#''i think you managed to turn the poison into positivity'' i think you just got your employees drunk with the money they earned for you

[theorderofthetriad]

as much as the episode is fun, i do think calypso's birthday is the point at which the show irrevocably fucked up ed's character arc and by extension the rest of the show

[hunterwritings]

𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝐛𝐢-𝐡𝐚𝐧

summary: bihan has a hard time expressing his love for his family in words and it can cause his child to lose faith in him sometimes warnings: small violence, small mention of blood, wife!reader, mother!reader, child is around 8? idk, bi-han is a little mean at first, notes: i've been thinking about this for a while and its making me go crazy | also this got a lot more angsty than I thought it was going to be 😭| wc: 1794

"Agh!" The sound of a thud echoes as you watch your son hit the floor.

You had your arms crossed as you watched him and another child sparring. Training to be a warrior of the Lin Kuei was not an easy thing to watch for a mother.

You knew your child was strong, having both his father's strength and your own, but it was still hard for you to watch. Your eyes peer to the side to see Bi-han standing next to you, watching closely at his child. You couldn't tell what he was thinking behind those piercing eyes: Was he worried about your son getting hurt? Or was he mentally ridiculing him for not being able to fight better? Either way, you knew you'd never get a straight answer from him.

An exhale escapes your mouth as you turn your attention back to your son, he had gotten the upper hand and was able to pin down his opponent until he was incapacitated.

"Stop." Bi-han said firmly, watching as both the boys let go of each other and stand up back in their starting positions. You saw that both of them were sweaty and had small scratches on their faces and small drops of blood on their knuckles.

"(S/N) wins. You will continue on with this training at dusk." He explains as the boys bow in front of each other before being dismissed.

You watch as your son turned to his father with hope in his eyes, and all Bi-han did was give him a small nod before walking away. Light in his eyes faded as his face fell and you thought you could hear the sound of your heart breaking. "(S/N) you did so well!" You compliment him as you walk up to him and kneel down in front of him.

He avoided your eyes, keeping his gaze down to the ground. You could practically feel the disappointment on his face. "It's okay honey, you did very good." You try to reassure him, pulling him into a hug.

"Now let's go and get you some food and I'll help patch this up." You say pulling away from him and gesturing at the small cuts on his hands. He just nods and keeps his eyes down. You stand back to your feet and he reaches up and grabs your hand tightly.

Some time passes and you manage to patch up his small injuries and feed him dinner before tucking him into bed. Once he's lying down, you quietly leave his room and make your way over to your shared room with Bi-han. You found him fumbling to take off his arm gauntlets as he just lifted his gaze to meet yours before turning back down to his arms.

"Bi-han." You speak. He doesn't respond.

"Bi-han." You spoke louder now crossing your arms.

He finally averts his attention to you and bitterly asks, "What have I done now?" Oh boy

You raise your eyebrows at him, your mouth slightly agape. You knew you didn't have to say anything, Bi-han knew what he had done wrong. He sighs deeply while looking down and turns to you and gives you a dejected look. Your gaze could burn a hole through his head if you had stared any harder. "There is something you want to talk about?' He asks, much softer this time.

"Yes, there is." You bluntly answer.

"You cannot treat your child this way, he walks around believing that his father has no appreciation for him." Your words were like poison to him, you knew that he felt guilt by the way he turned away and tried to avoid your eyes. You stepped closer to him, not allowing him to avoid you.

"Do you wish for him to grow up believing that his father doesn't love him?" That struck a nerve. "No." He says, turning to face you. By the look on his face, you could tell that the thought alone had hurt him. He had memories flying in his mind of how he felt towards his own father, how he vowed to never let his child feel the same way he did.

"That should not even be a question, he should know that already - it should be common knowledge!" He argues, trying to defend himself while also mentally cursing himself out.

"It is not common knowledge to him, he is a young boy. He cannot just assume that you love him, he has to be shown love and compassion, Bi-han." You explain, lying one of your hands on his cold cheek. "It is hard for you to say that, I know, but you must try. It is the least he deserves." Your voice was soft now, no longer arguing.

His expression had changed; what was once defensive and angry, was now sad and full of shame. it wasn't your intention to hurt him, but you had to let him know or else this behavior would just continue.

"You are a good father, Bi-han. You care about your family more than anything and you would go to the ends of the Earth to protect (S/N), let him know that. Trust me, he will be grateful. I know you want him to be a powerful fighter, if anything, your praise will make him even stronger." Your words must've impacted Bi-han, who was now looking down to the floor. His face was cradled by your hands, you could almost see a gloss going over his eyes from the way the moonlight fell on his face.

Before he could respond, you heard something moving around your door. Instinctively, the two of you whipped your heads around to look at the door, not seeing anything strange in particular. Until you see a small hand wrap around the edge of the door and small eyes peering from behind the cracked door. You chuckled in relief, lying your hands on your hips as you look at him.

"You are seen, young one." He pushes the door open and walks into your room. "Grandmaster." He stops and bows in front of Bi-han before standing back up. "You are supposed to be in bed." Bi-han advises, his normal cold exterior now posing as a cover-up for his vulnerability showing through just a moment ago.

"I know, I'm sorry father, I just - um." Your son struggled to get the words out, keeping his eyes down as he fidgeted with his fingers.

"Are you having trouble sleeping?" You ask softly as he nods. "Aw honey, was it a nightmare?" He looks up at Bi-han, not wanting to seem cowardly in front of him. He doesn't answer you but you know that he must've had a bad dream.

"Here, we'll come put you back in bed, okay?" You softly say as you reach out your hand and he tightly grabs ahold of it. You begin to walk him out of the room, looking back over your shoulder to Bi-han and urging him to follow you. He almost hesitates before eventually following you.

You make your way to his room and he crawls back into his bed. You pull up the sheets for him before sitting on the edge of his bed next to him. Bi-han stays in the doorway, as if he didn't know how to continue or he didn't want to do anything wrong.

"You don't have to feel bad for coming to find us if something is wrong, know that." You tell him as he nods. You lean in and give him a soft kiss on his head. "We love you very much, (S/N)." You add as you hold his head in your hand. A large smile spreads across his lips as he looks up at you.

Your head turns over your shoulder. "Bi-han?" You only say his name, but he's smart enough to know what you are asking. He takes a deep breath before going to the other side of his bed and sitting down. Your son's face dropped, thinking that he may be in trouble for something.

Bi-han kept his eyes down on the bed, looking up at you and back down to the bed. "(S/N)." He starts, finally looking up to give his son eye contact. He takes another inhale and exhale, trying to stall and be able to find the right words. "You are a good fighter." He starts, unable to keep the eye contact and constantly looking down. Your son's expression changes from worried to beaming, you can practically feel him healing already.

"You train to become a strong warrior, it is why you are always fighting. You have shown a lot of progress and it is gratifying to know that you have been learning all this time. I have no doubt that you will become one of the best members of the Lin Kuei." He finishes, looking to you as if he is asking, 'was that okay?'.

He looks back to his son, whos eyes are full of happiness and he has a large smile plastered on his lips. Bi-han looked down with a small smile on his face. Then, your son sat up from under the covers and wrapped his arms around his father's neck and hold him in a close hug. Bi-han's hands reached up at held him closely. As he hugged his child, Bi-han peered over to you with a relief-filled smile on his face. You knew this was healing for both of them, your son has positive reinforcement from his father and Bi-han knows that his child still loves him. He pulled away from the hug and brought a small kiss to the top of his son's head as you did earlier before he crawled back under the covers and laid his head on the pillow, his expression still full of light. "Goodnight, my love." You say before both you and Bi-han stand up from his bed and walk out, closing the door behind you.

"See? Doesn't that feel better?"

Before you could even look up at him, his arms are wrapped around you, holding you so tight you thought he might break your ribcage. You felt the shakiness of his hands wrapped around you torso and felt his chest heaving up and down against yours. "I don't want him to feel resent towards me, as I did my father." His voice was shaky, like he had been holding that fear in. "He won't, Bi-han. He's infatuated with you, he looks to you for approval." You explain, holding his head closely.

You knew this had changed something in him, a problem he had silently be ignoring. It made you happy, knowing how much he cared and now knowing that he will put extra effort into making his love known.

[shhhsecretsideblog]

Hi, i hope you don't mind if i request to combine 2 prompts in one scenario.

8. "There's so much pressure..."

12. "Come on, you'll be fine. First labour's take ages.

Scenario: a pregnant woman got kidnapped by her obsessive ex-boyfriend, went into labor and begged him to take her to the hospital because she can't be having the baby in his basement, but he refused. Go as wild and dark as you want.

Thanks 💌

Thanks for the request anon, this was delicious to write. Only prompt no.8 has been included as the other didn’t naturally fit in to wherever the hell this story went. I swear I have no control, these stories take on a life of their own. You said go wild and dark, so… 😈 Trigger warnings; kidnapping, vomit, blood, violence, mental instability, death (not mum or bubs dw), oh and of course fpreg & birth. Hope you like it

Chained

Libby’s eyes fluttered open. It took a moment for her vision to focus but when it did she realised nothing was familiar. The room was dimly lit, no natural light source, only a singular light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Dark grey bricks formed each of the four walls and the floor below was concrete and rough. She was lying down, on old discoloured bedding on a rickety metal bed. Where the hell was she?! She tried to push herself upright, but she discovered one arm could not be moved. It was handcuffed to the bed!

“What the hell…” Libby muttered.

“Ah… you’re awake.” Came a voice from the shadows.

Stepping into the light Libby saw a man walk towards her. It was Scott, her ex boyfriend. He looked awful. She’d not seen him since they broke up 18 months ago. His hair had grown, now matted and unkept, dark circles hung beneath his eyes and his usually clean shaven chin now sported a severe and dishelved five o’clock shadow.

“…Scott? Where… where am I?” She asked confused and still a little bit groggy.

“You’re at home darling. I rescued you.”

Libby’s brain whirled into overdrive. She remembered going to a midwife appointment, it was her final check up before her due date, she finished the appointment and headed back to her car. She had stopped just before opening the door, hearing something behind her, and then…. everything went black.

“Rescued me?! From what?” Libby asked, managing to push herself to a sitting position with her one free hand.

“From making a mistake. Did you really think you could keep me away from my baby?” Scott drawled, his eyes staring hungrily at her pregnant stomach.

“What the fuck are you talking about? We broke up, I moved on. This isn’t your baby!”

Libby’s outburst was rewarded by a forceful smack across the face. The distinctive metallic taste of blood soon filled her mouth. She was shocked into silence.

“We were great together! We were happy; we were going to get married, have a family, and then… Brendon came along. Poisoning our relationship, turning you against me, stealing you for himself. No! I won’t let him take this away. I’ve brought you home baby… so we can be together.” Scott’s hand touched her bump and his eyes widened in glee. “Where we can be a family.”

This man was insane, Libby thought, realising the true danger of this situation. It was one thing having an ex that still held a candle towards you, but this was way beyond that. She knew Scott hadn’t taken the break up well, but since the split he’d clearly disappeared into a realm of utter delusion. The baby in her womb shifted, feeling the fear of its mother. Scott’s mouth twitched into an uncomfortable grin, feeling the child move. Libby daren’t say anything, it was clear he was unstable and there was no telling what might set him off.

“Rest up sweetie. I’ll get you some food, you must be hungry. Eating for two and all that.” Scott said cheerfully, removing his hand from her stomach and disappearing upstairs.

Libby looked down at her stomach and her handcuffed wrist. She didn’t feel hungry at all. Only nauseous.

~•~

Scott returned and brought her food. Libby didn’t say anything, didn’t move, too scared of accidentally provoking him. He left the tray of sandwiches and crisps on the side table next to the bed and disappeared upstairs, offering a firm “Eat” before he went.

Her memories had returned as she gradually came around from whatever drug Scott had administered. Brendon and Libby had decided to have a little trip away this weekend before the baby came. A baby-moon as they say. They’d told all their friends and family they’d be out of town and without signal for a few days, but this morning Brendon called to say he had a work emergency and they’d have to cancel. That was fine, Libby would just go visit her parents instead. Only she never got a chance to call her parents after the midwife appointment. Everyone thought her and Brendon were away, and Brendon thought she was at her parents - no one would realise she’d been kidnapped.

Her stomach rolled with fear. She needed to think, find a way out of here. Wherever “here” was…. Where the fuck had Scott taken her? She didn’t recognise the room, it could be anywhere. She looked over at the plate of food and her heart sank. She recognised the crockery - this was his family’s cabin, in the middle of the woods.

~•~

Days. She’d been there days. Her family and Brendon would hopefully know she was missing by now. But they’d never find her here.

Scott continued to visit, to bring her food, to talk the baby in her womb. He’d offered to bathe her once, disgusted by the thought she refused. When he tried to get more forceful, hitting her again, she faked practice labour pains and he thankfully left her alone to rest.

She barely spoke to him anymore, too fearful to say the wrong thing again, of which she had learnt the hard way. She tried once to play along with his delusion, that he had “rescued” her from Brendon and now they could be a family. Believing her, Scott eventually unlocked the handcuffs, but when she made a break for it towards the stairs of the basement Scott went ballistic. They got into a fight; she kicked and screamed and hit, but he was stronger and in the carnage she fell forward against the wooden stairs she was trying to climb.

Scott was stricter with the handcuffs after that. Libby swore to herself not to try it again for fear of what might happen to the baby if she fell again.

She had been feeling cramps ever since the fall. They weren’t too bad or debilitating, thankfully she wasn’t bleeding which Libby hoped was a good sign and that her baby was okay. The fall was a brutal reminder of the precious cargo she was carrying and she had to be careful.

The next night Libby was awoken by a forceful cramp rolling through her middle, much worse than any of the others she had felt. Curling round her stomach she breathed heavily through the wave until it passed, and she promptly fell back asleep.

It happened again shortly after, pulling her from her slumber and waking every cell of her body as it peaked, like a coil twisting tighter and tighter. She pushed herself up to sit on the bed. The room was pitch black - Scott controlled the lights and was the only way she knew if it was day or night. She rubbed the aching cramp rolling across her tightened belly with one hand, the other remaining chained to the bedpost. She wished she could move, to walk it off, but with the handcuffs and the darkness she had little options. Instead she got on her hands and knees and rocked steadily through the pain.

“Please be practice contractions…” she whispered to herself. “You can’t come now baby, you’re safe in there. Wait until we get outta here okay?”

The cramp eventually eased and after a few minutes waiting for the next, Libby let herself sink sideways back onto the bed. The baby had got the message, it was just practice pains, she thought to herself as she drifted back off to sleep.

~•~

The light to the basement flickered to life followed by the familiar stomping of feet on wooden steps.

“Morning sweetheart. How’s the mother of my child today?” Scott said in such a cheerful caring tone it caused a shiver to roll up Libby’s spine.

She glared at him from the bed, lying down under the covers half asleep and curled around her bump.

“Still not talking to me eh? Oh well. It won’t be long before I have a son or daughter to talk to.” Scott drawled, as he placed a cup of water and slice of toast onto the bedside table.

Another cramp squeezed her belly and Libby sucked in a breath, hissing through her teeth. She could feel her stomach hardening beneath her fingers as the practice contraction squeezed.

“Honey, are you alright?” Scott’s eyes pinched in cautious concern.

“Just a kick.” Libby said, schooling her face back to a neutral expression.

“Excited to meet their daddy no doubt.” He gleefully said making Libby feel sick.

This baby is NOT yours! She cried in her head.

“Get up and have some breakfast. I’ve got some things to show you today.” Scott said, offering a hand to help her up.

Libby ignored his hand and pushed herself upright. “What things?”

“All in good time my dear. It’s a surprise.” And with that he disappeared back upstairs with a gallop.

She could hear banging and thumping above her and wondered what on earth he was doing. Her stomach growled and she reluctantly nibbled on the toast that was provided. After eating she was left solely with her thoughts and the noises from upstairs. Plus the occasional cramps that continued to plague her. Sitting down became too frustrating and she managed to get herself to standing right beside the bed. Her arm was pulled uncomfortably far forward by the handcuffs, but at least it relieved the pressure in her hips.

The baby felt so low, like it was grinding on her pelvis. But she did feel like her breathing was better now. Libby tried to focus only on the positives and did not dwell enough to realise this meant the baby had dropped into position for birth.

She stayed standing as long as she could beside the bed, riding out the braxton hicks and swaying her hips side to side, but eventually her legs ached from the awkward position so she return to sit on the bed.

The practice contractions continued to wash over her whilst Scott was banging away upstairs. Libby was starting to get hot and sweaty and could barely sit still through them. She found herself biting her lips and humming through them, trying to keep the noise to a minimum. She didn’t want to attract Scott’s attention. She ended up back on all fours on the bed, one hand awkwardly attached to the bed while she rocked forwards and back through the rising waves. It was getting harder and harder to stay silent through these pains and it was getting more and more difficult to convince herself these were only practice contractions.

“Ohhhh… we had a deal baby. You have to s-stay in there…. It’s not s-safe…” Libby moaned quietly to her child, the pressure in her hips mounting with every contraction.

The sounds of movement from above made her panic. Scott was coming. Quickly, she moved from all fours and returned to her sitting position on the bed. Sitting down made everything worse - the heavily feeling of the baby so so low caused the pressure to spike. So much so she nearly threw up, gaging slightly at the same time Scott opened the basement door.

She could hear him huffing and puffing as he stomped every step, he was clearly struggling with something, and she saw the “surprise” before she saw him. It was a crib! Oh hell no, she thought to herself. There is no way my baby is being born here and it will never go in that thing.

“Darling…” he cooed as he got down to the basement “I got you something. Well, I got our baby something - a crib!” He said proudly as he placed it at the foot of the bed.

Libby didn’t say anything; saying something negative could earn her a slap, saying something positive he’d think she was up to something.

“Well?” He asked, clearly getting frustrated with her silence.

“It’s… nice.” She said timidly, he didn’t seem any calmer so she added “thank you.”

With that Scott broke into an unhinged smile. “Only the best for my baby. Made it myself!”

Libby felt the familiar tightening of another contraction approaching. Breathing steadily through her nose, she tried to keep any pain showing on her face.

“What do you think of the design?” He urged, unaware of the struggle happening inside Libby’s womb.

“Great.” She gritted out as calmly as she could.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Scott rushed upstairs leaving Libby alone for a minute.

The second he was out of sight her eyes scrunched and she panted erratically. Her hips were on fire, the baby sinking lower and lower. This was no false alarm, Libby finally admitted to herself.

Scott came bounding downstairs with a pile of baby clothes and blankets. “I also got these. I wasn’t sure if we were having a boy or a girl so got a selection of different clothes. And lots of blankets and toys. Everything we could possibly need.”

Libby couldn’t help it but she groaned loudly and curled over her contracting stomach.

“They’re not that bad!” Scott said, referring to the pile of clothes he’d now dumped into the crib.

“Ooooooh Scott….” Libby whimpered, the pain still barrelling through her body.

“Lib? What is it? What’s wrong?” He crouched down in front of her and placed a hand on her knee.

“I think… hooooo- I think I’m in labour. You have to take me to the hospital.” Libby pleaded.

“What? Oh no, you’re not fooling me again.” Scott recoiled away from her, and started pacing. “You- you tried that before remember. And then you tried to run away, to take my baby away! You were going to leave me Lib! No!! I’m not letting you out of my sight again. No way. No one else can have you. You and that baby are mine!”

“Scott… please. I’m having contractions… I need help… I need doctors…”

“No… I can’t. You’re just going to leave me again. I can’t lose you.” Scott shook his head, like he was trying to reorganise the thoughts inside. “You’re just pretending again, you’re not really having the baby, you’re just trying to escape. Well you can’t trick me twice. Nuh-uh. I’ll come back when you’ve stopped the act.”

“No! Scott!” Libby cried but the door slammed before she could say anything else.

~•~

Libby shouted and pleaded for 10 minutes straight after Scott went upstairs, but he never came back down. She stopped when her voice started to crack and when she thought she heard the front door slam.

This baby was coming and she was trapped - handcuffed to a bed in a basement in the middle of nowhere, the only person for miles was her crazy ex boyfriend who was convinced the baby was his.

Despite her wishful thinking, the contractions just kept on coming. It was as if accepting they were real had made them more frequent and stronger. There was no clock down here, she had no clue how often they struck, but Libby was aware of the gaps in between getting shorter.

Being in labour was bad enough but the fact she couldn’t move due to her restraints made everything a thousand time’s worse. In desperation she tried to squeeze her hand out the metal handcuff, twisting and pulling, but when it started to peel the skin off the back of her hand she screamed and gave up.

She couldn’t sit down anymore, the pain in her hips too great. All fours was bearable but her arms ached after too long. She tried squatting and kneeling against the headboard, standing and swaying beside the bed. Nothing helped. She felt like a caged animal; frustrated, angry, scared. All the while every contraction brought the baby closer and closer to being born, a fate she was trying desperately to avoid. She feared something might go wrong, and she was scared what would happen the moments after she delivered. Scott was clearly unstable, would he leave her here chained to the bed bleeding out and take away her baby?! She needed medical help, not only for the birth but for her best shot at escaping.

When Scott returned he found her on her knees beside the bed, slumped over the mattress and groaning heavily.

“You can stop this charade Libby! I’m not taking you anywhere!” Scott shouted from the steps of the basement.

“Mnnnghhh! It’s not a charade Scott! Oh god…. So much pressure….” Libby whimpered into the mattress, her knees widening instinctually.

“Come off it. You put on a good show but I know you’re faking it.”

Libby could only grunt, roaring against the building pressure between her thighs. An unmistakable splashing sound hit the concrete floor and she cried out. “My waters…. Hooo- I’m not - faking - it…” she panted and turned around to face him.

Scott’s face had paled and his eyebrows shot up. “Y-you really are in labour?”

“Yes,” Libby breathed, turning around awkwardly with the handcuffs and her large bump, sitting down heavily on the now-wet floor “please please take me to the hospital now.”

He didn’t say anything, instead he disappeared quickly back upstairs.

“Scott!!!” She cried out, worried he would just leave her there forever.

He returned a moment later carrying a plastic box. “It’s happening! Don’t worry darling, I have everything we need for our baby to be born.”

It’s not your baby!!!! Libby shouted in her head.

Sitting on the floor, one arm slung up over a shoulder stuck in the handcuffs, she rubbed her low and heavy stomach with the other as Scott began to unpack the box onto the table opposite.

“Towels. Gloves. Scissors. Clamps. Ooh more towels. Little sucker thing. Wow it’s got everything we need in here. Great Amazon find.” Scott commented as he rattled off everything inside the box.

Holy shit! He wants to deliver the baby here! Libby stopped breathing for a moment, panic squeezing at her heart. He was never going to let her go. She was never going to get her baby out of here before it was born.

“Scott… you can’t… be serious…” Libby said with strained breath.

“Shhhhh. It’s okay sweetie. I’ve done all the research, watched loads of videos. I know exactly what I’m doing and I will deliver our baby here.”

“But Scott I need a hospital, with nurses and medication.”

“No you don’t. Women birth babies every day. I’ve had months to prepare for this. It’s going to be fine, it’s going to be perfect.” Scott’s sinister smile chilled her resolve and another contraction struck before she could continue arguing.

He checked his watched and frowned. “You shouldn’t be having another contraction just yet.”

“I can’t hooooo control it!” Libby snipped.

“Oooo is this the part where you get all angry at me for doing this to you?” Scott joked with glee.

“You didn’t do this to me! This isn’t your baby Scott, please just let me go.”

“Don’t lie!!!!!” Scott shouted, an angry fire flashed briefly in his eyes and his fists clenched tight, but a second later the ire quickly disappeared. “You’re just scared, but it’s okay sweetie, I’m here and our baby will be fine.”

“Ohhh god…..” Libby grunted, the baby slipping lower and pressing against her cervix. She had to move, this position was unbearable, but her legs were useless during the raging contraction. She tried to push herself up, yanking her hands forward but the handcuff rattled and left her arm twisted backwards. “Mnnhhh- handcuffs…. Please undo the handcuffs…”

“You know I can’t do that Lib.” Scott said reluctantly.

“Please…. Mnghhhhh the baby…. I need to move. Can’t stay like this Scott…” Libby groaned and whimpered as the contraction peaked and gradually faded.

“I’m sorry honey, I can’t risk it. But let’s get you back onto the bed shall we, you’ll be much more comfortable there.”

The contraction had left her winded, Libby didn’t have the strength to argue anymore. But when Scott approached and went to help her up she managed to grit “Don’t touch me!” batting his advancing hands away.

“That’s gonna be difficult when I’m delivering our child.” Scott sarcastically replied.

Libby’s stomach rolled, not from a contraction but at the disgusting thought of Scott between her legs. Nausea bubbled inside, rising up her throat. She retched. “I think I’m gonna be sick…”

Scott jumped back as she dry heaved. “Erm…. I’ll get a bucket. Hang on.”

Libby struggled up to her knees, clinging sideways to the bed, and vomited all over the floor. The force of her stomach expelling its contents pushed the baby against her dilating cervix and towards the birth canal. She couldn’t stop herself from bearing down at the same time.

No no no… don’t push. Her brain cried but it wasn’t something she had control over.

By the time Scott returned with a bucket Libby had crawled back into the bed, leaving behind a puddle of amniotic fluid and vomit on the floor.

“Jeeze Libby, you’ve made a right mess. I’m glad we’re down here now, that would have been a nightmare to clean the carpets upstairs.”

“…water…” Libby panted, curled up on the bed and holding her hardened stomach, too exhausted to do anything other than bear through the labour pains tearing apart her body.

“Okay, sure.” Scott picked up the glass from the table and gently poured it into Libby’s dry mouth. “Everything will be okay Libby, our baby is nearly here.” He whispered, placing a grimy hand onto her bump and feeling the swell, his eyes hungrily lighting up as his fingers caressed the curve.

~•~

She was dying. This was how it would end; trapped in the dirty basement of her crazy ex boyfriend. She never got to meet her baby, or get married, never got to buy her own home, or travel the world. The pain was so much she could barely see. Curled up on the bed Libby groaned into the pillow as the latest contraction squeezed her body in on itself. She was vaguely aware of Scott flapping around the room, he was talking but she couldn’t hear what he was saying. The only thing she could focus on was the mass of the baby’s head sitting right behind her opening, and she was doing everything she could not to push.

The last few hours had been torture. She’d thrashed around the bed, screaming and begging to be freed, to be taken to the hospital. When transition hit she was brought back onto all fours, grunting and pushing without any semblance of control. Scott rubbed her back and encouraged her through it. She didn’t have the strength to bat him off but she did manage to aim her next round of vomiting onto his feet. And all the while Scott refused to unlock the handcuffs and she remained chained to the bed.

Now she was lying on her side over the covers, exhausted, her body completely and utterly drained. Her knees were curled up as much as she could, her bump squashed between her thighs and her breasts. The contractions were right on top of each other and she panted heavily through each one.

Don’t push! Don’t push! Don’t push! she told herself again and again.

“Right, the waters boiled, everything’s disinfected. Clamps and scissors ready. Towel, check. All we need now… is the baby…” Scott muttered, organising and reorganising the equipment.

Ever since the well-timed vomit, he had kept a grateful distance from Libby. He looked through all the toys and clothes in the crib, talking about all the things he would do with his child, trips they’d make, sports they’d play. He was in his own little world, Libby was just a background character.

Relentless contractions kept hitting her one after the other, she breathed as quietly as she could, tears leaking past her lashes from the effort it was taking not to push. She could feel the baby start to stretch her lips, the head inching further and further even without her active pushing. He’d removed her underwear not long after her waters had broken but her dress remained on her sweaty body, thankfully covering her lower half as she laid on the bed. Libby’s legs slightly parted of their own accord as the baby slipped lower. Still curled up on her side, the baby had a clear exit from its mother, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. Scott was ignoring her when she was lying like this and it was the only position that didn’t make her scream. And yet it also proved to be aiding her delivery.

When the next contraction barrelled straight after its predecessor Libby found herself holding her breath and it was only when the burning feeling started that she realised she was pushing. But she couldn’t stop. Gasping another breath she pushed once more, the baby stretching her wider and wider. An involuntary grunt escaped the labouring mother and alerted Scott to her actions.

“Are you…. Libby - are you pushing?! Is it time?” Scott jumped and rushed over to the bed.

Libby curled further over, her face burying into the pillow, squashing her bump and raising her backside. She groaned long and deep as she pushed the baby further out.

“Oh babe, you can’t push like that! You need to get in the correction position for delivery.” Scott said assuredly with all the delusional confidence his “research” had given him.

He took her bent leg, rolling her over onto her back and she screamed. “Scott! No!” The pain was excruciating, her spine was being stabbed, the fire burning between her thighs. She needed to push but she couldn’t when he kept moving her body.

“You need to be in the right position. Come on now, I know what I’m doing.”

“Stop… I can’t… I need to push…” Libby grunted.

“Wait a minute darling, you’re not ready just yet.”

Scott pulled her up to a sitting position and pushed her back against the headboard, pointlessly fluffing the limp old pillows behind her. Her legs were dragged apart and knees were bent and he jumped onto the foot of the bed and looked up her dress.

“Oh my gosh I can see the head!!!” He squealed. He threw her dress up higher, creasing the fabric just below her baby bump, fully exposing Libby’s vagina and the oval shaped crown of the head.

“Push Libby! You can push now!” He urged.

“I’m not-having a contraction-” Libby panted, furious she had been moved into this ridiculous and torturous position. Nothing about it felt right to her body, she wanted to go back on her side, to kneel, squat, anything but this.

“Oh… erm… well on the next one then. Push. No wait, I forgot the equipment.” Scott bounced off the bed and collected all the sterilised equipment he’d been preparing in readiness. “Ha! All that excitement, nearly forgot these.” He placed the items next to him, by her feet. The metal scissors glinted as they caught the light.

A desperate idea began to form in her head, but a contraction soon swept over her and pulled her focus to the burning ring between her thighs.

“Yes!!! Go on Libby! Push!!!” Scott cried.

Curling forward Libby pushed, her body squeezing the baby lower, its head stretching her wider. She grabbed her thighs, gulped another breath, and pushed. The scissors caught the light again with the movement on the bed. If she could just grab them…

“It’s coming, keep it going honey!” Scott yelled and she could feel his trembling hand between her legs.

Libby huffed releasing the push. It was too much, it was too big…

“Come on baby, go again, you’re so close.” Scott urged.

“Hooo-hoooo- okay…. Here it comes….!!!!” Libby threw herself forward curling over her bump once more. With Scott’s focus on the crowning baby she quickly grabbed the scissors and hid them in the gathered fabric of her dress. She screamed as the baby reached a full crown. Panting frantically her body twitched as the baby stretched her so wide she thought she’d be torn in two. Then it slipped further and with a sudden wail the baby’s head was delivered.

“Wow! The heads out, my baby’s head is born.” Scott awed.

Leaning closer his hands trembled towards the newly born head sitting between her thighs. No! You are not touching my baby! Libby thought, and she grabbed the hidden scissors and plunged them straight into Scott’s neck as she released an animalistic maternal wail.

Scott’s eyes bulged out, roaring in agony as the sharp scissors pierced deep into his muscles. He jumped back, standing for the briefest second staring in horror at her, before collapsing to his knees. A drowning choked sound gargled his throat and when he pulled the scissors from his neck the jets of blood sprayed across the room.

Libby watched, in shock at what she’d just done, as Scott clutched his neck, choking and bleeding. After a few strangled seconds he collapsed face first on the ground.

“Oh my god… oh my god….” Libby trembled, adrenaline and fear pumping through every cell in her body. She had to get out of there.

Twisting awkwardly around, she held the handcuff steady with her free hand and pulled her other through the tiny gap. The skin ripped from her hand, the metal scraping bone, she yelled out in pain but didn’t stop pulling until her bloodied hand was free.

It was as if she had left her physical body, the pain a dull echo compared to the survival instinct to get out of this basement. “I’m gonna get you outta here…” she panted, putting a gentle hand over the baby’s head between her legs. She scrambled off the bed, legs bowed as she cupped the head, and rushed toward the stairs of the basement.

Libby was careful, her previous encounter with this wooden staircase not ending well, climbing wide legged step after step towards freedom. She barely made it halfway when she was struck by another contraction. Holding the head with one hand and gripping the bannister tight with the other, her body squatted as it tried to push.

“Mnghhhhhhh! Oohhhhhh hang on baby…. Mnghhhhhh…. Not yet.” She could feel herself pushing hard, the shoulders starting to press against her, itching to come out, but with a firm hand and heavy panting she made it through the contraction.

When she reached upstairs she was surprised how familiar it all was, Scott had taken her here once when they were dating. It wasn’t much, the furniture and decor were dated, but it was a nice family holiday home in a nice rural location. She shuddered when she thought of the secret prison that was hidden below her feet.

Being familiar with the property made her escape easier, she knew the layout and of course where he kept the keys - in the side dish by the fridge. Grabbing the car keys Libby headed for the door and threw it open. But the baby didn’t want to wait any longer.

She hung on to the doorframe for dear life as the raging contraction took hold. “No no no!!!! We’re so close mnnnnnghhhhhh!!!!” Her legs widened as she squatted, pushing uncontrollably against the wall of her hand that held the baby’s head. The shoulders were slipping through… she could feel them stretching… “Ohhh fuck!” She cried, desperately pushing and holding the baby in at the same time.

When the near constant contraction let up just the tiniest bit, Libby made a break for it and ran to the car, both hands between her legs cupping the emerging baby. Unlocking the car with the press of the button she threw open the back door and clambered inside. She quickly locked the door, scared that Scott would somehow still be coming after her, and when she heard the reassuring click of the locks she huffed an exhausted cry.

But the baby was coming, and it was coming now. On her hands and knees in the back seat Libby finally gave in to nature and pushed in earnest, grunting long and deep as the shoulders stretched and slipped out. Lifting up onto her knees to catch the infant she released a primal roar with the final push and the baby slipped into her bloodied hands.

“Ohhhhhh hey baby, it’s okay it’s okay. I’ve got you.” Libby cried, pulling the little boy to her chest. Wiping his face clear he gave a little cough and started crying, soon matched with the tears of his mother.

“We did baby, we got out.” Libby panted and cried, safe with her baby inside the locked car. After a few minutes she wrapped the baby up against her chest with the towel, umbilical cord still connecting mother and child, and she hesitantly opened the door and got into the drivers seat. Starting the engine, Libby drove herself and her new baby to safety.

[your-nanas-house]

had this thought awhile back but a rivals to lovers type one shot with jonathan crane and the reader but the reader is poison ivy if that makes sense? both doctors, both using chemicals/pheromones for their own reasons…..make it smutty! i trust you!

Pungent as a rose

◇ Pairing: Jonathan Crane X poison ivy!Reader

◇ Warnings: smut, eating out, drugs, dub-con, hate

◇ Summary: When chemistry meets chemistry between people.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English. Not proof read and shitty endind.

Her heels kept clicking on the floor of the asylum... fast and confident, as she reached the labs in the dark.

The only light present was the one of the moon, bright but soft, decorating with shadows the bare intern walls of the building.

Noises kept coming from the background, screams, laughter and soft snores and... then his voice which wasn't part of them anymore.

"Colleague.. what are you doing here in the dark?" The smooth but low voice of Dr. Crane echoed in the small room, she really had been hoping to not meet him again. Since their last encounter he started to randomly appear more often in her path, casually trying to get her alone to bring up the past passion she had decided to share with him after a couple of extra chupito.

The young woman sure thought back at her colleague whimpering form under her, whining and moaning like a slut while still grab and manhandle her as he pleased.

As Jonathan couldn't stop thinking about her nails digging in his skin as his cock bullied her cervix, her teeth sinking as her wild eyes stare deeply in his. Since that damn night he couldn't remove the idea of spraying her with his toxin to look at fear in her eyes as he buried himself in her.

He already knew she was wild... but he was sure that he could make her snap.

He felt just weird, his body starting to get warmer as she inhaled her scent now that his chest was pressed against her back; he started to feel like an impulse that made him want to breath her in more even though his mind was getting dizzy almost as if he was getting wasted.

In fear of loosing his rational side, he moved his wrist casually in front of her face, a little bottle in his hand his thumb pressing down as she opened her mouth to ask him what he was doing, grimacing when the liquid wet her face.

Couple of seconds and she felt a rush of fear wash over her, her body started to shake and she turned pale, her vision was blurry at first but different things started to display in front of her. Jonathan was getting too hard under the effect of her chemical perfume to actually get hard by the mere look of her wide eyes, opting rather to follow his need and start grinding like an animal in heath against the curves of her ass.

"What did you do, you asshole?!" Y/n accused, holding unto the table as the feeling got stronger, making her sweat as her breath quickened. She rolled her eyes back, chills running down her spine as the familiar sensation of lust hit her hard, the feeling of fear just increasing her wetness.

Jonathan didn't replied, letting her move him around easily by the hair down to a kneeled position, before burying his face in her thighs, waiting shakily to be able to taste her.

It took her longer than expected since her hands were shaking but as soon as she managed to remove her panties she sat on the lab table, spreading her legs so that he could please her properly

"Stupid bitch" she hissed, grinding her wet pussy against his face, removing his glasses only when they nearly fall onto the floor

"Bet you used that thing you were working on since months" she realized, arching her back at the feeling of the warm tongue of her colleague which kept lapping at her folds before thrusting in her needy hole, allowing his nose to press deliciously against her clit.

The figures kept showing up, making her moan in pleasure as the fear increased, tears started to run down her cheeks as her hips ground faster against Crane's face, her wetness dripping down his chin.

"It's impressive, I must say" the young woman breathed out, clenching her jaw as cold sweat runned down her forehead before nesting itself between her breasts "I did not expect you to be able to create something this s-strong" the mid praise left her mouth, echoing in Jonathan's empty head.

Damn... if only he would have been in the right set of mind and not pussy drunk or drugged by her. He sure would have cummed in his pants at the mere view of the pure fear in her.

"Fucking hell... you little—" her usual sensual voice came out rougher and exhausted before the annoying footstep of who they discovered was another colleague interrupted abruptly their passionate moment.

[lazycats-stuff]

talia and bruce having a older son who “went missing ” but actually joined the court of owls . he’s become friends with a bunch of rouges and two face is like a dad to him. he lives with harley and ivy and sometimes selina and they just chaos. but he runs into batfam and damian just wants to kidnap him so he can have his brother back

Will do. Sorry for taking a while to write this. And sorry if this was too short, I tried to write more 😖 I'm thinking about a part 2, but I'm not sure. Should I?

Summary: Bruce and Talia had a son. But the problem is that he is missing and Talia and Bruce can't find him. That is, until one night that will change everything.

Warnings: Mentions of murder, but nothing explicit, the rouges being friends with (Y/N), Damian trying to kidnap (Y/N), Bruce being done with everything.

(Y/N) wiped his hands, opening the doors of the roof. He sighed as he watched over the city. He managed to kill his target, now it was time to call the cleaners up and he will be going to see Harvey. He didn't see the man in a while. The Court kept him busy. He made a quick call and off he went.

He ran from roof to roof, jumping and rolling. He was close to Harvey's place and he positioned himself to jumped trough the thankfully open window. He landed softly on the hard floor. He walked down the hall for a while before knocking on Harvey's door.

He entered the office, smiling at the man who smiled back.

" My boy, it's been a while! " Harvey said, bringing him into a hug.

" I know, the Court made me busy. " (Y/N) replied, releasing the man.

" How are you? Are you injured? " Harvey asked quickly.

" I'm not injured, I am way to talented to get injured. "

Harvey chuckled, knowing it was true. (Y/N) was a good assassin. Quick and fast on his feet.

" Are you here for long? "

" No, I made a promise to Harley and Ivy that we would have a sleepover. And they told me to get back as soon as possible. "

" Are you hungry? I can make you something quickly. "

" I am slightly, but like I said, I will sleep at Harley's. I'm sure she ordered some pizza. "

" You need something other than pizza. "

(Y/N) shrugged, brushing off the comment. Pizza is life.

" Okay, fine, pizza is enough. "

(Y/N) smiled at Harvey, approving of the comment.

Harvey gave him a hug, saying goodbye. The boy was like a son to him and he doesn't spend enough time with him. He needs to talk with Pamela and Harley about this.

" I will come to visit you in a few days. "

And after a quick hug, he jumped out the window office, managing to swing himself up to the roof. From there he ran once more. He sighed in relief when he go to the Botanical Gardens. He went to the building where Harley and Poison Ivy lived.

(Y/N) was finally happy for Harley. She left the Joker after being abused for so long. From what he has heard, she beat him so heard that he was out of action for a few months so to speak. And he was glad.

He climbed down from the roof through the window that was conveniently left open. He slid in the living room, where Harley was waiting on the couch.

" Hello my little owl! We had made some pizza for you and sit down, no wait, do you need to change? " She fired question after question, not letting him answer.

Pamela gave him a sympathetic smile, knowing that he just needed to crash.

" Hun, let him go to his room. We got you some clean clothes. Take a shower too if you want too. "

(Y/N) nodded, walking towards the room. He sometimes lived here, almost like a third roommate, but that 3rd roommate doesn't pay rent, shows up bloody from time to time and just tired in general. But that wasn't anything new in Gotham. Gotham people aren't even fazed at anything at this point.

He changed from his court of Owls suit. Once he took the the top off, he looked at his arms. No bruises tonight it seems. Good. He took everything off and went into the bathroom. They turned the heating on here. Aw. (Y/N) didn't like cold and he was generally cold most of the time.

He got into the shower and let the warm water. He sighed in pleasure as the warm water washed over his body. It felt heavenly. He quickly washed his hair and body and changed into fresh clothes. He took a towel to dry his hair and then threw it in the laundry bin. Pizza sounds great now. He didn't really eat anything before he left to kill his target.

" Here is your slice. Come on, sit here. Harley wants to watch movies." Pamela said, but something was off.

" Please tell me it isn't action. "

Pamela looked away for a moment and (Y/N) sighed. No. Everything in those movies was unreal and stupid. He always ends up criticizing the moves and unrealistic stuff.

Always.

" Harley, tell me why I have to watch this shit? " (Y/N) asked, huffing.

" Because your commentary is great. You can always shed a light on Hollywood stunts and what doesn't look real. I watched a lot of movies where people's mental health was misrepresented. " Harley said, smiling. But there was something else behind that smile.

" What did you do? " (Y/N) asked, moving closer to Pamela. Pamela raised her eyebrow, confused. What did her girlfriend do?

" Whatever do you mean? "

Pamela sighed. She did something.

" Shit. " (Y/N) muttered, rubbing his forehead. Oh no. The doorbell rang and (Y/N) tensed up. Harley jumped up from the couch and (Y/N) wanted to stop her. It's never a good idea to open the door like that. This is Gotham for the love of God.

" Selina! " Harley screamed and (Y/N) relaxed. Okay, it's Catwoman. Whew.

" (Y/N), my little owl! Harley didn't say you were going to be here! " Selina exclaimed happily, quickly bringing her favorite into a hug.

" I wanted to surprise you. " Harley said, moving to sit on Pamela's lap.

" Well, none the less, I brought some face masks. "

(Y/N) groaned as the girls laughed. Oh God.

Few days later, he went to Harvey. There was a problem while he was working, well killing. He got ambushed by familiar assassin. His mother's assassins. Did his mother found him? That can't be. He made sure that it looked liked like he went missing. Maybe it wasn't his mother, but his father?

(Y/N) shook his head. No... Bruce would go after him himself. What is he going to do now?

He rolled his shoulder that was probably dislocated or bruised. He can't do this. He can't go back to live with either of them. He can't. He just can't. There is a reason why (Y/N) joined the Court of Owls.

Talia cursed as she got a call from one of her assassins. (Y/N) escaped and even managed to evade her assassins. He was taught well after all. The limo that she was driving in stopped in front of the manor. She gave Bruce a call about (Y/N). Bruce was quickly outside waiting for her already. He was nervous, fearing the info.

" Hello beloved. I have news. " Talia said, moving past Bruce inside of the manor.

" You should call Damian too. "

Bruce didn't need to. The four boys showed up, and everyone was tense and on guard, but Damian. He knew that his mother wouldn't attack them.

" What is happening? " Jason asked.

" You know about Damian's brother (Y/N)? The one that went missing? " Bruce said, rubbing his forehead.

The boys nodded, confused. They knew the basics of (Y/N)'s story, but nothing in detail.

" Talia found him. Her assassins tried to get him, but he escaped and evaded them. "

" And that's not all. " Talia said, making everyone look at her.

" He joined the Court of Owls. I recognized the uniform he was wearing. "

Bruce was shocked to say the least. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. No. Oh no.

" So what do we do? " Jason asked.

" We find him and bring him here. " Damian said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

" Okay, we can't just kidnap him- " Dick started, trying to come up with a non violent solution.

" Well you can't, but I can. " Damian said.

" But you do need a plan. " Talia said.

Damian mumbled something beneath his breath. Bruce knew that it wasn't something good. But Talia was right. If they wanted to bring (Y/N) back, they would need to make a plan. A good one.

(Y/N) was paranoid. For the last couple of days, he was constantly watching his back. Maybe he needs to leave Gotham? But where? Mexico? Canada? Somewhere in Europe? Asia? Australia?

No, not Australia. Spiders and snakes.

" What am I going to do? " (Y/N) asked himself as he was standing on the roof. He couldn't stay with anybody tonight. He was going to crash with them during the day.

He just needs to survive the night. He needs to. He can do this.

" Hello brother. "

(Y/N) slowly turned around. Damian the rest of the family was there.

" Not happening. " (Y/N) said, before jumping off of the roof.

He heard footsteps behind him. He can't stop now, he needs to lose them now. He managed to throw Tim off. He could only hope to throw the rest off.

He was proven wrong when Damian threw them both down onto a random rooftop. They both groaned before managing to rise up to their feet.

" Why did you join the Court of Owls? " Damian asked, completely calm. (Y/N) glared at Damian, refusing to answer.

" You don't need to know that. "

(Y/N) looked back, seeing a building. It was still in construction, he could hide there. He managed to jumped there just in time. He landed softly before moving through the holes through the floor.

He listened to the possible noise that they could make. He held his breath as he managed to escape. He put a scarf over the bottom part of his face and the pulling a cap out of his pocket to put it on his head. He needs to get somewhere.

Somewhere away from here. He closed his eyes for a moment. No. No emotions tonight. Only pure logic.

[presidentbungus]

i’m still trying to decide what exactly demo does after the war. i do think he breaks the degroot cycle and i do think there’s a chance his mum disowns him for it. i think he realizes he’s too miserable to ruin a kid pretty early on in adulthood and decides it’s worth it to sit through every long lecture about bloodlines and grandchildren over birthing a child into a loveless marriage and making it just as miserable as he is (which, he eventually comes to terms with, is exactly what happened to him)

it’s hard. cleaving yourself from your family like that, your clan, the people that brought you into the world and half-raised you and filled your head with all kinds of funny ideas about honor. after the war i thjnk he just shuts himself off from the world and sulks for months and months and months regretting his choice, knowing he can never go back, figuring this is the path of unluck he was following all along, destined to die alone in his thirties to alcohol poisoning in a huge mansion he has all to himself. eventually, though, someone does come along. soldier or scout or engie, in town for a visit and they won’t take no for an answer when tavish tries to tell them he’s moved on and he’s not really in the mood for a drink. it’s just one night, they just go get smashed at a random dive bar off the street and probably end the night in jail, but he wakes up the next morning and realizes that whatever it was tipped the single upright nail barely keeping aloft this whole massive pile of misery and self-pity and for the first time in months he wants to live. he wants to know people. he wants to try to rebuild what he had even if it’ll never be the same again

i think he just packs his bags and moves closer to someone he knows, honestly. makes a few calls and picks up and goes closer to wherever everyone else he knew in the war fucked off to, the closest thing he ever had to a family (even compared to the people that raised him), and starts to rebuild his life from scratch. it’s hard but he’s got at least one friend near him who’s probably in need of a project anyway, and he finds out quickly he had much more family than he thought as his coworkers start becoming parents and uncles of their own, and he never ends up having his own kids but he might as well considering how many times he finds himself godfathered, after everything he’d done for everyone, which turns out to be much more than he thought.

i think eventually he manages to get a job teaching high school chemistry or something stupid like that. not for anything resembling loose change, but it’s something to do, and there’s just a little bit of pride in knowing his mum’s probably doing flips in her grave every time he goes into work. he’s not great at teaching what he’s supposed to, but somehow the kids always come out of the class scoring twice the national average on whagever standardized tests they have to take, and he’s basically paying the school to work there below board anyway, buying buildings and funding school supply initiatives with the millions he has stocked up from all that thankless work in his twenties and thirties. even if he doesn’t have a kid of his own he makes himself a part of so many kid’s lives, not just teaching but building relationships, helping with homework and checking on home lives and showing up on the soccer field afterschool to cause a disturbance. and well it’s hard to feel like you’re a horrible useless person when every student you pass on the way to the teacher’s lounge beams at you and tells you about their day. it’s not much to a lot of people but it’s everything to him, finally something he can do that has a tangible positive effect on people’s lives, and that gives him a reason to stay upright, too, keep on trucking, keep being a positive example for every bright eye that looks up to him. for the first time in his life he feels like he’s worth something, without pretending to be something he’s not, bending over backwards in work he doesn’t enjoy to please someone who never loved him for anything he was in the first place. ok that’s it i think i have to go cry now

[linkspooky]

I got to say. I really love your OC Lio within your atla fanfic. And that is saying a lot for I never been a fan of OCs within fanfics. I do wonder what was your inspiration for writing them

I'm glad you like Lio my OC from THIS ATLA FIC.

Well what inspired Lio was reading the search years ago and seeing Azula run off into a forest and Zuko not trying to go after her and help his sister when she's clearly mentally breaking down. Then just, not really looking for her by the time that Smoke and Shadow comes around.

The idea of Lio sprung for that, what if because Zuko didn't go after her someone else found Azula when she was at her lowest point in her life. What if when Zuko wasn't there for her, someone else was. What if this person wasn't a good influence, but was a predator lurking in the woods, and someone who couldn't be trusted and never wore their genuine face. Someone now attached to Azula who has an agenda of their own. It's like a plot consequence for Zuko never lifting a finger to help his sister.

The character they're based on the most is Yun from The Rise / Shadow of Kyoshi. In particular they're based off of my massive disappointment for how his character was handled. So excuse me while this post turns into a rant.

Rise of Kyoshi introduces a character known as Yun, the false avatar. A character who was taken off the streets and led by Kuruk's companions to believe he was the next avatar because they couldn't find Kyoshi in time. The earthbender's usual divining method for finding the avatar wasn't working and they essentially took a random nameless street kid on a hunch and prayed it would work.

They then put Yun through what could only be described as Zoldyck training if you've ever read Hunter x Hunter. He was forced to swallow poisons and stay up sick for nights on end so he'd be immune to all of them. He was forced to try to learn firebending by standing on hot coals, or training on spiked caltrops that permanently scarred his feet. His teachers horribly abused him, then frequently called him lazy for not being able to bend fire, because he you know... wasn't the avatar.

He does his best to put up with abusive training for years because he wants to help the world, and then he finds out that he wasn't the avatar. The way he finds out is that his master asks a spirit which one is the avatar him or Kyoshi, the spirit picks Kyoshi, then he's like "If you don't need Yun anymore, then I'll just eat him."

He's then dragged to the spirit world, and has to fight off a spirit named Father Glow Worm for days and then EAT him in order to escape the spirit world. He asks for a drink of water from a nearby village and not a single person helps him, and one throws the water on the ground and tells him to waterbend it. So Yun has his Geto moment and kills everyone around him.

Then, in Shadow of Kyoshi (this all happened in Rise of Kyoshi and is told to us in flashbacks of Shadow) Yun enacts a scheme to kill every single one of his abusers for revenge. His abusers who I remind you are not good people. Rangi's mom had the most student deaths by Ag Ni Kai when she was head of the Royal Fire Nation Academy for Girls and also probably killed her sister in order to get the position. The same woman that made Yun dance around on caltropped spikes and called him lazy when he showed the SLIGHTEST hesitation.

Now my point isn't that Yun deserved to get his revenge. Revenge bad. Of course revenge is bad. But Avatar somehow, while being the pro-redemption and pro-forgiveness show always manages to screw up the "revenge bad" message. I think it can be summarized in the way both Jet and Hama are treated in their respective plotlines. The feelings of the abusers (in this case the colonizing fire nation) are put in prioirity over the feelings of the victims. Even though the violence they commit is in retaliation to violence that was done of them first. Avatar only stops the question of "violence bad" without addressing where the source of the violence came from.

They also put down both victims with violence instead of trying to find a third way to stop this cycle of violence by reaching out an healing an abuse victim instead. Like, violence is bad, unless a protagonist is using it I guess.

There's no real substance to these anti-revenge messages. They're not overcoming the cycle of revenge. They're just failing to save victims with no plot consequences because they're not main characters.

Anyway, back to Yun. As I said, the feelings of Yun's abusers, particularly Rangi's mother are prioritized over the feelings of Yun the victim. Even though everything thing that Yun does is in retaliation to years of child abuse he suffered under them. Yun's abuser gets the chance to apologize and atone but not Yun himself. All because Yun wants to murder his abusers, which you know child abuse and torture is forgivable but not an abuse victim being angry and showing that anger in ways that aren't approved of by the good guys TM!

All Kyoshi can say to Yun in the end essentially is "let it go." Like, god the whole monologue sucks let me take a moment to transcribe it.

"It's time to let go." Kyoshi lowered her hands. "Whether you kill me here today or not, you have to let go of what happened." "And it didn't brting me peace. It was wrong that you were lied to, Yun. It was wrong for Jainzhu to do what he did, but he's gone. Whatever pain and anger you have left - you have to live with it. You can't put it on anyone else."

Actually, yes Kyoshi he can put it on someone else. An entire group of adults collectively abused him for like years on end and you're defending one of them because she's your girlfriend's mom, and prioritizing her feelings of the hurting victim right in front of you.

Also, Kyoshi ends the plotline by murdering Yun. Which you know, once again, violence is bad, revenge is bad, unless it's a protagonist doing it. Kyoshi preaches how you can't end the cycle of revenge with murder and then proceeds to end it with murder.

So basically after the narrative sides with Yun's abusers and Kyoshi shows no empathy for Yun, the narrative goes on to further imply Yun never really loved kyoshi because he only loved her when she was underneath him not her own powerful avatar. Like you can't just have Yun experience negative character arc due to trauma you've got to imply they were bad all along.

I do like revenge stories where the victim dies. However, they have to be tragedies for the main characters, or be used to show the flaws of the main character. Ciel / Noel in Tsukihime is a fantastic example of what could have been done with Yun's character. The TLDR: version of tha tpost is Ciel's treatment is Noel is MEANT to make her look like a bad person. To show that Ciel may be a hero but falls short as a person. Kyoshi isn't MEANT to look like a terrible friend but that's how she comes off.

Sorry, this turned into a Rant. Lio is basically my attempt to do Yun again with several aspects of their character. The child abuse. The clown / jokester personality. The gentle nature turned violent. The feeling that Lio is "Nameless" or a "Mask Maker" rather than a person. That they're worth nothing unless they play a role that was given to them, in this case protecting a royal family member. Their charisma, and their intelligence as a schemer and a tricskter. The connection to the spirits. All of it, but without horribly murdering the victim and redeeming the abuser at the same time. An attempt to redo Yun's tragedy but without blaming the victim.

Lio is also based off of Azula herself, and to a lesser extent Zuko. Like Azula, they value loyalty above all else. They show extreme loyalty to others while expecting other people to show that exact loyalty in return. They'll also resort to emotional manipulation to control people because they can't handle even the idea of rejection. Lio is clever, and a good liar, and is one of the few people who can mouth off to Azula without fear. In fact, Azula enjoys trading insults with Lio because literally no one else is able to talk to her that way. Like, it's fun for both of them to just sit there and think of comebacks and they both due it in place of actually talking to each toher about feelings because they're both fake people who like to put on masks and tell lies to hide their identity.

One more inspiration for Lio is Hak from Akatsuki no Yona or rather my problems with Haks' character. This is going to be less of a rant because the rest of the series is great. Hak is always a character I wanted to like, but the more he became a love interest the less I liked him because the plot began to ignore his glaring flaws. Basically, the difference between Soo Won and Hak, is Hak is someone who is a knight, he is loyal to one individual. He would put one person's life over the entire country. He might be the ideal knight, the best there is, but he really doesn't care about things on a grand scale. He judges things on how they affect Yona, and how people are kind or not to Yona. He didn't care about if King Il was a terrible king or people in the kingdom suffered because he was personally loyal to King Il. Whereas Soo Won will make decisions to screw over his friends and sacrifice himself as well, but for a greater good.

The plot goes into detail showing the flaws of Soo Won's decision making, that by being too willing to sacrifice people he didn't see things coming like Yona's growth into an eventual leader, or that he could have from the beginning tried to think of a way with less sacrifices if he hadn't underestimated both Hak and Yona's growth and tried to do everything by himself. Essentially he treated his two best friends as gameboard pieces but they showed him all along they were his equals and he was wrong for objectifying them and nto considering their feelings.

However, the show doesn't nearly go into Hak's flaws. After like a hundred chapters or so he basically just becomes the perfect boyfriend. So, Lio's inspiration was what if I take Hak's personality to the extreme. What if Hak was so obsessed with Yona because he was like REALLY WEIRD ABOUT IT. What if Hak's entire personality was being Yona's bodyguard / boyfriend and he had no sense of self outside of that? What if that was exactly his flaw, he's Yona's bodyguard and nothing else and therefore cannot exist without her. What if Hak's love for Yona was a FLAW?

So basically Lio is like Hak if Hak were a TOTAL FREAK about things.

[thetomorrowshow]

response

empires superpowers au masterlist (not up to date)

this takes place about 10 months after the end of ‘poisoned rats’.

cw: past abuse, flashbacks, heavy dissociation, blood & injury

~

It’s on the news before it’s anywhere else, which is to say, everyone knows before Jimmy.

Lizzie texts him to ask him if he needs anything, and while it’s an odd message to receive out of the blue, Jimmy doesn’t mind it at all. Lizzie checks in occasionally, particularly after big life events, and it’s just nice to hear from her.

Then Joel texts the same thing, and Jimmy starts to feel that something’s wrong.

He only finds out by chance, though—he turns on the TV and it happens to be on the news, and just before he switches away, he sees the scrolling headline.

MAJOR DISAPPEARS AFTER FIGHT WITH THE ORACLE.

His stomach drops.

The clip starts playing moments later, some newscaster narrating it like a sports game, not like his partner’s life is on the line.

“So here we can see the Oracle grab Major—it’s barely contact, but anything goes with that villain—and then, while Major’s disoriented, he slams him into the ground.”

Jimmy watches, mouth slightly open, as Scott indeed is shoved into the asphalt with enough force to knock a few teeth out. He winces, old injuries twinging in sympathy. It doesn’t stop there, though—as Scott is grabbing at the Oracle’s legs, doing anything to pull himself back up, he goes suddenly limp, and the Oracle lands a terrible hit to Scott’s nose, sending blood spurting everywhere.

The Oracle grasps Scott by the hair, then, Scott’s arms flailing out, and slams his head into the road. Jimmy gasps, reaches out as if he can grab Scott through the screen. This is bad. Scott hasn’t had such a bad fight since Xornoth. The Oracle must be getting more powerful, or gotten more training recently or something, because last Jimmy knew he was a local menace, not actually a danger.

Jimmy almost can’t watch. His hands are up at his mouth, and he can’t tear his eyes from the screen as Scott stops trying to fight back and just tries to crawl away. He almost makes it—the Oracle grabs him by the cape, pulls him back as his fingers scrabble for purchase.

The Oracle drags him up, has him in a chokehold—it’s the perfect position to just kill him, he’s already too weak to do much and the Oracle could easily slip a knife from the folds of his clothing and slash Scott’s throat, but he doesn’t. He just holds him as Scott struggles, whacking at his grip with steadily clumsier arms. Scott stops moving after a moment, and Jimmy’s moving forward, toward the TV, he has to help—

Scott’s only gathering strength though, and moments later he manages to buck backward and throw the Oracle’s arms from around his neck. With a spray of ice on the road, Scott collapses and penguin slides down the hill and past the news van, throwing up a curved wall of ice to make a sharp turn to the right. He disappears from view entirely, and when the camera turns back to the Oracle, he’s gone.

It’s barely a minute-long clip, but it leaves Jimmy breathless in the worst way possible. He needs to find Scott, he needs to help him—he’s opening the front door before he even puts his mask on, only in socks and his gym clothes, he’s got to find him—

His phone buzzes, and without even thinking he answers, everything in him tensing at the thought that it could be Scott, it has to be Scott—

“Jimmy, where are you right now?”

Lizzie. His heart utterly sinks. “I’m—do you know where he is? I’m going out to find him—”

“Are you at home?”

“Yeah, yes, but I’m leaving—”

“Do not leave,” she tells him sternly. For the first time, Jimmy registers feedback from her end—as if she’s outside on a windy day, or standing on the pier. “Stay at home.”

“I have to find him,” says Jimmy, and he needs to grab his key—where is his key, it’s usually right on the hook by the door—

“Joel and I are sweeping the city, all right? You need to stay home.”

“I’m not scared,” Jimmy retorts. “I can fight, I will fight, I’ll kill the Oracle if I have to—”

“Jimmy.”

He stops, reluctantly, at her tone.

“You need to stay home right now, because if Scott is his usual stubborn self and doesn’t check himself into a hospital, he’s going to come to you,” she explains. “Now I need you to listen to me, all right?”

He sighs. He’s still burning with a need to get out there, find Scott, but she’s right. Unfortunately. He slams the front door shut, sighs even louder. “Yeah, fine. What is it.”

“Get towels you don’t care about,” she instructs. “I know you have a pack of rubber gloves somewhere, so get those and your first aid kit. Disinfect wherever you’re going to help him—I’d think the dining room table, but it’s your choice. Got all that?”

Jimmy’s already halfway to the closet for the first aid kit, grabbing some bleach-stained hand towels from the bathroom on the way. “Yeah. What else?”

“We’re most worried about a concussion here, so he might be confused—especially after fighting the Oracle. Help him know he’s safe and cared for. Maybe get something he’s familiar with to have near, to ground him?”

“Treat it like a flashback, got it.” Jimmy sets the first aid kit down on the table, runs back to their bedroom. He and Scott had gone on a Build-A-Bear date recently, and Scott had gotten the Frozen’s Elsa bear. That should do for grounding, hopefully.

He brings the bear (and after a thought, his own, a brown bear with roller skates) back to the dining room, then cracks open the rubbing alcohol from the first aid kit and starts rubbing down the table and one of the chairs.

“Take care of him, all right?” Lizzie says, sounding almost far away. “I’ve got to go, but I’ll call you with more updates. Text me if he shows up.”

Before he can even say goodbye, she hangs up.

Great. He just has to deal with this situation alone, then. Scott’s never been that badly injured since Jimmy’s been dating him—sure, there was the broken arm incident, but Scott had still won that fight. He’s never been so badly injured that he had to flee.

What if he doesn’t remember how to get home? It’s not like he’s lived here his whole life, it’s entirely possible that he gets lost on the way back. Jimmy needs to go looking for him, has to be out there to help—

From the office comes the sound of a window sliding open.

Jimmy drops the rag he’d been using to wipe down the table and sprints for the office.

Sure enough, Scott is there, one leg in the window, and looking absolutely awful.

He looks worse than he had on TV. The collar of his costume is drenched in blood, most of which seems to be stemming from his nose but there’s blood in his bright blue hair and dripping from his mouth and all over—

Blood, there’s so much blood and Jimmy’s not sure if its his own or his opponent’s but as he stares at it he feels nothing, nothing but hope that his master will reward him for being so good—

Scott grunts and Jimmy’s back in the present, but his feelings of detachment remain. He crosses the office to the window and wraps an arm under Scott’s armpit to pull him the rest of the way in (Scott cries out, but Jimmy ignores it), then puts his other arm at his knees and fully lifts his boyfriend up.

Scott’s almost too heavy to carry—sure, Jimmy’s been working out, but the deadweight of a muscular, six foot human isn’t anything that he’s used to. So he gathers all of his strength and hurries down the hallway before his arms can give out, carrying Scott to the dining room and settling him in the chair he’s prepared before cracking open the first aid kit.

Jimmy strips off his mask first, grimacing at the bruises already beginning to ring his eyes. Luckily, Jimmy’s set quite a few broken noses in his time, and he mutters a warning before jerking it back into place. Scott lets out another cry, muffled by Jimmy shoving a wad of cotton under his nose.

He holds it there for a few moments while he categorizes the other wounds. The head wound is probably most important—or rather, most dangerous. There’s scrapes and bruises in various places all over his body, visible through the tears in his costume. Red stains his lips, so Jimmy pries his mouth open—yep, missing tooth and bitten tongue. He knows Scott’s already got an implanted molar, but this is one of his front teeth, leaving a gaping hole in his mouth. That’s going to need some cosmetic surgery.

It’s not really a huge concern at the moment, though, so Jimmy moves on, rolling down the neck of Scott’s costume.

Sure enough, bruises are already blossoming around his throat. That’s not something Jimmy can take care of himself—he needs an x-ray to make sure nothing’s broken, probably. In fact, it would be better just to take Scott to the hospital right now.

One last thing to check—across the room, on the hook where he usually leaves it, is his key, a pocket flashlight attached to the key ring. Jimmy retrieves it, shines it in Scott’s eyes.

His pupils don’t dilate smoothly, and the left eye is slower than the right. That’s never good.

“Are you feeling disoriented?”

Scott blinks. “. . . yeah,” he rasps. Jimmy hands him his glass of water, gives him a napkin when he chokes on it.

“We’re going to the hospital,” he announces, clicking off the flashlight. “Put your mask back on, I’ll carry you to the car.”

Scott complies, hands moving slowly and shakily. “I—Jimmy?” he asks, voice small.

“Yeah?”

Scott sniffles. “I don’t feel well.” “That’s why we’re going to the hospital,” Jimmy tells him, voice utterly lacking emotion. He doesn’t feel much of anything, right now. “Do you want to bring anything?”

Scott looks around, blinking slowly. He points to the Elsa bear on the table. Jimmy nods, glances around for a moment before finding a reusable plastic grocery bag and stuffing the bear in it.

“You’ll have to leave it in the car, but that’s fine. Let’s go.”

Scott is, for the most part, complacent as Jimmy picks him up, wrapping his arm around Jimmy’s neck. Jimmy carries him out of the house and into the backseat of the car as quickly as possible, then ducks back inside to look for Scott’s thin work wallet, eventually finding it just outside the office window. He grabs it—it identifies Scott as Major, has his SuperInsurance card, and other necessary cards—then heads back out to the car, swinging into the driver’s seat and snapping a mask over his face. He tosses the bag with the bear in the backseat with Scott, then pulls out of the driveway.

The hands on the steering wheel don’t look like his, and it takes until Jimmy clicks on the turn signal at a stoplight to realize that he’s dissociated. In fact, he thinks he’s been out of it since he helped Scott inside. Come to think of it, he doesn’t remember doing anything to comfort Scott, calm instincts taking over to keep him from panicking.

A glance in his rearview mirror shows that Scott barely looks conscious. “Don’t fall asleep,” Jimmy snaps, and Scott jolts up, gasping, one hand clutching at his other arm. His other arm that looks mysteriously swollen, held carefully close to Scott’s body.

How had he focused so hard on the head wound that he hadn’t even noticed an injured arm? It’s clearly hurting Scott, and he had done nothing—

“Stay awake, okay? Talk to me. What are you feeling?”

“My arm hurts,” Scott manages. “I think—Jimmy, I think it’s broken again. I don’t—where are we going?”

“The hospital. Just hang tight, we’ll be there soon.”

They won’t be there soon. They’re still at least twenty minutes away. Scott had actually been closer to the hospital before he’d headed home, so he could’ve saved them both some time and gone straight there.

The hands that are definitely his but don’t look it tighten on the wheel. None of that matters right now. Right now he just needs to get Scott to somewhere for treatment.

It’s a tense drive, but Jimmy manages to stay levelheaded. He knows he’s speeding, so every cop car he passes he sends a burst of power out toward, hoping whatever accident it causes won’t be very dangerous.

He sees the signs for the hospital and cuts across three lanes of traffic to get into it. Once there, he pulls into a parking spot and looks up.

At the hospital.

The dissociation hits full-force.

It’s not the hospital, not the one where he was taken right after, but it’s still a hospital. It’s still tied to needles and blood and long hours on an exam table and distress and pain, and just looking at it makes his head all woozy.

His head presses against something hard. His hands go slack. He’s not sure where he is. He’s not sure what’s real.

It’s easier to believe that he’s asleep, easier to accept that none of this is real. He doesn’t even know what he doesn’t want to be real.

He’s not sure how long he floats there, feeling nothing but anxiety about how he’s feeling nothing. He doesn’t even register that there’s any sort of outside stimulation until he hears words, tinny and staticky.

“Jimmy? Hey, Jim, what’s happening? Talk to me.”

“I don’t know,” he thinks he says. “What’s happening?”

A sigh. “Scott says you just sort of zoned out. Do you know why?”

He’s not sure how to answer, so he doesn’t.

“Do you know where you are?”

“No,” he admits, because he doesn’t. He has no clue where he is or how he got here, and now that he’s realized that, the anxiety develops into panic.

“Look around, Jim. Tell me five things you can see.”

Five things—that’s a grounding exercise. Jimmy knows that’s a grounding exercise. He glances around. “There’s a steering wheel. Radio. A seat. I’m in the car.” It hits him like a train, the understanding that he was driving, and he can’t remember that he was driving, and he can’t remember why he was driving, but he’s in the car behind the steering wheel. “Um, asphalt. Parking lines.”

“Cool, four things you can touch?”

The hands in front of him don’t exactly look like his own. One of them lays itself on the steering wheel, and he’s not sure if it’s by his own instruction or not.

He’s sitting in the car, though, so he can assume some certain things. “The seat. The armrest. Um.”

“That’s good. Anything else?”

The voice sounds rushed. Jimmy cringes. He can’t really feel much, other than the awareness that a thing is touching him. Another sigh.

“Right, hand the phone back to Scott, okay? Scott, where are you?”

Is he holding something? He’s holding a phone, and that’s where the voice is coming from. Jimmy stares at it, not quite sure what he can do with it. “Hand it back to Scott,” he echoes.

“Jim’s really out of it, Scott, so can you just look out the window and tell us which hospital it is? Then Lizzie and I’ll be over.”

“It’s . . . United. You guys are coming here?”

“Yeah, well, it sounds like you two are being a bit dysfunctional right now. I’ll escort you and Lizzie’ll stay with Jimmy, and that way all bases are covered. Sound good?”

“I guess?”

It’s warm, Jimmy thinks. Like he’s lying next to a heater. At least it’s feeling something. He feels so detached, so out of his body, that he’s not sure of anything anymore.

He doesn’t hear any more speaking, and he’s not sure if that’s good or not. He just sort of . . . exists, less-than-present but not nonexistent.

At least, until there’s someone grabbing his arm.

He’s not exactly snapped back into his body, but he can see it now—someone heaving him out of the car, someone with pink hair, wrapping an arm around him and walking him to the other side of the car. It feels like he’s observing from above, knowing that it’s his body being moved but feeling no real attachment to it.

It all becomes foggy again as he’s set down in the passenger seat, but he manages to register something clicking and then the car moving. He doesn’t know how long the car moves, but at some point, there’s someone talking to him.

“Scott’s all right, you’re all right, everything is fine. Jimmy, are you with me?”

He tries to nod. He’s not sure if he does it properly.

“No, you’re not. Can you hold this?”

Something’s put in his hand. He doesn’t know what it is.

“Smell that, all right?”

He lifts it up to his nose. It smells sharp, citrus-y.

“What’s that smell like?”

“Oranges,” he answers dutifully.

“Keep your hand up, keep smelling it. Can you describe it?”

He sniffs it again. “Nice,” he eventually says. “Clean. Oranges, and lemons.”

“What does an orange taste like?”

He puts the thing in his mouth.

“No—! No, Jimmy, don’t eat that! That’s—that’s an air freshener, it’s not an orange! Please take it out of your mouth!”

It’s bitter, he thinks, as he obeys. Not like how oranges usually taste. Oranges usually taste sweet, a bit sour, and have all those stringy bits that you have to get off otherwise eating the segments aren’t worth it. It’s one of his favorite tastes, though; the fridge always has orange juice in it and there’s usually oranges on the table. Not just because they taste good, but because they’re decent tools for grounding. The peel has a strong smell and texture, and when you’re done peeling you can taste it.

This isn’t an orange. But it feels suspiciously like a grounding exercise. Why would he be doing grounding?

He blinks, looks up at Lizzie. She’s here. He doesn’t remember her getting here. “Am I dissociating?” he asks.

She laughs a little. “Yeah, I think you might be. Can you smell the air freshener again?”

It’s wet with his own saliva in his hand, but he raises it to his nose anyway. “I’m smelling the air freshener.”

“Good job. Don’t eat it.”

“Don’t eat the air freshener.”

“Smell it.”

“Smell it.”

“Yes.”

“It smells like orange.”

“Mhm.”

Jimmy closes his eyes and breathes in deep. It smells like orange, but not quite. More bitter than an actual orange. Like the way it tasted bitter. “Did I put an air freshener in my mouth?”

Lizzie laughs again. “You very much did. Are you back?”

“No,” he tells her, then goes back to smelling. He can smell something else on his hands, something just as familiar as an orange. Something clean, yet bad. Something that hurts.

“Jimmy, you’re crying. Can you keep smelling the air freshener? Lift your hand back up. What’s it smell like?”

He smells it. “Orange.”

“That’s right. Do you like it?”

“Do I like it.”

“Yes. Do you like it?”

Jimmy likes oranges, so it only makes sense for him to like this scent, right? But in the same way it tastes bad, he’s not sure that the smell of it can hold a candle to real oranges.

“I don’t know,” he says slowly.

“All right. What do you know?”

He sniffs the air freshener. “It smells like oranges. I’m holding it. It tastes bad. You’re here.”

“I’m here,” agrees Lizzie. “Do you want me to hold your hand?”

Jimmy frowns. “Holding the air freshener.”

“You have two hands.”

Oh. Right. He extends his other hand, Lizzie taking it in hers. Her hands are cool, but not nearly as cool as Scott’s. Her nails are pointy, brushing against his skin. The skin. Of the hand. It doesn’t look like his.

“I’m dissociating real bad, I think,” he murmurs. Lizzie’s hand grips his tighter.

“That’s all right. I’m here until you feel better.”

It’s a long time until Jimmy feels more like himself. When he fully becomes aware again, he’s sitting on his couch next to Lizzie, sharing some leftover pasta between them. He blinks at it, vaguely remembering the process it had taken to get him to eat it at all.

“I’m back, I think,” he says, blinking a couple of times. He licks his lips, tastes the pasta sauce there. 

“Oh, thank goodness,” Lizzie sighs in relief. “I was just going to try getting you to nap next, I was completely out of ideas.”

Jimmy laughs a little, thoughts still somewhat out of order from all the fog settled around his brain. “Norman usually helps. Did you get him?”

“Check your feet.”

He looks down. Sure enough, Norman is curled up on his feet, purring loudly.

Jimmy doesn’t remember much from the past—however long it’s been. He has bits and pieces of the drive home from the hospital, but he has no idea when Lizzie turned up or what happened to Scott.

Scott.

He jolts up, almost knocking his plate of pasta to the floor. “Scott,” he gasps out, “is he—did—”

“Scott’s fine,” Lizzie says placatingly, gesturing for him to relax. “Joel just texted me a few minutes ago. He got some stitches and they just finished his scans, they’re waiting on the results. They got him on some pretty good pain meds, I heard, so he’s doing fine.”

Reluctantly, Jimmy sits back, wringing his hands. Sure, Lizzie can tell him that Scott’s fine. But he hasn’t seen that, he doesn’t know for sure, all he knows is that he barely did anything to treat Scott’s wounds and then couldn’t even walk him into the hospital.

His head hurts.

“We can call him, maybe?” suggests Lizzie. Jimmy nods after a moment. That might help.

He sits in silence as she fiddles with her phone, doing who knows what. Every second that passes is another second that Jimmy doesn’t know how Scott’s doing.

Then Lizzie’s phone rings.

She answers, grimaces at the screen, then hands it over to Jimmy.

It’s a video call, and Scott’s there. His nose is properly bandaged, now, and Jimmy can see through the eyeholes in his mask that his eyes are puffy and bloodshot. There’s a large bandage along his jawline, and his split lip is actively bleeding. The ring of bruises around his throat is stark against the hospital gown.

He looks absolutely beautiful.

“Jimmy!” Scott cries, delighted, then sheepishly ducks his head when Joel shushes him offscreen. “Joel—sorry, the King says I can’t say your name.”

Jimmy chuckles, nerves quieting as he gazes at Scott. “That’s fine, Major. How are you feeling?”

“Not great,” Scott admits. He shrugs. “My head hurts, but they put some good drugs in my arm and I can’t really feel it so that’s good!” He tips the screen to show an IV. Jimmy shudders and looks away.

When he looks back, Scott’s turned it back to his face, concern written all over it. “Are you okay? You were . . . uh, what’s the word. . . .”

“Dissociating,” Jimmy finishes.

“Yeah. That. Lizzie said it got really bad, but when we got to United, you just sorta . . . blanked out.”

Jimmy bites back a retort. He doesn’t actually want to be mean to Scott, especially not when he’s floating on pain drugs. He’s just exhausted and foggy from the dissociation. “I’m good, just worried about you. And maybe don’t say real names, yeah?”

“Oh. Right. Joel, how much longer?”

A sigh from offscreen. “Probably half an hour, maybe more. Done talking to your man?”

“J—the King wants his phone back,” Scott whispers. “Are you really okay? Do you need a nap?”

Jimmy can’t help but laugh. “I’ll go rest if you rest, yeah? Love you, keep annoying the Mad King.”

“I love you so much,” Scott says seriously. “I wanna kiss you right now, but I don’t wish you were here because that would be bad for you. So I can wait until we go home.”

Suddenly choked up, Jimmy manages a wave, which Scott sets the phone down to return. Then Jimmy passes it back to Lizzie, who exchanges a few words with Joel before hanging up.

Jimmy doesn’t go to bed. He curls up on the couch and turns on some episode of a 90s sitcom to watch in silence.

“You didn’t fail him,” Lizzie says during a commercial. “You did good.”

Jimmy sighs. “Lizzie, I was dissociating before I even helped him into the house. I didn’t call you, I didn’t actually do anything to help him, and I couldn’t even go into the hospital with him. I freaked out and couldn’t help when he needed me.”

“You fought a trauma response to assess your boyfriend’s injuries and were able to drive him to the hospital,” Lizzie counters. “You set his broken nose and kept your head, despite having triggers all around you. Not to mention, driving him to the hospital was probably the best choice you could’ve made—I don’t have a car, and Joel was halfway across the city. There was no way we could get him to help. You did everything you could.”

Jimmy doesn’t argue. He’s too tired. He just turns his attention back to the TV as the commercial break ends.

When Joel helps Scott in the house several hours later, Lizzie’s made pancakes for them all, and Jimmy’s set out plates and spreads. Scott eats a single pancake, eyelids heavy, before limping off for bed. Jimmy follows him, rearranges the pillows so that Scott’s newly-casted arm can be elevated.

“You’re gonna be here a while, mister,” Jimmy tells him, handing him an ice pack. “Doctor’s orders. A week of bed rest, all for you.”

“At least I can give you kisses,” Scott slurs, smiling the best he can with a split lip and swollen mouth. Jimmy giggles, stripping off his shirt and climbing into bed next to him.

“I think even kisses are gonna hurt, baby. It’s okay, though. You’ll be okay.”

Scott nods sleepily, eyes already closed. “Yeah. We both will be.”

[taldigi]

Mona in back 2 inaba…he’s so cuteeeeeeee and him being a kid makes like 100% sense. he is so little kid coded i love him and I love you for making him such a cutie patootie

thank you!! I love writing and exploring his character! He's got the intelligence to match the other PTs but a severe immaturity- and a large amount of that is just cause.. YEAH! he is just a kid!

What really resonated is that there is a scene ingame where Morgana and Joker are talking, and you can respond in a way that has Morgana be like: "Yeah, but I'd be the older brother" and that charmed me a lot! (And thats really reflected in simester 3 where he's taller than Ren! and he kind of looks like him too! of COURSE he'd fashion his ideal self the way he does!!)

But he's not magically perfect. Now, Mona has to learn to hold things with his new hands, how to take care of himself all over again- to learn to communicate with others or wear clothes! Simultaneously balancing his new freedom as a human and lack of freedom from loosing his cat-self.

Momo's so used to being responsible, but how can he be when he's so frustrated because he can't hold a cup very well? When he has to deal with new emotions and consequences for actions? AND he has to rely on Ren more than ever.

"Being a human is hard!" Morgana howled, his fists balled up tight and pressed firmly to his eyes. He had managed to curl up tight against the wall, shrinking away from his fallen bowl as if it had been filled with poison.

"It's only instant ramen, see- the bowl didn't even break." Ren attempted to soothe, kneeling down to gently scoop the spilled meal back into the bowl- but he was only met with a fitful quiet as Morgana huffled and hiccuped to himself. So, he cleaned in silence, turning over the outburst in his head as he went. He opened his mouth a few times to speak, but closed it soon after- finding his words- his thoughts, slightly too scrambled to articulate. Morgana knew he wasn't in trouble, right? Ren knew his fine motor skills had been warped after he had changed. An overwhelming loss, considering that it had been Morgana who had been the craftiest of the group, most skilled with their hands... Paws? Being a human is hard, huh? Well, he could certainly agree with that. "You can't be magically good at everything, you know." The words came slowly, Ren being careful not to fall into his 'leader' cadence as he spoke. "I know, but..." Morgana hesitated, then emitted a shuddering breath, "You make it seem effortless." Ren cocked an eyebrow, "What do you mean?" "Being.." Morgana shifted, making a gesture vaguely at where the mess had been previously. His expression fell again, "It's.. a lot. It was way easier when all I had to do was make sure you ate and woke up on time." Ren hummed, shifting his position to sit next to the cat-turned-boy, easing his back against the wall with a sigh. His thoughts swam, recalling the many many times he had failed and their results- such as him sprawled out on the floor of the attic after overexerting himself, every time he had tried that damn burger challenge and gotten sick after- or that time he had torn the hell out of his favorite shirt by climbing over the school gate.. and all just to visit Haru on the rooftop while he was supposed to be dead. (Heck, he even failed at that, if you consider it.) "I just... feel stupid," Morgana broke him from his thoughts, "I feel stupid, and awkward, and angry.. frustrated. Wrong." "I think that's normal- to feel that way..." He furrowed his brow, head tilting down to hide his expression behind the glare of his glasses, "I've failed a lot. You will too- and you will, a lot. For the rest of your life." Morgana emitted a displeased grunt. "But those failures all add up, bit by bit, and soon they'll become lived experience. That's part of being human- the big, scary part. Making mistakes. Living with them. Learning from them... learning not to fear them." "Sheesh Joker," A short laugh, and Morgana leaned heavily onto Ren's lap, tears leaving dots on his jeans, "When did you get so smart?" Ren lowered his arm and placed his hand on Morgana's head- gently petting the soft hair. "After I failed to kill god." "We." Morgana corrected, muffled. "S'right. We." Ren paused, pulling a grin, "Then we went on to to kill him twice. Then going on to beat up Dr. Maruki- who was essentially God 2 in a fistfight. You know, usual teenager milestones."

His pat turned rough, mussing up Morgana's hair, "Anyway. Food? Do you wanna remake your ramen?" "Can't" Morgana frowned. "That was the last shrimp one." "How about Aiyas, then?" Ren asked, feeling better as Morgana's expression lifted, "It's been a while, and Kumanda-san just paid me." "I think I'd like that."

[songofpolaris]

Imagine: Scribbled notes

masterlist / navigation

-> pairing; reader x Remus Lupin

-> wc; 1.3k

-> warnings; fluff, autumn and mentions of smoking. if any of the previously mentioned sickens or disturbs you, please do not read.

-> a/n; i don't even know when I last posted a good old hopeless romantic imagine that I would normally use to fall asleep to.

Lattes, cappuccinos, mint tea, cinnamon rolls and pumpkin spice on everything you eat. Movie marathons, thick fuzzy blankets, rainy nights and cold morning air. Dusty books, poison ivy and poems. Autumn. 

For some people, this is the time to hide away and complain that the sun is nowhere to be found while sitting in their houses all day, doing nothing. But not for you. No, for you, this is your time to shine. The leaves are showing your favourite colours each morning on your way to work and the customers come in with hair that’s blown in each and every direction by the winds outside. They smile, grateful to have a place to recharge at for a bit, and are always that tiny bit more thankful when you hand them a warm cup of coffee and a neatly wrapped book. Your autumn brightness lights up their seasonal darkness. 

There is also always a switch in customers when this change of season takes place. The summer blonds in flowy dresses leave and the autumn brunettes with thick sweaters take their place. 

There’s only one person who keeps coming in, every week, when you work. He’s tall and dark and handsome and all the other cliche book descriptions you wish you could use for someone in real life. But he’s also introverted and not perfect looking. He has scars and messy hair and doesn’t seem to act like he’s anything other than himself. 

As you stand on your toes to put the new book series on the shelf, you hear the bell ringing from the door. The door itself creeks enough for you to hear that someone has come in, but the boss won’t fix it for reasons no one can quite comprehend. Something with nostalgia and how the youth keeps on fixing things that do not, ever, need fixing. 

“Hello! I’ll be with you in just a moment, just let me put this down.” You greet whoever just came in still standing on the tip of your toes, clumsily balancing three books under your left arm while placing another one on the shelf. 

“That doesn’t look like it’ll be done in a moment and if it is, it won’t be because all the books got to their place, y/n.” A low voice answers. You smile as you realise it’s him. 

“Delusion is a fine way to work, Remus.” You answer as you try to get even higher on your toes.

You hear footsteps hasting your way as you fall back, realising gravity actually still is with you. However, two arms envelop you before you hit the ground. They slowly push you back into your normal standing position, still hugging you from the back. 

“It’s also a way to break your toes or get a concussion, genius.” Remus whispers into your ear. You huff and turn around. His arms leave you and you feel the absence of them immediately. 

Remus kneels down and gathers the books, then easily places them on the havened book shelf. His curls fall back from his eyes and the strong jawline gets shown off more than ever. ‘How is this specimen real?’ is all you manage to think. As he looks back at you, you clear your throat and walk up to the register. While walking, you raise your hand to your cheek. It actually feels hot. Is it hot? You let your hair fall into your face to cover up the cheeks, which feel like they might actually be looking like tomatoes. 

You duck behind the register to grab the only delivery made this week, which could only be for him. This man reads a new book every week and buys a new one each time he comes into the store. So far, the only week he didn’t come in was the first week of spring break, which later turned out to be because he broke his leg and physically could not make it to the bookstore on his own. 

“Emma by Jane Austen this time?” You ask as he comes up to you. He nods.

“I love you for this! It’s actually my favourite book.” You tell him while wrapping it. 

Now, a blush comes up on his cheeks. He picks on his sweater awkwardly while starting to lean onto the counter. While looking away he answers; “I know, you told me last time.”

You ignore the awkward change of behaviour and push your hair back out of your face. You couldn’t hide that heat in you even if you did try, so why would you. You look at him questioningly. 

“You remembered?”

“Of course I did. Anyway, even if I did forget the conversation, I have a list of books you recommended to me.” He says it like it’s the most normal thing on the planet. Sure. Everybody is this attentive. Every single person on this planet is this kind of attentive. 

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I care about your opinion and trust it.”

“Can I see it?”

“Why are you only asking questions suddenly?”

You lay the neatly wrapped book in front of him, tilt your head and look at him. 

“Can I?” Is all you say, still keeping a hand on the book. He looks down at the book and then focuses onto your eyes.

“No.”

“Why in the world not?”

Remus shakes his head. His glasses are crooked and he smells like cigarettes and peppermint. There’s only a register between the two of you that’s really just 17 inches broad. That gives you a good sense of someone’s smell when they lean up to it. 

“Fine” he reaches into the pocket of his trousers and takes out a folded piece of paper, “but don’t start thinking I’m a stalker or anything now, alright?” He says as he hands it to you. You nod and unfold the paper. On it, titles are scribbled and quotes stand behind the ones he has read.

“What are the quotes for, smokey?” You ask jokingly. Not that it reflects how you feel in any way, shape or form. Truthfully, you’re tearing up and trying to hide it with a stupid comment. 

Remus seems to hesitate answering this question. Though the weird nickname always does make him show that lopsided grin of his. 

“Unless it’s a state secret, you can tell me.” You add.

“They’re quotes I see you in.”

“But these quotes…Remus”

“Yes, y/n?”

“I know you have read these, but have you?” You say perplexed. This can not be real. Outside of the store, you two have run into each other some time and each time it was amazing, but it didn’t feel like he thought much more of the two of you than just people who sometimes coincidentally run into each other and talk about books outside of that. The quotes seem to think otherwise. And they’re all ones you love and annotated yourself.

“Y/n, please say something. I swear I’m not some obsessive person, I just really enjoy spending time with you and thought this would… I don’t know. Give me more to talk to you about? Understand you better?”

You laugh. How can someone think this is going to make you see them as anything less than amazing. Less than wonderful. Less than perfect. You move around the register and then you’re standing right in front of him. His chin actually hits the top of your head when you stand closer to him. You move back and move your hand to the back of his head. 

“I’m going to stand on my toes again, alright? So you just hold me.” You whisper as you stand on your toes and your lips slowly, delicately touch his. His arms wrap around you. You have never been more steady than this.

“It's such a happiness when good people get together.” Jane Austen - Emma

taglist; @calamitoustide @innerloverpainter

[siriusleee]

Okay so the request issss: basically for some unmentioned reason (unless you can think of one 👀) the 141 boys + reader are on a vacation of sorts and they all have to ride in the same vehicle. just something soft and sweet and maybe some funny 🫡 you can run wild with this and add whatever, but road-trip times with the 141 LETS GOOOO *foaming at the mouth* oh! and thank you so much :D, have a nice day and i love ur fics btw

here you go bestie. road trip with the 141. platonically. or not. depends on how you read them.

send a request!

simon 'ghost' riley

He breaks into your snack aisle reverie, boots squeaking against the freshly waxed gas station floor. You're hunched over, fingers trailing against every snack on the bottom row. Your other hand is full, the snacks are precariously held against your chest.  

"You haven't picked anything yet?"

"There's an art to road trip snacks, L.T.."

"That so?"

You ignore the blatant sarcasm in his voice; your back cracks as you push yourself upright. Ghost reaches out to grab a chocolate bar from the counter and tucks it into the mountain of snacks you're already holding. 

"Is that all for you?"

"Screw you L.T.; for your information, this is for all of us. I have to make sure that all of you have something to eat when you get hangry. The last time Gaz didn't eat a damn snack he was so annoying I almost smothered him with my travel pillow."

Ghost follows you to the counter where you dump the pile of snacks on the counter. You dig in your pocket for your card, pushing past all the snack wrappers you'd taken from Soap already. You have it half out of your pocket before Ghost manages to step in your way, his own card already in the card reader.

The cashier pushes your bags across the counter towards you; Ghost takes them with one hand.

"Come on L.T. I could have paid for it."

"Just say thank you."

You huff, ducking under his arm as he holds the door open for you.

"Thank you. I guess."

john price

The concrete is warm beneath your back - the air so still it feels like everything around you has frozen. The far-off headlights of cars on the highway illuminate the pool for a brief second every time one drives by the motel; the lights disappear as they pass by the motel. 

"Shouldn't you be getting some sleep?"

Price's voice doesn't startle you; you'd been waiting on someone else to find you lying beside the pool, feet dipped into the warm, still water. Sleep doesn't come easy around the 141 - and it's not unusual for you all to stay up all night together. 

"Shouldn't you," you quip back, lifting one foot out of the water before dropping it back down to make a splash, "you have to drive tomorrow. I can sleep in the back and drool on Soap the entire time."

Price groans as he lowers himself down beside you, his feet dropping heavily into the warm water. 

"I got enough sleep."

Without thinking, you reach up to trace patterns against Price's back. Under your fingers, his muscles tense and roll before he finally relaxes underneath your touch. 

"You need to get a fucking tan Cap.. You're positively ghostly. You're glowing."

Price shoots you a look of poison before leaning over to look at your legs, dangling in the water beside his.  

"Your tan's not looking all that well either."

"Well if someone would ever give me time off to go spend time outside, I could fix that."

Price lowers himself down beside you, hands crossed on his chest. The silence between the two of you stretches, filled with the distant sound of tires on asphalt and the gentle ripple of the pool as you move your feet. 

You turn to say something else to Price, but his eyes are closed. He twitches once in his sleep, mustache fluttering as he breathes out. You roll your eyes at him before turning back on your back. You'll let him sleep for a bit before waking him up.

kyle 'gaz' garrick

Ghost nearly tips the car as he turns it, slamming you into Gaz in the backseat. Up front, Soap is yelling at Ghost to learn how to fuckin' drive. 

Your stomach is rolling at the motion of Ghost's shit driving as you push yourself off of Gaz. 

"Can someone else fucking drive?" You ask irritably, ignoring the way Ghost shoots you a look in the rearview mirror.

Gaz laughs, extending his bag of chips toward you. You shake your head at him, propping your feet up on the center console. 

"I can't eat. With this driving, I might throw up everywhere."

"I think the more we complain, the worse he drives," Gaz says under his breath, shoving the bag of chips into his duffle crammed at his feet. 

"Well if he keeps driving like this, I'm going to fucking throw up all over him."

"Take a nap. Then you won't feel sick."

You gesture to the two men up front, arguing about which turn to take up the road. 

"I'm supposed to sleep in this?"

Gaz shrugs once, a quick 'that's fair'. You lean your head against the cool window, trying to think around the sounds of everyone talking. 

A sharp turn pulls you to your senses, but when you sit up it's not from the cool class window, but the soft warmth of someone's lap. Above you, Gaz scrolls through his phone, oblivious to the fact that you're awake. 

Up front, Soap and Ghost are quiet - the only sound is the hum of the air conditioning and the low tones of the radio on the lowest setting. You readjust yourself; Gaz's hand comes down on your shoulder to keep you in place. You're pulled back under to sleep by the warmth of him. 

johnny 'soap' mctavish

You're tortured by the sound of Price's snoring. You realized twenty minutes after he fell asleep why the rest of the team forced you to share the tiny, musty hotel room with him. His snoring had the exact tone and timbre of a half rusted chainsaw cutting through metal.

You flop over with a huff, folding the pillow around your head to try to drown out the tortuous sound. You're almost certain this is how prisoners have been tortured in the past. 

After an hour, you give in.

Price doesn't wake as you sneak the car keys off of his night stand and slip out of the room. Your blanket drags the ground as you step into the still night air; at least you can get some decent sleep in the car. 

You jerk open the passenger side door, ready to crawl in and get some sleep. You're not expecting to come face to face with Johnny, curled up on his side, one eye cracked open to peer at you beneath his lashes. 

"Price was snoring." He says, with a half grin as you shut the door in his face to climb into the back seat. 

"Why are you here?" You ask shoving everyone's stuff onto the floor so that you can stretch out on the seat, toes hitting the door.

"Same reason you are."

You lay in the back seat, trying to force yourself to fall asleep; but the sound of Johnny's soft breath and the travelers on the highway behind you are enough to keep you awake.

"How did you get in here? Price had the keys?" 

Johnny huffs at you trying to make midnight conversation, but he answers, voice muffled beneath his blanket.

"L.T. has the spare set. I took it out of his bag earlier today just in case."

"I'll remember to do that to Price tomorrow."

It's silent again until - 

"Johnny?"

He huffs again, and you know that you're getting on his nerves.

"What?"

"Good-night."

He doesn't say it back. You turn, pulling your blanket above your head, Johnny's soft breathing lulling you to sleep.

[martybaker]

I have many thoughts about retired Dream and his struggles with the human condition. Here’s one of them.

My heart’s ailment

or Dream gets sick for the first time since becoming human

________________________

“I am dying.”

“Uhuh, sure you are, darling. Come on, sit up for a bit. Drink this, it’ll help.”

Hob sits down on the bed where Dream is bundled in blankets, looking quite miserable indeed. It’s just a common cold though and it will pass, but it wouldn’t be like Dream to not turn it into a dramatic spectacle.

To be fair, it is his first cold since turning human, which means it is the first cold he’s ever experienced in all the billions of years of his existence, so Hob is willing to offer him some lenience. Besides, he feels a little guilty for bringing the damn thing in from university and getting away with very mild symptoms while his husband’s condition got more severe, due to his body’s lack of experience with combatting sicknesses.

Hob unravels the blankets and helps the disgruntled cat to sit up, rubbing his back and pushing a steaming mug into his hands.

Dream stares at it with suspicion.

“Is it poison?”

You know what, scratch that, no lenience for this oversized billion-years old baby, Christ.

“No it’s not bloody poison, it does not even taste that bad, actually. Come on now.”

“I wish it were poison,” Dream grumbles.

Hob rolls his eyes at the theatrics, having built an imunity against them, they no longer phase him. “Sure, and then your sister would finally end me as well, what a lovely thought.”

He inspects Dream’s temperature with his hand. Warm, but not feverish anymore. Thank heavens. The worst days when Dream burned like a star, coughed like a heavy smoker and couldn’t speak are behind them. His voice still sounds rougher than usual, but the cough has almost entirely subsided.

Hob pets the blankets where he’s calculated Dream’s knee should be.

“You’re getting better. It was worse yesterday, wasn’t it? Give it a few more days and you’ll be back up on your feet. You know what they say though, positive mindset is half of the way to recovery. It certainly wouldn’t hurt if you could cheer up a little.”

Dream slurps his medicine, making a face.

“It’s not my fault that human bodies are so weak and fragile even such a measly ailment can render them so useless.”

Hob snorts. “And yet, we persevere.”

“Hmph,” is the only answer he gets to that.

When the medicine is swallowed, Hob takes the mug back and puts it on the table where a bowl of steaming broth is waiting.

He reaches out to caress Dream’s cheek. Dream closes his eyes with a sigh and leans into the hold.

“Do you think you’d be able to drink some soup as well, love? It would help you regain strength.”

Dream’s eyes shoot open and he gives the bowl of soup a look of pure disdain, leaning away.

Hob sighs. “Your weak and fragile body needs sustenance.”

Dream turns up his nose at him.

“Nope, okay, I get it,” Hob gets up, feigning resignation. “You’re misery personified and i am a fool for trying to help, you can go back to moping in your cacoon, all by your lonesome.”

Look, Hob’s not above emotional blackmailing if that’s what’s necessary to get his pain-in-the-arse husband to make some effort to get better. The stupid moron can’t get it into his head that humans can’t live on air.

Luckily, Hob’s dirty little trick works like a charm, he only manages to take one step away from the bed, when he hears a muttered “Don’t go,” and two pale hands wrap like tentacles around his middle.

Hob sighs and lets himself be pulled back onto the bed.

“You’re so difficult sometimes, and yet, i persevere,” he teases.

“Because,” Dream prompts, plastered against Hob’s back, lips moving against his spine.

Hob huffs a laugh. “Wow, you’re so blatantly fishing for it.”

He wraps his hands around Dream’s and sighs. He gives in, as he always does, because though he may be immune to Dream’s theatrics he is not immune to the vast well of love towards this being, which bubbles inside him and, inexplicably, only seems to grow larger with each day, each year, each century.

“Because i love you,” he sighs.

“Mmm,” Dream hums contently, the vibrations tickling Hob’s back. He nuzzles against him like a kitten.

And then, miraculously:

“…I don’t wish to be alone, and i don’t wish for Despair’s company either.”

There’s a pause, and a deep sigh.

“I wish for yours. And I…appreciate your care. And patience.”

Hob chuckles. “Ah, feelings, sharing them is like pulling teeth, isn’t it?”

He’s teasing, but relief floods him knowing that they are making progress. However hard the human condition is for Dream, he has not yet said he regrets it. He has not yet said he regrets choosing a mundane life with Hob, and Hob will do his damnest to make sure he never does.

Even if it entails such horrifying lessons as talking about one’s feelings, admitting vulnerability, asking for help and letting your loved ones take care of you.

Expectedly, Dream bristles at the jab at his notorious shortcomings in the emotion-sharing department. “Hob. I have been sufficiently chastised, there’s no need for further commentary.”

Hob chuckles. “Yeah, you’re right. C’mere, Lord of Moping,” he pulls Dream into his arms, holding him close, and kisses his maudlin musings away.

__________________

[pandenewie]

15 - The Worst Fuckboy To Ever Exist

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It’s not the first time Y/n has walked into a party looking for Jay - although this time, the reasoning is a lot less different. The last time they were at one of these parties, the entire reason for their presence was to talk to Jay. This time, however, they’re more just here to have fun. Despite hanging out with the guys purely to get more information on this whole cheating thing - Y/n can’t lie and say that they’re not enjoying getting to know Jake and Sunghoon. They suppose Jay is cool, too.

Speaking of Jay, their eyes quickly land on him as he sits on one of the couches, a can of beer in his hand as he watches his friends in amusement. The two are currently in the middle of an intense Just Dance battle to some 2000s pop song Y/n can’t quite remember. 

Keeho and Yunjin are already there but Y/n’s work schedule caused them to show up later than planned. The two sit on another couch in the living room, also watching Jake and Sunghoon. Just as they’re about to call out to their friends, the feeling of someone’s hand on their shoulder causes Y/n to jump.

“Geez, it’s just me.”

They turn around to see Heeseung standing there, a beer can held snugly in his hand. “Well, next time give me a warning or something. I thought you were some creep trying to feel me up.” Y/n snides. “On your shoulder? How scandalous.” He rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his drink.

“Have you talked to the birthday boy yet?” Heeseung asks, nodding his head in the direction of his friend. “Uh, he’s been a little… preoccupied since I got here.” Y/n laughs, turning back to their cousin. “How bad is he?” Heeseung chuckles at the question. “He started drinking at 9 this morning. His goal is to have 21 shots before his birthday is over. I think he’s on number 19. Maybe 18? I don’t know, we haven’t really been keeping count.” Heeseung shrugs, laughing at the way Y/n looks at him with wide eyes. “21 shots? What was his birthday wish? To die of alcohol poisoning?” They turn back to the birthday boy, who has somehow managed to find the macarena on Just Dance. “Something like that.” Heeseung mumbles, grabbing Y/n’s arm and dragging them towards the group.

“Y/ns’s here.” Heeseung states, casually. This causes the group to turn their attention towards the two, Yunjin excitedly getting up to pull Y/n into a hug. “Never leave me alone with these idiots again.” She whispers. “What do you mean? Keeho is right there.” Y/n points out, causing Yunjin to look at them with a deadpan expression. “I said what I said.”

“You bitch.” Keeho frowns, gently kicking Yunjin’s ankle from his position on the couch. She turns around to flip him off, her change in attention giving Jay the chance to pull Y/n onto the couch.

They fall onto the fluffy surface with a huff, looking up at Jay confused. “Uh… hi?” They speak, causing him to smile in response. “Hey.” He responds casually. Y/n nods towards Jake, “You having fun babysitting?” Jay chuckles at the question. “I don’t know if fun is the right word… but he’s not dead yet so I’d say I’m succeeding.”

“And he’s taking 21 shots?” Y/n asks, raising an eyebrow at him. He laughs, shaking his head. “The last few have been water and salt - he’s drunk enough to not know the difference.” Y/n looks at him, impressed. “Don’t tell anyone though. I’ve still gotta do it for Sunghoon’s 21st.” He adds, playfully winking. “Well, your secret’s safe with me.” Y/n laughs.

“Are you drinking tonight?” Jay asks, taking note of the lack of drink in Y/n’s hand. “Depends on what there is.” They shrug simply. “How about I go make you something?” Jay offers. Y/n's eyes light up. “Are you telling me I'll get the privilege of drinking one of Jay Park’s infamous cocktails?” They ask, teasingly. “They're not infamous…” He mumbles, blushing slightly at the compliment. Y/n can’t help but laugh at his reaction. “Whatever… any specific flavours you want?” He asks, getting up from the couch. “Surprise me.” Y/n winks. Jay laughs, shaking his head as he enters the kitchen.

He quickly gets to work, rummaging through the multiple alcohol bottles spread across Jake’s kitchen counter. As he begins mixing, Heeseung walks into the room - his eyes lighting up when he sees what Jay is doing. 

“Yo! Are you making cocktails?” Heeseung asks excitedly, throwing his arm around Jay’s shoulder. “It’s for Y/n.” Jay replies with a mumble. He’s completely focused on the drink he’s making, barely paying Heeseung any attention. Heeseung’s eyebrows furrow at his words. “For Y/n? Why? Do they think they’re too cool to drink old RTDs like the rest of us?” Jay shrugs at this. “I said I’d make one for them.”

Heeseung’s mouth drops into an O shape before turning upwards into a smirk.  “Oh, I see. Is this your way of trying to subtly show that you have a crush on them without making it super obvious and potentially scaring them away?” He asks, nudging his friend playfully. Jay turns to him with wide eyes, suddenly paying full attention to the conversation.

Does Heeseung know about his feelings? How? He’s been hiding them so well! At least… he thought he had been…

Heeseung can’t help but break out into obnoxious laughter at the panic on Jay’s face. “Oh come on. Did you really think you were being subtle about your feelings? I know you dude.” His words cause a subtle blush to spread across Jay’s cheeks. “Plus it’s been how many months since you and Kimmy broke up? We all knew you were gonna start crushing on someone soon. You’re like, the worst fuckboy ever.” Heeseung smiles. “I don’t know if that’s a compliment or an insult…” Jay mumbles, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Wait… so, you’re cool with it?” Jay asks. “What do you mean?” Heeseung furrows his brows, reaching forward to pour himself another drink. “I mean… Y/n’s your little cousin.” Jay trails off, causing Heeseung to snicker. “And? I’d rather you date them than Jake or some shit.” Jay nods, laughing slightly. “I guess you’re right.”

“Heeseung! Come quick! Sunghoon hacked into the playlist and is only playing Baby Shark!”

Heeseung’s head whips towards the sound of the voice, eyes wide “Oh shit. Nice chat bro. Good luck.” He mumbles, chugging back his drink before patting Jay on the back and running out of the room. Jay laughs as he finishes making Y/n’s drink before walking back into the lounge.

“Order up.” He smiles, handing Y/n the cup. “It’s about time! I was about to steal some of Sunghoon’s devil drink.” Y/n laughs, quickly taking a sip. “Yeah, I wouldn’t drink anything Sunghoon made. I think there’s enough alcohol in there for it to be considered poisonous.” He jokes, his face falling when Y/n turns to him with wide eyes. “What’s wrong? Does it taste bad? I can go get you something else!” He says quickly, almost jumping out of his seat to run back to the kitchen. Y/n stops him, placing their hand on his arm. “Jay, it’s good. It’s really fucking good.” They smile, causing him to sigh with relief. “Never scare me like that again.” He groans, sitting back down on the couch.

“I’m serious, this is amazing. How did you learn to make this?” Y/n asks, intrigued. “Uh… I watched some tutorials here and then. I was getting pretty sick of just drinking beers and taking shots so I figured I’d learn to make stuff that gets you drunk and tastes good.” He shrugs. “Are you planning on getting me drunk?” Y/n asks, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. He laughs nervously at their question. “Yours only has a normal amount of alcohol, I promise.” He smiles.

“Where did the others go by the way?” Jay asks, looking around the room. “Sunghoon was sick of listening to Drake so he stole the phone and locked himself in the bathroom, Heeseung and Yunjin are trying to bribe him to come out, Jake probably went to throw up so Keeho is with him and I don’t give a shit about anyone else at this party.” Y/n smiles. “Damn, so it’s just us two then?” He asks. “For now.” Y/n shrugs, taking another sip of their drink. “I did say you were more than welcome to hang out in the corner with me.” Y/n laughs. “I guess I’ve taken you up on that offer.” He chuckles back.

“Y/n! We need backup!” Yunjin calls, her voice somehow booming over the loud music. “I thought you were backup?” Y/n calls back loudly, getting up with a groan. They hand Jay their cup, mumbling something about coming back before walking to another room in the house. Jay smiles, placing a protective hand over the opening of Y/n’s drink.

A few minutes later, Y/n walks back into the lounge and flops back onto the couch with a sigh. “Sunghoon is one stubborn motherfucker.” They sigh, taking their drink back and chugging what’s left of it. “I can tell, he’s played Baby Shark 6 or 7 times by now.” Jay laughs, watching in slight shock as Y/n finishes their drink. “Is there any way you can get me another one of these?” Y/n asks, holding their cup out to him. “You want me to teach you how to make it?” He asks, causing Y/n’s eyes to light up. They nod their head enthusiastically, practically jumping from the couch and dragging Jay towards the kitchen. Jay looks down at their intertwined hands, trying to ignore the blush that is most definitely spreading across his cheeks. If Y/n points it out, he’ll just say it’s from the alcohol.

“Okay, now pour 2 ounces of vodka.”

“What’s an ounce?”

“The little cup I gave you. Two of those.”

“Can’t I just eyeball it?”

“Sure, if you want it to taste like shit.”

Y/n shrugs, opening the cap of the vodka bottle and pouring a decent amount into the mixer. “Okay, okay, that’s enough of that.” Jay laughs, grabbing the bottle from their hand. “Now all you’ve got to do is shake it well.” Jay says, closing the mixer and handing it to Y/n. Y/n takes the mixer, their fingers gently brushing against Jay’s for a moment before they begin softly shaking it. Jay can’t help the affectionate smile that spreads across his face, shaking his head. “You’ve got to do it a little harder than that.” He laughs, taking the mixer and demonstrating before handing it back to Y/n.

Y/n starts shaking vigorously, their face scrunched up with determination. “That’s it.” Jay encourages, watching fondly as they put their all into mixing the drink. “Wait, Y/n!” He calls too late, watching in shock as the mixer slips out of Y/n’s grip, smashing into the window behind them.

Y/n’s eyes widen in shock as they hear the crashing sound of broken glass. They turn around to see the damage, wincing at the mixer-shaped hole they left in Jake’s kitchen window.

“Don’t move.” Jay instructs sternly, running to get his shoes and a brush and shovel. Once back, he gently lifts Y/n up, placing them on the counter before he begins cleaning up the shards of glass. Y/n watches with a frown, attempting to get up and help a few times, only to be stopped by Jay’s hand being placed firmly on their knee.

After cleaning up all noticeable shards, Jay turns to Y/n with a worried expression etched on his face. “You weren’t cut, were you?” He asks, his eyes falling over their body as he quickly inspects for any signs of injury. “Jay, I’m fine. Meanwhile, Jake’s window is not.” Y/n rolls their eyes, pointing at the broken window. “I don’t care about the window, I care about you.” Jay mumbles absentmindedly, holding Y/n’s wrist as he insects their arm.

Oh.

His eyes widen when he realises what he said, looking up at Y/n in shock. Their expression mirrors his mouth slightly agape as they process his words.

He doesn’t care about the window…

He cares about them.

“Uh… I didn’t mean it like that.” Jay stutters out, although the pink tinge to his face gives him away. “What way did you mean it then?” Y/n asks, looking at him doubtfully. “Um…”

“What the fuck happened to my window?” Jake screams. The two turn to see their entire friend group standing in the doorway. “Wilfred, no!” Jake cries, running towards the broken window as if it were an injured lover. “You name your windows?” Heeseung asks, confused.

“Well, would you look at the time? I’ve got work tomorrow so we should probably head out.” Y/n says, slipping off the counter and stepping past Jay. They look at Yunjin and Keeho with desperate eyes as they leave the kitchen. The two immediately get the message. “Well… tonight’s been… eventful.” Keeho coughs, smiling sheepishly at the rest of the guys. “Yeah, it was great seeing you all. I’ve gotta get these two home…” Yunjin mumbles, grabbing Keeho’s arm and pulling him out of the kitchen - following quickly after Y/n.

“What the hell were you two doing in there?” Yunjin asks in a hushed whisper as the three leave Jake’s house. “Nothing.” Y/n says, defensively. “Oh, sure. Just like how Keeho and Jake were doing nothing in the bathroom.” Yunjin rolls her eyes. “Hey!” Keeho exclaims. “Look, can we just talk about this in the morning? I’m tired.” Y/n mumbles. Yunjin and Keeho look at each other before sighing, silently agreeing to drop the topic.

...

“So what were you and Jake doing in the bathroom?”

“Drop it, Y/n.”

TAG LIST (open): @bringer-ofchaos @yenqa @fakeuwus @mrchweeee @jjongshrts @oldjws @jxp1-t3r @wildflowermooon @starchasing-cryptid @miniature-tragedy @kgneptun @raginghellfire @blackhairandbangs @rikibun

[stormcrow513]

Hey been awhile,

Around a year ago I wrote a vent post about how the crappy neighbors were moving out and king fuckface decided to take one last crap on us,

He'd had some guy mow down all their weeds then he walked around spraying poison aka weed killer all over the whole property,

which do to dickery and bribes to town counsel might as well be planted in my backyard,

The only space I can let my dogs pee,

I am so fucking sensitive to poison I got sick, ma got sick all my dogs were sick,

Bailey my oldest beautiful girl looked like it was going to kill her,

I ranted on here poured my grief and hate out,

Some of y'all saw me sent love back to me and prayers for my Bae,

And she started kicking it she was recovering,

I updated y'all and you were glad to hear it,

one of you even dm'd me later to ask if she was still recovering and I'd been able to reply a happy positive,

Which is why I felt like I had to come on here and let you know

Bailey died today,

And to thank you again for those prayers

I got one more year with her,

She was so amazing she stole one of my mas stuffed bears after like a day with us and would suck on it, she then stole two more, and would not except any additional bears we tried to give her, nope those were here three she stole them herself,

I taught her to jump into my arms,

She watched me squint at the TV and then started squinting her eyes at me,

She would get pissed off if you called her a dog, she was not a dirty dog she was a fur person

I could go on forever,

She was a tough fucking bitch we had to put her down because she absolutely refused to go,

she was fighting death every step,

I'm sure Deaths down a few fingers dragging her across the rainbow bridge while she claws and screams every obscenity I ever taught her,

While I have you,

some of you might remember me talking about the three sibling cats I'd gotten as kittens how the brother Ares had passed in 2019 then Shy decided to go out on the same day as the queen as was Shy right little Drama Queen,

Then it was just Mittens and she started to go down hill was losing interest in food so we got her a kitty I named Circe,

Well Mittens spited herself back to health cause fuck you kitten, and managed kept going through to the beginning of this year and then she just couldn't go on, she curled up in the worst fucking spot so I had to frag her body out after feeling that she was gone,

Like I said absolutely a spiteful shit,

I miss her so much, she loved being held like a baby, she acted more like a dog then a cat, she liked to sit on my shoulder, I have a scar on my shoulder where she got a claw stuck in it one time,

and she loved it when I had long hair shed get up high behind me after I'd showered and comb my hair with her claws,

As I was showering off the pee and poop after cleaning up,

I thought about writing this and ending it here with some kinda sign off,

but as I sat there my mind turning with the sear bullshit that not just this week but my entire fucking life's been,

My brain turned and raged,

You know I love animals way more then I like humans, while I do feel love and empathy towards humanity there are days like today where it's a hard thing and an easy thing,

because I read about Neil Gaiman sexualy assaulting women yesterday which makes me so sick,

But the vet that put down Bailey was so fucking kind,

I joke to people that I was raised by dogs,

It's not really a joke,

My ma has been the only human to truly love me,

My sperm donor Dennis is an absolute abusive joke of a human being whose still fucking alive and I have to live with him

My oldest sister is dead and while I think she loved me a bit she never watched out for me

And my second sister beat me, raped me, gaslit me fucking constantly, the real deal not the way people incorrectly use that word, and almost killed me a lot,

Ma worked constantly, still does, she is only now (as I'm beginning to talk about things) finding out just how often I was left to my own supervision,

But Lady and Tramp

And yes we had two dogs named Lady (German shepherd) and Tramp (husky/wolf)

They, took care of me Tramp even more reared me like I was his own,

I tussled and played with their puppies, grew up beside them

Watched Lady die when I was 7,

Rusty one of their babies my big brother ma and I buried together when I was 5 After Dennis threw rat poison around the house to kill the mice and killed Rusty

I watched Corky die and then Trampy and Sammy and then Rusty and Sammy's boy Socks

They were my family

Every dog and cat I've had has been my family,

And thinking about them all today

Thinking about this world we're all living in,

Something I want to say

There is no overarching Justice

No grand moment where evil men or women are struck down by righteous gods

Maybe that shit happened or maybe they were stories I don't fucking know I wasn't alive back then I'm alive now

And now, there are no saviors

There is just me, just you

And the choices we make

Martin Luther King Jr said something about how the long arch of history bends towards justice,

But he and people like him bent it towards justice with their bare hands and their very lives,

All we have achieved for justice for equality have been done by mortal living hands

And we cannot fucking give up

Don't listen to those people telling you it's hopeless that the world is evil

The world is beautiful

The stars, the rainbows, the thunder and lightning, the frogs so small they can sit on a finger nail, the mountains, mouse, geese, the castles and pyramids the things our ancestors created, ect

Hell the bit of plastic and wires and weird rock you are reading this on, isn't that cool,

Yeah there's downsides to it we need to figure out how to do it better,

We need to figure out how to do it better.

All of it.

And we will,

because we always do.

So don't listen to the people that say to give up that it's to late,

Just because they've given up doesn't mean you have to

I'm hurting I'm going to hurt for the rest of my life,

But I would not take a minute of it back not a moment,

My life has been full of pain but also full of love,

I wanted to die for a time, a long time,

But there is so much in this world to love,

I want to live,

I want to keep falling in love over and over again,

In love with animals,

the ones I adopted into my family

ones a half a world away,

Fucking platypus the most animal to animal,

The rain every fucking time it hits my roof or my head,

I hope I'll get a chance to fall in love romantically one day but I'm ok if I don't there's so much else to love,

And I'm going to fight The Fight for the rest of my life because all these things I love are worth fighting for,

I'm not in a position right now to do the things I want to but,

I can do some things,

I can do ofwoodandbones lost dog spell to help strangers get their lost pets back, which I've successfully done more then once,

I collect cans and recycle

I pour stale water out on plants rather then down the drain,

I planted a bunch of plants in my backyard bees fucking love

I vote, I vote smart and don't throw my vote away for a false sense of moral superiority,

So

Find something to love to love it hard and do what you can to protect it,

Doesn't matter what,

Everything matters,

Love shit, protect it,

Don't give up,

To all y'all who are my allies in The Fight,

May the great Titan Witch light your way, may you find your path or make one, may you love and be loved, may your body be strong enough to hold your spirit

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

Shun the Light - Ch 22 - A Gift

Masterlist

Author's Notes: So I'm thinking this will be the end of this particular series. NOT the end of Dante and Matteo's story!! Think of it like one book in an ongoing series. Next time I post I'll start a new series with a new title and new chapters continuing where this one leaves off. Otherwise it would just trail on indefinitely because I don't really have a set END end in sight for them. I never do, I like to always leave room for more. But I do have ideas for contained story arcs that I can group into series.

Also, re: the title - at first Shun the Light was in reference to literal light - the sun for Dante, the moon for Matteo. But as the story developed it also meant them rejecting any possible happiness for themselves out of fear/grief/trauma. And I think they've reached a place where they're letting a little light in now, so I want the next phase of their journey to grow from that.

Content Warnings: werewolf whump, poisoned, illness, fever, stomach ache, dehydration, dizziness, exhaustion, biting, drinking blood, comfort, caretaking

----

Matteo sleeps soundly through the day, but when night falls he grows restless. Overheated, he kicks off all the blankets and removes everything but his boxers. Soon he's awake, writhing with discomfort on the empty bed.

Poison still lingers in his system. It wages war on his body, and it is only because of his inhuman nature that he doesn't succumb to it. The thing that got him into this mess is the very thing keeping him alive.

Half-delirious, he tries to call for help but his throat and mouth are so dry. He props himself up on one arm and reaches for the glass of water on the nightstand. Moving makes him dizzy. The room blurs and turns upside down and Matteo drops heavily back onto the mattress. He muffles a groan into his pillow.

Please...

Matteo lifts his arm again and fumbles for the glass...only to knock it over. It shatters on the floor, spilling water everywhere. Shit. He groans again, rolling onto his back. His breathing is becoming erratic, his heart beating rapidly.

The sound brings Dante to his door. At first he taps politely and Matteo barely hears it. When Matteo doesn't respond, Dante cracks open the door.

"Matteo? Oh my god - what happened?"

The bed dips and Dante's hand settles on Matteo's heaving chest. Matteo tries to open his eyes to look at him but whenever he does the room spins. He tries to speak but is so parched he can only manage a hoarse whisper.

"D-don't feel good..."

Fingers brush his cheeks, wiping away tears. Then a cool hand is on his forehead. Matteo gasps; it's almost too cold, but he needs it so badly, he feels like he's boiling alive...

"Matteo? Matteo, look at me."

The words barely reach him through the haze of heat and pain. A sharp pang in his stomach makes him wail and claw at the sheets beneath him.

Suddenly Dante's presence is gone. Matteo whimpers and feels around for him but he isn't there.

"Don't leave," he pleads.

Hands hold his face and brush his sweaty hair from his forehead.

"Shh. It's okay. I'm getting more water. Can - can you look at me?"

Matteo forces his eyes open. Dante's face is so close he can see nothing else. His silver eyes start to glow.

"Breathe. Breathe deeply, slowly. That's it. Good. You're doing good."

A shudder runs through Matteo.

"Just breathe. That's all you need to do. I'll be right back."

Then he's gone again. Matteo's eyes flutter shut and he focuses on breathing in and out, in and out. His racing heart calms enough to pull him from the edge of a full blown panic attack.

Dante returns quickly with two glasses of water which he sets on the bedside table. He sits beside Matteo again and gets an arm around his shoulders to prop him up. Matteo tries to do some of the work but he can barely move without help. His limbs feel heavy and useless.

"You're burning up," Dante remarks as he manhandles Matteo into a sitting position. "Okay - drink."

He holds one of the glasses to Matteo's lips and cups the back of his neck to keep him steady. Matteo drinks slowly at first, then starts to chug the cool water down desperately.

When he's finished he has to take a moment to catch his breath. He lets his head droop onto Dante's shoulder, his hot forehead pressed against Dante's neck. He tries to form words, to thank him, but with his thirst solved now all his other pains come into sharp focus. The worst of them is his aching stomach - made all the worse by gnawing hunger. It's been over four days since his last meal.

"Ah - ow -"

"What? What hurts?"

"Stomach," Matteo mumbles. "Ngh!"

He starts gently rubbing his stomach to try to relieve some of the pain. Dante nudges his hand away and replaces it with his own, moving in light, slow circles.

Matteo clings to Dante's shirt, struggling to catch his breath. Suddenly he feels a pinch on his arm. Before he can put together what it is, he's out like a light.

-

Upon waking, Matteo feels heavy and weak...but no pain. It has been replaced with a pleasant numbness. His fever broke while he was out. A gentle breeze from the cracked window feels amazing on his clammy skin. It is nighttime again; he slept for almost twenty-four hours.

Something moves in his peripheral, startling him. Matteo tips his head to the side and opens his eyes.

As his vision clears Dante's form comes into focus. He's in an armchair with one leg crossed over the other, reading a book titled Common Poisonous Plants and Mushrooms of North America. In one hand he's holding a jar of blood. Every now and then he'll grimace and quickly take a sip from the jar.

Dante looks as healthy as ever, like no one ever laid a hand on him. His skin is smooth and almost human in coloration. His face is no longer gaunt nor his eyes hollow.

Matteo yawns and it draws Dante's attention away from his reading.

"Finally," Dante says, putting the book and drink aside. He sits at the edge of the bed. "I thought I might have put you into a coma."

Matteo lifts an arm and sees the fading puncture marks.

"You drank my blood."

"Yes. It was disgusting. I still can't get the taste out of my mouth." He feels Matteo's forehead. "But I think it helped."

"But won't you get sick?"

"So far I feel fine."

Even so, Matteo can't help feeling guilty.

"You didn't have to do that," he mumbles.

"I didn't know what else to do. You were in a lot of pain, looking it up would have taken too long."

"Well...I appreciate it." Matteo sighs. "I'm pathetic. First day back and you already have to be my nurse. I swear it's not usually this bad. The last few months have just been rough."

"Hm. Maybe I'm a curse," Dante says. His tone is light but there's an edge to it, like deep down he might really mean it.

Matteo nudges Dante's leg with his head. "No way. You somehow made it bearable. Usually I do this alone."

"That must be hard..." Dante traces over some of Matteo's scars. Matteo shivers and he pulls his hand away.

"No, wait - can you, um - "

Dante waits for him to finish. Matteo chews at his lip, embarrassed, wishing he had kept his mouth shut.

"Can you just..." He falters again. Instead of trying to talk, he takes Dante's hand and brings it to his cheek. "It feels nice."

"Oh." Dante looks surprised.

"You don't have to -"

"Scoot over."

Matteo does as he's asked and Dante sits on the bed beside him, leaning back against the headboard. Once he's settled Matteo leans his head against Dante's thigh and Dante cups his face with one hand.

"You're all sticky," he states bluntly. "I almost forgot about sweat."

"You don't sweat?"

"No. It's actually kind of a problem. I get overheated very easily."

"Huh. I never considered that. Guess I have a lot to learn about vampires."

Matteo falls silent, just thinking. Dante seems to understand that he needs the company, so he stays where he is. He picks up his book and continues reading, only removing his hand from Matteo's face to turn the page. Occasionally he'll even run fingers through Matteo's hair.

"Is this strange?" Matteo asks quietly after a while.

"Hm?" Dante lowers the book.

"Is it strange that this doesn't feel strange?"

"...what?"

"I just mean - we barely know each other. But I feel really comfortable right now. Does that make sense?"

"I think so."

Dante is quiet and Matteo hopes he didn't ruin what was such a nice moment, something he really really needed.

"Maybe it is strange," Dante replies. "But we're strange. I drank your blood before I even knew your name. Normal people don't meet that way."

Matteo lets out a relieved laugh. "Yeah, good point. Nothing about this is normal."

He looks up at Dante and sees something new and wonderful.

Dante is smiling.

It's not bright like the sun but bright like a candle. It is small but genuine, and it's just for him. Matteo is the first and only person to see him smile in almost fifty years. It feels like a gift.

Matteo closes his eyes and remains tucked against Dante's side. He hears the rustle of paper as Dante returns to his reading and his hand returns to Matteo's hair. Another gift.

I don't know how I'll ever thank you, Matteo thinks, far too content to break the silence.

But as long as I'm here I'm going to try.

[bullet-prooflove]

Life on the Ranch: Dan Miller x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989

Dan is a terrible rancher, he’s known it since he took that fence down and almost poisoned a bunch of horses by letting them eat hemlock. He’s an excellent rider but he doesn’t know the nuances of the land, how to manage something on this scale. He was a realtor before Bonham Walker had given him a few acres of land, managing a ranch, it isn’t in his skillset. He enjoys the life, the graft of it, being around the horses, but the rest he doesn’t have a fucking clue.

Thankfully you do.

Your daddy owns Rosewood Ranch up the way, you’ve been working the land since you were knee high. The two of you had got to talking one night in the Sidestep, he was recently divorced and you’d just returned to town after a stint up at the Four Sixes Ranch with Travis Wheatley. You’d been lending a hand for the past six months whilst he recovered from a liver transplant.

The first time he lays eyes on you, he thinks you’re just the prettiest damn thing. Glossy hair that falls over your shoulders, a red summer dress and worn cowboy boots. There’s a little wildling in you, he can tell from the way you hustle the boys at the bar whilst playing pool. That’s ok because before Denise, there was a little wilding in him too.

When he approaches you at the pool table, he isn’t looking for anything more than a game a pool. He’s bested most the people in this place so he’s looking forward to a new challenge. He thinks it’ll be just one game, at worse you’ll make a little money out of him, but one turns into three and before he knows it, the two of you are making out in the cab of his truck, his hands in your hair as your thighs straddle his waist. You’re both a little silly, a little tipsy. It doesn’t go any further than heavy petting but it’s still the most fun he’s had in years.  

The next morning you turn up at his ranch in worn jeans, a plaid shirt and those same cowboy boots from the night before.

“You said you needed a little help.” You say, tucking your hands into the back pockets of your jeans as your rock on your heels.

It’s you that ends up putting him to work. You spend the morning sipping coffee at his kitchen table, helping compile a list of the things Dan needs to do before the spring rolls in.

During the afternoon the two of you head out to check the pastures in order to work out which ones are suitable for grazing and which ones need a little time spending on them.

That night he cooks while you devise a business plan, he’ll rent out the additional land to other ranches that require grazing space. He has a small herd and a couple of horses, nowhere near enough animals for the space he has. That way he’ll make passive income while he’s still figuring his shit out. You’ve already got his first client lined up, your daddy’s livestock about to double in size during calving season and due to a clover problem he’s looking for a space to turn out a couple of his herds.

“You’re a lifesaver.” Dan tells you as he sets down a plate in front of you, you pick up your fork and begin to eat as he pours a glass of wine from one of the more expensive bottles he inherited in the divorce. “When I met you last night I didn’t expect any of this. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to repay you.”

“Cook for me again.” You request, gesturing at your almost empty plate. “This cowboy casserole is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

A blush creeps up his cheeks because it’s been a while since he’s been complimented, since he’s experienced any positivity. He’s used to being needled, spoken down to, he isn’t used to praise. It emboldens him. His fingertips trace along the line of your jaw, tilting your chin up so he can look into your eyes.

“Stay the night.” He requests. “Help me break in the ranch a little.”

“Oh Danny boy.” You smile, your lips brushing over his. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Love Dan? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee