#Fanfiction bait

[unoccasionallyshiki]

Does he have a bed? Who knows. Does he even sleep? Who knows! I present... Alastor's room from ep.3, the full length edition.

[collophora]

Do yourself a favor and go read the entire fanfic work of @fanfoolishness

(In order: Under sun and shade, Blind Side, and Breathless (patching up is one of my fav too, I just had no cool sketch idea for it)

[demonicmnevice]

I think I'd like to see a somewhat grittier MonHun Stories sequel get serious about the Guild's shortcomings and abuses. There's already tension between the Guild and Rider villages over differences in ecological theory. Does the Guild really believe that tame, trained monsters are unnatural and unreliable or do they just fear power they don't know how to harness?

A protagonist could start out hunting for the Guild, witness or carry out a major ecological mistake, steal an egg from a keystone elder the Guild is wrong about, defect to learn from Riders who warned against that hunt, hatch and bond with the plot-egg, probably fight some Guild assassins on the way to actually stopping whatever catastrophe.

If Capcom wants to make a compelling narrative for Monster Hunter, which they have shown they do, they really have to lean into portraying the guild as an antagonist.

The guild works closely with rich nobility, they have a set of rules for hunting that specifically hurt poor villages, and they frequently make catastrophic judgement calls when assessing threats that end up actively hurting the ecosystem. The guild has, so far, been correct once when taking out a potential problem monster with the magalas. In tri they thought that lagiacrus was MAYBE causing the earthquakes and then asked us to just kill it, no questions asked. In world they thought nergigante was MAYBE a threat to the new world and then asked us to just kill it, no questions asked. In rise they thought MAYBE that magnamalo was causing the rampage then asked us to just kill it, NO QUESTIONS ASKED.

That's not just some mistake that's the unnecessary death of an animal! Think about that in real life and how horrible that would sound!

"Oh we thought this pack of lions was killing livestock so we sent some people to kill them all. Turns out, we were wrong and it was this other completely different animal. We are conservationists!"

Not to mention legends of the guild is an entire ass movie about how the guild fundamentally failed this small poor village on a systemic level that Aidan, a CHILD btw, was throwing himself into life or death situations just so his community wouldn't be wiped off the map. When Julius calls Aidan out on the fact that he's supposedly poaching and not hunting, that wasn't a fun opportunity to give an exposition about the world. It was pointing out the guild's hypocrisy! Aidan's reactive anger at Julius calling him a poacher was the correct response! They shouldn't HAVE to make a three day journey to dundorma every time a velociprey takes a chicken. That kind of thing should be handled by the guild. The guild doesn't allocate resources to helping these villages while giving an incentive to not help them to individual Hunters. Then when these villages finally decide they aren't going to wait around for help or go through the multiple day travel to register a quest with what little money they have and actually SOLVE their problem. ITS ILLEGAL TO DO SO!!!

And you know what's super cool about poaching? How the punishment is the guild sending assassins to take you out. For the multitude of Monster hunter fans who seem to think that's a reasonable response to that, lemme just tell ya it isn't. That sounds an awful lot like fascism! ESPECIALLY because we now know what qualifies as poaching! It can be as small as taking out a few small monsters who have been proven to be a threat to your village without a license. Aidan literally could have been assassinated for helping his village. A CHILD!

Quit trying and failing to get me invested in the villainous schemes of some fuckin dragon that's just acting on instincts, Capcom. You already HAVE a perfect antagonist right there!

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

He broke through to the surface, taking large desperate gasps of air before getting sucked back beneath by the current. Danny fought against the water as hard as his little paws would allow.

Just when he felt all hope was lost and he was sinking, a large hand enveloped his entire body and hefted him back into the open air. Shivering and coughing out water he didn't catch whatever the man had said. He continued shivering violently as the guy wrung out Dannys fur.

The mans hands were warm despite the brown leather gloves covering them. They made Danny feel comforted and energized almost as if the man had...oh gods! He did! The man had ecto inside of him! Thank the ancients! Now he just had to stick with glove guy and he could recharge! It would be slow but still!

"Here we are little guy." The man said and Danny noticed all at once that the man had been walking the whole time Danny had been stuck in his head. He looked around and noticed the Animal Shelter sign in front of them.

No. No! Danny needed to stick to this guy if he ever hoped to become a human again. But despite how he dug his claws into the flesh of the mans exposed arm and yowled the man in the red mask managed to get him lose and left him in the care of an animal social worker.

Danny was checked out and placed in the tiny jail cell alongside other kittens and cats, many who were scared, miserable or just desperate for love and attention. This of course meant he needed to plot a jail break. Fortunately, he could still used most of his powers but without any ecto around he would have no way to recharge them outside of food or indulging in his obsession.

Needless to say Jason was a little startled when he woke up the next day to not one, but five little kittens meowing at him for food. He swears the one sitting smugly on his chest is the same one he dropped off at the animal shelter yesterday, but that couldn't be right...

One call confirmed it. All of thier animals had escaped last night and there was a suspiciously animal sized arch taken out of the wall with an unknown tool. Demon brat would be delighted at the news.

Unfortunately for Hood the smug little black cat he rescued yesterday had decided that his shoulder was the perfect perch and stayed there more often than not. Little guy got into food often but refused to eat kibble and any attempt to get the kitten away from the mashed potatoes resulted in violence or density shifting to get back to the food.

At this point danny almost didn't care if he returned to being human so long as he got to eat more of his humans cooking. He swears Jason is magical because everything he makes tastes amazing

[whos-my-daddy]

okay but like

imagine a Shark Bait fanfiction where the sacrifice basically just says "fuck you" and runs away when it's GW's turn to take care of them for a week. Like, there's nowhere for them to *actually* go, but they just keep dodging him until he eventually catches them.

Then chains them to his desk by their ankle or something and is like "lol no" whenever they try to escape. They aggravate the living shit out of him and he seriously considers finding another sacrifice for Akhelios but then realizes "you're annoying but kinda fun."

Then they become friends (sort of) and after they're spared, end up sticking to his side like glue unless they're playing chase again like it's a game.

Sorry, he's just my favorite character and imagining him taking care of some ADHD brat who's as stubborn as he is just makes me laugh haha.

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Whumptober 2024 No.7 & No.11

Prompt 7: “It’s us or them.”

Prompt 11: Used as Bait (Alt)

Warnings: Allusions to torture; Allusions to violence; Allusions to death.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

A/N: War of the Worlds was responsible for a portion of this.

gif not mine - google

“They’re gonna lead them right to us, Daryl.” You rocked back and forth, exhausted and bloody, beaten down physically and emotionally by Alpha and her followers. You had been dangled in front of Daryl as bait, a means to bring him to his knees in front of the psychotic woman. Daryl—being Daryl—had refused her demands, knowing full well that he would crawl through hell to rescue you regardless.

And he did.

He was in just as rough of shape as you, giving just as good as he got in order to free you. Now, you were huddled in the corner of a small bunker, attempting to rid your mind of the memories of what Alpha had put you through. A young couple—obviously troubled, likely victims of the Whisperers’ devious plots themselves—bickered and raved over how they would destroy the entire horde with only their weapons and their meager might.

There was no hope of succeeding, but their raised voices of boisterous exclamations were doomed to bring the enemy down on your heads. Daryl had tried relentlessly to reason with them, all but begging for their cooperation and silence. He even offered them a place in Alexandria. They had laughed at him, called him a coward.

There was nowhere else to run. If Alpha discovered the bunker, you and Daryl were as good as dead.

The archer stood a few feet away, chewing on the inside of his cheek, his gaze darting between you and the two idiots standing at the open hatch. After a moment, he sighed and pulled his bandana from his pocket.

“Y’trust me?” He crouched in front of you, blue eyes searching yours, seeking an answer.

“More than anyone.” You replied shakily. He nodded, covering your eyes with the fabric and tying it at the back of your head. His calloused hands then took yours and brought them up toward your ears.

Your brow furrowed behind the bandana. “Daryl?”

“Sing me somethin’.” He waited you out and when you didn’t respond, he continued. “S’us or them.” He whispered, a hint of a tremor in his tone.

You knew what he meant then, what he was going to do regardless of the cost to himself. He knew you couldn’t fight, that you were hurting and tired and broken. He was going to protect you. You swallowed hard, nodding as you allowed him to place your hands over your ears.

“Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket.” You began quietly, your voice trembling. You felt his warm touch pull away, knew the moment he had stood, the second he had left you there. “Never let it fade away.”

You couldn’t hear what was happening but you could feel the vibrations against the dirty, cold concrete behind you. “Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket.” You flinched—something hitting the side of your boot—and drew your knees to your chest while your breath hitched with barely contained sobs. “Save it for a rainy day.”

You were unaware of when the silence ensued, continuing with your quiet tune until you felt the warm presence slowly position at your side. With a deep breath, your trembling hands left your ears and pulled the fabric from over your eyes. Daryl was next to you, his knees drawn up with his arms hanging over them. His head was bowed. There was blood dripping from his fingertips.

“Daryl.”

“S’gonna be okay now.” The light from the single candle in the center of the bunker cast shadows over his face, what wasn’t already hidden by his hair nearly impossible to see. The hatch was closed and there were two bodies lying motionless below it. With slow and careful movements, you pulled his arm across your shoulders, thankful when he held you tighter of his own volition. “You’re safe.” He whispered.

The snarls and shuffles and whispers above ground passed by quickly, never realizing their prize was just below their feet.

[escelia]

I headcanon Danny as the ghost king so hard that I forget that in canon, Danny isn't technically the ghost king. So imagine Pariah Dark spirits away the town, only the JL notices!

They call Zatanna and Constatine, send in a whole team of heroes, and when they arrive, this scrawny looking ghost kid has already done their job for them. When Constantine tries to dismiss him as part of cleanup (this is a living realm problem now, kid), he realizes and relays to the other hero's that the kid is half alive. He's young and tired and ALIVE and very much in need of help.

So the JL whisks him away to safety, not knowing the trouble that would follow. Now, every member of the team must be on high alert as they work to foil the Observants' attempts to crown a 14 year old child.

[francy-sketches]

Doing yaoi research on asoiaf fandom rn it's actually kinda surprising to me that joffrey/robb isn't really a thing I feel like that's obvious toxic yaoi material...like not saying I ship it or anything but it feels like a no brainer...if this was a more yaoi oriented fandom I feel like it'd be a thing

[seventh-district]

This Evening I Will Not Forget

“I jumped into the fray with the intention of helping you and next thing I know I’m standing there uselessly watching the first person I’ve dared to love in two fucking centuries take a warhammer to the stomach!”

He turned to face you as he emphasized his last few words, now standing all but frozen in the middle of the tent with his hands held out, gesturing toward your injury. You’re about to pipe up and insist that it wasn’t his fault, but the words dissipate before you can speak them as another part of his sentence echoes in your mind. You repeat them back to him in a disbelieving whisper.

“The first person you’ve dared to love?”

His tense, frustrated expression instantly falls flat.

“I didn’t say that.”

An injury and an argument lead to you revealing far more of yourself and your unspoken past to Astarion than you planned to.

Pairing: Astarion x Reader

Word Count: 3,292

Content Warnings: [injured Reader] (not graphically described, just mentions of bruising and pain) [mean/avoidant Astarion] [argument] [mentions of Reader's scars & non-specific allusion to their Tragic Backstory™] [vulnerability] [possibly (probably) OOC Astarion]

Author's Note: This is an excerpt from my fic An Evening I Will Not Forget, but can be read as a standalone one-shot. The only context I think you'll need is that this fic is written in the style of reliving memories, hence certain lines will mention Reader "looking back" on them.

“What's important is this evenin' I will not forget

Purple, blue, orange, red

These colors of feelin'

Give me love, I'll put my heart in it”

You’re lying on your back as cold, pale fingers press against your sensitive skin, pulling a small pained sound of protest from you.

“Sorry, sorry…”

Astarion retracts his hand, fingers curling into his palm. You reach out to catch hold of him before he can completely pull away, your voice tense with pain as you reassure him.

“No- no... don’t be. I know you’re just trying to help.”

You bring his hand back toward your exposed stomach, his fingers still coated in the healing salve he was attempting to apply. His hand hovers hesitantly over your bruised and broken skin.

“Yes, but- I’m not very good at it.”

Your thumb brushes across his wrist as you hold onto him, suspecting that if you let go he’d just retract his hand again.

“What do you mean? Of course you are.”

He shakes his head insistently.

“No. It seems like every time I try to help you, I just end up hurting you even more…”

Confusion is clear both in your voice and on your features.

“That’s not… that’s not true, Star.”

You tug lightly on his wrist to get his attention, your voice soft as you ask him a question.

“Is this about what happened today?”

He pulls his hand out of your loose hold and you let him, watching as he stands and begins pacing circles inside the tent.

“No, I’m in a bad mood because the weather isn’t quite to my liking- of course it’s about what happened today!”

The initial sarcasm in his voice gave way to frustration near the end. Not with you, but with himself.

Now that you’re observing this memory from his perspective as well, you can see the moment you sustained the injury playing over and over again in his mind, working him up further and further.

“I jumped into the fray with the intention of helping you and next thing I know I’m standing there uselessly watching the first person I’ve dared to love in two fucking centuries take a warhammer to the stomach!”

He turned to face you as he emphasized his last few words, now standing all but frozen in the middle of the tent with his hands held out, gesturing toward your injury. You’re about to pipe up and insist that it wasn’t his fault, but the words dissipate before you can speak them as another part of his sentence echoes in your mind. You repeat them back to him in a disbelieving whisper.

“The first person you’ve dared to love?”

His tense, frustrated expression instantly falls flat.

“I didn’t say that.”

Your eyes widen, nodding slowly.

“Yes you did.”

Nervous laughter escapes him as he takes a step back, distancing himself from you.

“No, no, you… you must have heard me wrong. I didn’t- I was talking about helping you, I didn’t say anything about love, what’s love got to do with this?”

You hate to push him, fearing he may bolt like a frightened deer if you double down, but you know what you heard. It wasn’t like the first time you heard him say it, slapping it on the end of a string of pick-up lines, the word obviously carrying no weight, no truth. No, this second time was different.

“I think it has more to do with it than you’re willing to admit, Astarion.”

He falters, one of very few times you’ve seen him truly caught off guard, truly speechless.

“Those are…” He searches for something to say that’ll cover up the truth that’d just spilled out of him. “...bold words for someone currently bedridden.”

You bark a laugh and it turns into a low groan at the pain it causes to flare in your lower ribs.

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

If he’s being honest, even he’s hardly sure what he meant. He’s truly floundering here, for the first time in… forever.

“It means… it means that I can walk away from this conversation right now and there isn’t anything you can do about it.”

Stooping so low as to resort to childish threats, you can feel the embarrassment radiating off of him.

“Would you truly be so cruel as to do that to me right now? Walking away, leaving me vulnerable and confused just because you can’t handle the truth?”

You’re pushing your luck too far and you know it. Surprisingly, though, he takes one step toward you, moving away from the exit.

“Cruel?! If you think that me simply walking away from you counts as cruelty then you truly haven’t suffered enough.”

His words are suddenly laced with venom and they hit you harder than the barbarian’s warhammer did today, leaving a chill colder than ice in their wake.

He seems to actually hear what he said a moment later, the careless words ricocheting off of you and coming back to slam into his chest, nearly knocking him over and crushing him beneath the weight of his sudden regret.

A furious wave of heat and adrenaline courses through you as you bolt upright in the makeshift bed, ignoring the sharp pain that flares inside you in response to the sudden movement. Reaching down and grabbing at the tail of your shirt where it’s bunched up around your ribs, you hastily yank it up over your shoulders and head, tugging your arms out of the long sleeves and furiously tossing the garment directly at him.

“Suffered enough? You think I haven’t fucking suffered enough, Astarion? You don’t know the goddamned HALF of it! You’re not the only one in this tent that’s been abused, you know?! Oh wait- that’s right- you DON’T!”

Your voice cracks under the pressure of volume and emotion as fat, hot, angry tears roll down your cheeks against your will. Astarion stands there like a deer in the headlamps, your balled-up shirt having hit him softly in the chest and fallen anticlimactically to the ground. As his eyes rake over your heavily scarred arms, the angry purple markings showing no signs of lessening as they curl over your shoulders and disappear behind your back, it suddenly starts to make a lot more sense why you were so damned insistent that no one remove your clothes while treating your wounds earlier.

Shadowheart rips open the flap covering the tent’s exit, a very concerned looking Halsin ducking down behind her. Part of you is grateful that at least not everyone was currently at camp to witness your sudden breakdown, but even the sight of the two of them is enough to have you panicking. Pulling at the blanket gathered around your waist and shouting in an admittedly very childish, vulnerable voice, you demand they leave as you choke on your tears, hastily covering yourself up.

“GET OUT!”

Unsure of what to do, Shadowheart surveys the scene before her with a critical eye before sighing, seeming to understand that the best thing they can do right now is give you back your privacy. She knows that if you needed her, you would call. Turning to shoo away the concerned man behind her, she lowers the flap back down with a quiet murmur of “They’re… fine. Let’s give them some space.”

Astarion finally breaks free from where he’s been stood like a statue, slowly moving toward the exit as well with an unsure glance in your direction.

You bury your face into the fabric clutched in your hands, shouting into it in exasperation.

“NOT YOU!”

He freezes, no longer knowing what to do but wishing that the ground would simply open up and swallow him whole. Back under six feet of soil feels like where he deserves to be after what he just said to you.

He racks his brain for the right thing to say, coming up empty handed and eventually deciding that honesty might just be the best policy in this situation.

“I… I’m going to level with you. I have no idea what to do right now.”

In spite of it all, you laugh, a broken sound that cuts through your tears, causing you to cough, then the strain from coughing causes more tears to fall. Though he can’t admit it, Astarion knows right then and there that he never wants to hear or see you in such pain ever again.

“I… I’ll level with you, too.”

You pull the blanket away from your face, looking at him with watery, bloodshot eyes.

“...Neither do I.”

You glance down at the floor, attempting a deep breath and failing spectacularly as another broken sob escapes you. Dropping the fabric still held up against your chest, you press your hands down into the bedroll beneath you in an attempt to support your upper body and ease the pain radiating through your core.

Astarion takes one cautious step toward you, his unsteady voice the only thing filling the silence aside from your soft crying.

“I need… to apologize. For everything.”

You shake your head in disagreement and clear your throat.

“No, you don’t. You’ve been through a worse hell than I could ever even imagine. It’s… stupid of me to try and compete with you in that regard.”

He takes another step forward, insistent.

“That isn’t true. You have… clearly been through your own hell, and it was… stupid of me to assume you hadn’t. Even worse of me to try and downplay my avoidance by… holding my past over you like some sort of… like some sort of excuse.”

You shift your weight to the side in order to lift one hand, reaching out to grab at one of the small cloths stacked beside your bed. Astarion sees you struggling to reach them and rushes forward, closing what remained of the space he’d put between you as he lifted a cloth and handed it to you without a word.

You bring it to your face, pressing it to your eyes in a useless attempt to dry the tears that were still falling. Then, moving it down to blow your running nose into the cloth before you could make an even bigger mess of yourself than you already were. Finally able to breathe a bit better, you counter his point.

“Yeah, but- the thing is, I feel like you kinda have the right to do that, given all that you’ve survived. Of course you’d see the pain of walking away from a conversation as trivial when you compare it to… literally anything you’ve experienced.”

Now that he’s returned to your side, Astarion’s head angles to drag his gaze across your exposed back, finally seeing the full extent of your scarring as you lean forward a bit to toss the dirty cloth to the floor of the tent next to your shirt. Nausea swirls deep in the pit of his stomach as the upsetting sight of your marred skin burns itself into his memory.

“I believe… that’s called a double standard.”

You throw him a sad, confused look, and he explains.

“You’re trying to give me some sort of… free pass based on what I’ve been through, but I’ve never once seen you give yourself that same sort of leniency.”

“That’s… not the same thing.”

“I’m not saying we’ve been through the exact same thing, but…” He gestures vaguely to the entirety of you. “...clearly you’ve gone through something. If I get to lord my baggage over you then surely you’re permitted to do the same.”

Your tears begin to slow as you consider his words.

“I don’t… want to do that, though. Obviously. That’s why I haven’t told you. I don’t want you giving me special treatment because ‘poor pitiful me’ has gone through some shit. I don’t think that excuses any of my current behavior.”

The silence hangs in the air for a moment before he gently drives his point home.

“Yet you think it excuses mine?”

Hm.

“...okay. I guess you’ve got me there.”

You sigh, body beginning to feel heavier than lead as the sudden rush of emotion and adrenaline fades from you. You ease yourself back down, hissing at the pain as your bruised ribs and torn muscles protest the stretch and movement. Astarion wants to assist but truth be told he’s afraid to touch you. So, he watches on helplessly, still berating himself in the back of his mind for the role he feels he played in you sustaining today’s injuries to begin with.

Once you’re laid down and relaxing into the bedroll as much as you can, you make no effort to cover yourself up, not caring how long his eyes wander across your exposed skin. Silently, he tries to read the countless jagged lines and dots carved into you like they may eventually come together to paint him a picture of all that’s happened to you.

No picture anyone could paint would ever do the pain justice.

He settles himself down next to you as your tired eyes stare a hole in the ceiling of the tent.

“You do not have to accept my apology, but I will not rescind it. I do have the wherewithal to know that what I said was wrong. It was cruel. I…”

He exhales, the heavy sound full of the weight carried by a man that hasn’t been this honest with anyone in centuries.

“I…  tossed aside any consideration for how you may have felt, letting myself get lost in my own… stupid fears. It wasn’t right. It certainly wasn’t fair to you.”

Your head lolls to the side, appraising him with lidded eyes.

“You know… you’re surprisingly self-aware when you aren’t being a pompous ass.”

Your words draw a surprised laugh out of him and after a moment of consideration, he nods slowly in reluctant agreement.

“I’ve… had a lot of time to sit with myself and think. Eventually you get to know yourself pretty well.”

He looks down, idly picking at the loose threads on the edge of your well-worn bedroll.

“All of that self-awareness apparently doesn’t make me any kinder though, does it?”

It’s a rhetorical question but you answer it all the same.

“I still stand by my statement that you have good reason to be so… abrasive. Just being aware of those reasons doesn’t mean that they suddenly don’t affect you any more.”

Your hand raises from where it laid lifelessly beside you, reaching over for Astarion’s and pulling his anxious fingers away from attacking the weak points of your bedroll. You don’t release his hand once you direct him away from the loose threads, holding onto him as you continue to muse aloud.

“I think that a lot of us are just doing our best to not allow our past to affect our present, to varying degrees of success. Sometimes we fail. But- I believe all that truly matters at the end of the day is that we’re trying, though. … And, Astarion?”

“...yes?”

“I can tell that you’re trying.” You squeeze his hand. “And I accept your apology.”

You take a slow, deep breath, and listen as his voice comes out softer than you’ve ever heard it.

“Thank you.”

You nod your head in a silent “of course,” laying in thoughtful silence for a few moments before speaking.

“I… feel like I should apologize as well.”

Now it’s Astarion’s turn to be confused.

“What ever for?”

You weakly raise your other hand to gesture all around the room.

“Just… this. The scene I just made. Heaping all of this emotion onto you when you were obviously already struggling with how you felt about me in the first place.”

He doesn’t take long to respond.

“No, I don’t think you need to apologize for that. This… seems like it really needed to come out. I could never be upset with you for sharing it with me, regardless of the… unideal circumstances.”

He then seems to realize something.

“I hope you don’t regret it, though. Sharing this with me.”

You shake your head decisively and the motion causes your impending headache to flare.

“No. I don’t. I- uh- you were going to find out eventually with how… close we’ve been getting. I just couldn’t find the right time to tell you- or- well, show you, I guess.”

Your hand releases its hold on his, reaching up to carefully brush your fingertips across the mottled skin of your stomach. You raise your head up, angling it down to look down at the injury with a thoughtful gaze. Glancing over toward Astarion, you ask him another question.

“Can you hand me that salve from earlier? It never really… got fully applied.”

He immediately reaches behind him for the container, but holds it in his grasp as he stumbles over his words.

“I- I, uhm… wouldn’t mind trying again, if you want me to. If you don’t I’ll understand, though. Just… want you to know that the offer is still there.”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise, but you’re completely willing to let him do it.

“Oh… sure? You’re welcome to, I just… assumed you wouldn’t want to.”

He holds his other hand up and only then do you realize he never wiped the salve from his skin.

“These fingers are numb already anyways, might as well spare yours the same fate.”

You vaguely remember Shadowheart’s words as she passed Astarion the container earlier, cautioning him to not leave it for long on any skin he didn’t want to temporarily lose feeling in.

“But hey, at least we know that it works now, right?”

You give him a tired smile, appreciative of his efforts to lighten the mood.

“Mmm, I suppose so.”

You pull your hand away, exposing your injury to him once again.

“Have at me, then.”

With your permission, he sweeps a scoop of the healing and numbing mixture across your sensitive skin and you notice how feather-light he keeps his touch this time. Looking down to observe his work, you note how the messy mixture of the massive bruise’s dark colors stand in stark contrast to his pale white fingers that brush across it.

A thought slips out of your exhausted mind.

“Pretty…”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, unsure if he heard you correctly.

“Hmm?”

“The colors. They’re pretty. Purple, blue, even kinda orange…”

You look away from the bruise and up into his ruby eyes.

“...red.”

He’s silent for a moment, his hand pausing its gentle motion. Then he scoffs, looking away and internally dismissing your words as the ramblings of a tired mind.

“You’re talking nonsense, dear.”

Your filter has all but completely vanished, feeling almost drunk on your current mixture of exhaustion and relief after such a hell of a day. Sleep beckons you and your eyes fall closed as the pain in your ribs fades, on its way to being numbed out by the potent salve. A hazy thought surfaces, reminding you to give your thanks to Shadowheart when you next awake. For now though, you relax, no thought given to the words that slip from your lips.

“But you love my nonsense, don’t you…”

His heart feels like it jumps in his chest as he hears you so casually speak the word that he’s still reluctant to even think to himself, let alone say aloud. As he finishes massaging the salve into your skin and pulls his hand back, his eyes pass over the expansive unspoken history of pain evidently etched into your skin, up across your chest, over your shoulders and down your arms. He figures the least he can do is answer you honestly before sleep pulls you under.

“I… suppose I do.”

End Notes: If you'd like to read my commentary on this scene, you can find that in the end notes of Ch. 5 on AO3 - right here!

Header Image Source: x

[the-bar-sinister]

"Heterosexual male friendships are so rare in tv and movies"

No??? they have an entire genre?? They're literally inescapable?

have you ever heard of a buddy cop show? have you ever seen an action movie made prior to 2000??

How about The Flintstones?

Just because heterosexual male friendships are (apparently) rare in the genres fiction that you regularly watch doesn't mean that it's some mystical unicorn relationship and all the male friendship rep is being absorbed by the gays!

[ranacr0ak]

my friends’ and I’s shark bait oc’s

the one with black and white hair is @sadbutachad ‘s and is named Onyx, she likes GW, the brunette is @oliastray ‘s and is named Oli and likes Lee, and one with pink hair is mine and named Diana and likes Tiggy (my beloved)

[insidiousclouds]

The Grave Rabbit's Bait

Finding a job is tough in this economy. That's when you're surprised to find you've been hired to work at Fazbear Frights as a security guard. Things aren't at all what you expect, and you can't help but feel there's something wrong about this place... but it pays twenty-three bucks an hour, so you can't complain.

[northpen]

Summary: "The Secret Ninja Force has one rule: they must never reveal their secret identities to anyone. Not even to each other.

The morning after a Garmadon attack, Lloyd lets himself get kidnapped in a bid to prove his innocence. His plan goes awry when he learns of the kidnappers’ true intentions: if Garmadon does not surrender in seven days, they will take Lloyd’s life as forfeit.

Shortly after Lloyd is kidnapped, the Green Ninja disappears, too. The Secret Ninja Force is launched into chaos as they struggle to choose between rescuing Lloyd and looking for their missing teammate.

The clock is ticking. And things are about to get very, very messy."

Word count: 6.4k. Chapter 1/?

an: hi everyone!! its been a super long time since i posted anything for ninjago. i've been working on this au for a minute so im super glad to finally share the first chapter :))

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Halloween prompts year 2, day 1

Danny had no idea what he was doing. There. He admitted it. He had found a book of spells that reminded him of Sam and stole it on instinct. He didn't have much money after running away. He didn't even have the chance to grab one of his Go Bags as his parents fired on him.

Good news was that ghost powers made it very easy to steal stuff. Now with a book that has actual magic spells in it? He'd never go hungry again! It was kinda weird though. New dimension or not he didn't think a grocery store would sell multiple copies of spellbooks just out in the open like this. They were clearly new and a product or modern manufacturing so it wasn't like it was some ancient relic or anything.

Hmm. A mystery for later then. In the meantime he was going to go around Gotham turning rogues and random jerks into frogs! It went pretty well. There was a mass Arkham breakout not too long ago and Danny was having an absolute blast sneaking up and froggifying people while wearing a cheap glittery devil masquerade mask. Once suitable frogged he trapped them in a magic bubble and left them on the rooftops for the bats to find.

This went awry however when one of the local vigilantes, Robin, tried to attack him from above. On reflex he turned Robin into a frog and freaked out, "Okay. Crud. Okay. I can fix this!" He said while picking up the tiny vigilante, "Just promise not to hurt me and i'll turn you back!"

The angry ribbiting told him that the vigilante would agree to no such thing, "In that case," Danny used his ghost powers to make a human sized ice cage and placed the frog inside. The cages bars were thin but sturdy. It would take Robin only a few good hits to break out of it but by that time the mysterious magic user would have had a head start.

Unfortunately, Danny had just started the spell that would turn Damian back when one of his siblings, Tim, got the jump on him...and got similarly froggy for it. Now there were two frogged bats and a startled magic user.

Danny looked up at the rooftops to see more and more bats staring at him. And the just froggified Red Robin. And the frog version of regular Robin. In a cage. This looked bad. After dodging a batarang Danny apologized to the frogs and quickly yelled, "Not today satan!" At batman before dropping a smoke bomb and teleporting away.

Later at the batcave Damian and Tim were placed in different enclosures to keep their new forms healthy and to prevent any frog on frog violence as they sort this out. At first they thought this was a meta who could turn people into frogs but that was quickly ruled out due to Damian and Tim both typing on devices and telling them about the ice powers.

Thus begins Danny's attempts to find the frogged siblings and turn them back before he gets stabbed by an angry bird and Robin and Red Robins attempts to escape to find this magic user cause it was clear that he had cursed them by accident and had wanted to turn them back right away.

They're family keeps trying to stop them though saying its too dangerous to go out as a frog and they don't know what that magic users intentions were. They didn't really have much choice however seeing at Constantine couldn't help them.

The trench coated brit and said this magic was like nothing he had ever felt before and he would have to do some research. Which lead to the boys swinging across rooftops as amphibians and probably making more than a few people question what was in thier coffee.

[eponastory]

So, about that scarf scene...

Yall didn't think I'd add my version of it did you?

You'll have to read the entire chapter to see how this goes with the scarf.

But yeah. There you go.

I'll post the link soon.

[sassydefendorflower]

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