “They should heal pretty quick, even the one on your cheek isn’t too deep. Just don’t mess with it.”

“Thanks Del,” Link said quietly. She sighed again, looking him over.

“Been a hard week, hasn’t it?” she said, brushing some stray dust off of her apron.

“Ever since Pip came through yelling about that monster he saw, Grandpa keeps making you guys do nothing but study,” Link moped, his annoyance suddenly sharpening. “And Iris keeps dumping her chores on me and Poppy keeps being all snappy and Coriander didn’t even want to hear about the kittens I found yesterday!”

Link slumped in his seat, flicking dirt off his boots.

“All this for one dumb monster,” he mumbled.

Del’s face creased for a moment, but it didn’t last long, and she gave Link’s hair a ruffle.

“Monsters are dangerous,” she chided, pulling a stray feather from his hair. “And there’s rarely just one. Pip got lucky.”

“I know, I know,” Link grumbled.

Del gave him a little smile. “Hey. I know you’re getting frustrated Link, but Grandfather will ease off on our studies soon. He’s just... worried. He wants us to be prepared.”

“How will you guys studying help with that?” Link asked with a frown.

Del hummed, and Link saw something weird in her eyes again. “It’s always good to be prepared, Link.”

Link sighed, and Del ran a hand over his head again, her face thoughtful.

“I think what you need is a pick-me-up,” she decided, and turned back towards the counter, blue skirt swishing. “Be right back.”

She walked off into the back room, and Link rested his unhurt cheek on his hand, idly kicking his feet as he looked around the store. He’d been spending a lot of time in here lately when he wasn’t doing chores, since Del was the only one of his sisters who wasn’t studying like crazy. That was only because she worked here and earned money they needed though, and she still had to study. Just not as much as his other sisters.

Link suddenly wondered if he could convince them to get jobs too.

The bell on the door jingled, and Link looked up to see a sandy-haired man walk in, face hopeful as he looked around.

“Hi Russ,” Link said, and the young man looked over at him, eyes catching on the bandage on his cheek.

“Cuccos get you again, Link?” he said with a sympathetic look, and Link nodded glumly. “Sorry to hear that. You’ll get the better of those birds someday, I bet. So uh, is Mr. M in, or is Del working today?” he asked casually, and Link held himself back from grinning.

“She’s in the back room,” he reported, and Russ nodded, surreptitiously smoothing his hair down.

Link muffled his laugh. One bright side of spending lots of time in the store meant that he got to see Russ pretend he had a real reason for coming in every day. Aside from seeing Del, that is.

“You know Russ, you could just ask her to marry you,” Link said mildly, and Russ choked, dropping the apple he’d picked up to inspect. He hurriedly retrieves it and set it back on the stand, throat bobbing as he cleared it.

“W-well, I uh—”

“Russ?”

Russ quickly turned back to the counter at the voice, smiling as Del came back out of the storage room. “Hey, Del! How’s the store been?”

“About the same as yesterday when you asked me the same question,” Del said with a knowing smile. “What is it you need today, Russ? More sugar? New belt? Don’t tell me your boots wore out again.”

“No, they’re great. I just need some flour,” Russ said, casually putting his hands in his pockets.

“Again, huh?” Del asked with a raised eyebrow, and a twinkle in her eye. “That’s the second time this week, Russ. You and your pa must be eating an awful lot of pancakes.”

Russ laughed a little loudly. “Yeah, we uh... yep.”

Link couldn’t hide his snort that time, and Russ gave him a look. Del looked over at him as well, her eyes still twinkling, and she abandoned Russ for a moment to walk over to Link.

“Here,” Del said, and handed him a small container. “Consider yourself picked up.”

Link took it curiously, and pulled the lid off, gasping as he saw the dark, shiny contents.

“Blackberries?!” he gaped, and Del smiled, nodding. “But they’re not even growing yet! How’d you get them?!”

“A trader came through with some the other day, he said they grow faster where he’s from. I think he used magic,” Del said in a lower voice, “...but that’s just me. You can take the whole container.”

“Thanks Del!” Link grinned, and his older sister ruffled his hair again.

“Anything for you, Berry. Now go finish those chores, I’ll be back home later,” she said with a shooing motion, and Link nodded.

He hopped off his stool, and after saying goodbye to her and Russ, wandered out of the store, popping a berry into his mouth. The equally tart and sweet flavor burst in his mouth, and he couldn’t stop from skipping a little as he began to walk back home. With the flavor of his favorite berry in his mouth, he was suddenly feeling much more optimistic.

Del was right. Grandpa would calm down and ease off his sisters with their studies soon, and things would go back to normal.

Link smiled as he popped another berry in his mouth, having no clue just how wrong he was.

#*shuffles awkwardly away* #legend of Zelda #fic #legend of Zelda au #legend of Zelda oc #loz oc #mild blood #hero of sages #writing from the floor #Del is short for Delphinium #but literally no one calls her that #except her siblings when they’re being annoying #poor Link is getting lonely #but his grandpa just wants his sisters to be ready in case they’re needed #...which boy will they be #oh and pip is just a kid in the village. short for pipit #apparently there’s a guy in botw named Russ which I didn’t realize until after I’d named him #but uh. yeah. I think that’s it. #thanks for reading if you bothered 👍

[imthursdaysyme]

nancy wheeler the eldest daughter

Thinking of Nancy always worried over her siblings. Guilty in her choices because she should’ve done more, and angry. Angry that she sees Mike and Holly but can’t see where the line is drawn between sibling and child. Hates that she is unsure whether to laugh or scold when Mike blows bubbles in his milk or sneaks food from their fathers plate. Hates that she tells them to brush their teeth before bed, get to school on time, do their homework, finish their chores and wonder if their chores were given to them by her or their mother. 

She wonders if thats why they hate her. They hate that she’s hot and cold and never lukewarm. That she teases and pulls their ears in one moment and scolds them in the next. Wonders if they hate her because she tells them how to navigate their fathers mood swings, how to please their mother, and how to live in a home where they have two parents but somehow she is both. 

-

(they don’t hate their sister, of course, they’re worried. Worried that somehow they are doing this strange thing called growing up wrong, because Nancy didn’t do this at my age, Nancy didn’t feel like she would explode at any second. 

Holly still lives in bliss of loving her sister that’s really her mother. While Mike steadily grows and grows and wonders if he wasn’t growing up wrong, but rather wonders if Nancy ever grew up. Was she ever a child, like him? Was she ever prickly in her own skin and scared of her own emotions and the heart in her chest? Or was she rather something entirely different.) 

#nancy wheeler #mike wheeler #eldest daughter #i love thinking that mike in his early teen years struggling because he didn't see nancy in a rebellious phase #was sure he was wrong #and then the older he gets #the more he sees and realizes that maybe nancy wasn't allowed to go through that phase #bc if she did who was taking care of them? #ah i love teenage daughter parentification its so fun #this is literally train of thought writing dont judge me #drabble #a wip if you will #thinking of writing short ao3 on nancy after i finish my longer fic #who knows #i haven't written in a while

[golden-lovers]

'cause sometimes, I look in [his] eyes, and that's where I find a glimpse of us

#aew #njpw #golden lovers #kenny omega #kota ibushi #hangman page #hangman adam page #my edits #ANOTHER EDIT YAY #song is glimpse of us by joji!!!! #this is literally the only thing ive been thinking about ever since the song came out #it matches these 3 PERFECTLY its not even funny #i was gonna write a fic about it but uhhhh writers block so heres a short little edit instead :] #gl classics

[singwith-love-at-our-throats]

over the past two months or so i’ve read a combined total of 2,443,207 words of spuffy fanfiction

#I think I have a problem #lol #literally all I do outside of work is read more spuffy #I had covid two months ago and binged season 4 and 5 since they’re my fave and decided to dive into fanfic #I used to think 50000 words was a lot but then I started reading 300k+ spuffy fics and now 150k feels short #spike x Buffy #spuffy #buffy the vampire slayer #spike btvs #btvs

[moregraceful]

i made what was a huge medical decision today that has been received very badly by my family and i feel absolutely nothing but pure freedom and joy about it. the thing i'm really fixated on rn is when should i post this fic i just finished

#i think october 1. for halloween #it was for skelly season but it took such a weird turn in the end that i feel weird about gifting it to someone lol #very short list of people i would subject this particular rarepair agenda to on purpose. maybe just beryl #the medical decision is legitimately life-altering and i should be stressed but i'm just like it's my body. my body horror. and i'm free :) #i'm stressin way more about the fic bro #and like if i don't gift the fic do i then go back and commit to making it even weirder and rarepaired.... #stars future leadership polycule (two guys who are dating and their captain who holds their hand in high stress situations) #what am i even talking about..................... #today my boss was like thank you for your (insane 11 paragraph long) email! i used it as a meeting agenda with my boss :) #i was like oh no now my grandboss knows i use my boss's inbox as my work livejournal #i got to remake my schedule tho now that i'm almost done with my training!! i gave myself a three day weekend... #...so i can go to the therapy i need to deal with this job. was anyone gonna tell me abt secondary trauma or was i #just supposed to find that out on my literal first day of work lol #my therapist was THRILLED she was like oh i have SO many books to recommend we're gonna have SO much fun!! i was like oh no #fridays off and life is good tbh!! except for the fic. i don't know what to do abt the fic #fresno oilers.txt

[heavencasteel420]

I don’t ship R*nance, but, man, it’s wild seeing people go “um, why would you ship that, Nancy is so mean to Robin” when they ship H@rringrove. Shouldn’t they be bored because Nancy’s not mean enough? She doesn’t even pop up when Robin’s gazing longingly at Vickie to go “huh, guess your crush is getting porked by Mr. Mullet tonight,” let alone break crockery over her head.

#tbh my real hot take is that Steve’s stank attitude towards Eddie #(while not actually a big deal) #is less sympathetic than nancy being short with Robin right after seeing a dead body #st*ddie is fine to me #it’s a McDonald’s happy meal #unremarkable but good at the right moment #but I’ll be real with you all I don’t see what’s in it for Eddie based on the show dynamics #some people write it good though #I will be additionally real with y’all #the real reason I lost interest in r*nance #is that I read one too many fics where Nancy is disappointed in jonathan #for smoking weed when she taught him that poetry is just another way to rap #not literally but close to that #like. ugh. why make her so uncool and condescending #also—and I don’t think this applies to most people who ship it #just a subset of Steve stans #sometimes it feels like a way for Steve to win their breakup #it’s a bummer #okay. ship diss track over.

[the-coranic-jinx]

My take on altean Pidge

#pidge #vld #plance #pidge holt #lance #voltron art #my art #lance mcclain #plance art #vld art #voltron #been reading fics about altean pidge and also remembered that I’ve seen some art around so I felt inspired to add my 2 cents #I love her #the one with short hair is from her time as a galran prisoner #this is all just my own au but it is definitely heavily inspired by other ppls ideas #I’m thinking coran is her literal space uncle in this #and so she had a link to Allura and him before the war #anyway look at blushy Lance he’s a mess #who can blame him tho #I’m happy rewatching the show has made the art block go away for a bit

[dollsuguru]

that advice about how over-describing something can be off-putting/take you out of the story was SO correct omfg i’m glad that i heeded it/fixed it in my fic 😭

#working on literally Just the intro of curator!geto and i went to make it more descriptive… which i DID. BUT #i went and made it like………. TOO descriptive to the point were it was so clunky so i just moved the paragraphs out of in intro #and intend to use them later in the story! that way it still gets the point across abt kenjaku and can sound artsy later too #but i think it’s much better now… descriptive yet not clunky! #at first it was like… Okay… and i could’ve stuck w it but that snippet was just way too short for my liking ESP w a fic dealing w visuals #aka art & tattoos & fashion design/clothing! #personal

[beanghostprincess]

That Fem!Sanuso fantasy AU I'm writing is consuming me mentally and physically in the best way and I can only think about it and the only reason I don't post more abt it it's bc I'm already annoying enough with my 10000th daily Sanuso posts but I swear this is me thinking about it

#it's on my mind. 24/7 #like i even have planned the rest of the strawhats and they aren't even relevant for this fic lmfao #this was supposed to be a cute and short fairytale au not this-- #literally everything makes me think abt it i hateit #hoping to finish the thing soon so i can get it out of my system bc i hate not having anybody to talk abt it #THEY'RE JUST IMPORTANT TO ME OKAY NENFKEK #fem sanuso but fantasy my beloved

[cephalog0d]

Batfic - "Comfort Food" (Whumptober Day 13)

Rating: General Audiences Category: Gen Characters/Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne & Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Cassandra Cain & Damian Wayne Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Reverse Robins, Sick Dick Grayson, Good Sibling Damian Wayne, Good Sibling Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne is Trying, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, (Graysons Todds and Waynes), Good Parent Talia al Ghul, (she's off-screen but she's a good parent), Dick Grayson Needs A Hug, Dick Grayson Gets A Hug

Summary:

The night before, Dick had felt a little off but figured it had just been a long day. He’d been a lot more tired than usual, and his throat was kind of sore, but he’d also spent most of the day running around outside in the chilly autumn air, so he told himself it was probably just a little dry after all that. He drank a bunch of water and went to bed and figured he would be fine in the morning. He was not fine in the morning. Dick gets sick for the first time since coming to live with the Waynes, and it brings up a lot of feelings about what he's lost. Luckily, his new siblings are there to help. No. 13: “It comes and goes like the strength in your bones.” Cold Compress | Infection | “I don’t feel so good.”

Ages: Dick - 8; Cass - 13; Jason - 14; Damian - 25 Additional fun fact note: Dog is actually a large stuffed cat that Cass gave Dick when he first came to live with them. Steph suggested the name as a joke because it would annoy Damian, but Dick thought it was funny and kept it.

The night before, Dick had felt a little off but figured it had just been a long day. He’d been a lot more tired than usual, and his throat was kind of sore, but he’d also spent most of the day running around outside in the chilly autumn air, so he told himself it was probably just a little dry after all that. He drank a bunch of water and went to bed and figured he would be fine in the morning.

He was not fine in the morning.

It had gotten so much worse. His whole body felt like it was encased in cement, his head and face felt stuffed with wet cotton balls, and his throat was on fire. He had the vague thought that he should get up, get a drink, get some medicine, something, but before he could actually do anything about it he had dozed off again.

He startled awake with a groan when someone shook his shoulder.

“Dick? Are you okay?” Bruce asked. Dick did not want to open his eyes or roll over to check, but it sounded like Bruce was frowning.

“Don’t feel good,” Dick whispered, trying to breathe carefully around his burning throat and completely blocked nose.

“Hmm,” Bruce said unhelpfully. “Stuffed up?”

Dick hummed an affirmative, because that was slightly less agonizing for his throat than speaking. Bruce put a hand on his forehead, which didn’t really make anything feel better but didn’t make anything worse, so Dick just didn’t move. Moving was just about the last thing he wanted to do right now.

“You feel a bit warm. Any other symptoms?” Bruce asked, pulling his hand back.

“Throat,” Dick croaked. He tried to swallow, but that only made it worse, and he couldn’t quite hold back a whine.

“Okay,” Bruce said in his I’m-solving-a-problem voice. That was good. He could be the adult and fix things and Dick could just lay here and be miserable. “I’ll be back shortly. Try to get some rest.”

Dick hummed again and sank into his pillow, absolutely certain there was no way he was going to rest when he felt so, so terrible.

He did fall asleep, somehow, because he awoke to Bruce lightly shaking his shoulder again. The good news was, he didn’t feel worse. Just equally awful.

“Can you sit up a bit?” Bruce asked. Dick absolutely did not want to do that, mostly because he was a little worried his head would just roll right off his shoulders because it weighed ten million pounds, but Bruce pulled at his shoulders and helped him into a vaguely upright position, propping him up on a stack of pillows so he didn’t have to worry about actually holding his ten million pound head up.

“Drink this,” Bruce prompted, handing him a little plastic cup of something reddish and viscous. Dick really didn’t want to try and swallow anything right now, but took the cup anyway and forced it down. It didn’t taste great and stuck to his throat in a way that made him want to cough to clear it, except he could only imagine how bad that would hurt.

“This may help, as well,” Alfred said from off to the side, where Dick hadn’t noticed him yet. He held out a mug that said Tea Rex and had a dinosaur in a top hat on it. Dick took it and gave him a quizzical look. “It’s an herbal tea with lemon and honey,” Alfred explained. “It should help your throat.”

It did at least it clear the medicine taste out a bit, and it hurt less than trying to swallow dry. Dick sipped at it some more while Bruce talked.

“So, looks like you’re sick,” Bruce said dryly. Dick thought maybe he was trying to be funny, but he felt too much like reheated garbage to respond. The tea was okay, but he didn’t like the flavor that much. Sometimes when he got sick, really sick, his parents would let him have Gatorade even though it was “basically just sugar water”; he wondered if maybe Bruce would let him have some (and tried to push down the crushing feeling that came with thinking about his parents and what they would or wouldn’t do).

“Hopefully with some rest and medicine it’ll clear up quickly,” Bruce was saying. He took the empty mug back when Dick finished the tea and Dick let himself slump back into the pillows. Resting sounded great. He was so tired, and everything hurt, and now he was thinking about his parents and trying not to cry.

Last time he had gotten sick, his mom had sat with him and held him while his dad told him stories to cheer him up. He had kept falling asleep just a few minutes in, but his dad never minded restarting the next time he woke up. Dick always missed them, like a dull ache that never quite went away, but thinking about that made it hurt so much worse. He felt like his chest was caving in, and he grabbed Dog and curled around her to try and make it a little better.

(Cont. on AO3)

#whumptober2023 #no. 13 #infection #'I don't feel so good' #batfam #fic #reverse robins #sick fic #dick grayson #jason todd #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #cassandra cain #ceph writes things #i keep thinking 'this will be a short one' and then literally every one i write is longer than the last lol

[scarlettriot]

hey!! i hope life is treating you well!

i was just wondering if u have any updates on the fic “the bond that binds us”? i don’t mean to be pushy or anything just curious!

wishing u nothing but the best <3 mwah

At the risk of sounding repetitive from another ask I received yesterday inquiring about an update… I do have plans to continue writing and my stories but I do not have a definitive date as to when updates will be posted. If you’d like to be added to a tag list, please just message me and I can do that for you. You’ll be notified when the update is posted ♥︎

#I don’t mean to sound short #but I was literally at a funeral today #and reliving some trauma #and I just answered an ask about this #like less than 24 hours ago #(different fic but answer still applies) #so #not to be blunt or a bitch #but updates just aren’t on my mind at the moment #unless it’s some self shipping bs #where Ei just makes it all better #I don’t think I’m gonna be writing in the near future #maybe in a few weeks or so #scar.txt #return to sender 💌

[angelsdean]

i know some people will often mock writing fics like, “oh it’s just fanfiction ur not writing literature” but like. writing novel length works is ? kinda a big deal ?? and for some ppl who are writers outside of fic and / or have a love of literature it can?? be literary ?? like i absolutely have read fics that read like literature. anyways, i am putting my literal heart and soul into my longer fics, just saying. like i AM treating these babies like little novels ok 

#like just thinking abt when these longer wips will be done. they will literally be booksized ! not short story ! BOOK ! #also thinking abt this bc i saw teen-dean / urne-buriall post this morning abt binding one of their fics and like !! thats so cool #and i def want to do that once my longer wips are done like just to have for myself and hold it in my hand like wow my little book :') #vic.txt

[danvillecheese]

finally working on a dakavendish fic again who cheered

#my fics #dakavendish #ive had it in my wips for literally almost three months and havent even written 2000 words on it but fear not i think itll only be #a short one anyways so i might have it out sooner than i thought

[captainofthestrangestship]

Rewatching DS9 and VOY has just made me want to do episode rewrites but with the TOS crew. So what about Voyager s2 e25 Resolutions but with TOS mckirk or AOS spones. This is a kinda long post and just my random thoughts so heres a keep reading

So Jim and Bones are stuck on a planet while infected with some virus that doesn't effect them while on the surface. And the Enterprise then has to leave because of some reason. So Spock is left in charge like Tuvok was and has to deal with the fact that the Captain and CMO have been left behind and with the growing resentment towards him even though Kirk ordered them to leave.

Also like the idea of Bones being busy researching how to cure them while Jim quickly grows to enjoy the easy living and maybe for once in his life the ship isn't a burden on him. While bones is losing his mind because being stuck on a planet with nothing but researching this one cure is like Bones' worse nightmare. (like i know most people would think Bones would be like Chakotay but its my episode rewrite and i can do what i want). Also the idea of Jim wanting to build them a log cabin extension is very fun. Also since neither of them have any romantic attachments they actually do something about the romantic tension and then have to deal with that when they get back on the ship.

Though I'm not sure if they would have to ask for help from some enemy or Bones would just figure out a cure. Maybe Bones finds a cure and then isn't sure what to do since Jim seems so happy and he doesn't want to ruin that or maybe he thinks if they go back to the ship Jim will just pretend what happened on the planet didn't. And then a day later the ship comes back with a cure and he has to deal with the fact that he didn't instantly tell Jim about it. And of course Jim finds out and hes conflicted because he wants to be angry at Bones for not telling him right away but hes also angry that the cure was found at all so its a whole mess.

Or if it was AOS it would be Bones and Spock who are left behind mainly so it would mirror the fact that Janeway has a partner back home so spones just have awkward weird romantic tension. (not sure if this would have mckirk as well or just spuhura) Though in this version nothing would actually happen on the planet cos no cheating thanks, also not enough time would have past where they actually think theres no going back. Not sure either Spock or Bones would be like Chakotay, they'd both be super focused on finding a cure. They would also have to deal with this fallout on the ship but it would be in a very different way than TOS mckirk. Maybe if theres no mckirk it would end up with mccoy/spock/uhura in some configuration. Though if mckirk was already a couple it would stay the two different couples. lmao or maybe mckirk comes out of it since jim realised how much he actually missed Bones. i dont know this is post is turning into a mess

So its Jim and Nyota who have to deal with leaving the people they care most about behind. As i think there would be less resentment from the crew to deal with. I'm sure the med crew would miss their boss but they would have less power to make a fuss about it.

But theres still the fact that they're not as far away from starfleet as Voyager was and why the ship would leave but like why should that stop me?

I mean it could also just be AOS mckirk on the planet but for some reason i'm more drawn to the TOS version in this instance

#this post is dumb #mckirk #why do i think jim would be the one to “give up” well for one he cant actually help with the research #and he wants to want the simple life so i think he would get swept up in the idea of building a home away from it all #i dont think if they literally never got off the planet he would be happy long term but in the short term he would enjoy the hard work #also like could you imagine bones actually wanting to build a house by hand???!?! #If bones doesnt have doctoring to do he will get bored #im not taking any criticism on this /jk #also bones would be complaining the whole time and then jim builds him a bath to shut him up #though i dont think bones would have the subplot with the monkey #maybe theres some alien horses that jim gets attached to and he and bones go horse back riding #what is this turning into??? #though the storm destroying all the work bones has done so he starts to come around to jim's thinking could work #you can see im more attached to the TOS verison #i do not think TOS spock would have a good time in this fic #but at least jim isnt in to much danger so he would only have to worry about the crew #and bones is with jim and hes the most annoying when jim isnt in charge so maybe it would be a better experience for him #also the crew wouldnt be going space mad so theres lots of things to consider #maybe i should actually write this