#if someone could draw this i would be eternally grateful

[probablyaseamonster]

In regards to my last post, this is the vision:

It's dusk. There's a campfire. A makeshift stage, firelight illuminating it. On the stage are Martyn and Joel, singing Disobedient. It is important to me that you know that Joel has reformed into a less Pearly outfit, one that fits his personality more. The small crowd is cheering, Ren's one of the loudest.

[candyk0rn]

Cuddles : BG3

It’s been a while! I hope you’re all doing great, and I’m sorry for once more going on a forever break lol. But of course, Baldurs Gate 3 brainrot is so real

Before reading: Fluff, headcanons, Astarion, Lae’Zel, Gale, Shadowheart x reader (separate), gn reader

Astarion:

“Oh? I see you still can’t say no to my endless charm..”

At the beginning of the relationship, touches and prodding aren’t uncommon

Anything that can bring your attention to him

It takes a while and a lot of convincing from you that his somewhat risqué touches was not all that pleased you

And eventually he can even process that you don’t just love him for his body

Although hard for him to realize, with your help he can

So after your relationship has really blossomed and grown, his touches become softer, calmer, more intimate

Nights by the crackling fire, you in his lap, his hand massaging your nape

His fingers are dangerously cold against your skin, but there’s a sense of comfort that comes with the chill

Although he will brush off your reassurance as pitiful and unneeded..

Please reassure him omg

For the longest time, he will surely believe you are like all his other conquests,

Seduced by him and his charms

But just small whispers of love into his ear, your comforting touch against his skin

That’s enough for him.

Gale:

“Come with me, we shall rest under the stars tonight.”

I am of the firm believer that Gale is horribly touch-starved, poor man

Taken advantage of by his own Goddess, thinking that that is the best he would ever be able to do

Then when you come along, it all changed

His thoughts about himself seem to change, his standards seem to change, his love seems to change

He cares so much about you, he cannot help but think he is not worthy

That a cursed, unfaithful man as himself could never even breathe the same air as you

But all of his doubts and worries seem to melt away when you two hold one another underneath the stars

Your fingers lovingly combing through his hair as he rambles on about something he is passionate about

Wether it be a book, his expertise in magic, or Tara (lmao)

Others would shove him off as a show-off, annoying, etc

But you are so willing to hear him go on and on, that he can’t help but love you

His index finger instinctively draws shapes into your back when you hold each other

When he’s cuddled up with you, his worries that today might be his last don’t even cross his mind

He’s more worried about you, how you feel, if you’re comfortable

He doesn’t care if tonight is the last night he shall ever see you

He’d rather die tomorrow than live for an eternity never knowing you

Lae’Zel:

“Chk..I do not take part in worthless acts of intimacy.”

Lae’Zel is not much of a ‘cuddles’ person

Like at all…

She’d rather feel the thrill of battle with you, bathing in the blood of your enemies

Her way of loving is slaughtering anyone who even just looks at you the wrong way

But, if you’re particularly lucky, or especially down

She can’t help but..pity you

In her mind, it’s such a disgusting feeling. This ‘love’ makes her weak, but she cannot run from it no matter how much she tries

The most touch you’ll get from her will only occur in private

A hand perched protectively on your hip or waist

Her head slumped on your shoulder when you’re on watch for the night

acts like this, although small

It means so,so much from her

And she’ll kill you if you go telling Shadowheart about how ‘sweet’ she was being last night

Shadowheart:

“My love…ugh. I’m still not used to calling someone that.”

Shadowheart is lost when it comes to you

Not only is she horribly confused that you of all people would love her

She’s confused as to how she’s supposed to love you

Her entire life, for what she can remember, she’s never been shown comfort or remorse

If she did something wrong, she was punished

She doesn’t remember a single moment in her life when she was loved the way you love her

And although grateful, she feels unworthy

Hugs are common with her, of course in private, but common nonetheless

When she hold you in her arms, the pads of her fingers massage your back lovingly, worried if she lets go, you’ll flee

Let! Her! Play! With! Your! Hair! 🙏🏻

And please play with hers omg

At night, she’ll let her hair down and allow your hands to explore her long, black (or white) locks

Your touch sends shivers down her spine, a feeling she’s not used to, but craves so much

She truly hopes that you’ll never leave her, for now that she has tasted your touch,

She never wants that sensation to leave

Thanks for reading!

[mrinafria]

[contains spoilers]

I'm an eternal digger of good narrative techniques. A decent story becomes great in my eyes if the narrative is done right. And it's one of the hardest things to do really, since there's no one-size-fits-all rule for what technique works well with a particular story and what doesn't. One of the primary reasons I keep obsessing over Lovely Runner is its' narrative technique. In all honesty, if it had a linear, singular narrative, I would not be hyperventilating over it on a constant basis (I still would just a certain amount, because both Byeon Woo Seok and Kim Hye Yoon deserve awards for what they are doing). One reason it has managed to knock it out off the park and take the top spot in my forever-favorite list is how wonderfully well the narrative is done.

The primary perspective used in this show is Im Sol's. It's through her we're introduced to the story. Her perspective gives shape to the plot, the characters, because we learn things through her. Her perspective is absolutely critical for exposition. Without her thoughts and way of viewing things, you would never realize why saving Seon Jae means so much to her, or why she would bend the rules and bulldoze ahead when it comes to his safety (exhibit A, her leaving home on the day of the accident, despite knowing about her fate). She'd rather have him alive than have him in her life. Without her narrative, you'd think it's really all about a fan saving her idol (thanks to everyone who'd rejected the script listening to that pitch by the way, I'm grateful we have BWS and KHY as the leads because of that, I would not change it for anyone else). With Im Sol's perspective, you realize, she is not just a fan: she's an ardent admirer, a cheerleader, a well-wisher, a protector, an invisible friend trying to support her friend any way she can, someone who respects Seon Jae, sees him as an idol but also as a human, someone who wants to give back to him the same kindness, empathy and love she had once received from him over a radio call. To her, Seon Jae is first a guardian angel and then an idol, the angel who changed her view of life, made her appreciate things even amidst all that could be wrong with the world and her life. He saved her. Not just on that day at the hospital but every time she struggled and faltered since then, he was there, as invisible as it may have been. So this time, she wants to save him, no matter the price.

Then comes Seon Jae. Oof. If Im Sol's perspective gives the story its beautiful, beautiful shape, Seon Jae's perspective breathes literal life in to the body of the story. The show wouldn't be what it is today if not for his perspective. Without his view into things, Im Sol appears as a fangirl going to extreme measures to save her idol, clinging onto him like a monkey (yes I mean the poster) embarrassing the heck out of herself, making you cringe (in a good, enjoyable way) throughout. Then you reach the end of episode 2 and it knocks the breath out of you because WHAT DO YOU EVEN MEAN. It all clicks.

All this while we kept thinking Seon Jae was caught off guard and just kind enough to tolerate her antics, and maybe he'd slowly fall for her now, only to realize we were completely oblivious to a whole different side of the story. If Im Sol's narrative draws you in and keeps you hooked, making you root for her to succeed, it's Seon Jae's narrative that makes you irredeemably fall in love with them and sincerely, genuinely, desperately hope they get their happy ending together after all the storm.

And the motifs. Walking/running, for instance. I'll focus on just one scene here. I recall seeing a bts where KHY is discussing the OG 2008 accident scene, and it explains how she has to slow down, while running away, for just a moment, only to be hit by the taxi driver. Have you ever been in a situation of absolute panic, desperation and stress, then suddenly found a familiar face or a name or a thing you could connect to, and felt a wave of relief rush through you? She sees Seon Jae, a person who is calling out her name. Even if she didn't know him back then, the fact that he knew her (and that he had his uniform on), gives her a sense of safety she badly needed that moment. That momentary relief, so visible in her features, then overtakes the crippling fear she felt running in the middle of nowhere with no one in sight in the dead of the night. Her body, already exhausted beyond anything, responds to the relief she feels for those few seconds, slowing down her steps.

And that is when she is caught off-guard and hit. That also might have added to Im Sol's anger at the hospital when she is screaming at Seon Jae, her internal anguish that if only she had not paused seeing Seon Jae, and kept on running, then maybe she wouldn't be hit, wouldn't fall, wouldn't lose her ability to walk. It's one thing to have tropes and symbolic things, but it's a very different thing to know how to use them effectively so they elicit very specific types of emotions/reactions out of people. Lovely Runner excels in that. All kdramas more or less have 'things' that take on different meanings for the couples/viewers. It's the way motifs are used to narrate the story in this one that has me going back over and over again to all the episodes aired so far. These are not just their 'things', these are 'things' that drive the plot forward, tell you about their characters, their personal motivations, what they mean to each other and so much more.

This is getting longer that I intended it to be so will end with this. I feel valued when watching Lovely Runner. And I've seen people saying the same thing. It feels like they respect your critical thinking skills, and your ability to infer, so they don't spoon-feed you everything from the get-go, and you can't predict much despite it being primarily a rom-com. You'd be pulling your hair out (again, in a good way) trying to figure out what they will show next, and you will be somewhat or very far from the truth, which will compel you to think further about the story, the characters, long after an episode has aired...I can't remember the last time it happened with a drama. I love this storytelling.

[lila-lou]

✨All talk✨

Summary: Living with Ben pushes your limits. His toxic presence fuels both anger and a confusing attraction. A heated confrontation turns physical, blurring the line between desire and power, drawing you into a dangerous game you’re unsure you want to escape.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language

Word Count: 7158

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

Living under the same roof as Soldier Boy was a test of patience and tolerance. His arrival at the team apartment brought with it a cloud of toxicity, his presence permeating every corner with his disdainful remarks and abrasive attitude. From the moment he walked in, it was clear he had no filter—his words dripping with contempt, especially when directed at you. His misogynistic jabs hit their mark with precision, each comment an assault on your dignity. Yet, as much as you despised his presence, you knew confronting him would only stoke the flames of his aggression. So, until now, you endured, gritting your teeth and counting the days until his fucking departure.

You entered the kitchen, trying to ignore the disdainful gaze that followed you. Ben sat at the table, crushing pills with a grim determination.

"Nice outfit", he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "Didn't know we were auditioning for street corners now".

You clenched your fists, resisting the urge to lash out. "Mind your own business, Ben".

He chuckled, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. "Oh, I am. Your business is my entertainment, sweetheart".

Ignoring his taunts, you grabbed a glass from the cupboard, your movements deliberate. But his words hung heavy in the air, poisoning the atmosphere with their venom.

"Back in my time, women had some fucking espect for themselves and didn't walk around like fucking sluts".

"Times have changed, Ben".

He scoffed, a bitter smile twisting his lips. "You think anything really changed? You´re just waiting for a strong man to put you back in line".

You raised an eyebrow, incredulous at his audacity. "To put me back in line?", you scoffed, a bitter edge creeping into your voice. "I've never been in line, Ben. And I sure as hell won't start now just because you think you're some kind of authority".

Ben's laughter grated on your nerves, a harsh sound that echoed through the room. "You'll learn, sweetheart. They all do".

But you refused to back down, your resolve hardening with each passing moment. "Not this time", you muttered under your breath, a quiet vow to yourself. "Not ever".

"No wonder you're single," he mumbled. "You're a fucking pain in the ass, probably won't even shut up if there's a dick shoved down your throat".

Heat rose to your cheeks, anger boiling within you. "You're despicable, Ben", you shot back, your voice trembling with suppressed rage. "I'd rather be single for eternity than spend a minute with someone like you".

He smirked, his expression smug and self-satisfied. "Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart. But we both know you'll come crawling back, begging for a taste of the real deal".

“So you’re the real deal?”, you quipped, a hint of sarcasm in your voice. “More like a sad excuse for a man”.

His smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by a flicker of annoyance. “Watch your mouth, princess”, he warned, his tone sharp.

“Or what?”, you challenged, turning to face him fully, your gaze steady despite the tension crackling between you. “You’ll throw another tantrum like a petulant child?”.

Ben’s jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides. “You’re pushing it, sweetheart”, he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

A sinister smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you leaned in closer, your eyes locked with his. “What’s the matter, Ben? Can’t handle a woman who isn’t afraid to stand up to you?”.

The air escaped your lungs in a sharp gasp as Ben's sudden aggression caught you off guard. Before you could react, you found yourself pressed against the wall, his forearm crushing against your throat, cutting off your breath. His eyes bore into yours with a dangerous intensity, a silent warning of the power he held over you in that moment.

"Think you're tough, huh?", he growled. "Let's see how tough you really are".

You struggled against his grip, the pressure on your throat intensifying with each passing second. Despite the primal fear that should have gripped you, a different sensation coursed through your body, one that shocked and disturbed you to your core. Instead of trembling in terror, you felt a surge of heat pooling between your legs, a primal desire awakening within you.

You had to be insane, you thought, even as your body betrayed you. His closeness, the scent of his cologne mingling with the musk of his exertion, the feel of his strong arms pressing against your throat—it all ignited a fire within you that you couldn't extinguish.

Ben's grip loosened slightly, his brow furrowing in confusion. His gaze flickered down, and realization dawned in his eyes.

He raised an eyebrow, a mixture of surprise and amusement dancing in his features. "Well", he murmured, his voice a low rasp. "Seems like little miss tough has a dirty little secret".

The heat in your cheeks spread to every inch of your body, shame and arousal warring within you. You tried to speak, to offer some feeble protest, but the words caught in your throat, lost in the haze of desire that clouded your mind.

Ben's lips curled into a wicked grin, his grip on you loosening even further as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Tell me, princess", he whispered, his voice dripping with mockery. "Is this what gets you off? A little danger, a little dominance?".

You swallowed hard, unable to tear your gaze away from his piercing eyes. "Shut up", you managed to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper.

But Ben only chuckled, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "Oh, I don't think I will", he taunted, his lips grazing your earlobe. "Not when you're squirming like this. It's quite the turn-on".

With Ben's body pressed against yours, every move felt calculated, every breath laden with tension. There was nowhere to escape, no way to evade his overpowering presence.

His voice, low and husky, sent a shiver down your spine. "You know", he murmured, his lips brushing against your cheek, "I bet if I were to slide my hand under that little slutty dress of yours, I'd find you fucking drenched".

You gasped at his audacity, the heat in your cheeks burning hotter than ever. "You wouldn't dare", you hissed, your voice trembling with a mixture of arousal and defiance.

But Ben only smirked, his fingers tracing lazy circles along your jawline. "Oh, sweetheart", he whispered, his breath hot against your skin, "You have no idea".

Ben's smirk widened into a knowing grin, his eyes alight with amusement. "You're all talk, aren't you?", he taunted, his voice laced with condescension. "A tough little princess with a filthy mouth, but when it comes down to it, you're nothing but a trembling mess".

You bristled at his words, your pride stung by his mocking tone. "You don't know anything about me", you retorted, your voice sharp with defiance.

But Ben leaned in closer, his lips brushing against yours in a tantalizingly brief touch. "Oh, I think I know more than you realize", he murmured, his breath sending a shiver down your spine. "And I'm just getting started".

With a surge of adrenaline, you seized the opportunity, driving your knee upward with all the force you could muster. It connected with his crotch, and Ben's grip on you faltered as a pained grunt escaped his lips. His smirk replaced by a grimace of agony.

"You little—", he started, but his words were cut short by another wave of pain.

Breathing heavily, you pushed him away, the rush of victory coursing through your veins. "Don't underestimate me", you spat, your voice fierce with determination. "I'm not your plaything, Ben".

Ben took a deep breath, clearly struggling to keep his emotions in check. His eyes blazed with a mix of fury and something else—something almost like respect.

You took a step back, maintaining eye contact with him, and raised your middle finger in a defiant gesture.

Without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and strode out of the apartment, your heart pounding with adrenaline. The cool evening air hit you as you stepped outside, a welcome relief from the intensity inside. You pulled out your phone and texted your friends, letting them know you were on your way for that much-needed drink.

As you walked towards the bar, a small smile played on your lips. You had stood your ground and shown Ben that you weren't someone to be trifled with.

But as you walked towards the bar, you couldn't shake the lingering sensation of arousal. Despite the confrontation, or maybe because of it, you were acutely aware of how wet you were. The throbbing heat between your legs was a stark reminder of the confusing mix of emotions Ben had stirred within you.

You tried to focus on the anticipation of seeing your friends, on the promise of laughter and drinks that awaited you. But every step you took seemed to amplify the memory of Ben's body pressed against yours, the intensity of his gaze, the rough timbre of his voice.

By the time you reached the bar, your mind was still a whirlwind of conflicting feelings. You pushed open the door, the warm, lively atmosphere inside a welcome distraction. Spotting your friends at a corner table, you took a deep breath and made your way over, determined to let the night wash away the complexities of your encounter with Ben. But as you sat down and ordered your drink, you knew it wouldn't be that easy to forget.

It was 3 in the morning by the time you stumbled back into the apartment, a pleasant buzz from the night’s drinks warming your veins. The struggle to remove your heels almost sent you toppling over, but you managed to steady yourself with a chuckle.

As you made your way to the kitchen, the soft glow of the television caught your eye. There was Ben, lounging on the couch in the living room, a brooding silhouette against the flickering screen. A part of you tensed, half-expecting him to jump up and retaliate for your earlier attack. Yet, another part of you couldn't resist the urge to provoke him just a little more.

"Still sulking over your balls?", you teased, leaning casually against the doorway, a sly smile playing on your lips.

Ben's head turned slowly, his eyes locking onto yours with a mix of surprise and something else—something darker. He didn't respond immediately, just stared at you for a long moment, as if assessing the situation.

"Had a good night?", he finally asked, his voice calm but laced with an undercurrent of tension.

You shrugged, the alcohol in your system making you bolder than usual. "Better than yours, I'm guessing".

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. "You think you're fucking funny, don't you?".

"Just calling it like I see it", you shot back, stepping further into the room, your pulse quickening at the intensity of his gaze.

Ben leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes never leaving yours. "You're playing a dangerous game, sweetheart", he warned, his voice soft but deadly serious.

You took a deep breath, feeling the intoxicating mix of fear and desire swirl within you once more. "Maybe I like danger", you replied, your voice barely more than a whisper, the challenge clear in your tone.

It was probably the booze that had those words slipping from your lips.

Ben raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he took in your bold stance.

He chuckled, the sound low and mocking. “You wouldn’t survive five minutes with me”, he mumbled, almost to himself, but loud enough for you to hear.

You felt a thrill of defiance surge through you, pushing you to step even closer. “Is that a challenge?”, you asked, the alcohol making your voice steadier and more daring than it would have been otherwise.

Ben’s eyes darkened, his smirk widening into a grin that sent a shiver down your spine. “Oh, sweetheart”, he murmured, standing up slowly and towering over you, “it’s a promise”.

You held your ground, refusing to back down even as your heart pounded in your chest. “Prove it”, you dared, the words escaping before you could think better of it.

The whole night, even as you tried to enjoy the company of your friends and the hum of the bar around you, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. Ben’s words echoed in your mind, blending with memories of his strong arms, his intoxicating scent, and his deep, mocking voice.

You imagined what it would be like to be with him, the forbidden allure of his dominance pulling at something deep inside you. You bet he could fuck like no one else, and the thought sent a shiver of desire through you. Maybe, just maybe, you could try it once, get it out of your system, and then go back to hating him.

As you stood there, the air thick with tension, Ben could hear the rapid beat of your heart, his senses finely attuned to every subtle signal. He rose from the couch, each movement slow and deliberate, like a predator closing in on its prey.

He walked closer, the gap between you shrinking with each step, and you could see the shift in his expression as he caught the scent of your arousal. His eyes darkened, and he licked his lips, his gaze roaming over your body, taking in every detail.

“You can’t hide it”, he murmured, his voice a low rumble. “I can smell how fucking wet you are”.

Your breath hitched, the undeniable truth of his words making your pulse quicken even more. He was close enough now that you could feel the heat radiating off his body, his presence overwhelming.

“You’re practically begging for it”, he continued, his tone dripping with confidence. “All that talk, all that attitude, and here you are, fucking soaked and ready”.

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you bit your lip, trying to steady yourself against the overwhelming tide of desire.

"I'll enjoy ruining you", Ben mumbled, his voice dark and filled with promise.

You tried to maintain your composure, but the moment his big palm settled around your hipbone, your resolve crumbled. His touch was electrifying, and you practically melted under his hand, your body instinctively leaning into his.

Ben's grin widened as he felt you soften against him. "That's it", he murmured, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin just above your hip. "I knew you had it in you".

Your breath came in shallow gasps, and you felt a rush of heat spread through your body. "Ben", you whispered, your voice trembling with a mixture of anticipation and desperation.

He leaned in, his lips grazing your ear as he whispered, "Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll take good care of you".

And with that, he drew you closer, his hand sliding down to the small of your back, pressing you firmly against him. You could feel the hardness of his body, the raw power that seemed to radiate from him, and you knew there was no turning back now. This was the moment you'd been yearning for, the forbidden thrill you'd been unable to resist.

As his lips claimed yours in a searing kiss, you surrendered to the intensity of your desire, ready to see just how far this dangerous game would take you.

His kiss was a mixture of dominance and raw desire that left you breathless. Before you could fully process what was happening, Ben’s strong arms scooped you up effortlessly, lifting you as if you weighed nothing. You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair as he carried you across the room.

Each step he took was deliberate, his grip on you firm yet almost tender. The world around you seemed to blur, your focus entirely on him and the anticipation that built with every second.

When he reached the couch, he paused, his gaze raking over you with a predatory hunger. Then, with a surprising gentleness, he laid you down, the soft cushions beneath you contrasting sharply with the intensity of the moment. He hovered above you, his hands bracing on either side of your head as he looked down, his breath coming in steady, controlled inhales.

“You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into”, he murmured, his voice low and velvety. His fingers traced a path down your arm, sending shivers through your body as he watched your reactions with keen interest.

You couldn’t help but arch slightly beneath him, the ache between your legs growing unbearable. “Then show me”, you challenged, your voice a breathless whisper.

Ben’s eyes darkened with desire, and he leaned down, capturing your lips in another demanding kiss. His hands roamed your body, exploring every curve and dip with a possessiveness that made you feel claimed, owned. His touch was both rough and tender, a perfect blend of dominance and care that left you trembling beneath him.

As his lips trailed down your neck, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin, you felt the last remnants of your resistance crumble. Ben’s hands moved with expert precision, sliding beneath your dress and inching it upward, exposing more of your skin to the cool air and his heated gaze.

Ben sat back slightly, his eyes roaming over your body with an intensity that made you feel completely exposed and vulnerable. He didn't hide his interest as he let his gaze settle between your legs, taking in the sight without a hint of shame.

"Fucking soaked", he groaned, his voice thick with desire. "Just like I said". His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he pulled them down your legs. The cool air hit your skin, contrasting sharply with the heat radiating from your core.

Ben's eyes never left yours as he discarded your panties, his expression a mix of triumph and raw hunger. "Look at you", he murmured, his voice a dark, sensual growl. "So ready, so eager".

You felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks, but you couldn't tear your eyes away from him. The way he looked at you, the way his hands and eyes claimed every inch of you, was intoxicating.

He leaned back in, his hands sliding up your thighs, spreading them wider as he settled between them. "I'm going to fucking ruin you", he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. "And you're going to love every second of it".

With that, his mouth descended, his tongue flicking out to taste you. The sensation was electrifying, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. You arched against him, your hands fisting in the cushions as he expertly worked you with his mouth and fingers, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

Ben's mouth worked expertly against you, his tongue tracing circles and flicks that sent jolts of pleasure through your entire body. The heat between your legs intensified with each movement, and you could feel the evidence of your arousal soaking his lips and beard.

He groaned against you, the vibrations adding another layer to your mounting pleasure. "So fucking sweet", he murmured between licks, his voice husky and thick with desire. "I can taste how much you want this".

His words only heightened your arousal, making you buck your hips toward him, craving more. Ben responded by gripping your thighs tighter, pulling you closer as his tongue delved deeper, exploring every inch of your sensitive folds. His beard brushed against your inner thighs, slick with your juices, adding a deliciously rough texture to the sensations overwhelming you.

The sounds he made, guttural and primal, mixed with the wet, slick noises of his mouth against you, creating an intoxicating symphony of lust. You couldn't hold back your moans any longer, your hands tangling in his hair as you urged him on.

Ben's fingers joined the fray, sliding into you, curling just right to hit that perfect spot inside you. Your back arched off the couch, a sharp cry escaping your lips as he found your rhythm, working in tandem with his mouth to push you closer to the edge.

"You taste so fucking good", he growled, his beard now completely soaked from your arousal. "And you're going to come for me, aren't you?".

The combination of his relentless tongue, skilled fingers, and the deep, commanding timbre of his voice drove you wild. You could feel the tension building, coiling tighter and tighter in your core until it was almost unbearable.

"Ben", you gasped, your voice breaking as you teetered on the edge. "I'm—".

He didn't let you finish. With a final, intense suck and a precise thrust of his fingers, he sent you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed through you, waves of pleasure radiating from your core, making you tremble and cry out his name.

Ben didn't let up, continuing to lap at you, drawing out your release until you were a quivering, breathless mess.

When he finally pulled back, his face was glistening with your juices, his eyes dark with satisfaction and a promise of more to come.

"Such a good girl", he murmured, his voice filled with a mixture of pride and lust. "But we're not done yet. Not by a long shot".

Still breathless from the intensity of your orgasm, you barely had time to recover before Ben was on you again. His wet mouth pressed against yours, the taste of your own arousal mingling with the raw hunger of his kiss. He didn’t give you a moment to hesitate, his tongue pushing roughly into your mouth, exploring and claiming you with a fervor that left you reeling.

“Taste yourself”, he growled against your lips, his voice a dark, commanding whisper. The wetness of his beard and lips brushed against your skin, a constant reminder of what he’d just done to you.

You could taste yourself on him, the intimate flavor combined with the heat of his mouth sending another wave of arousal through you. His kiss was demanding, his tongue tangling with yours in a fierce battle for dominance that he inevitably won.

The roughness of his actions only heightened your desire, making you cling to him, your hands gripping his shoulders as you kissed him back with equal fervor. His hands roamed your body, one sliding up to cup your breast, squeezing just hard enough to make you gasp into his mouth.

Grinning against your lips, Ben’s hand tightened around your breast, squeezing harder. This time the pressure was enough to make you wince, a sharp intake of breath mingling with the heat of his kiss. His grin widened, a dark satisfaction gleaming in his eyes as he watched your reaction.

“That’s it”, he murmured, his voice low and husky. “I love hearing those little sounds you make”. His fingers kneaded your flesh, alternating between rough squeezes and lighter caresses, keeping you on the edge of pleasure and pain.

You moaned against his mouth. Ben’s other hand trailed down your body, his touch leaving a burning trail in its wake. He cupped your ass, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

He broke the kiss, his lips moving to your neck, sucking and biting the sensitive skin there. “You’re mine tonight”, he growled, his breath hot against your ear. “Every inch of you”.

You could only nod, your body responding to his every touch, every word. His hands continued their exploration, one slipping under your dress to find the wet heat between your legs. He groaned in approval, his fingers sliding through your slick folds.

“I can’t wait to feel you around me”.

His words sent another wave of arousal crashing through you, and you arched against him, desperate for more. Ben’s fingers teased you, brushing against your clit before dipping inside once more, making you gasp.

“Ben”, you whispered, your voice trembling with need. “Please”.

His eyes met yours, dark and intense. “Please what?”, he asked, a wicked smile playing on his lips.

“Please”, you repeated. “I need you”.

His grin widened, and he leaned in to kiss you again, his fingers moving with more urgency. “You’ll get what you need, sweetheart”, he promised. "But you’re going to have to beg for it”.

You bit your lip, the intensity of his gaze making your heart race. “Please, Ben”, you said, your voice trembling. “I need you. Now”.

Ben’s mouth traced a hot path down your neck, his breath sending shivers across your skin. He grasped the neckline of your dress, pulling it down with a swift, determined motion that left your breasts exposed to his hungry gaze. Your nipples, already hardened from the intensity of his touch, stood out proudly.

“That’s not good enough”, he murmured against your skin.

Before you could respond, his mouth descended on one of your nipples, sucking hard. The sensation was electric, a mix of pleasure and pain that made you arch against him, a sharp gasp escaping your lips. His tongue swirled around the sensitive peak, drawing it deeper into his mouth before he bit down, sending another jolt of sensation through you.

You moaned loudly, your fingers tangling in his hair as you clung to him, the pleasure overwhelming. “Ben”, you breathed, your voice trembling with the intensity of your need.

He chuckled darkly against your skin, his mouth moving to lavish the same attention on your other nipple, sucking and biting with a roughness that left you breathless. His hands continued their exploration, one sliding up your thigh to push your dress higher, the other cupping your breast, squeezing and kneading with a possessive intensity.

“You want it so bad, don’t you?”, he murmured, his voice a low, seductive whisper. “I can feel how much you need it, but I want to hear you beg properly”.

You swallowed hard, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you tried to steady yourself. “Please, Ben”, you whispered, your voice trembling. “I need you. I need you to fuck me".

He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. “Not good enough”, he said again, his voice a dark command. “Beg me like you fucking mean it”.

You could see the challenge in his eyes, the demand for complete submission. Your body ached with need, the desire to please him overwhelming. “Please, Ben”, you said, louder this time, your voice filled with desperation. “I need you inside me. Please fuck me. I can’t wait any longer”.

A satisfied grin spread across his face, and he leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. “Good girl”, he murmured against your mouth, his hands moving to unbuckle his belt. “Now let’s see how well you can take it”.

As Ben freed himself from his jeans, the sight of his impressive size made you mumble a breathless “Fuck”. The reality of the situation hit you with full force, and a mix of fear and excitement coursed through you. You pushed yourself up on your elbows, instinctively backing away slightly.

“No, no, no”, you stammered, your voice trembling. “I changed my mind. No thanks, fuck, no”.

Ben’s eyes darkened, but there was a glint of amusement in them as well. He reached out, his hand gently but firmly gripping your ankle to keep you from retreating further. “Oh, sweetheart”, he murmured, his voice low and velvety, “you can’t back out now. Not after all that begging”.

He moved closer, his grip on your ankle tightening slightly as he leaned over you, his presence overwhelming. “I promise”, he whispered. “I’ll take good care of you”.

You felt a shiver run down your spine, the mixture of fear and desire making your heart race. Despite your hesitation, there was a part of you that craved the intensity of what was about to happen. His hand slid up your leg, his touch both reassuring and commanding, as he positioned himself between your thighs once more.

“Trust me”, he said, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made it hard to look away. “You’ll fucking love it”.

Before you could protest further, Ben’s lips captured yours in a searing kiss, his hand moving to hold your hip in place. His other hand guided himself to your entrance, and with a slow, deliberate push, he began to enter you.

As Ben pushed inside you, a sharp cry of pain escaped your lips, only to be muffled by his kiss. The stretch was intense, every inch of him filling you beyond what you thought possible. You clung to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you tried to adjust to the overwhelming sensation.

“Fuck”, he groaned into your mouth, his voice thick with arousal. The tightness of your body around him seemed to drive him wild, his grip on your hip tightening as he held you steady.

Ben didn’t give you time to adjust. Instead, he thrust deeper, making you gasp against his lips. The intensity was almost too much to bear.

“All that teasing”, he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “All those smart remarks and your big mouth. This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”.

You whimpered, the mixture of pain and pleasure overwhelming. Ben’s grip on your hip tightened more, his pace unrelenting as he pushed even deeper, driving the breath from your lungs.

“You’ve been begging for this”, he continued, his tone dripping with dark amusement. “Now you’re going to take it”.

With that, Ben pushed forward hard, bottoming out inside you, and the intense sensation took your breath away. You cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders with such force that you could feel the skin break beneath your fingers. He groaned in response, the mixture of pain and pleasure driving him further.

“That’s it”, he growled, his voice a rough whisper against your ear. “Feel that? Every inch of me inside you. This is what you wanted all along”.

You could only whimper in response, the overwhelming sensation rendering you speechless.

Ben’s eyes bore into yours, a feral satisfaction gleaming in them as he reveled in how you felt around him. He didn’t give you a moment to catch your breath. Without hesitation, he pulled out until just the tip of him remained inside you, then slammed back in deep and hard, making you jolt back on the couch.

The force of his thrusts sent shockwaves through your body, each one driving you further into a state of overwhelming pleasure. Your cries filled the room, a mix of pain and ecstasy, as Ben maintained his relentless rhythm. His hands gripped your hips with bruising force, holding you in place as he took you with a raw intensity.

“You feel so fucking good”, he groaned, his voice thick with lust. “Tight and perfect around me”.

Your nails raked down his back, leaving trails of red as you clung to him, your body arching to meet his every thrust. The pleasure was almost too much to bear, your mind a haze of sensation and need.

Ben’s pace quickened, his movements becoming more urgent as he pushed both of you closer to the edge. “You like this, don’t you?”, he growled, his breath hot against your ear. “You love being fucked like this”.

“Yes”, you gasped, your voice trembling with the intensity of it all. “I love it”.

He growled in approval, his thrusts growing even harder, deeper, driving you both toward an inevitable climax.

The rhythm of his thrusts became a wild dance of dominance and submission, a fierce and primal connection that left you breathless.

“So fucking tight, so perfect. I could fuck you forever”, he groaned

The words sent a fresh wave of arousal through you, every nerve ending alive with sensation. You clung to him, your nails digging into his back as you tried to hold on, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak. Each thrust sent ripples of ecstasy radiating from your core, mingling pain and pleasure in a way that left you trembling.

“Ben”, you gasped, your voice breaking with the intensity of it all. “I’m so close. Please, don’t stop”.

“I won’t”, he promised, his breath hot against your ear as he drove deeper, each thrust more powerful than the last. “Come for me, sweetheart. I want to feel you”.

The intensity of his words and the relentless pace pushed you over the edge.

“That’s it”, he growled, his voice filled with satisfaction as he felt you tighten around him. “That’s my girl. Come for me”.

Your body convulsed, a tidal wave of pleasure crashing through you as you cried out his name. The world dissolved into a haze of white-hot ecstasy, every muscle tightening around him as you reached the peak of your climax.

The sound of his voice, the feel of his body driving into yours, sent you spiraling higher. The waves of your orgasm seemed endless, each one more intense than the last, until you were left trembling and breathless beneath him.

But Ben didn’t intend to stop. Even as the waves of your orgasm began to subside, he sat back, pulling himself out of you with a low groan. His hands gripped your hips, and he looked at you with an intense, commanding gaze.

“Get on top”, he ordered, his voice rough with desire. “I’m not done with you yet”.

Your legs were trembling from the intensity of your climax, but the need in his eyes spurred you into action. You moved to straddle him, your heart pounding in anticipation. But as you hovered above him, you hesitated, a flicker of fear crossing your mind. The intensity of the new angle was daunting, and you could already feel the promise of how deeply he would fill you.

Ben’s hands tightened on your hips, his eyes darkening as he sensed your hesitation. “I know you can handle it”.

Taking a deep breath, you slowly lowered yourself onto him, feeling the stretch as he filled you once more. The sensation was overwhelming, even more intense than before. As you paused to catch your breath, your legs trembling, Ben’s hands gripped your hips firmly.

“All the way princess”, he urged, his voice a mix of command and encouragement. “There’s still a few inches left".

You were already breathing heavily, the fullness almost too much to bear, but his words spurred you on. With a determined breath, you slowly sank down further, inch by inch, until you were seated completely, taking him all the way in. The depth was incredible, pushing you to your limits, and you couldn’t help but let out a shaky moan as you adjusted to the intense sensation.

“That’s it”, he groaned, his eyes locked onto yours with a look of raw desire. “You feel so fucking amazing”.

His praise sent a shiver down your spine, and you began to move, slowly at first, lifting yourself slightly before sliding back down. The friction was exquisite, every movement sending ripples of pleasure through your body. Ben’s hands guided your hips, helping you find a rhythm that made you both gasp with pleasure.

“You look so fucking beautiful like this”, he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “Riding me, taking me so deep”.

You bit your lip, the words making your heart race even faster. The intensity of the new angle, combined with the raw desire in his eyes, drove you wild. Your pace quickened, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge.

“Ben”, you gasped, your voice trembling with the overwhelming sensation. “It’s so much… I can’t…”.

“You can”, he growled, his hands tightening on your hips, urging you to move faster.

The command in his voice sent a surge of arousal through you, and you moved with renewed urgency, your hips grinding against him as you rode him harder. The pleasure built to an unbearable peak, and you could feel yourself teetering on the brink of release.

“That’s it”, he groaned, his eyes never leaving yours. “Come for me”.

With a final, powerful thrust, the pleasure exploded within you, a wave of ecstasy that left you trembling and crying out his name.

About an hour later, the room was filled with the sounds of flesh meeting flesh, punctuated by your ragged breaths and Ben’s deep, guttural groans. Your face was shoved into the couch, your ass raised high by his strong hands as he pounded into you from behind. The relentless rhythm had turned you into a moaning mess, unable to form coherent words.

Sweat slicked both your bodies, your hair sticking to your face and neck as you gasped for breath. Every thrust sent shockwaves of sensation through your sore, overstimulated body. Your hips ached from the bruising grip of his hands, and your pussy throbbed with a mixture of pleasure and pain.

“Please, Ben”, you finally managed to gasp, your voice trembling with exhaustion and desperation. “Please, finish. I can’t take any more”.

He growled in response, his pace never faltering as he drove into you with relentless intensity. “Not until I decide”, he replied, his voice rough and commanding. “You’re going to take everything I give you”.

You whimpered, the sheer force of his thrusts making it hard to catch your breath. Despite the exhaustion, a part of you still craved more, the primal desire to be taken completely overriding your fatigue.

Your moans grew louder, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge once again, despite your exhaustion. The pleasure and pain intertwined, creating an intoxicating mix that left you trembling.

Ben’s breathing grew heavier, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he neared his own climax. “Hold on a little longer”, his voice strained with the effort of holding back

You nodded weakly, your body barely able to keep up with the intensity.

With a final, powerful thrust, Ben drove deep into you, his grip bruising as he found his release. You felt the warmth of his climax fill you, his body shuddering against yours.

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, the only sounds the ragged breaths of both of you as you came down from the high.

Slowly, Ben eased his grip, his hands gently caressing your sore hips as he pulled out and collapsed beside you on the couch.

Ben's breath was still heavy as he reached over, grabbing your discarded panties and handing them to you. "Here, keep this from making a mess", he said, his voice rough but tinged with a teasing edge. You took them, barely able to sit up, your entire body aching and weak from the intensity of the past hour.

As you struggled to pull your panties back on, every movement felt like a Herculean effort. Your muscles protested, and you could barely keep your eyes open. Ben watched you with a satisfied smirk, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of pride and amusement.

"What's the matter?", he teased, brushing his damp hair back from his forehead. "All worn out already? I thought you said you could handle it".

You managed a tired glare, but it lacked any real heat. "I did handle it", you retorted weakly, finally managing to pull your panties into place, feeling the uncomfortable yet strangely satisfying sensation of his cum trapped against your skin. "You just didn't know when to quit".

He chuckled, reaching over to brush a strand of hair from your face. "You actually did pretty good for a human", he said, his voice softening for a moment. "But I'm not done with you yet".

Your eyes widened slightly, a mix of dread and anticipation swirling within you. "Ben, I don't think I can…".

"Relax", he chuckled. "I mean tomorrow. Rest now. You'll need your strength".

You let out a sigh of relief, your body sinking back into the couch as exhaustion finally overtook you.

"Get some sleep", he mumbled. "You earned it",

You nodded, your eyes drifting closed as you let the fatigue wash over you.

Within seconds, you fell asleep against his biceps, your exhaustion finally overtaking you. "I didn´t mean on me", he grumbled.

But as your head sank onto his lap, Ben chuckled softly, his amusement mingling with a strange, unfamiliar tenderness.

"Right now, you don't have a big mouth or that fucking attitude", he muttered to himself, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "You're actually kinda likeable".

He shifted slightly, careful not to wake you, his fingers brushing gently over your hair.

"Well, your pussy definitely is", he added under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief.

Despite himself, he couldn't help but feel a flicker of admiration for you. You had pushed him to his limits, met his intensity head-on, and somehow, you'd both come out of it changed.

He leaned back against the couch, his eyes drifting to the ceiling as he took a deep breath. The room was quiet now, the only sounds your soft, even breaths and the faint hum of the city outside. Ben's mind raced with thoughts and emotions he wasn't entirely prepared to face.

"Shit", he murmured, running a hand through his damp hair. "What the hell am I getting myself into?".

Despite the uncertainty, there was a part of him that welcomed the change, the unexpected connection that had formed between you. As he looked down at your peaceful, sleeping form, he couldn't help but feel a sense of protectiveness, a desire to see where this newfound bond would lead.

With a sigh, he settled back, allowing himself to relax for the first time in what felt like forever.

As he closed his eyes, the last thing he felt was the warmth of your body against his, the steady rhythm of your breaths a comforting reminder that, for now, you were both right where you needed to be.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

-

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny

[mokulule]

The Number You Have Called Cannot Be Reached - Part 13

First | Masterlist

Ship: Dead on Main (Danny/Jason)  Fandom: DP x DC Summary:

Danny is just trying to build a portal home, becoming a thief was just an unfortunate side effect of that goal. Now if only this vigilante family would just leave him alone. Especially Red Hood - the semi retired crime lord whose ghost-like presence keeps drawing Danny to him.

Warning! This chapter is pretty rough (I think), please check the tags for triggers before reading if you have worries. Part 13:

The plan had gone off without a hitch. The Ghost had been noticeably distracted ever since Tim had asked Jason to sit their attempts to capture him out. He’d been very grateful though that it hadn’t taken long for the Ghost to appear again in Gotham’s industrial area. Jason only had so much patience. 

Thanks to Babs’ newly upgraded cameras they’d had warning and time for everyone to get together. 

Herding the Ghost to their trap had been a cinch with him only getting away from them a few times. 

The trap was set in a dead-end alley near the power plant which had power lines running through the ground underneath. They were insulated so he wouldn’t sense them. They would only be a problem if he tried to phase through them.

The Ghost froze in place as the trap came to life with electricity every wall covered with the net. It wasn’t just electrified wire it was meant to create arcs of electricity. It needed to be visible, it needed to stop their quarry in place. Tim didn’t actually want to electrocute the guy if he could help it. 

Dick jumped down to land beside Tim and Damian, his escrima sticks ready. 

The Ghost swung around, taking everything in. Then he started to sink through the ground. It was the moment Tim had been waiting for. Everything hinged on this one theory being true; that he wasn’t just afraid of electricity, but that it would stop him from phasing through. He jumped back up with a startled yelp. 

As he turned to face them mouth a thin pressed line, Tim couldn’t help the grin of a well-executed plan.

“Gotcha.”

Finally they could get to the bottom of this! But no! Tim’s instinct warned him before his brain even registered what was happening. Something about the Ghost’s posture had changed; he was looking up, tensing his body for something. 

No!

Tim fumbled for the button, his last ditch attempt even as Dick and Damian sprung forward recognizing the look of someone about to fly. He’d tossed the EMP device earlier in the night and it had attached to the Ghost’s back. He pushed the button now. 

But the Ghost was already flying having taken off like a rocket. There was a half second delay and Tim realized with horror that even if the electromagnetic pulse did anything the Ghost was in the air. 

If it did anything he would fall. 

Oo o oO

There was a pulse like a wave of static and then Danny was dropping. 

Desperately confused he reached for his powers. Flight was as easy as breathing. Gravity was a mere suggestion. Or it should be! Nothing was happening and the roof below was coming rapidly up to meet him!

In reality it only lasted two seconds, but it felt like a terrifying eternity. His arms and legs moved uselessly; without his powers he had no control.

At the last moment he pushed his arms out. His right hand landed first, there was a sharp pain in his wrist before he curled up and rolled over his shoulder, landing on his back. Air punched out of his chest in a wheeze.

His eyes were wide staring sightlessly up at the clouds as he tried to suck air into his stunned body. He needed to get away before they found him. His core was an agitated scream in his chest. But no matter what he did, he couldn’t sink through the roof. 

He rolled up onto his knees with a pained groan, holding his right wrist protectively against his chest. Terror gripped his throat in a vice grip as he pressed his left hand flat on the concrete. He had to focus. Breathe, if he could just take a moment without panicking, he was certain he’d make his powers work. His core felt normal in his chest, they hadn’t suppressed him, not like Vlad did that one time. Frustrated tears pricked his eyes, he clenched his eyes shut, forced himself to take a deep slow breath. If he just found his calm, if he just focused…

There was not even the suggestion of any give. The roof was solid. 

Danny was solid.

There was a clatter and the high pitched whine of several grappling hooks reeling in. Danny’s head snapped up at the sound, eyes wide. He scrambled clumsily to his feet - his body felt so heavy, and his aching legs protested having to lift him.  

They gathered in a half circle around him on their near silent feet - the bats, towering shadows to his blurred eyes. Blood rushed in his ears.

Danny took a step back, barred his teeth in a snarl. 

“Don’t come closer,” he warned, the implied threat was a lie. He couldn’t do anything. He was powerless, weak as a kitten. It would be no trouble for them to capture him. But worse if they could neutralize his powers, they could hold him. Danny took another step back. 

His breath came in short, punched out huffs. Cold sweat made his hair and clothes sticky. Shadows lined in harsh white light leaned over him. Agony- No! Danny shook his head, he was not there. He stepped back, the back of his knees hit a low railing.

He would never go back. 

He turned and jumped.

Oo o oO

Tim didn’t hear any sounds but the blood rushing in his ears. He hadn’t expected the sheer panic the Ghost would have. None of them had. Not even the goggles had been able to obscure how terrified he was. His voice, the first time they’d ever heard him speak, had been thin and shaky, a hollow warning to not come closer. What was he so afraid of? They hadn’t come closer and yet-

Tim felt ill. What did he think they’d do to him, that he’d rather jump off the roof?! 

Jason had been right. He needed help. And now-

The others stood at the edge of the roof. Nobody was moving. Did that mean it was too late? There was nothing to be done?

Numbly, Tim walked up to the edge and looked down. For a moment he saw nothing, but then he caught movement further away, a flash of red- relief hit Tim in a whooshed out breath that left him weak-kneed. Jason had caught him. Tim turned around and sunk down to sit back against the railing.

He hadn’t even known Jason was out here. He must have turned off his tracker. Fuck, he was so relieved Jason had been there. 

He buried his head in his shaking hands. This was on him, his plan. 

His earlier exhilarated satisfaction of a well-executed plan was crumbled and soured, heavy in the pit of his stomach like lead. His gut turned ominously. If he threw up, it would be deserved, he thought despondently.

Oo o oO

Jason went on the Bats’ comm channel only to bark at them not to follow him. With Ghost in his arms shaking and breathing too fast and too superficial, covered in the cold sweat of terror, Jason didn’t want to know what he would do if they did follow him. 

He ran across the rooftops and used the grapple when necessary. The safehouse wasn’t too far away. 

There was utter silence from that sense where Jason usually heard Ghost’s call to him. It should be a relief not to hear his yearning and be unable to do anything about it, but it just felt wrong. Like something was missing.

Jason held him closer.

“It’s gonna be okay, I’ve got you.” The words were useless, he knew that. Ghost had to be running from him for a reason even as he called for him - and Jason could understand why he’d been running from him, Jason was wrong inside, but Ghost was his only hope, and he couldn’t not chase. Right now the words were all he had, and he couldn’t let the others take him. They didn’t understand that he needed help. 

Jason’s anger over what had happened tonight was only eclipsed by his worry. Ghost might be afraid of Jason too, but not like this, not silenced by terror.

Jason repeated his useless assurances as he ran. Ghost was much too light in his arms, too thin beneath the worn clothing. Irrational fear that he would turn to dust in his arms, seized him. 

“You’re gonna be okay.” He said as much to reassure himself as Ghost.

“Please,” Ghost rasped voice unused.

Jason froze, stopping in place, hoping he’d say more. He didn’t. He pushed uselessly at Jason’s chest, still trying to escape. Jason’s heart broke. Frustrated tears pricked at his eyes.

“Please let me help you,” he pleaded. 

Jason didn’t know if his words had gotten through to him or it was just exhaustion, but he stopped struggling. Cynically, Jason leaned towards exhaustion. At this point panic and fear had to be the only thing keeping him conscious at all.

They arrived at the safehouse finally. 

It was one the others didn’t know about. Jason had a few of those as insurance. It was seemingly just a lived-in apartment, open floor plan living room and kitchen in one with artfully placed clutter, a couple of bedrooms and a bathroom. There were weapons and supplies hidden in the spaces between the real walls and the fake walls that appeared to be the apartment’s boundaries, but you’d only realize that if you checked another of the similar units in the building and noticed this one was smaller. 

Jason landed them on the sill, and worked the window open. He didn’t bother with traps, because he didn’t use it often. Using it would have been a sure way to tip off the bats of its existence. No, this and other’s like it was for emergencies, and sometimes when he needed to stash a victim or witness somewhere safe temporarily. And even if someone should try to burgle the place, Jason had some decoy money there, a large flatscreen TV and some other easily taken electronics. It was unlikely they’d find the real supplies when there were easier money. 

He maneuvered them both inside, set Ghost on the couch and closed the window and the drapes. He pulled off his helmet and set it carelessly on the coffee table - it rolled off to land on the floor. Ghost had already seen his face and hopefully, he’d respond better to a human than a mask. 

Moving slowly, trying to make himself less threatening he kneeled down on the floor in front of where Ghost had curled up in the corner of the couch.

“Hey,” Jason said trying to sound calm, when inside he was everything but. He held out his hands in peace. “I’m not doing anything, I just want to talk.”

The emotionless goggles turned towards him. Jason got nothing from him, he only had the defensive body language to read him by.

“Please say something.”

Finally something happened, Ghost’s breath hitched and he reached up to push the goggles away. His eyes were red rimmed and blurry, and they closed as he rubbed at them. Still hiding his eyes he whispered so low Jason almost didn’t hear him, “-just want to go home.”

Jason lowered his hands and slumped forward. Letting him go would be the right thing to do, Jason could argue all the way till Sunday that it wasn’t safe for him right now, with his powers out of order, but that wasn’t why Jason couldn’t promise to let him go. He desperately needed answers. How did he make the pit silent? Was it just him or was there hope for Jason?

“I have questions,” he admitted.

Ghost slowly removed his hands. His eyes were blue and wary as he looked down at Jason. Jason held his eyes and he didn’t know what he saw in Jason as the moment stretched between them, like an elastic pulled to the point just before snapping.

Ghost looked away with a pained expression, and then, unfurling slowly, Jason felt that familiar yearning. Jason shook his head helplessly. He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to help but didn’t know what to do.

“What do you need?” Jason asked.

Ghost looked back up momentarily and then away with a grimace. Shrinking in on himself. “Hey,” Jason said, frustration made him snappy, “I’m just trying to understand! It’s like you’re calling me, but I don’t know how to answer.”

That got Ghost’s attention, and his head snapped up holding his gaze intently.

“You can feel it?” He asked, and there’s this underlying desperate hope, shoved down by a voice desperately trying to hold steady.

“I can, and I just-“ He didn’t know what else to say, instead he reached out a hand to cup Ghost’s cheek. His eyes were wide and liquid and so blue before he clenched them shut and leaned into Jason’s touch with a small whimper. Jason didn’t dare breathe, as that small hum started, the one that was like a purr. Jason’s head was silent now, the underlying anger and frustration gone. In this moment he was just Jason. 

He didn’t even realize he was crying until tears spilled over his cheeks. He ducked his head. It had been some very long weeks. 

“How are you doing this?” He whispered, desperate to know. 

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Ghost answered hesitantly. 

Jason looked up to meet his tired eyes, the dark bags underneath his eyes were so dark and stark in his thin face he looked bruised. Jason looked away. Shame curled in his gut for pushing him this far. For being helpless not to give chase. He would have pulled his hand back if Ghost hadn’t still been leaning into his touch.

Quietly, he admitted, “I have this rage inside of me, you quiet it.”

“Hmm,” Ghost hummed thoughtfully with his actual voice, as he mulled over Jason’s words. “I’m pretty useless right now without my powers, so I don’t know if it’s anything I can help with permanently.”

“Okay,” Jason said quietly. Trapped in this strange bubble of quiet, desperate to break it he asked, “Do you wanna talk about what happened on the rooftop?”

The purring came to a stuttering halt. 

“That’s a no then,” Jason stated. Of course he didn’t want to talk about that, that should have gone without saying. Stupid. He sighed and stood up, drawing his hand back along with it.

“I’m just getting on the couch,” he assured when Ghost protested wordlessly. He sat down leaning heavily into the plush couch. After a moment he lifted his arm in invite. It took five long seconds before Ghost tucked himself underneath the arm. Jason squeezed him momentarily in a pitiful attempt at comfort, but it was all he could do. 

It took a moment but the purr started up again. The feeling of contentment washed over him.

Jason didn’t know how long he sat there, letting Ghost’s purr soothe his frayed mind, but he sat there so long he started to feel the temptation to just close his eyes and sleep. That wasn’t helpful. Ghost himself had fallen asleep at some point, he discovered, as he shifted and found him blinking awake startled. 

The purring stopped. Wary eyes watched him as he moved away.

“Easy,” Jason said lowly as if he actually was trying to soothe a feral cat, “I’m just gonna check to see what food options we have.” 

He watched until Ghost leaned back into the couch. His eyes were mere slits watching Jason when he turned towards the kitchen. 

Ghost needed to eat and making food was definitely more useful than falling asleep. He walked over to the cupboards, and couldn’t help but yawn as he did so. He opened the cupboards one by one, searching for something easy. A lot of the things here had technically expired and were mostly there for appearance sake. The dried herbs and spices, had probably lost most of their flavor, so actually cooking was out of the question, not to mention he didn’t have fresh ingredients here, but one of the canned soups would probably do fine. 

He turned, tomato soup can in hand to ask if that was fine only to find the couch empty. Carefully he set the can down, so he wasn’t tempted to throw it. His hand clenched into a fist reflexively with no can to hold. He walked over to the living room side of the room, just to make sure he hadn’t just moved. 

He wasn’t there.

He was gone.

Jason sighed and sat down heavily on the couch. Of course he was.

Nothing had been disturbed, not the drapes nor the windows. Everything was exactly as Jason had left it. His powers must have returned. Whatever Tim had done hadn’t been that long lasting, a couple of hours at most. He would have simply gone right through the wall.

Of course he had left as soon a he had a chance. Jason hadn’t given him reason to stay. He’d had his chance to talk and he’d wasted it just sitting and basking in his presence.

He leaned his forehead on his hands and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. 

He only had himself to blame.

-

So this happened... this is better/worse? At least they got to hug?

Anyways, I think I may go back to shorter tumblr parts now that these two chapters are done (if you're curious this is chapter 7 and 8 in my doc and that's what they'll be on Ao3). The last chapter really couldn't be split and this chapter only had terrible places to split it. Better to end on sad Jason.

You can subscribe over on the masterlist

Update: next

[d-targaryenshoe]

Subtle Admiration - Anthony Bridgerton

Word Count: 1176

Summary: When one admires the person they love, would they not also show the world?

Anthony Bridgerton was a man of impeccable standards and unwavering convictions, known throughout London for his sense of duty and commitment to his family.

As the head of the Bridgerton family, his actions were often scrutinized, and his decisions influenced the lives of his siblings.

Yet, despite his formidable exterior, he harbored a deep, unyielding love for his wife, you, a love that he was determined to showcase to his family.

It was a crisp spring morning, and the Bridgerton household was abuzz with activity.

their late father, Edmund Bridgerton upheldThe family had gathered for breakfast, a tradition upheld by their late father, Edmund Bridgerton.

Anthony, seated at the head of the table, observed his siblings with a mix of affection and amusement.

Each one was unique, yet they shared an unbreakable bond.

As Anthony sipped his coffee, his gaze drifted to you, seated beside him.

You were engaged in a lively conversation with Eloise, your laughter like a melodious tune that brightened the room.

Anthony's heart swelled with pride and adoration.

You had seamlessly woven yourself into the fabric of the family, your warmth and wit endearing you to each of his siblings.

"Anthony, you're staring," Daphne teased, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Do you have something to say?"

Anthony chuckled, setting his cup down. "As a matter of fact, I do." He stood, drawing the attention of everyone at the table.

"I've been thinking a great deal about family lately, about how fortunate I am to have all of you in my life. But there's someone here who has brought me an immeasurable amount of joy and fulfillment, someone who has made our family even more complete."

He reached for your hand, helping you to your feet. "Y/n, you have been a beacon of light in my life, and I want everyone to know just how much you mean to me."

You blushed, your eyes shimmering with love. "Anthony, you're too kind."

"No, my dear," he said, his voice filled with emotion. "I am simply stating the truth. You have shown me what it means to truly love and to be loved. You've brought laughter and happiness into our home, and for that, I am eternally grateful."

Benedict, seated across the table, raised his glass. "To y/n, the heart of our family!"

"To y/n!" the family echoed, lifting their glasses in unison.

Anthony smiled, his heart brimming with contentment.

He had always known that his love for you was profound, but now, standing before his family, he realized that his affection for you was boundless.

He was determined to ensure that everyone saw the depth of his feelings, not just in words but in actions as well.

Later that day, Anthony took you for a stroll, a favorite pastime of yours.

The park was a riot of colors, the flowers in full bloom, and the air filled with the sweet scent of spring.

As you walked hand in hand, Anthony couldn't help but steal glances at you, marveling at your beauty and grace.

"You're unusually quiet today," you remarked, a playful smile on your lips. "What's on your mind?"

Anthony stopped, turning to face you. "You. Always you." He cupped your face in his hands, his eyes searching yours. "I want the world to see how much I adore you, how you've changed my life for the better. You deserve to be celebrated every day."

Your eyes softened, and you leaned into his touch. "Anthony, you do celebrate me, in so many ways. Your love is more than enough."

"But it's not enough for me," he insisted. "I want to do more, to show you off to the world, to our family. They need to see how deeply I cherish you."

You laughed softly. "You have a romantic soul, Anthony Bridgerton. Very well, if it makes you happy, I shall allow you to spoil me."

Anthony grinned, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "It makes me very happy indeed."

True to his word, Anthony set about planning a series of events and gatherings where he could showcase his love for you.

He organized family picnics, soirées, and even a grand ball in your honor.

Each occasion was meticulously planned, with every detail reflecting his admiration for you.

At one such gathering, a garden party held at Aubrey Hall, the Bridgerton estate, Anthony outdid himself.

The gardens were transformed into a magical wonderland, with twinkling fairy lights and fragrant flowers adorning every corner.

Guests mingled and laughed, the air filled with the sounds of music and merriment.

As the sun began to set, Anthony took your hand and led you to the center of the garden, where a string quartet played a soft, romantic melody.

He held you close, swaying gently to the music.

"You've outdone yourself, Anthony," you whispered, your eyes shining with happiness. "This is beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as you," he replied, his voice filled with love. "I wanted everyone to see what I see every day—the incredible woman who has stolen my heart."

You rested your head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. "I love you. More than words can say."

"And I love you," he murmured, kissing the top of your head. "More than anything in this world."

As you danced under the stars, surrounded by family and friends, Anthony knew that he had succeeded in his mission.

He had shown everyone just how much you meant to him, and in doing so, he had strengthened the bond of your family even further.

In the days that followed, Anthony continued to find ways to express his love for you, both grand and small.

He would surprise you with handwritten love letters, leave your favorite flowers by your bedside, and steal moments alone with you whenever he could.

Each gesture, no matter how simple, was a testament to his unwavering devotion.

The Bridgerton family, too, embraced you with open arms. They admired Anthony's dedication and the way he openly cherished you.

It brought a new sense of warmth and unity to the gatherings, a reminder of the power of love and the importance of expressing it.

One evening, as you sat by the fireplace in your home, you turned to Anthony with a thoughtful expression.

"Do you know what I love most about you?" you asked.

Anthony raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What is that?"

"Your heart," you said softly. "Your ability to love so deeply and to show that love so openly. It's a rare and beautiful thing."

He smiled, his heart swelling with pride. "And do you know what I love most about you?"

"What's that?" you asked, your eyes twinkling with curiosity.

"Everything," he replied, leaning in to kiss you. "Absolutely everything."

As you sat together, wrapped in each other's arms, Anthony knew that he had found his true soulmate in you.

You were his anchor, his confidante, and the love of his life.

And he was determined to spend every day showing you just how much you meant to him, letting the world see the depth of his affection.

[fall0utmind]

New fic!!!!!!

Let me know what you think!!

✨️WOULD YOU STILL LOVE ME IF I TOLD YOU MY DARKEST SECRETS?✨️

A rosquez medical leak AU fic

Here on AO3 (please check it out)

Below the cut for more

(Tw/ mentions of suicide, suicidal thoughts, and medication abuse - no active description)

Please read with care 🤍🤍

CHAPTER 1 - DOOMSDAY 🏍

The news drops some time in free practice at Misano. Marc has no idea how it got out or who told the media, but he knows it would be everywhere for the next week—hell, the next year.

The sun is high in the cloudless sky, beating down on Marc, and filling the air with the familiar scent of burning rubber and asphalt. He’s going for a final flying lap, trying to put in a decent time on the GP23. Pushing through the ache of his body, he toes the limit for both him and his bike. He presses on until he passes the chequered flag, finally releasing the tension he holds, unwinding like a coil.

Only once he’s driving into the garage, towards the concerned faces of his press officer and crew, he realises something is wrong. At first, he thinks that he has done something wrong on track, perhaps he pushed someone off the racing line and ruined a flyer. He mentally scrambles, racking his brain for a mistake, for any reason he may have aggrieved the fans or his colleagues. It didn’t have to be much, these days, more than in 2015 or 2016, but they still sought any reason to string him up on a cross. Just like Valentino had done so willingly, all those years ago, sacrificing Marc as a martyr to the sport so he could be a god.

He shakes himself out of his thoughts. There is a press conference later, maybe it has something to do with that. Marc hasn’t stepped a foot wrong today, he’s sure of it. No crashes, no mistakes, and no on-track battles that people like to examine and use against him. It’s only a practice session. God, he’s overthinking because he got like 4 hours of sleep last night, and this is Italy. Rossi territory. Anxious overthinking is Marc’s familiar friend these days, with so much on the line and so few people in his corner. Press conferences can be tricky in Italy but he’ll get through it, even with the hatred of a nation against him.

Marc clambers off his bike, passing his helmet to a nearby crew member. The team are tense, afraid to look him in the eyes. That’s odd for Marc, he has always had a natural air about him that draws others in and makes them feel at ease. Even Frankie, his ever-present race engineer, struggles to hold his gaze. It does nothing to put him at ease, anxiety coiling in his gut.

They run through their usual practice debrief, evaluating the bike set-up (good, today), pace (impossibly quick for the GP23, and that make Marc glow with satisfaction), and track. It is awkward and stilted, so at odds with the usual team atmosphere which Marc has come to love. The engineers and mechanics shoot the occasional pitying glance at Marc or towards his press officer, patiently waiting in the corner of the garage. Anticipation is clawing at his stomach, making nausea burn in the back of his throat. He knows something is wrong and he can barely focus on the discussion which is wrapping up around him, too panicked to pick up the threads of conversation.

After what feels like an eternity, the crew is dismissed, offering pats of congratulations, or maybe commiserations, as they disperse. Despite his tension, he feels a wave of pride rise in him, pleased with the performance he has managed so far, and grateful that he has managed to find a home within the Italian team.

Marc pushes himself out of his chair, shrugging his shoulders a couple of times, trying to ignore the persistent ache in his right arm. He shoots a tight smile at Frankie, before making his way over to the corner of the room, where the press officer awaits him, a grimace set on her face.

A quick look over one shoulder tells him Alex’s side of the garage is blissfully unaware of the tension in the other end of the room. His brother is happily chatting away to his team, hands waving around as he speaks, a trait which they both shared. Sometimes, he looks at his younger brother and feels scalding guilt at the burden he must carry due to Marc’s failure. It is nice to see him like this, carefree and at ease.

“Marc”

His thoughts are interrupted by the gentle prompting of the waiting woman, who nods to one of the private rooms. After a beat, Marc follows her, heart in his throat despite his best attempts to swallow the nerves. She sits down with a heavy sigh, prompting Marc to follow suit, gingerly sitting on the edge of his chair.

“There’s no easy way to say this Marc”

She awaits his slow nod before continuing

“There’s been a situation. Some of your hospital reports have been leaked, all we know for sure is something from around 2015. We don’t know much about what people know. Currently the media seem unaware about most of it and we would like to keep it that way.”

Marc frowns in confusion. 2015? What? I mean obviously it’s not ideal, a hospital shouldn’t ever let this kind of information reach the general public, especially not for someone as well known as him. But why is everyone walking on eggshells around him about a hospital admission, it makes no sense, at this point he’s at a hospital more often than he isn’t.

He is just about to ask what on earth she’s on about when it hits him. His heart drops like a stone. Hospital, A&E, 2015, the aftermath of Sepang and all the shit that followed. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The press officer might still be talking to him, he doesn’t know. He feels like he is underwater, blood rushing in his ears. Heart pounding so hard he can feel it in his mouth. He sees her mouth moving, but hears nothing over his own thoughts, threatening to drown him. He needs to breathe, realising a few seconds too late to take a gasp of air, grounded by a gentle hand on his arm and kind eyes staring at him with pity.

“Obviously this is unanticipated, we don’t know who leaked this information or how they came across it in the first place. Be assured that we have legal looking into it right now, and we will keep you updated. We don’t know how much people know, its possible the reporters on site today haven’t caught wind of it yet. But they shouldn’t know much, even if they have. At the moment, we have it under control. It has only just come out in the last 30 minutes, but the press conference...”

Marc doesn’t need the look that follows to grasp her meaning Be cautious and be prepared. Right, Italy. Mierda.

“It should be fine, like I said, we are working on it to make sure it was just a minor leak about your attendance to hospital. No details.”

Marc takes another deep breath. Surely no one at the hospital would be stupid enough to share such confidential information. No, no, it is just some background noise, people will think he had an accident. Needed treatment. He trusts his team to keep an eye on it, it will blow over soon enough. He will be surprised if he even gets asked about it, with little to no evidence or substance.

Either way he has to face the press at some point. Not going will just make him look more suspicious, not to mention the hefty fine he will probably receive alongside. He drags himself to his feet, shooting her a smile that is probably a bit more of a grimace and thanking her for the heads up.

She reassures him once more that they have this under control, but his mind is already on another track. He needs a quick shower and to mentally prepare himself for the possibility of nosy reporters.

*

Marc is restless. Ten minutes into the press conference, he feels he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop. He can tell the others have noticed. Pecco keeps shooting him little glances, and at one point he swears that the younger aborts a small movement towards Marc’s knee, which has been bouncing continuously since they sat down.

Usually, Marc doesn’t mind press conferences too much. Realistically, nothing could be as bad as the tumultuous media circus in the years that followed 2015. And if it ever gets that bad again, he has gotten very good at shutting down and putting his PR training into practice. Despite this, Marc can’t help but feel like he’s in shark-infested water.

He’s so stuck inside his head that he barely registers the question directed his way, his head jerking up at the sound of his name.

“Scusi?”

The reporter gives a slight laugh, eyes sharp and searching.

“What do you have to say about the rumours of your hospitalisation at the end of 2015? There are some suggestions that this was more than a biking injury?”

Marc’s heart gives a little stutter. Shit. He wasn’t expecting that so quickly. For the first time, Marc begins to panic, questioning how much the world knows.

“Ah, I say do not listen to everything you hear in the media”, he shoots the reporters a cheeky grin as a light chuckle goes around the room. He feels Pecco’s eyes burning into the side of his head but does not look back, simply nodding at the facilitator to continue.

The next question is directed to Jorge, asking him about his championship chances this year, with Jorge giving the usual spiel about the team and his bike, talking about the decent lap times he put in today. It had been a good practice session for all of them, with Pecco leading into tomorrow’s sessions, followed closely by Marc, dragging every inch out of the GP23, with Jorge and Enea rounding out the top four. Sunday promised to be an interesting race, with the four of them positing similar times throughout the weekend.

Distantly, Marc registers someone asking Enea about working with Pecco, as the current world champion, comparing his times to the other Italian rider, as if they haven’t been working together for over a year already. Marc almost scoffs. Clearly, some journalists needed new material.

Marc’s attention is drawn to a small commotion in the corner of the room, nearest the exit. He watches as his brother enters the room, wide eyes brimming with concern. Fuck. That isn’t good, Alex must know now. Had something else happened? He has faith in his team to keep this on the down low and prevent it all from blowing up in Marc’s face, but it doesn’t stop the flash of concern shooting through him.

“And Marc another question for you”

Well, so much for that. His head whips around at the reporter's tone, searching the crowd to find the speaker. That tone is never a good thing. The same they use when they are going to ask a hurtful question about Valentino or his most recent crash on the track. He tenses in anticipation.

“Regarding the rumours of your 2015 hospital visits, there are now some reports that these visits were due to a so-called mental health crisis. Do you have anything to say about this?”

His heart stops beating. The room goes dead silent. He can feel everyone’s eyes on him, his fellow riders watching in confusion. For Marc, it is like watching a train wreck in slow motion. He looks up and catches Alex’s wide-eyed stare. He's sweating, beads rolling down the side of his neck. Shit. Fucking shit. He’s starting to think he’s not going to make it out of this press conference in one piece, torn apart by the gnashing teeth of the media.

He mentally shakes himself, unwilling to let the others see his dismay. Instead, he schools his features, wills his mouth into a flat line, and answers with his best media-trained nonchalance.

“Ah, it is nothing. No comment. This is not talking about racing; let's move on.”

This seems to wake Pecco up from his trance, tearing his gaze away from Marc and turning his attention back to the reporters. God knows what he was staring at, maybe trying to figure out if this could help him beat Marc next year, if he’s taken anything from Rossi, it would be that.

“Ah, are you going to ask us about the weekend, I would also like to talk about racing”

Some low mutters travel around the room. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He doesn’t know how they have found out, but he does know all too well that the press are like fucking vultures, circling at any sign of a kill. Alex looks like he is about to cry now, doe eyes wide and glossy, his face slack with shock and horror. Marc thinks his face might be a perfect mirror. He still doesn’t really know what’s going on, but it’s clearly worse than he had originally been told.

“Marc, following on from the previous question, it has come to light that you were admitted to A&E several times in 2015 due to suicide attempts. Do you have anything to say about this? Was this anything to do with your infamous fight with Valentino Rossi?”

Oh god, Marc is going to be sick. They went for the kill and came round for a second blow. He glances to his left. Pecco is looking at him in abject horror, his brain scrambling, trying to keep up with the carnage around him. Enea looks like his worst nightmare has come true, wide-eyed and scared, staring at Marc as if he has never seen him before. Jorge just looks confused, bafflement etched on every feature, mouth downturned.

So much for his team's plan to handle it, it has all gone to shit in a matter of minutes. He feels like someone has taken a sledgehammer to his facade, destroying everything he has made himself be. Marc knows he is taking too long to respond, his jaw slack with shock. The world is staring at him with bated breath, his biggest secret lay on the table in front of them all, ready to be dissected. He can’t breathe. He feels wild with it, oxygen-starved and desperate. He needs to get out. He needs to get out now.

He scrambles out of his chair, sending it clattering to the floor behind him, shaking the rest of the room out of their stupor. The room explodes into a cacophony of noise and camera flashes. He is going to be sick. He makes a beeline towards Alex, tugging the younger along with him whilst he flees.

“Mierda, mare puta!

They know, they know that...”

Verbalising it out loud makes a wave of nausea hit him, sending him stumbling to the nearest bathroom. He flings the door open, leans over the toilet and proceeds to throw up everything he has eaten in the last 24 hours. Alex enters behind him, muttering in rapid Catalan under his breath.

2015 took a lot from him. More than anyone could know, more than anyone was ever meant to know. Jesus, 2015 nearly took everything from him, everything from his family. It has taken him a long time to accept that part of his life. Marc retches again into the toilet bowl, resting his forehead against the cool porcelain as he blinks back tears. Alex is pacing behind him, his angry mumbles and Marc’s harsh breathing filling the silence of the room.

“How do they know, how the fuck do they know? How did anyone find out?

Joder Marc, are you ok?”

Marc lifts his head from where he’s slumped against the toilet, looking impossibly young. Alex is the one person he would do anything for, he would walk through hell and back to protect him. He is the only one who truly knows what happened in 2015, who knows the extent of the demons in Marc’s brain. Now they will have to face them again.

“No, not really.”

It’s then that Marc registers Pecco standing behind Alex, concern painted across his face. There is no chance that he hasn’t witnessed Marc losing it, with Jorge and Enea standing not far behind. There is a horrifying understanding dawning in their eyes, the realisation that the journalists had struck gold. Marc had attempted his life in 2015 and has kept it inside for almost ten years, only for the world to find out entirely against his will. Marc knows that his face paints a portrait of pain and regret. It unsettles the others, gazing into a familiar face but seeing a whole dimension that was perhaps always there, if anyone had paid attention. All this pain is tucked up inside him in a neat little package, ripped open for greedy eyes to see. Pecco looks away, eyes guilty.

Marc feels like he’s been punched in the stomach, gasping for air that just won’t come. The other pilots probably think he is pathetic. He doesn’t think he can deal with another reason for the others to hate him. As much as he tries to rise above it, he loathes that his colleagues cannot bring themselves to like him. He cannot quite put a name to the emotions on Pecco’s face, Jorge’s sadness and Enea’s hurt are much easier to read. Perhaps it is disgust. And isn’t that ironic, the prodigy looking at him, disgusted by the consequences of Vale's war on Marc?

Marc mentally berates himself for giving so much away. He forces his eyes to go blank, pulling on the mask which he so often wears once more. He accepts the hand Alex offers him; his brother pulling him to his feet and bearing his weight as they push past Pecco. Marc keeps his eyes on the floor, unable to meet the pitying faces of Martin and Bastianini. Instead, he lets Alex guide them back to their motorhome in silence.

[aghoulnamedmeliora]

I'm still afraid of what's out there

This is my head canon of how I think Phantom was summoned.

This is my first piece of published work for this fandom and I'm a little nervous posting it but if I keep putting it off it'll never get posted. If I've missed any tags or content/trigger warnings please let me know and I'll add them immediately.

CW: Trauma, fighting, implied non-con but no details.

Title from Abyss by Woodz

Phantom couldn't breathe.

They had been running so much that their lungs burned with each breath they took. Bile churned in their stomach as they continued to push their body to its limits.

Still, they didn't stop. They could hear the pack of ghouls following, so close they could almost feel their breaths on the back of their neck. One slip could mean the end.

Turning a corner, Phantom slammed into a wall. They spun around to try and find a different way to escape, but their exit had been blocked.

“Fucking finally. I do like a good hunt but it gets annoying when the prey doesn't know when to stop.” One of them growled, a large fire ghoul who Phantom recognised to be the leader of the pack.

“What do you expect? For me to just sit there and let you rip me to shreds?” Phantom bit back. They knew it was a mistake. They were outnumbered and weak both from the chase and from lack of food, but it was the only way they knew to try and find an escape route.

The largest ghoul, an earth ghoul, lunged forwards holding Phantom against the wall by their throat.

“We were gonna make it easy on you. A quick slash to the throat to kill you before we had our fun. But now I’m making sure you’re conscious for every second.” The fire ghoul growled again.

The hand around their throat tightened and dragged them down to the ground between the wall and the pack. They clawed at the arm holding them down, nails digging in and drawing blood.

One ghoul grabbed their arms and pulled them above their head out of the way. Another grabbed their legs to prevent them from kicking at everyone. The fire ghoul approached, fangs glinting sharply as Phantom struggled against the hands holding them down but they couldn't get far.

The pack leader knelt over them, trapping their body between their strong legs before surging forwards and biting their neck to paralyse them.

Phantom screamed, the pain overwhelming. The other ghouls laughed clearly enjoying the torture they were putting the small quint through.

Before anything else could happen, a bright white light appeared, floating down towards the pile of ghouls.

Confused, the arms holding Phantom relaxed slightly. The pack leader barked out some commands and the arms completely disappeared allowing the white light to lower towards Phantom instead.

The white light expanded, swallowing them whole, but Phantom didn't flinch. They didn't care what happened now, only hoping that whatever it was, it would take them somewhere safer.

They closed their eyes and waited. For what they didn't know, but they waited.

After what felt like an eternity, the light vanished and they were plunged into darkness. Their hearing returned first, voices startling them from their trance.

“They're so small.” One whispered.

“Are they okay? There’s so many scars.” Another gasped, shock lacing their voice.

Phantom wished they could cover their ears, the noise suddenly the loudest thing they had ever heard.

“Can you open your eyes, little one?” A softer voice spoke to them with a thick accent, one that Phantom didn't recognise. They slowly opened their eyes, blinking, trying to adjust to the dim lighting.

Upon seeing their eyes, more gasps and whispers echoed around the room grating on their ears.

“Aether, could you come here please? I don't think they can move.” The same soft voice called out. Phantom heard shuffling before a large figure appeared in their peripherals.

They felt the familiar crackle of quintessence flowing through them. Their panic spiked, knowing first hand what it can do to someone.

“Shh, it’s okay. He’s only trying to help.” Someone was rubbing soothing patterns on their shoulder in an effort to try to calm them down. Phantom never heard them approach and that scared them more.

Eventually, they started to feel their body again, the pain retreating slowly.

Finally having movement again, they shot up, claws out ready to protect themself from the much larger ghouls they found scattered throughout the room. Some jumped while others stayed calm, trying to show Phantom that they’re not a threat.

The ghoul the human called Aether, stepped forwards, quintessence at the ready to de-escalate the situation.

“It’s okay, we’re not going to hurt you. You’ve clearly been through a lot and are rightfully on edge. You’re safe here though.” His voice stayed calm and steady, trying to stop Phantom from freaking out more.

“Why should I trust you? All ghoul packs are the same. They say they want to help only to dispose of me once they’ve had their fun.” Phantom was angry and upset. They were grateful to be away from the situation in the Pit, but they didn't know the intentions of the ghouls in front of them.

The short ghoul next to the human growled angrily. “We summon you and quite clearly save you from a painful situation and this is how you repay us. Such an ungrateful brat. We should send you back. Why would we want you here with that type of attitude?”

“Dew, stop it. It’s not gonna help them feel safe.” Aether spoke again.

The ghoulette who tried to comfort Phantom moved forwards, deciding to take a different approach.

“I’m Cirrus. What’s your name? Maybe knowing who we are first might help.”

Phantom looked at her, deciding whether to answer or not. She could see the war in their head. Answer and take refuge or keep fighting and be alone. The decision should have been a harder one to make.

“Phantom.”

Aether’s gaze flicked over to Cirrus’ at their response, surprise written on his face. She shrugged, happy that she was getting through to the small ghoul.

“Well, hi Phantom. I’m glad we were able to save you from whatever you were stuck in. The ghoul who helped you is Aether, he’s a quintessence ghoul, although I’m sure you were able to figure that out without me telling you.” She huffed out a laugh before continuing, “The small one with an attitude problem is Dewdrop.”

Dew guffawed, annoyed at Cirrus’ description of him.

“The giant is Mountain and the slightly less tall one is Swiss.” Mountain waved politely while Swiss grinned, trying not to show too many teeth.

Cirrus pointed over to a small group of ghouls gathered together, “Over there is Rain, Cumulus, Sunshine and Aurora. Aurora is the other new summon.” The smallest ghoulette tried to wave the best she could while being practically smothered by Sunshine, the taller ghoulette waving enthusiastically.

“And finally is Copia, the human. We all call him papa. He’s our leader and protector.” The human in mention smiled shyly, still not used to being the centre of attention.

Phantom’s head was spinning, all the information hard to take in. They felt trapped, like a wild animal stuck in a cage for people’s entertainment. They needed to get away from everything, hide until their brain could catch up with what happened.

Cirrus started moving, a lavender blanket draped over her arm. She froze when they snarled, crooked fangs on show. They could faintly hear Dew make a snarky comment, but their brain couldn't process anything other than the blinding fear still coursing through their veins.

“Phantom, I’m only trying to help.” She glanced behind them, making eye contact with Aether. He moved, keeping his footsteps light.

Once in reach, he grabbed Phantom’s shoulder and let his quinessence flow through.

They growled and used their own quinessence to try and fight him off. Aether was stronger, well versed in his powers and easily overpowering the little quint.

They felt their legs grow weak, struggling to hold them up. Still, they fought. They turned around, slashing out with their claws. Aether hissed when they caught his arm, claws digging deep into his flesh.

The ghouls around them moved to hold the small ghoul, stop them from hurting anyone else, but Cirrus was quicker. She rushed forwards and wrapped the blanket around them tightly, holding them in a hug that immobilised them.

She expected them to fight it, to claw their way out of her grip. Instead, they went limp, tears pooling in their eyes, threatening to fall.

Hearing the quiet sobs, she relaxed her grip, cooing softly in an attempt to soothe them.

“What’s the matter? I hope we didn't scare you too much” Phantom shook. They didn't know why they were crying but they had never been held with so much love, especially from someone after trying to fight them.

Everyone went silent, unsure how to react. Even Aether, who was currently working on stopping the bleeding.

After a few minutes of just being held, Phantom stopped crying. They used the blanket to wipe their eyes, blinking up at Cirrus who continued to hold them.

Copia was the first to break the silence. “I’m sure this has been tiring for you ghouls both physically and emotionally. We should make our way back and get some rest.”

While the others made motion to leave, Phantom stayed where they were. Cirrus noticed this and pulled them closer. She held them until they calmed down completely.

“Are you ready to leave, Shadow?” She kept her voice soft, trying not to set them off again. They nodded, the motion barely noticeable if they weren't pressed tightly against her.

She stood first, holding her arms out to help them up.

Guiding them towards the doors, they froze again, taking a deep breath. This was it. Once they went through those doors, they were going to start a new life. One where they weren’t running away constantly. One where they had a pack of their own, who treated them like an equal.

They braced themself as Cirrus opened the door, the sunlight warming their skin. She looked at them once again, waiting to see if they were ready. Phantom nodded, more strongly this time.

“I’m ready.”

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 21: The Shadow of the Abattoir

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x OC

Summary: The vendetta may be over, but peace is still but a distant dream for both of them. 

Word Count: 5,769

Notes: Warnings for depictions of trauma, chronic pain, insecurity, smut, and references to torture and pregnancy.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 28: Scarlet Fog

She sat huddled in a corner, watching the celebrations occurring around her as distantly as if she was looking in through the window. She supposed, in a way, that she might as well have been. No one had really paid her any attention throughout the entire gathering.

They were all assembled in one of the big sitting rooms in Arrow House, drinking and chatting and laughing. Lucy watched Tommy where he was perched on the arm of a couch and talking to Lizzie, feeling her heart squeeze painfully, quickly looking away. 

She would have to get used to that: seeing them together. Side by side as their own little unit while she was pushed aside.  

At least Tommy finally seemed happy again.

How horrible did it make her, that she found herself half longing for the time when it had just been her, him, and Charlie?

Of course she did not want Tommy to be miserable. Of course she did not want him and his family to be estranged. Things were better this way, of course they were. She could take it; feeling like she was an outsider encroaching where she was not wanted. Like she was not as valued. Not loved. She’d done it before, prior to the schism between him and the rest of the Shelbys. She could do it again. 

At her feet, as if sensing her thoughts, Asher whined, raising his head. She gave him a tiny smile, reaching out to scratch him behind the ear. His tail thumped against the rug, looking up at her as if to say, I still love you, Mommy.

He’d been glued to her side since they came home, protective on account of her still healing injuries. She was grateful for his presence and companionship. Being alone had gotten a lot harder than it had been previously. 

She supposed she would have to get used to it just being her and the animals for stretches of time. Moments spent alone with Tommy would get even rarer after Lizzie’s baby arrived. Lucy couldn’t help but wonder if she would see much of him at all. 

She sat up a little when the room quieted so that Tommy and Arthur could each make toasts. At Tommy’s comment of being in a happier place, paired with a quick glance towards Lizzie, she swallowed painfully, trying hard not to read too much into the look, and failing miserably. 

Surely it had to be coming soon. The inevitable. When Tommy sat her down and gently told her to pack her things. That he could no longer be with her. Because he loved someone else. And that someone else had demanded he chose between them. And of course he was going to choose the one he was already having a baby with. Who was loved by his family. Who wasn’t broken beyond repair. Who he could actually have a chance at a happy future with. 

As if sensing her thoughts, Asher nudged at her knee with his nose, trying to draw her attention away from the ache in her heart. With stilted movements, she reached down to stroke his soft black fur. 

Next was Arthur’s toast. A dreaded look crossed Tommy’s face at his brother’s insistence that he take a holiday. The expression only deepened when Arthur raised his glass to peace. Lucy wondered if Tommy was thinking the exact same thing that she was: there would be no peace for them. Not now; not ever. Not with the things that lived eternally inside their heads. 

Once the toasts were done, everyone began slowly making their way towards the doors leading into the dining room. Lucy made no move to follow them, just shrinking tighter in on herself in her little corner whenever someone wandered past her. 

“Lucy?”

At the sound of Tommy’s voice, closer to her than she’d expected–she had figured he’d just head straight into the dining room with Lizzie–she looked up. Those blue eyes of his were fixed on her questioningly, shuffling a little closer to her while everyone else drew further away towards the other room. Tommy cocked his head. 

“Are you coming?”

Drawing in a shaky breath, she shook her head. Fingers still carding mindlessly through Asher’s fur, trying to focus on the soft pelt to keep herself grounded. “I’m not hungry.”

Tommy sank down into the vacant spot next to her on the couch. “Are you in pain?”

“No. I’m just tired.” Only half the truth. Her cuts and shoulders were starting to ache a little.

He frowned, one hand moving to rest on the cushions behind her back. “You’ve barely eaten since we got back, sweetheart.” When she didn’t say anything, he scooted closer to her. “You need to eat.”

“I’m fine.” Eager to change the topic, she swirled the remainder of whiskey in her glass before downing it, mind fishing for something else to talk about. “What did Lizzie have to say?”

“Nothing all that interesting. Just some things about a few renovations that she wants to make to her house.” She could feel Tommy’s worried eyes still fixed intently on her. 

“This’ll be the first holiday you’ve taken in awhile. What do you think you’ll do?”

“I don’t know.”

Her gaze drew back to Lizzie where she was standing by the doorway, smiling and chatting animatedly with Polly. She’d been nicer to her since the kidnapping, but Lucy couldn’t help but feel a constant level of tension when around her, waiting at any moment for her to have said or done the wrong thing that would cause Lizzie to snap at her. “You should use it to spend time with her. Could even move into her house for a little while.” She looked down at her empty glass, in desperate need of a refill. “Be there for all the big moments in the pregnancy and everything.”

“And leave you here all alone?” Tommy asked. The worry she’d sensed in his gaze had leaked into his voice.

“I’d survive.” A lie, she was pretty sure, but he didn’t need to be burdened with that. 

“You’re still healing.”

“I’m not an invalid.”

“I know, but…I don’t want to leave you by yourself. If I have to take a bloody holiday, I’d rather spend it with you.”

Sighing, she kept her gaze glued to the floor until Tommy’s hand forced her head up, his icy blue eyes boring into hers, trying to read her mind. 

“I am not leaving you alone.”

“But you should–”

“Fuck what I should do!” His throat flexed, eyes darting towards the doorway to make sure no one had heard him. Drawing in a deep breath to steady himself, he looked at her, jaw set in that stubborn way she knew meant she’d have better luck picking up an entire mountain than getting him to change his mind. “I’m not leaving your side. End of discussion.”

Shaky sigh leaving her lips, Lucy nodded defeatedly. The back of Tommy’s hand stroked over her cheek. The rest of the family had wandered out the doorway, leaving them alone. 

“Please come to dinner.”

“No one wants me there anyway–”

“I do.”

For some reason, that made her feel like she was about to cry, leaning closer to his side unconsciously. When his fingers ran delicately through her hair, she closed her eyes. “Promise me you aren’t just saying that because you feel sorry for me.”

His fingers tightened a fraction where they’d come to rest on her shoulder. “I promise.” He turned her face to look at him. “I swear it on my mother’s grave. I want you with me always. Eh? Every second of every day.”

She closed her eyes, leaning into him, letting the words soothe her and abate the raging insecurities inside her. Even if only for a moment. 

“Come on,” his lips moved against the top of her head as he kissed her forehead. “Please don’t make me face them all alone.” His chin shifted against her head, cheek laying against her hair. She huffed out a tired, breathless laugh against his chest. 

“Alright. Since you asked so nicely.” 

He took hold of both her hands with a small smile, helping her to her feet and entwining their fingers as they began to follow the route that the rest of the family had taken out of the sitting room and into the dining area. Asher padded along beside them, his ears twitching every once in a while as he remained watchful and protective in demeanor. 

Tommy helped her into her seat next to him at the table, his ankle hooking around hers, the toe of his shoe every once in a while rubbing up and down along her shin whenever she started to get anxious.

Once the meal was over and everyone retired into the drawing room, she wound up seated on a couch with Tommy’s arm around her, her head resting lazily on his shoulder, trying not to doze off despite how tired she was. Lizzie eventually approached them timidly with a deck of cards, shyly proposing that they all play, and soon enough they had a lively game going amongst themselves and several family members. 

For a little while, she thought that things might actually get better. 

∗ ∗ ∗

Lucy quietly lamented the fact that she’d probably be picking little granules out of her socks on the drive back home as her boots sank into the sand. Overheard a seagull squawked, riding the cool wind that rushed over the beach. Waves roiled and crashed against the shore, lapping across the sand until they almost kissed the toe of her shoes. The sand where they were standing was damp, hardened over with moisture more so than the soft, dry mounds they’d had to traverse to approach the figure already standing on the otherwise abandoned beach when they arrived.

He was just looking out over the expanse of the waves, a huge bullmastiff seated next to him, his lead clutched in Alfie’s hand.

Lucy stared at her friend, confliction weighing heavily inside her. Despite everything, she still considered Alfie an important figure in her life. He’d helped to save her, a long, long time ago. And his position as an ally to the gang had brought with it significant advantages. But perhaps most importantly, she liked him. He was fun, and deep down she really did believe that he cared for her and Tommy. 

Just not enough to stop him from betraying them when the price was right. 

“Alfie, did you know that they took me?” she asked, voice hoarse. The salty wind whipped at strands of her hair, leaving them to dance around her face. Alfie, who until that moment had hardly turned his head to look at them, finally glanced over at her. 

“No, treacle, I didn’t know they took ya. If I did, I…” his eyes moved to the bandages that poked out from under the hem of her shirt. “That wouldn’t have happened.” He said, looking at her regretfully before turning back to stare at the rolling waves. Lucy swallowed painfully at the truth in his voice, a little of the weight lifting from her shoulders at knowing that her friend had, at the very least, not been involved in the horrors that had been enacted upon her. 

He and Tommy talked for a while more. Well, Alfie talked, Tommy mostly just listened, and then Tommy pulled out his gun from inside his coat. Lucy turned away, face contracting, unable to watch. 

The pieces fell into place at Alfie's revelation of his cancer diagnosis. So he’d wanted them to kill him, then. Or maybe he was just saying it so they wouldn’t feel so bad after it was done.   

She was still angled away from Alfie when he turned sharply on Tommy with his own gun, so she had no warning when a bullet suddenly skimmed across Tommy’s side. Tommy pulled the trigger of his own weapon on instinct, and a sizable chunk of Alfie’s face was blown off. Both men collapsed backwards onto the sand. 

“Tommy!” Lucy lurched towards him, ignoring the way that the sudden movement pulled on her stitches. Her knees hit the sand, trousers growing damp from the moisture as she knelt at Tommy’s side, hands hovering over his torso. He groaned softly, legs kicking in the sand, damp granules sticking to the side he’d fallen on. 

“I’m alright,” he mumbled, hand going to his side. Blood stained his palm when he drew it away. “I’m alright, it just grazed me.”

Lucy glanced over her shoulder at where Alfie laid on his back, unmoving. Cyril was whining softly in distress, nosing at Alfie’s face. 

“I think he’s dead,” she said softly, not wanting to go over and actually check. Tommy swiped a hand down his face, gripping her hand to let her help pull him from the ground. She eyed his side worriedly. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

He drew his coat in tighter around himself, suddenly looking very small and fragile. “I’m fine,” but his voice was anything but, rough and rasping in his throat. He took one look at Alfie’s body and cringed away, arms squeezing tighter around himself. Lucy watched as his head bowed, sorrow etching onto his features. For a second she thought that he was going to cry. “Come on.” With a jerk of his head, he gestured for them to head back towards where they’d parked the car. 

Shuffling to follow him, she curled close to his side, the pair of them beginning to slow trek off of the beach. The lump in her throat kept building every time she looked back at the figure splayed out in the sand. A few sniffles left her, and she hastily wiped her nose on her sleeve.  

“He fired to force you to shoot him,” she noted quietly as they walked. With how close they’d been, there was no way that Alfie would have missed his shot like that if he’d actually wanted to cause Tommy legitimate harm. 

“Yes.”

She tightened her arms around his bicep, cheek squishing against the soft material of his coat as she sought refuge from the chilly air against him.  

They got about halfway down the beach before they both stopped at the same time. 

“We have to go back for the fucking dog.” Tommy heaved. 

“We should take the dog,” Lucy spoke at the same time. They shared a look, then a small nod of agreement, and turned around to gather up Cyril’s lead and wrangle him with them towards the car.  

∗ ∗ ∗

Three months passed. 

Lucy healed slowly, the scabs of her injuries scarring over into rough, pale bumps on her otherwise smooth skin.

Tommy knew that she was horribly self conscious of them. Really, he was pretty sure that she thought them far worse than they actually were. She was still beautiful to him, even if the sight of the criss-crossed marks all over her back triggered sorrow and guilt to wash over him at the reminder of the pain she’d gone through.  

Slowly, she was able to do more. The stitches were removed and the bandages came off. Her shoulders were still giving her trouble, but according to the doctor, that would always be the case. He tried his best to help her, giving her massages and bringing her ice packs on the days that the pain was particularly bad. Applying salves that Polly sent over to help relax and soothe the muscles. By all accounts, she was considered healed. At least physically. 

And yet she was worrying him. Hell, he was worrying him. 

Golf. Fishing. Both were things he’d heard that other men liked to do on holiday, but he only got to the sixth hole at the golf course before throwing his club across the green field, not out of frustration, but from sheer boredom. The entire game was so…useless. Lucy had raised her eyebrows at him from where she was leaning against the little green plaque that displayed the hole number. 

“You know you’re supposed to hit the ball with the club, right?” she’d asked. Tommy shook his head, yanking out a few notes to pass to the caddy carrying his clubs. 

“We’re going home,” he mumbled, draping his arm around her as they started the walk to the car. “This is ridiculous.”

Fishing hadn’t fared much better. They’d been sitting by the bank, Lucy leaning into his side, eyes staring numbly out at the pond. For a second, the world was quiet and peaceful. 

But the silence only made things worse. There was no sound to drown out the noises in his head. The horses and gunshots; the screams of men dying around him. 

An explosion suddenly boomed around them, and he dove to the ground, taking Lucy with him as he sent them both crashing half into the pond in an attempt to use the bank as a source of cover against enemy fire. One of his hands curled over his head while his body pressed hers to the ground, attempting to shield her from the perceived danger. It wasn’t until more sounds–gunshots, not explosions like he’d originally thought–and the barking of hounds, erupted nearby that he realized it was simply a hunting party passing by, and not the war returned with the intention of swallowing him whole. 

“Tommy?” Lucy asked, voice quiet. She had grabbed onto the front of his shirt in surprise, her eyes wide. 

“Shit.” He leaned off of her, water sloshing around his legs, damp grass and dirt clinging to his arms where he’d rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. “Sorry.” He couldn’t quite meet her gaze, embarrassment burning its way across his cheeks.

“It’s okay.” She made no move to pull away, despite now standing nearly up to her waist in water thanks to him. Her head cocked a little when he flinched at another echoing crack of gunfire from the hunters. But she didn’t say anything, just reached out to flatten her palm on his chest. “Sweetheart?”

He finally snapped his head around to look at her. Fear suddenly seized at him as he processed how he’d practically grabbed and thrown her into the pond with him. “Fuck, did I hurt you?”

“What? No,” she shook her head. “I mean…my socks are wet now, but other than that, I’m fine.”

He’d helped her up out of the water, and quickly gathered together the fishing gear so they could head home. The fish weren’t biting anyway, and he didn’t want her sitting around in wet socks and trousers and catching a cold.  

They arrived home to find dinner ready for them at the table after they’d changed into dry clothes. Not that either of them touched most of it.  

Lucy had gotten almost as bad as him about eating. Where she once almost always cleaned her plate, she now often left it three fourths of the way full before pushing it away. And that was on the days that he was able to convince her to eat at all. Her body weight had dive bombed. She was even smaller than usual; so skinny it scared him a little. 

He could feel Frances watching them worriedly from the doorway, hands clasped together, lips set in a firm frown that only deepened when they both rose from the table and went into the drawing room to finish off their evening with two large bottles of whiskey and gin shared between them. 

They’d both been drinking more. And his stash of opium for the pipe that they sometimes shared, usually enough to last nearly half the year, was already almost depleted. Most nights one or both of them woke up screaming. He’d lost count of how many times he’d cradled her in his arms, rocking her gently against his chest, stroking her hair until she finally calmed enough to fall back into a fitful slumber. 

She’d draw him into bed to make love, only to push him away a few moments later, sobbing and burying her face in her hands. The phone would ring, but they never answered it. Even during the middle of the day, they kept the curtains drawn, the lights dimmed. Everything was easier in the dark.

They drank, and cried, and held each other, and drank some more. The cycle repeating over and over. He knew that they were both spiraling downwards into a deep dark well. But he did not know how to pull them out of it. 

Ultimately, it was not really him who gave the push for something to be done about things. It was Charlie. 

He was sprawled out on the floor, so drunk he was almost going cross eyed. Glass, from the objects he’d knocked to the floor during his tumble, had sliced into his palms, blood running in thin rivers down his hands. Lucy was kneeling beside him, reaching out to try to get a look at where he’d cut himself. Despite her movements being as uncoordinated as his thanks to her equally drunken state. Her makeup was a smudged mess around her eyes, black smears trailing down her cheeks from when she’d been crying earlier. 

The door creaked open, and Charlie peeked his little head in, and their eyes met. A look, not of sorrow or confusion, but complete, all encompassing disappointment crossed his little boy’s features as he took in the image sprawled out before him. Tommy swore that there was a hint of contempt in there as well.

“Charlie,” he choked out, trying–and failing–to scramble to his feet. Lucy’s head snapped around to fix on the boy, who was quickly ushered out by one of the maids. The door closed between them with a sharp, final click. 

Tommy managed to finally heave himself to his feat, injured arms crossed around his middle. Shame, hot and violent, bowled into him, and he folded at the waist, face collapsing in on itself as tears rushed into his eyes and began to stream down his cheeks. 

Never, never had he wanted Charlie to see them like this. But now he had, and that was something that would never be able to be undone. 

“Tommy,” Lucy pulled him into her arms, letting him bury himself in her chest while he mentally collapsed almost entirely on himself. Her fingers petted at the nape of his neck and down his back, trying to soothe him as he sobbed and sobbed and sobbed against her. 

The next day, he called Polly.  

∗ ∗ ∗

Lucy retreated to bed when Polly came over in the evening, mumbling something about being tired. Tommy didn’t try to stop her. She still felt so fragile, he was worried that if Polly took any of her usual swipes at her, it would cause her to only crumble further in on herself. So he’d just sent her off with a gentle kiss and a promise that he’d join her as soon as he could, watching to make sure that Asher followed her as she climbed the stairs.  

“Lizzie wants to see you,” Polly informed him not long after they sat down. Tommy’s stomach roiled with nausea, quickly looking away. 

“No.”

“Tom, she’s showing,” Polly tried again, but that just made the sick feeling in his stomach surge. The mental image of Lizzie’s belly protruding as his baby grew inside her elicited nothing in him but dread. The idea of having another child was completely overwhelming, and he was often struck with constant worry at how it would affect Lucy once the baby finally came and he would have no choice but to spend more time with Lizzie.  

He’d spent an awful lot of energy these past few months actively not thinking about Lizzie and the baby that would arrive in but a few short months' time. But Lucy…he had a feeling that Lucy spent far too much time thinking about them. She’d said some things, whispered mumbles while she was drunk, that made little sense to him. Things about how he should leave her. That she was bringing him nothing but unhappiness. How he could be happy with Lizzie if he just gave her a chance. He didn’t know if she was aware of the things she was saying, or if she even remembered uttering them after she’d sobered up. No matter how much he tried to soothe or contradict her statements, she always circled back to them. It was like an infection that was not actually getting cured, the symptoms only battered back for a little while by his reassurances before flaring up once again. He did not know how to entirely eradicate the insecurities brewing inside her.

“I don’t want to see Lizzie, Pol.” He looked down, ashamed at the words despite their truthfulness. He felt her looking him over, examining his reaction carefully. Ultimately realizing that now was not a good time to push the subject any further. 

“How’s Lucy?”

That got him to look up, brow lifting. “Since when do you care?”

Polly shifted awkwardly in her seat, it being her turn to look away. Tommy frowned, the almost apologetic look on Polly’s face uncharacteristic, especially when it came to anything involving Lucy. 

“Pol?”

 “Aberama says that I’ve been too hard on her,” Polly sighed. Tommy blinked, too stunned to speak for a moment. 

“You been talking with Aberama a lot lately?” he finally asked. Polly shrugged, squirming in place, clearly uncomfortable, looking for a way to dodge the question.

“How is she?” 

He wetted his lips, fingers twitching around his cigarette. “Not good.”

“Francis said that she isn’t eating.”

“I can count her ribs with my hands when I hold her.” He mumbled, glancing at the drawn curtains that hide the outside world from view. 

“After what Luca did to her, I can’t say that I’m surprised that she’s broken down. Took you right down along with her.”

He bristled. “It’s not her fault–”

“That’s not what I mean,” Polly shook her head. “What I mean is that, if she hadn’t fallen into the dark abyss, she would have been able to keep you from spiraling as well. Like she has before. You’re right. It’s not her fault. It was just shit timing, is all.”

“I don’t know how to pull her out of it, Pol.”

Polly fiddled with her fingers. “I think it’s time you both came back to work. Rattling around idly in here is clearly helping no one. Having something to focus your minds on will help.”

He nodded slowly, heaving out a breath. Polly stayed to talk for a little while longer, offering a few more sage words of advice before gathering up her things and leaving. After she was gone, Tommy spent a long stretch of time sitting and staring at nothing, the cogs in his head starting to slowly spin. 

Jamming his cigarette into the ashtray, he stood, making his way to the stairs and towards the bedroom that he shared with Lucy. 

She was already curled up under the covers, on her side with her hands pressed flat onto the pillow and her cheek resting atop them. Asher was laying in his dog bed in the corner, his big head on his paws, eyes watching them worriedly. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Tommy reached out a hand to rub across Lucy’s forearm. Her eyes opened slowly, head cocking against the pillows.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” he moved his hand to stroke her face.

“How did it go?”

“Fine. She thinks we ought to go back to work.”

“Mm,” Lucy sat up slightly. “Probably not the worst idea.” 

“Mhm,” he moved his hand to play with her fingers, tracing the places where she’d picked a layer of skin away while nervously fidgeting. The nervous habit had thankfully mostly ceased since they’d gotten her a replacement set of rings for the ones Luca had taken from her. It was not until Tommy had first noticed the little scabs on her fingers that he realized the importance of her having something physical to busy her hands with. Otherwise she started picking at herself.

“You’re scaring me, love,” he said, doing his best to keep his tone gentle and non-accusatory. And yet still Lucy’s lower lip started to tremble, tears filling her eyes. 

“I know,” she whispered. “I know; I’m sorry. I…” her chest rose and fell deeply with her breaths. “I don’t know how to make it stop.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault,” his fingers curled loosely around her wrist. “We’ve both fallen apart these past few months.” He looked at her regretfully. “I’ve done a shit job at taking care of you.”

Lucy frowned, sitting up fully, reaching out to cup the side of his face. “That’s not true. You’ve kept me alive.”

“I think that’s the very definition of the bare minimum, love.”

She shook her head. “With where my mind has been at sometimes, Tommy, it’s no small thing that you’ve managed.”

He let her words sink in, both hands raising to take her face between his palms. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

She gave him a weak, not wholly convinced smile, and he kissed her insistently. 

“I mean it. I love you.” Forehead laying on hers, he breathed in the scent of rose perfume that lingered on her skin. “We’ll get through this.”

“I love you too,” she whispered, angling her head up to kiss him again. Tommy trailed his hands carefully down her body, skimming them along the curves of her breasts, lowering to loosely hold her waist.

They’d had sex since the doctor deemed her fully healed. But he still felt the need to handle her as gently as possible; too worried about accidentally hurting her. The first time, he’d spent over an hour worshiping her body, placing kisses to each and every one of her scars, taking his time to make it clear that he still found her as heart-stopping beautiful as he did the first day that he saw her.  

He took the same care now, delicately undoing the ties on her nightgown and sliding it off of her shoulders, lips pressing into her soft skin, following the raised lines of her scars. A groan left his throat when her fingertips sank into his hair, massaging his scalp when he dropped his head to take one of her nipples into his mouth.

That grip on his hair only tightened deliciously as he advanced lower, laying her down on the bed and spreading her legs so that he could lay between them, nosing at her cunt, breathing in her delectable scent before leaning forward to swipe his tongue across her clit. 

Her sounds were so pretty as he ate her out, the hand in his hair helping to steer him to where she needed him most. Watching her through his lashes, Tommy had to stifle a smirk at the way her head fell back against the pillows when he sank a finger into her, crooking it so he was rubbing right up against the spot that made her moans go up a pitch. 

When she came on his mouth, he grabbed greedily at her thighs, lips parting in an attempt to drink her all in, begging for everything she had to offer him. 

“Fuck, come here,” she half pleaded when he raised up on his arms above her, reaching out to drag him closer, slotting their mouths together with her release still clinging to his lips. Her hands pulled at his clothes, his own moving eagerly to help her to remove them, covering her body with his once he was bare. 

“Ready?” he asked, hand wrapping loosely around his engorged cock, giving himself a few pumps before lining up. 

“Yes. Yes,” she chanted, arms winding around his neck. He entered her slowly, watching her face carefully for any sign of discomfort while he pushed forward. The warm embrace of her cunt remained to be like nothing else he’d ever experienced before, her walls hugging around him, so tight and perfect there was to be no doubt that they’d been made for each other. 

The combined sounds of their pleasure echoed throughout the room as they started to move. Lucy’s head tipped forward, burying in his neck, her soft lips brushing against the sensitive skin. His eyes rolled in his head everytime she squeezed around him, and he slipped an arm under her to rest between her shoulder blades while he rocked into her steadily. He kept his thrusts at an even, gentle pace, taking care to go slow with her. She knew that she could stop him at any time if she needed, and no matter how lost he may have been in his own pleasure, he always took care to be mindful of her reactions to his movements, on alert for any indications of pain, discomfort, or fear. 

“Tommy–” her nails scratched at his shoulder, not enough to break the skin, but just enough to sting. His hissed at the contact, the idea of being marked by her sending a thrill through him that had his cock twitching inside her. 

“Just like that,” she whispered when his tip brushed against her g-spot. “Just like that; don’t stop.”

He grunted deeply, doing as instructed, feeling a surge in his balls as his own release drew nearer. Slotting a hand between them, he started to work on her clit again, rubbing it in small circles carefully timed with his deep thrusts. Her walls squeezed around him, even tighter than before, and he had to grit his teeth and focus hard to keep from coming prematurely.

With a cry and a tightening of her legs around his waist, Lucy came, a hand at the back of his head guiding him in for another kiss while she squeezed and gushed around his sensitive cock. Tommy moaned into her mouth, following her right over the cliff, stilling as he came deeply into her. His mouth continued to work, kissing her slowly and sensually as they rode out their climaxes and steadily started to come down.        

After, when they were laying together in the dark, Lucy in his arms with her head on his chest and her fingers tracing the lines of the tattoo of her name that he had emblazoned on his forearm, he began to tell her of the new plan that had started to take shape within his mind. 

“Lucy, do you remember when you asked me if I’d ever thought about entering politics?”

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

[omenics]

𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒.

› ..she took your heart so you could stay with her forever. fem reader. — ty for @kmaxmadness for the request! sorry it took so long. also, this is absolutely definitely a second parter to my work beckoning lmao. (it can be read like that)! i also somewhat rushed this but hopefully its good! im up for criticism to lmk.

From the moment her fangs grazed your neck and to the moment her blood touched your tongue, it was set in stone. You were hers for eternity, forever and always you would be by her side. She meant to discard your corpse when you first took shelter in her palace, but as your beating heart echoed in her ears and your straying glances caught her eye, Carmilla knew what she wanted.

Her own dead heart yearned for another, for it had been years since someone made her feel this way. She found excuses to keep you in her home, from the freezing weather to the dangers that lurked she spun lies and set fears in your heart to make you stay beside her, but it was not like you wanted to leave. Your strange host was gorgeous, captivating. You liked her.

So when her true nature was revealed yes, you were afraid, but after a moment you realized that you did not mind her ailment, and a thought crossed your mind to stay by her side. For eternity, of course.

When you brought it up she froze, and in Carmilla’s cold heart she selfishly cried ‘yes!’, but the words that left her lips were different. She would let you dwell, and so you did. Night after night your thoughts were occupied, swaying back and fourth until you decided. So the night you came to her you bore a pretty neck, an enticing sight as you told her that yes, you thought about it and yes, you would turn. For her. Only her. So in her own selfishness Carmilla took your hand in hers and grazed her fangs along the base of your neck, her hot breath tantalizing on your skin as she slowly punctured your flesh, drawing the liquid akin to ambrosia before pulling back and nicking her wrist, putting it to your pretty lips for you to taste her.

Intimate. It was so very intimate as her warm lips ghosted your neck and as your own kissed her wrist as her blood fell upon your tongue.

Your turning was agonizingly painful, but as it ceased you were fine, becoming accustomed to the new life that you were so ignorant about. But she kept you by her side, shared her love with you and helped you learn, and she felt happiness for the first time in years. You had taken her dead heart as she did yours, and you held it close to your bosom. You were whipped for her, you thought, but Carmilla was utterly starstruck. Her yearning heart flourished when you were around, how her cold cheeks held a warmth that they hadn’t held in years. You fell first, but she fell harder and you couldn’t have been more grateful.

You were hers, and she was yours. Forever and always you would be the light of her life, her sun and stars, her universe. She may not have shown it, but you could see and feel the love she had for you. If your dear heart is wounded, her wild heart would bleed with yours. Always and forever, she would live in your warm embrace and die alongside you, as would you relish selfishly in the love she had for you.

You would not leave her side, never. Her heart was yours, and yours her.

[axel-ambassador]

So someone made an hour long video (that I didn't watch) about why Whatever It Takes is the worst song in Hazbin Hotel

So I'm gonna talk about why it's one of the best.

Disclaimer

Again, I haven't watched the video, so I don't know what their points are. But I'm not here to argue with their opinion. I'm here to get my own contrary opinion out there. Whoever they are is entitled to like and dislike whatever song they desire, even if I personally disagree. I have nothing against them and this is not made to antagonize them in any way shape or form.

Alright let's get into it

So let's start with Carmilla since there's a bit less to talk about compared to Vaggie.

The song starts as a soft ballad. As it progresses, we get to see more insight into who she is as a person, and not just as an overlord.

I always thought

That I would keep blood off my face

But when that thing attacked

I had to act

To cross that line and keep them safe

She is not a violent person. She never meant to kill the exorcist that attacked her and her daughters. She never wanted to, but she had to, because family is what's most important to her. Not money, not power, not souls, but family.

To further highlight this we get

But if anyone knew

Then all of Hell would rise to war

And who's to say who'd survive the fray?

I might lose the ones that I was killing for

As much as she's willing to fight for those that she loves, it scares her. She doesn't want to fight, because any possible gain that could come from it pales in comparison to the mere thought of putting Clara, Odette, and even Zestial in danger.

It's agonizing.

It's a rare moment of vulnerability from her. All the cards are on the table and her heart is on her sleeve. All in front of the people she cares most about. She may be vulnerable, but she's still secure about herself and is willing to share her deepest fears with them.

She will do whatever it takes to keep them safe, even if it means going to war and fighting until they no longer can. She will make every mistake if it means keeping them free from harm.

This is where we begin to draw the parallel to Vaggie, who we'll get to soon enough. They both make promises to protect their loved ones even if it means putting themselves on the line.

Carmilla is loyal as a fault to the people she cares about. A trait that can be dangerous if you don't have enough self preservation when the time comes to fight tooth and nail for your life.

Which is why she ends up doing something that goes against her morals: Killing.

And this is why Vaggie benefits so much from having her as a mentor, but more on that later.

So from a few verses we clearly understand who Carmilla is as a character. She's fierce, loyal, protective, and not afraid to put her morals aside if it means protecting her loved ones. Her parallel to Vaggie sets up for an interaction later down the line, where their similar yet different mentalities meet.

Speaking of everybody's favorite fallen exorcist...

If you ask me, Vaggie's part in this song hits so much harder for a multitude of reasons.

Let's start with the abundance of wonderful foreshadowing.

When I saw your face

You made me feel like a stranger in a brand new place

And it felt so good to be understood

But there's so much I wished that I could say

On its own, it makes you question what's below the surface. What is she talking about? What is she hiding? There's certainly more context that we're yet to see.

And then once we learn who Vaggie really is and how she met Charlie...

Suddenly it has so much more weight.

Charlie is an understanding person, she said so herself. In that moment, it didn't matter who Vaggie was or where she came from. All that mattered was getting her the help she needed.

So I

I'll be your armor

Do whatever it takes

I'll make the mistakes

I'll spend my life being your partner

Vaggie is eternally grateful for this. Because Charlie both literally and metaphorically saved her. Charlie becomes her rock, her world, and she does the only thing she knows how to in order to repay that kindness.

Serve and protect.

And I will try to make your dreams come true

Whatever we go through

Many call Chaggie's dynamic toxic because of this, which is not the case. Their relationship is not toxic. Vaggie has a toxic mentality that the only reason worth living is to be of service, but that does not make their relationship toxic.

Charlie never exploits this trait. She never takes advantage of Vaggie's giving nature, because she is also a giving person and treats Vaggie with the same love and adoration that Vaggie does. Yes, she can be dismissive, yes, she can be lightly oblivious to people's feelings, but never is there any intention of malice behind it. And when Charlie oversteps any boundaries, they talk things out.

Chaggie is not toxic. Vaggie is toxic towards herself.

Vaggie, unlike Carmilla, is insecure. She is alone. She's hiding things.

She can't possibly tell Charlie how she feels, because that would involve explaining everything she had been hiding, and in turn losing everything she had. She's scared.

She, like Carmilla, is willing to put everything on the line if it means keeping Charlie safe. The difference is that Vaggie was made to fight. It's the only thing she knows. She doesn't cast her morals aside, because fighting is her morals.

Carmilla and Vaggie are 2 sides of the same coin. Both are willing to put their life on the line to fight for their loved ones.

Carmilla doesn't want to fight, but is willing to put that aside for the sake of her family.

Vaggie only wants to fight, and thinks that's the only thing she can do for her family.

So when they finally meet, their ideals clash, and they make a compromise.

And this was all established through one incredible song.

Character moments aside, there are some other things that cement this song as a Top 3 Hazbin song for me.

Up until this point in watching the show, I wasn't fully onboard with the musical aspect. My friends and I would groan and complain every time a song came on and disrupted the plot. Up until this one.

This was the first song that really piqued my interest. This was the first song I watched and said "I'm gonna listen to this later."

This was the first song that I listened to for hours on loop on Spotify as I did my homework in my dorm. This was the first song that made me say, "wait a minute, these guys know what they're doing."

This song made me fall in love with Hazbin Hotel.

Maybe I'm biased because I love Vaggie and Stephanie Beatriz but frankly, I don't care.

Whatever it Takes is a wonderfully underrated song and I'm happy to share why I personally love it.

Thanks for reading ^⁠_⁠^

[mxqlss]

BEFORE - RM2

part of the sunshine au

Sypnosis .ೃ࿐ In which Sunny is grateful that all of Rutger's past lovers made him who he is now.

Pairing .ೃ࿐ Rutger Mcgroarty x Sunny

𝐀𝐔 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 .ೃ࿐

Song Choice .ೃ࿐

When you think of all the late nights Lame fights over the phone Wake up in the mornin' With someone but feelin' alone

Before Rutger had met Sunny, he was in relationships that didn't sit right with his teammates. Either his girlfriends were rude when Rutger was there around or they just controlled him and he let it happen since he loved them so much

Rutger would constantly fight over these things in his relationships, when he got home late, went out partying, everything. He would sometimes wake up in the morning with his lover but it made him feel so alone cause he didn't have someone who wanted him for him and could deal with his golden retriever personality instead of using him.

A heart is drawn around your name In someone's handwriting, not mine We're sneakin' out into town Holdin' hands, just killin' time

When Sunny was enrolled in UMICH she would go to the hockey games to support her best friend, Mark Estapa. She knew everyone else, they just didn't know her, except Rutger Mcgroarty. Sunny was hanging out with some friends of hers and they knew Rutger, introducing Sunny to him. From that day forth Rutger knew her.

In class one day, Sunny was sitting with one of her friends until someone in the row in front of her was drawing hearts, Sunny being curious tried to look over and saw that, that person had written their name with Rutger’s, hearts all over.

Sunny knew she liked Rutger but only confided it within Mark, she didn’t want Rutger to ever find out, and knowing Mark, he wouldn't tell a soul about his best friend's secrets even if his life depended on it.

One day, Sunny and Rutger were holding hands coincidentally. it wasn’t a thing where they were dating but it was something to them that brought them comfort. They were sneaking around and holding hands to kill time before and after exams or stressful games.

Your past and mine are parallel lines Stars all aligned, and they intertwined And taught you the way you call me baby Treat me like a lady, all that I can say is

everyone knew that Rutger and Sunny liked each other but never made their moves on each other because they didn’t want to ruin the friendship they both loved, adored and cared for.

“I’m telling you! Both of you are meant for each other!” Mark said he was talking to Rutger, thinking Sunny was sleeping in Mark’s bed. When Sunny had heard it, her face turned red.

weeks later Rutger was in the same position. He was in Sunny’s dorm to surprise her after coming home from a long roadie, till he heard Sunny and Mark talking as they got to her dorm.

“Suns, all I’m saying is that look at the way he looks at you, the way you look at him. You both like each other! All I’m saying is that he likes you!”, “Mark, how would you know? It could’ve been those looks where they look at you like they love you but it’s in a friendly way.”. when Sunny opened the door she was met with Rutger standing there in her dorm. “is it bad to say that marks right about me liking you?”

Rutger had let out a soft nervous smile as Sunny stood there in shock, after what seemed like an eternity she smiled and let out a soft breath giggle as she walked up to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and giving him a tight loving hug. Rutger then smiled at Mark as Mark smiled back and walked away to his dorm, Rutger then smiled at Sunny, hugging her back.

All of the girls you loved before (ooh) Made you the one I've fallen for Every dead-end street led you straight to me Now you're all I need I'm so thankful for All of the girls you loved before But I love you more

when Rutger and Sunny had called it official, all his teammates knew how he was actually happy and that he was with someone who brought out the best and him. Sunny was finally happy, and it made Mark happy that he saw how happy Rutger had made her.

Sunny is glad that Rutger’s exes made him who is now. Every dead end Rutger was at, girl after girl, Sunny was the only girl he needed. Rutger was the only boy she needed, she’s thankful that all of the girls he loved before made him the loving, affectionate boy that Sunny now can call hers. Yeah maybe the girls he loved before, loved him but one thing was for sure, she loved him more.

And all Rutger needed was his sunshine.

jess's notes ⋆·˚ ༘ * I've been planning this AU for like a week now.. and I'm so excited to finally do this au cause I have so many ideas for it. If you have any AU ideas you can go ahead and ask away in my inbox!

[neko-naruto]

new setting (new ideals)

Summary: Wherein John Dory accidentally sneaks into the home universe of Sans after a very small margin of victory in the latest multiversal tourney; things escalate in unprecedented ways after the local scientist sizes him up to scale.

Warnings: swearing, drinking, god i am so sorry for this

Authors Note: @ohposhers @bulliestrolls someone needs to put you two in the fucking slammer for drawing sansdory, and then they need to put me in the slammer for writing sansdory. for the sake of enjoying this fic please picture JD as a lot more creature than in canon.

John Dory was small enough to fit inside of Sans' coat pocket.

Sans discovers this the hard way when the ex leader of brozone falls out of his pocket after his return to Snowdin.

"Ain't snow fucking way." Was what Sans managed as he stared at the unmoving body in the snow, far too small to be considered the average monster for the underground. The Troll would be eaten without a second thought, mistaken for the bugs Muffet doesn't provide protection for.

He plucks the tufted tail and holds up John Dory like he's a dead rat. Of course he snaps awake as soon as Sans is holding him at eye height, and with a screech he's flung aside as the skeleton lurches back.

Sans pauses to catch his breath, "Okay, so you're not dead. That's good."

"Where am I?!" Was John Dory's instant question as he shook the snow from his hair and brushed himself down.

"Pipe down pipsqueak, I won't let you get squished," Sans said as he took a seat on the snow. He held out a hand, "We should probably get you situated with Alphys, size you up a bit."

John reluctantly stepped onto a gloved hand and took a seat on the palm, it was cold and unpleasant. His tail thwipped loudly despite his size, "Anything else in mind to get me back home?" The words are agitated.

"Want me to leave you here?"

Silence.

"Thought so, I'll give you a hand in figuring it out, but you're playing by my rules bud."

"How were you the reigning champ for years on end?"

"The girlies liked me for my dry humor, MILF hunting attitude, and undetermined backstory- and my infinite fuckability of course."

"Must suck not having a dick."

Sans just gives a hum before giving John a gently toss, only a few inches but he still yelps and clings desperately to phalanges when he lands back in Sans' hand. It garners a chuckle from the skeleton, "Pal, I got extremities you couldn't even dream of, and no, that isn't an invitation to start listing 'em off."

John Dory shuts his mouth.

"Don't be shocked if Alphys tries to fill you up with needles and probes."

"With what-"

"She's a curious gal."

-/-/-/-

Thankfully the resizing process involves a lot less probing than Sans said it would, which John is eternally grateful for. He'd like to avoid having a cold piece of metal shoved up his ass if possible. The process just required a small blood sample and some weighing before he was resized with one little ray.

And then he was the exact same height as Sans, give or take a few inches.

"Proportionately, I can see why you won," Sans said, hands stuffed in his pockets and expression same as always. It's far too hard for John Dory to read, he can't tell if it's sarcastic or genuine.

"Thanks." He shrugs off the compliment because he doesn't know how to take it.

"Is it easier to see why I was the reigning champ?" Sans asked.

"You're the furthest thing from 'sexyman' out there," John Dory said before he could actually think about the words exiting his mouth.

Sans laughed, "Tell it to The Onceler, if you can convince him to take me off the bracket then I'll stop trying my best."

"You don't try at all."

"The girlies like me for that."

"What is it with you and the girlies?"

"What makes you think that the guys were voting for me?" Sans shot back, "Think you can walk and talk? I know a shortcut."

"Good point," John Dory said, "I can walk and talk."

"Cool." Sans holds out a hand.

"What?"

"Gotta hold my hand to take the shortcut."

John places his paw atop Sans hand and the grip the motion is received with is far too intense to be considered normal. But a shortcut is a shortcut, and he'll just have to take help to get around this universe until he can get home.

-/-/-/-

"Ketchup?"

"Yeah man, ketchup." Sans tossed a bottle to John Dory as he spoke, the Troll catching it with ease.

"You expect me to drink ketchup? I've had worse, but what about alcohol?" John asked.

"Bud," Sans began, "The bartender is a living flame, you really think he wants to be handling highly flammable stuff?"

"Fair point, but can you actually get drunk offa ketchup?" John asked, and he gave this slanted smirk as he spoke, partially leaning an elbow on the bar. He's gotten more comfortable after a week in Sans' hometown, he lives in the room under the sink in the skelebros household and made it his own until later notice.

Sans gives a hum, "Wanna find out?"

John grins before popping off the cap, "Try me."

-/-/-/-

"What do they put in this shit, Sans?" The words are spoken with a giggle and despite the ache in his head John Dory goes back for more.

"Tomatoes," Sans answered with, still slowly downing his first serving of ketchup.

"It's gotta be more than that, bonedaddy," John Dory purred, leaning a little bit more on the bar and resting his chin in his hands.

A distinct azure rises to Sans' face, "I think you've had too much ketchup."

"You meant it."

"What?"

"When we were in the lab, when you said I looked hot. You meant it, you like me," John deduced rather skillfully despite his inept state.

"And if I do?" Sans asked.

John pauses, "It'd be hot, Sans and John Dory double teaming the tourney."

"Alright, we should get home," Sans said, sliding off his bar stool and holding out a gloved hand.

John Dory took it and slid off his own stool, his tail wagged about lazily. His face is burning up and he looks oddly lovesick, a realization that Sans makes the choice to ignore until he can contemplate it late at night. Alone. In bed. By himself.

The Troll slinks an arm under Sans' shoulders, face resting atop the fluff of his hoodie and nuzzled into the collar of his turtleneck, he still clutches a hand tightly. He gives a contented hum, "Your jacket's soft."

"I know."

"You're soft."

"That's an odd thing to say considering I'm all bones."

"I'll show you bones."

"We really gotta get you home."

"And then?"

"And then you're going to sleep, no goodnight kiss."

-/-/-/-

Another week passes and Papyrus suddenly has to deal with the fact that Sans and John Dory are being overtly romantic.

"Your teeth are cold." John Dory would always say whenever he tried to kiss Sans.

"The girlies like it." Sans would always answer.

And sometimes John Dory would try again to get the usually snapped shut jaw open, or he'd say, "I guess I'm one of the girlies."

They'd laugh and after a small beat of silence continue on with their day.

Maybe it's selfish that Sans is keeping John Dory from a way back to his own universe, but he's pretty sure the Troll doesn't mind. He's stopped asking when he'll get to go back home at least, and Sans is benefiting from having someone around.

It makes the resets more tolerable if nothing else, and Sans just doesn't tell John about them. About the times he's watched everyone die and everyone live, he never speaks a word of it. And unless Frisk brings it up, he won't have to know of the amnesia or the violence.

And they can keep living their happily ever after.

[opashoo]

Hiiii! I mean, you're very, very good at drawing. And also ask if you have a favorite ship by rw. So I want to draw something for you. You are a very cool artist

I'm sorry if I'm distracting you from important things

I'll say it again, you're cool

Oh thank you! That's so nice to hear! The past few months have been a lot of growth for me so it's nice that it's noticed. And you don't have to worry about distracting me! I'll answer in my own good time, there's no rush. As for my favorite ship uhhh readmore so I can talk about it because I have a lot of thoughts

ArtiHunter is my top favorite ship. Beyond just "They are both violent and red", I like to imagine that Hunter's got a straightforward, no-nonsense but compassionate attitude. She would tell Arti, "What you've done is awful and I can't forgive you on behalf of all the people you've hurt, but you have the chance to stop hurting people and make things better." I like to imagine that even though Arti is full of anger and hurt, she would appreciate someone who wants her to be better, and doesn't say, "Well it's all in the past, it's okay because I like you." An Arti who wants to do better or is wrestling with guilt would probably hate that so much. My ArtiHunter's not about redemption or forgiveness or violence, it's about acknowledging the hurt you've done and doing better, about two people slugcats making each other better.

RivuSpear is probably my next favorite. To me, Spears is very easygoing, but just a little cynical and neurotic, and Rivulet is very fun but anxious and maybe even legitimately bipolar. I think they could settle into very easy rhythms where they take turns talking and listening. Like they probably each feel broken or alien in some way but they love each other including their eccentricities, not despite them; not because they love when a person is damaged but because they love the whole person. Together they probably feel like everything is right with the world, not because they're normal but because they can be themselves.

Anyway I mention both because I don't really ship any other slugcats and I know that sometimes people don't like ArtiHunter. Whichever one you draw, I will be eternally grateful 🙏

[megalommi]

Nightmare and Dr Baggs discuss literature, in a scenario where Baggs joins the Bad Sans Crew.

This was only meant to be a few sentences, whu happun

It had taken some time to settle in to his new situation, kept in employ by Nightmare and living on-site in his castle.

The work wasn't the difficult part, he was a professional and in his element.

The trouble was... Well, he had a lot more freedom to push himself beyond his physical limits back home, when HE was the boss. It seemed the entire crew was bent on making sure he kept 'appropriate' hours. Honestly, it was bad enough that he wasted so much time SLEEPING (he was eternally grateful for Nightmare's assistance, don't get him wrong).

Nightmare INSISTED he take more leisure time, and bond with his new team. He wasn't in any position to argue, his new boss was very much immune to his power, he was thoroughly outmatched.

So, that's where he found himself, lounging on a comfortable seat in the drawing room, one leg propped up on an arm and one dangling off, with a thick leather bound book in one hand, and a flute of wine in the other. The boys were hooting and hollering as they squished together on the couch and played something on the their rather wide television called "Smash Brothers".

The temperature in the room very slightly dropped and the shadows in the corners deepened, as they often did on the arrival of the castle's master. He finished the line he was reading before he glanced up, meeting the eye of his superior now perched on the arm of the boys' couch with his legs folded and elbows resting on his knee, a flute of the same wine between his fingers.His tentacles swayed languidly behind him, and pulsed slightly, he seemed to be feeding off the anguish of Cross, who was shouting something about being ganged up on.

He paid no mind to the scene behind him, Nightmare's full attention was on Baggs at this moment, regarding him with interest.

"How are you finding the new addition to the cast?"

It appeared he was correct in assuming the impressive library was not just for show, if Nightmare was familiar with the one he held in his hands. He was floored upon discovering the room in his exploration, his hand had trailed across well worn covers of so many books he had never even heard of. Granted, he only had what trash fell into the Underground, where Nightmare had access to untold worlds worth of stories. What marvels must he have collected here?

Imagine his delight, then, when he discovered on those shelves the sequel to a book he had read many times over! Finally, that awful cliffhanger would haunt him no more!

... Having said that.

"They're derivative of the main character, and baked in so much cliche, I struggle to understand their inclusion at all."

He found it useless to even try to lie to a being who could sense emotion, one even more sharply perceptive than himself. His blunt honesty was always a risk of Nightmare's ire, so he was surprised when the god barked a laugh instead.

"I thought much the same on my very first read through. Imagine my surprise when by the end of the novel, they became my favourite character."

Baggs blinked, he hadn't been expecting that. He glanced back down to his book, as if it may reveal a detail he had missed.

Nightmare grinned, and took a sip of his own drink "Though perhaps I should hold my tongue, I would not want to spoil it."

Baggs marked his place and closed the cover, leaving it in his lap. "I trust it's alright that I borrowed it?"

He waved him off casually "I'm pleased someone other than myself stepped foot in the pride of my castle, for once."

"The boys not ones for reading, then?" He glanced at said boys, still entrenched in the battle of 'Poke' Floats'.

"Academic conversation is hard to come by here, I'm afraid." He grimaced, though there was no heat behind it. It was clear how endeared he was to his little party of meat heads.

The god of negativity continued to surprise him, since he was whisked away suddenly from his home with little choice in the matter. His presence then had been oppressively intimidating, and even Baggs didn't dare imagine the kind of horrors he may be forced to commit under such a man's employ.

It turned out, he was to nurse back to health a squad of trigger happy fools, who had all been injured so badly that Nightmare had been forced to seek his help. The intimidating facade had crumbled underneath his clear worry, anxiously hovering over Baggs's shoulder as he mended broken bones.

Since then they'd all fully recovered back to their usual, rowdy selves, and he had settled into somewhat of a school nurse role. Compared to his work at home, this was a vacation.

He had struggled to understand why he had not been tossed back into a portal as soon as his purpose had been fulfilled. He expected there may be some dangerous mission he would be wrangled into, making use of his unique abilities of control. But no, Nightmare seemed more than content with the doctor's contributions, even pulling him away from his work personally to relax with the rest of them for 'family dinner'.

But to suggest Nightmare kept him around for company? As if they would start up a book club and gush over mutual interests in high fantasy? Ridiculous.

... And yet. He eyed Nightmare curiously over the rim of his flute as he emptied it. A tentacle came into view with the bottle and topped off his glass swiftly after.

Well. He may be kept here for a while yet, he might as well find more books to occupy his enforced leisure time.

"That is a shame, such an impressive collection going unappreciated. My own salvaged few truly pale in comparison."

Nightmare preened, sitting slightly straighter "I have spent a century collecting the best offerings of the multiverse."

Baggs's smirk grew in satisfaction, the way it often would when he had a monster in the palm of his hand, an intoxicating feeling. He leaned forward "Would you share some recommendations for my next read? I'm afraid I have no idea where to start."

Nightmare chuckled pleasantly as he relaxed back, leaning an arm on the back of the couch. "One might assume you're trying to butter me up with talk like that, doctor." His tentacles curled playfully, and behind them a few of the boys had begun to look between the pair with curiosity.

He grinned widely at the challenge, having been so easily seen through "Come now.~ What greater pleasure is there than to indulge one's passion for literature?"

The god's tentacles curled minutely, bright, glittering eyelight smouldering and socket crinkling with the uptick of his smirk. A dark boned phalange distractingly traced slow circles on the rim of his own flute "What, indeed."

He would blame the wine for the magenta that coloured his cheeks and crept down his neck.

[reimenaashelyee]

Clean version here

Not a bingo but a jenga. My responses below the cut

Somehow I have half of this image filled out. I wish I could cash it in for points to redeem.

Jenga:

First comic is a magnum opus: There had been a string of graphic novel adaptations of books I wanted do when I as a young teenager, but The World in Deeper Inspection was my first, substantial, original behemoth of an idea. It was the only one with the power and the potential to stay and push me to become a comics creator. Everything I am and have as an artist and writer is because of TWIDI.

Fan art more popular than OCs: This was going to be inevitable because I hardly ever post about them online. But I suppose if you count my one-off character design illustrations that go viral or my published graphic novels, this box wouldn’t be true… (The God of Arepo is my most popular fan work)

I binged your life’s work in 2 hours: I am glad you like my work enough to be this engrossed in it – but honestly please please reread it again and SLOWLY so you can appreciate the visual storytelling – not just the words and the main action!! You’ll have a fuller experience if you take the time to luxuriate!!

This isn’t even my day job: It both is and isn’t. I do enough from comics that I can survive out of it near full time (thanks to my usual speed; very grateful), but I get financial stability from the monthly paycheck from the actual day job. Relying on my speed to produce near-constant output for money is something I am losing interest in as my ideas become more ambitious and niche.

Subscribe to my Patreon: Somehow I am able to hawk my free-to-read platforms with a certain amount of success but never can get a big dent on my Ko-fi.

Received unsolicited critique on a free comic: Unavoidable reality. Though I hadn’t had something egregious in a long time (and it better stay that way).

Had to explain what a webcomic even is to someone IRL: Nearly all the people I surround myself with are ‘normies’ (people who aren’t so online and/or don’t read online media), so this comes up often – and it will become more frequent as I pursue institutional pathways like residencies and grants. Even if they knew what webcomics were, it would be under the name of webtoons.

I can’t wait to draw this scene in 4 years: lol @ Alexander Comic and TWIDI

Multi-year hiatus: TWIDI’s eternal curse, until I figure out how to build enough stability in my career/life to return to it – full-time and for real.

Financially supported by someone else: My dayjob, mainly, but previously my parents.

Is somehow mutuals with favourite artist: That’s what it’s like as your career progresses and matures! It’s always nice to become peers with those you admire – especially the ones you grow to love only after knowing them.

Characters get gayer over time: Growing up and being able to witness the various ways of living can and will change how one approaches their characters.

Successfully fulfilled a Kickstarter: Not on my own, but I had a few for my books that published smoothly.

Empty space:

ADHD diagnosis: I have ADHD-esque behaviours that I have managed to overcome with ADHD-specific hacks, but whether I actually have the thing itself is a question mark. I lean towards not really having it since I am able to execute and complete tasks regularly.

Works in animation or went to school for it: I used to want to study and work in animation before I discovered the potential of comics as a storytelling medium. I don’t have a desire to break into that industry, even without all the employment and late-capitalism instability that it’s going through right now. I am not averse to trying if asked, however.

Had an art teacher who hated anime: Never went to art school.

Yes I’ve had burnout but what about second burnout: Currently going through a fallow period, but I really don’t think it’s Burnout Burnout. Touch wood, I continue to maintain my love, interest and desire to make comics and stay in my artistic career.

Forgot how to draw main character’s face: Characters are so seared into my brain, it’s not easy to forget. Helps that they each have particular quirks that belong to their design.

This comic gave me my hand/wrist injury: Still out here WITHOUT any of those. I hope I can keep it that way until whenever I retire.

Emergency commissions: Hopefully I will never have to resort to do this. (Very grateful, yes)

Sleep… “schedule”? my 7-8 hours of sleep is essential and non-negotiable.

If it’s not 3 hours long is it even worth adding to the work playlist: This is is referring to video essays I guess? I rarely ever encounter essays of over 3 hours that I am interested enough to watch. (Also I can’t really watch something while drawing; I lose speed/concentration)

Embarrassed to look at early pages: Not embarrassed – I was younger and less-skilled then, that’s just how it is. There were a lot of things younger me did that I could still learn from.

Regrets costume choices: I pride myself in being able to style myself and my characters, and so far I have never regretted the clothes I give my characters – the TWIDI characters all have base outfits from when I was 15!