#important enough that i need to take it with me

[luna-azzurra]

10 Lies Your Character Believes About Themselves (And They’d Die Before Admitting It)

These aren't the fun, Disney Channel lies like “I'm just a regular girl” while literally being a secret pop star. These are the ugly ones. The ones that get in your character’s blood and start rewriting their whole life without them noticing.

» “If people really knew me, they'd leave.” Not "might." Would. No question. So they smile bigger. They edit harder. They keep conversations surface-level. All while carrying this bone-deep certainty that love is conditional... and they are dangerously close to failing the test.

» “I have to earn every good thing.” Rest? Happiness? A day without guilt? They treat those things like prizes at the end of a brutal obstacle course. No one told them they could just have good things. No strings. No blood price. (So they keep bleeding anyway.)

» “I'm too much.” Too loud. Too intense. Too sensitive. Too complicated. They know it. They've been told. So now they pull themselves in, hold their breath, bite back everything real until they barely take up space at all. (And ironically, they still think they’re being "too much.")

» “I'm not enough.” Neat little trick, right? They’re both "too much" and "not enough" at the same time. Magic. They're convinced everyone else got the secret manual for how to be lovable and they somehow missed it.

» “If I'm strong enough, nothing can hurt me.” They call it resilience. Other people call it stubbornness. Reality calls it self-destruction. They've mistaken numbness for healing and independence for invulnerability. But hurt still gets in. It just hits harder when it’s been bottled up for years.

» “I’m responsible for everyone's happiness.” Caretaker. Peacemaker. Therapist friend. Emotional sponge. They’ve appointed themselves as everyone's safety net, believing that if they don’t hold everything together, everything will fall apart. (Newsflash: it's not their circus, and it never was.)

» “I don't need anyone.” Need is a dirty word. It’s weak. It’s dangerous. So they white-knuckle their way through life, collecting scars and pretending it’s freedom. But late at night? In the dark? They’d sell their soul for someone to just... stay.

» “I'm the villain in someone else's story and they might be right.” They know they've hurt people. Made bad calls. Left damage. And no matter how much good they do now, some part of them whispers, You don’t get to come back from that.

» “My best days are behind me.” Whether they peaked in high school, lost their shot at something important, or just carry a chronic ache of nostalgia, they believe it’s too late. That nothing good can be built from where they are now. (Which, ironically, makes them waste even more time.)

» “This is as good as it gets.” They settle. For bad love. Boring jobs. Half-dead dreams. They tell themselves it's "realistic." "Mature." "Practical." But underneath? It's fear. It's heartbreak. It's the quiet belief that hope is something they can’t afford anymore.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Has Menace!Danny ever gotten into a fight at school?

Bruce's emergency phone goes off in the middle of a WE Board meeting. He had always started any meetings by explaining that his emergency phone was the one he used for his children's emergency contact listings and for the children themselves to reach him if they absolutely needed to.

He would always have it on to answer, no matter how important the meeting was. They have all accepted it long ago that Bruce would never back down on that rule.

It was a necessity after all the kidnapping attempts on his children, and it's unfortunately rung before. Still, this knowledge doesn't stop the cold terror from sinking into their stomachs as Bruce scrambles to answer.

The board holds their breath as Bruce rasps, "Hello? Yes, this is he."

There is a moment of silence before the CEO jumps to his feet, scrambling to gather his things. He doesn't look in their direction, eyes unusually serious as he listens carefully to the other person.

"Which hospital was he taken to? How bad are his injuries? The ones who did that to him, where are they?"

Oh no. A few board members think. One of the Wayne boys was attacked.

Bruce pauses in his movements, going white. "He what?"

Susan from Accounting gasps, pressing her hands over her mouth. Seh recognizes that look on his face. Bruce wore the same look the night he had heard about Riddler taking a entire school bus of children- in including his second oldest, Dick- and three of the students had not made it before Batman was able to take him down.

She sends Tom a horrified look as the man grimaces, tapping on his phone to check in on his teenage daughter. She goes to school with a few of the Wayne children, which means that if something happened, she may have been affected.

Susan can't blame him. Her nephew is two years older than Danny Fenton-Wayne, and the number of attacks targeting the Academy to reach that boy had gripped her in worry for years. She pulls out her phone to send him a text, too, praying that whatever happened, it happened to one of the younger ones or away from her nephew.

A horrible thought to have, but one she has often.

Thankfully, Alex was set to graduate soon and was no longer in danger, which is her only comfort as she presses send.

"How bad was it?" Bruce finally whispers, face white as milk. The board stiffens, glancing at each other, but no one dares to say anything as Bruce finishes packing up and running to the door. He doesn't even give a by your leave, which means that it was bad. " I understand. Yes. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

The door slams closed behind as multiple pings go off in the room. Tom and Susan are the fastest to check their phones. They blink at the letters before Tom rubs his face with a sigh. "Of course it was about that one."

"What?" Amy gasps, rubbing her hands. "What happened at Gotham Academy? Someone tell me something, my little cousin isn't answering!"

"Danny Fenton-Wayne happened. He sent the entire football team to the ER." Tom sighs, waving his phone. "My daughter said they found out there was a hole that let them see into the girls' changing room and had spent the last few months taking videos and photos. The photo of an underwear-clad Barbara Gordon got passed around, with none of the team players admitting who took it and shared it. The school discipline board was going to just slap them all with a three-day in-school suspension, and Fenton-Wayne thought it wasn't enough. He took matters into his own hands. He jumped the team."

"Wait, the kid took on the whole Football team?" Neil scoffs. He wasn't from Gotham, so he's not in the know about the eldest Wayne child. "No wonder, he ended up in the hospital."

"No." Susan gasps, watching her nephew's texts come flying in at neck-breaking speeds. "No, Danny Fenton-Wayne isn't the one in the hospital. He.... he beat the entire team, including the ones on reserve, and then drove them to the ER. Technically, he kidnapped them for medical attention for injuries he caused. He was lecturing them the entire time about respecting women."

The room is silent, and then they all shiver. That kid was not normal.

"I think they are going to expel him." Tom continues, face pulled into a tight frown. His phone screen is also blowing up with updates from his girl. Susan can see a lot of rage emojis. "My daughter and almost all female students are going to protest his punishment since he was the only one protecting them. She wants me to help plan a walk-out at the next PTA meeting."

"Are you?" Amy asks.

Tom's eyes flash. "Of course. My daughter uses that changing room. How dare they."

"I'll help," Amy announces, tapping on her laptop keyboard. She's the youngest in the room a intern that just got hired while in her first year of college. Her whole job was to take notes, which is why her fingers fly at a speed that's almost awe-inspiring to see. "I just made a post to the Phantom's official blog. We'll have a mob in an hour."

Two hours later, Amy's words came true as the school was surrounded by half the city demanding that Danny Fenton-Wayne's punishment be overturned or lowered. Many of them were mad for the crime the football team committed, but most are there after a video of Phantom reacting to the News was posted.

The hero had cried at the horrible news. He personally went to Gotham Academy to fix up the girls' changing room, installing changing rooms with curtain walls, sad that he had to resort to that measure.

The people were ready to riot in his name.

[worldsbiggestblunt]

Ok, to the people in the notes saying “I didn’t know we were boycotting ____”— I get it, there’s a lot to keep up on, but we need to be thinking for ourselves.

I honestly had no idea there was any rally for a boycott of HBO, TLOU or The Minecraft movie, but I did know that HBO is hosting Rowling and the Paul brothers, and has outright made a statement that they support Rowling, which is enough for me to boycott HBO, and by extension TLOU.

I also know that Jack Black is a Zionist, who most likely works with scores of other zionists. That, again, was enough for me.

Knowing the details of and supporting calls for boycott is important, but first and foremost we need to learn the red flags ourselves so that even if we’re out of the loop, we can hold our values and take action.

Can't even boycott the last of us, can't even boycott captain america, SOME OF YOU CAN'T EVEN QUIT HARRY POTTER. And then you refuse to read some classic from a guy who's not even around to do any harm because "all the classics were written by white heterosexual men" WHICH IS NOT EVEN TRUE

[f4ggydog]

lottie x reader: no need to fight it cause you’re giving in🔞

warnings: smut, noncon, top lottie, lottie has a dick, reader has a pussy, breeding, delusional lottie, dark lottie

Lottie’s dragging you out to the clearing and the next thing you register is the sounds of trees blaring in your ears. You shake your head, wanting to put this fantasy to rest. Whatever delusion Lottie was infected by, you were begging for a halt to it. The last thing you needed was to get mixed up in her little schemes.

“I know you hear it too,” Lottie says. “Can you hear it humming in your ears?”

Humming was one way to put it. It felt more like screaming for you. You cover your ears and sink to the ground, covering your face with your knees. You shiver as a giant ball of agony and fright. Make it stop. Make it stop.

“It’s okay.” Lottie rests her hand on your shoulder. “It might hurt to hear, but you’re the only one that can…talk with it. Understand it.”

No, you are not. You’ve got no connection with the wilderness whatsoever and you wish Lottie would stop insisting that you do. Her plans were going nowhere.

“Nobody else would be able to hear that yelling besides us,” Lottie states. “I can only hear it because I’m in close proximity to you. You…you can help me connect with it again.”

When does the nightmare end?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter. “I-I’ve got no connection to anything.”

“Nonsense.” Lottie shoves your side. “You have to trust me. You’re so important right now. You have great significance. And I need you to use it.”

“Lottie, I’m not the wilderness’ advocate. I’m just a person. Really, I’m not some god or spirit. I’m just me. Just leave all this stuff behind.”

“If we don’t obey what the wilderness wants, we all die. If we don’t give it what it wants, we will all suffer. You don’t want that, do you?”

Of course you don’t. You’d hate to see any more needless deaths. You’ve barely survived consuming Javi, let alone consuming another Yellowjacket. As if devouring Jackie wasn’t harrowing enough.

“Just listen to it,” Lottie instructs tenderly. “Let the sounds of the forests fill your ears. Get immersed in your environment. Tell me how deeply you can feel.”

The forest calls out to you again. You cringe as shrieks of terror fill your ears again, along with the sound of the wind swaying the trees. A leaf falls from above. The ground feels like it’s moving. The earth feels like it’s spinning on its axis. You’re getting dizzier.

“Make it stop,” you whimper. “Make it stop, Lottie. Tell it to stop.”

“What do you hear?” Lottie ignores your request. “Tell me.”

“Screaming!” You cry out. “They won’t stop screaming. Lottie, my ears are gonna bleed! It’s just yelling!”

“It’s communicating with you, in the only way it knows how. You’re doing so well for me.”

You drop to your hands and knees, on all fours like a dog. You feel a sharp pain in your ribs and your nails dig into the dirt for something to grasp onto. More yelling echoes in your ears and your back is close to giving out. You’re not sure how much more pain you can take. Why does it feel like you’re on the verge of death?

“Excellent.” Lottie nods, a menacing smirk on her lips. “Perfect. So good.”

The screaming stops. You gasp for air, rolling onto your back and heaving. You cross your arms on your chest, blinking as you watch the blue sky.

“You make for an excellent pupil,” Lottie compliments. “You did me a big favor here.”

“I don’t think I wanna do any more favors, Lot. Can we just go back to the camp please? Everything hurts.”

“We’re not done yet. There’s still other ways that we might be able to connect to the wilderness. Together. You and me.”

“I think I’m okay.”

“You can’t refuse,” Lottie says sternly, hand cupping your cheek. “I’m not letting you go until we do this. Once we’re done, then we may return home.”

“No!” You snap, standing up and shaking dirt off of your knees. “I’m not doing this shit anymore, Lottie. I’m fucking going home. You’re fucking ridiculous, you know that?”

“You can’t.” Lottie takes big strides towards you as you back away. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Fucking catch me then!” You taunt. “Cause I’m running. Fuck this! I’m gone!”

Lottie chases after you without hesitation. You don’t make it far before she tackles you onto the ground like a football player. She pins your hands above your head and presses her knees down on your legs.

“Good try,” she sighs. “Unfortunately, that’s not gonna cut it.”

“You’re fucking nuts,” you spit. “If you think I’m gonna let you poison me into your crazy ideology, you’ve got another thing coming!”

“Fine,” Lottie huffs. “Then it turns out I’ll really have to get you to connect with it another way. Good thing I know a strategy.”

“What does that mean?” You inquire nervously. “What the hell do you mean, Lottie?”

“You’ll see. But you’re gonna have to trust me. Can you do that?”

“No, I’m not trusting you with anything! You tried to kill me back there.”

“I didn’t try to kill you,” Lottie corrects. “I was…introducing you to something.”

“Yeah, introducing me to my grave! Fuck off. Seriously, go bother Travis. Weren’t you messing with him earlier?”

“He doesn’t bear the same connection as you.” Lottie lowers her head. “I was mistaken. Thought I knew better, which is why I need you to help me out. I need to get in touch with the wilderness and its demands again. It’s important that I reach it. For the sake of you, me and the others.”

“Lottie you’re pissing me off,” you respond. “You’re pissing me off so bad, Lottie.

“I can deal with you being upset with me. As long as you get access to the wilderness in the way I want you to, it’s worth it.”

Lottie presses her nose to your forehead.

“I know this might not be easy for you to understand, but this is why I require your trust. You’re so much more important than you realize. And I need you to understand your value.”

You’re alarmed by Lottie’s proximity and attempt to wiggle away. But her grip overpowers yours effortlessly, which is a shocker. For all you knew, the wilderness could be injecting her with extra nutrients this second to keep her bones stronger.

Lottie presses her crotch against your ass. She’s laying on top of you, her dress flowing up a bit. Her hips grind against you, her bulge becoming more prominent.

“W-What kind of lessons are this?” You stutter. “W-What does this have to do with the wilderness? Lottie, you’re making me uncomfortable.”

Lottie’s arms attach themselves around your waist.

“Our bodies,” Lottie says. “They have to touch, bare skin on bare. It’s the most intimate form of human connection. It’ll ensure your connection with the woods is thorough.”

Before you can hurl another question her way, Lottie reaches for your shorts. She tugs them down until they reach the dirt floor. Then, her hands reach for your shirt.

“I can feel it already,” Lottie purrs in your ear. “It’s so much deeper. I already feel like I’m understanding you slightly more. Are you experiencing that feeling too?”

You shake your head, swallowing your hiccups. You’re frozen with fear and you wish you had one of the other girls around to save you. You couldn’t even fully blame yourself. You didn’t purposefully follow Lottie. She took you by your hand and forced you into her world of ‘wonders.’

Her hands slip under your shirt. Her fingers tease your nipples, humming with approval. You cough, unable to wriggle out from underneath Lottie’s body. Her bulge gets harder and stiffer with every movement and you’re worried you accidentally rub your clothed cunt against her cock. The last thing you need is to entice her further.

“This is great,” Lottie rasps. “I can tell that your body’s different just from its touch. There’s magic inside of you. You’re divine, perfect for experimentation.”

What the fuck? You weren’t some sort of lab subject? Again, you fail to fight off Lottie. You attempt to roll over so that she’s the one on the ground. But Lottie planned for that course of action. She’s got every weakness of yours figured out. There’s nowhere to go, nowhere to hide from her insanity.

Lottie stops fondling your buds, reaching her hands into her underwear. She grips her cock by its heavy shaft. Her dick is so huge that even one hand isn’t enough to properly secure it. However, she doesn’t pull down her panties just yet.

Does she think you’ll pull down your undergarments first? No way. You’re not going along with her trickery. You’re smarter than this. Perhaps you still have a chance to find a path back to camp and you can tell the others what Lottie tried to do with you.

More ideas pop into your mind but none come to fruition. And the more useless thinking you do, the more time Lottie has to undress you completely.

And she does just that. Well, mostly. She rips your underwear almost clean off, exposing your bare cunt to both the wilderness and its prophet.

“Shhhh,” Lottie coos. “Don’t make too much of a commotion. The wilderness won’t like it if you resist. It wants a smooth process, a firm understanding.”

“You’re a creep!” You shout. “You’re such a creep, Lottie. What is the matter with you!? Let the fuck go of me now!”

“You are the messenger,” Lottie informs. “You are the one it wants me to feel. You are the one whose body I’ve been trusted with. The wilderness expects a connection from you. Not Travis, not Akilah, not any other soul.”

“Leave me alone,” you whine, hearing the sound of fabric. Lottie takes her panties off and holds up the edge of her dress, so you get a good glance at what will crack you open. You’re not prepared to feel fuller than you’ve ever experienced before. You could deal with a lot less new experiences. Every new experience in the forest seemed to deprive you of mental fortitude day by day.

“Hush. Hush, hush. You’re so delicate, my little flower. You’re perfect for me.”

Lottie rubs the red tip of her cock against your folds. There’s hardly any wetness and Lottie doesn’t seem ready to lube you up either. There’s a certain haste to the friction and she clearly wants to ram inside of you and be as close to you as humanly possible. There was no warmth and bonding like being inside the body of another. But Lottie couldn’t cannibalize you. She needed you alive and well, willing to pass on the wilderness’ message.

In an act of scarce mercy, Lottie spits on her veiny cock a couple of times. She pumps the saliva along her shaft, a small amount hardly covering the surface. You yelp as Lottie whacks her dick against your entrance, enjoying your pussy pulsing as a satisfying reaction.

“Do you trust me?” Lottie asks.

Of course you don’t. Did she actually expect you to respond with a yes? Was there a shred of sanity left in that head jumbled with conspiracies and false prophecies? The potential answer scares you.

“N-No,” you utter.

Lottie rejects your answer. She thrusts forward, gagging your mouth with her fingers.

Your cry of pain is muffled. You are nothing but a bundle of nerves, forced to endure rough penetration. Lottie senses your discomfort, but there’s no halt to her movements. There’s desperation and need, but the only gentle part about this is the words entering your ears.

“Sweet little doll,” Lottie giggles, her cock stretching you out. “Look at the way those eyes flutter. Tell me, do you feel it in your soul? Do you feel how close we are? Do you feel us connecting on the basis of you being my student?”

What a twisted teacher. You couldn’t wait to warn the other members when you got back so they could hopefully toss out this creep. Your nails scratch the coarse floor of dirt. Your legs kick the ground like a tantrum is being thrown, except it’s a justified one.

“The fear is part of the ride,” Lottie encourages. “Think of this as a sacrifice. This may do away with your purity, but this brings us closer together. You’ll understand. You’ll get it once we’re done.”

You don’t believe a lick of Lottie’s speech. You sob against her fingers, nibbling on them until she pushes them to the back of your throat. You gag, nearly barfing at the sensation of being split open and practically choked.

“Take it,” Lottie grunts, her cock throbbing against your tight, velvety walls.

She removes her fingers from your mouth and holds you by your shoulders. Your body is forced into the dirt, her shirt covered with brown as Lottie uses your body like a fleshlight.

“Too much,” you cry. “Lottie, you’re too big. Y-You should take it out. Please, you’re way too big.”

“We could’ve done this an easier way. But you had to be difficult. You refused to listen to the sounds the wilderness offered. Now, this is the only way to get you to behave.”

Lottie kisses the back of your neck roughly, her cock still pounding away. Your body grows weaker by the moment and you internally say a prayer, wondering if you’ll ever be free now that she’s rested a claim on you.

If you were supposed to be a little flower, this felt like having all your petals torn off. You were wilted, growing ill from lack of nourishment and brightness in your life. Lottie was shielding you from the sun you deserved. When Lottie put you in your place, there was only darkness. Nothing but pitch black hell.

“Somehow your reaction is still not worse than I expected,” Lottie states proudly. “I’ll be able to tame you pretty soon. You’re going to make the perfect disciple. I just need you to understand why I’m doing this, why you need this.”

You don’t have the capacity to listen to her reasonings right now. You just desire an end to the cruelty.

Lottie’s balls slap against your ass, the slapping sound of flesh causing you to feel more nauseous. Hatred occupied every crevice of your mind. Lottie stole your innocence just for her own agenda. Yet, she still remained certain that she was doing the correct thing. She’s blinded by the belief of a moral obligation.

Or maybe you’re not so sure. Maybe she knows what she’s doing is wrong, but she can’t bring herself to care. Maybe Lottie is more callous than you imagined. Maybe you should’ve doubted her sooner. Maybe you—

“So fucking close little dove,” Lottie whispers. “You can take it for me. I know you can.”

“Lottie no,” you begin protesting. “No, n-no. You’ll give me a baby. I-I don’t want a baby. P-Please, at least don’t cum inside.”

“You don’t get to make the decision. I’m only following what it wants.”

You thrash around, hoping Lottie’s cock will pop out of you. But your pussy only squeezes harder and secures Lottie nice and snug in your delicate cunt.

Lottie parts her lips, small gasps leaving as her pace reaches its highest point. She claws into your skin, her hips moving on their own. Both of you are linked by sweat and musk, the trees watching as a pair of survivors fuck raw in isolation.

Memories of Lottie flash into your head. Her taking the leadership role during winter, her leading the hunt on Travis during one faithful night. You pondered if you would be her next victim, if a second Doomcoming was in order.

You chase that thought of your brain. You can’t afford to bring yourself more dread.

Suddenly, a splash of warmth seeps into your cunt. Ropes and ropes of hot fluids drown your pussy in white. Lottie’s eyes rolls back, phrases in French being murmured as she empties herself. She keeps you pinned down until she’s sure that no drop has been plunged into your poor, abused hole.

You lay in the dirt, not accepting that you and Lottie are now tethered. You are a child of the wilderness and no matter how far you run, Lottie’s mark will not leave you. You’re stuck with her until one of you passes. You’re only hers and you’ll have to deal with the fact.

“The wilderness will be pleased,” Lottie says with a smile wider than ever before. “We’ll have food for months.”

The wilderness has had its wishes granted. So has Lottie. But at what cost?

[imaginesfordifferentfandoms]

His Girls

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Prompt -  “Don’t hurt him! Just stop hurting him, please!”

Notes - SPOILERS FOR THE LAST OF US SEASON 2, EPISODE 2! Another fix it fic!! Joel Miller & Reader, Ellie Williams & Reader, Tommy Miller & Reader

You and Ellie were the total opposite of one another when it came to feelings. You openly said how you felt, realising that in this world there was a chance everything could be ripped away from you. You never suppressed how you felt, you’d call something what it was. So when you openly called Joel dad for the first time, the poor man’s heart stuttered and he looked as if the world had been pulled out from under his feet before he softened. Ellie never did and it didn’t matter. Joel didn’t need the girl to say it, you all knew Ellie looked at Joel the same, you all knew what you were to each other.

As your journey to Jackson went on, the three of you only became closer and closer. When you’d finally settled in the community a part of you feared losing that, when you weren’t forced within so close proximity, struggling to survive, you worried you wouldn’t be as close, though it turned out it was a useless thought to have. If anything Jackson had brought you closer. 

Until Ellie started giving Joel the cold shoulder that was. 

New Year’s Eve was the worst of it, Joel having rough handled someone who dared speak badly against Ellie and Ellie losing her cool with Joel. 

You sighed as you let yourself walk past the house you still stayed in with Joel and went to Ellie’s in the back, watching as the girl glared at you as you let yourself in without bothering to knock. 

“What?” Here to defend Joel?” She snapped. 

“Ellie,” you sighed, sitting on the end of her bed. “Joel has only ever…what he did makes him, Joel. I’m not just talking about tonight, I’m talking about five years ago. Since the start Joel has only ever wanted to protect us.”

“He ruined any chance of a cure.” Ellie insisted and your nostrils flared, you’d heard her argument for months now but never said much back. 

“There was no cure!” You finally snapped, unable to hear the same thing again when you knew the truth. “There was never a cure, Ellie. Whatever that fucking doctor was gonna do wouldn’t have worked! Joel knew that, Marlene knew that. Their plan was half baked and it wouldn’t have worked! Hell even if it had a chance of working it would have been years back when they still had functioning labs! Joel was never gonna let you die anyway but he definitely wasn’t gonna let them kill you for nothing!”

Ellie was silent, looking at you with an unreadable expression and you hoped you were getting through to her but then she turned away, breaking eye contact with you. 

You sighed again and stood up, making your way to the door, stopping before you stepped out. 

“He loves you, El, we both know that. There isn’t anything more important to him than me and you. Just…” You sighed, voice trailing off. “You know this is killing him.”

With that you left and Ellie sighed. She leaned back against her pillow and promised herself she’d invite Joel out on patrol tomorrow. 

“Coming out?” Ellie asked you, looking less than happy. 

“What happened to you?” You asked, walking alongside her. 

“I was gonna invite Joel out on patrol, make amends and all that shit.” She told you, glaring as you grinned with satisfaction, finally having got through to her.

“Oh yeah, he took your girlfriend out instead.” Your grin widened even more as Ellie’s glare intensified.

“She’s not my girlfriend.” She grumbled out, looking away from you, hoping to hide the pink on her cheeks.

You laughed in delight but let the subject drop for now, letting Ellie lead you to the stables. It didn’t take long to get saddled up and before long the two of you headed out to patrol.

The cold was getting to you, your teeth chattered together and you were shivering fiercely, hard enough that Ellie tied the horses off and led you into a building, the storm too bad to ride in anyway.

“So,” You asked after a while, more than content to sit and wait out the storm with Ellie. “You finally gonna let Joel off the hook?

“I miss him.” Ellie finally confessed after a few minutes of silence where you had thought she was just going to ignore the question. 

You felt your heart ache for the girl, knowing that she rarely spoke about how she felt at the best of times but admitting to missing Joel, she must have been hurting.

“You know, I don’t…you can both say there was never really a cure but I just think, man what if? What if that one was the one thing I was meant to do? But then I think, what if someone was gonna kill Joel? I’d kill them, Y/N/N.” Ellie’s voice was shaky and you smiled sadly over at her.

“Can’t think of the what if’s, there are no what if’s. The only other outcome was Joel not killing them and you dying for nothing. That’s how it would have played out. Even if there was some cure in your head, nobody would know how to get it.”

Ellie frowned at your words but then nodded and you sighed softly, glad it was finally breaking through, glad she was ready to forgive Joel.

“Joel was never gonna let you die, Ellie. He’s done lots of things but letting you die? That’s something he’s never gonna do.” You said softly and Ellie nodded, knowing there was nothing she could say to that.

A Joel Miller that let any harm come to his girls wasn’t Joel Miller.

The conversation turned less serious after that. You and Ellie were laughing over nothing either of you could recall when the radio stuttered to life asking Joel to check in, the voice sounded panicked enough that your nerves were set on edge. 

“Repeat that!” You snapped, snatching the radio from the floor, panic building and Ellie looked at you wide eyed.

“Y/N, you seen Joel? He hasn’t checked in for a while.” The voice on the other end asked and you felt your world turn at even the possibility of something happening with Joel.

“Shit no, where was he last?”

You and Ellie immediately headed to the horses, forcing them to move as quickly as possible, only to be stopped by a massive herd of walkers, your horses rearing up and you headed up the mountain, frowning as you saw Joel and Dina’s horses in front of a cabin. 

“I don’t like this.” You murmured to Ellie as you dismounted your own horses and Ellie shook her head, her hand gripping her gun tighter as the two of you made your way into the cabin. 

Your heart stopped as you entered the room, seeing Joel on the floor half dead and bloody. The shock of the scene was all the group needed and before you could even fight back you and Ellie were on the floor, forced to look at Joel as the girl beat the broken man some more. 

It didn’t even look like Joel, you’d never seen him look like this. Even at his worst he was still an unshakeable force, even when he was clutching his heart and struggling for air you knew if something went wrong in that minute he’d flop. 

But this…this terrified you. Joel couldn’t get up, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t even groan out in pain anymore. His eyes were on you and Ellie, knowing what was to come and hating that his girls were going to have to see it, and you couldn’t look away. 

You couldn’t breathe, your heart was hammering wildly in your chest, hoping like hell you could get Joel out of this alive, even if it killed you. 

The girl battered her fists into Joel again and again and the man holding you forced you harder against the floor as you thrashed. 

You were begging, pleading, a mess of sobs and tears but Abby doesn’t listen, if anything the begging seems to give her satisfaction. 

“Joel, get up! Get up, Joel.” Ellie begged him and your breath hitched as he tried, god he tried so hard to move but he was beaten too bad. Ellie realised it too as she switched from begging Joel to begging the girl hurting him, desperate for her to stop.

Finally she did and you watched as the girl leaned next to Joel, raising the rod and your blood ran cold, knowing what she was going to do. 

It’s not until you choke out the most devastated sounding “Dad please!” that Abby paused, the rod froze mid air and that’s all you needed, that one pause was all you needed. Sheer desperation had you forcing the man holding you off of you, he was on the ground before he knew it. The moment seemed to stretch on forever as you moved before anyone could register it, pulling out your knife and burying it in the side of Abby’s neck without a moment of hesitation, watching with a twisted sense of satisfaction as she choked, blood spraying and splattering before she fell to the floor and you whipped your gun out, Ellie scrambling up and the two of you took down the rest of Abby’s group. 

You felt exhausted by the end of it, knees buckling just as you made it to Joel’s side, watching as Ellie lay with him and you sat down next to him, both holding one of his hands and feeling like the air had been sucked from you as he squeezed them back. 

Reassurance that he was alive.

You hardly remembered struggling to get Joel off the floor, hardly remembered the journey home but you remembered taking him to the doctors office, remembered him being gone for hours as they worked on him, remembered finding comfort in Ellie against your side and Tommy hand on your arm. 

You didn’t remember anything the doctor said past the assurance that Joel was alive and stable, didn’t remember Tommy’s arms around you, keeping you upright, barely recalled Ellie pressing against you and crying with you.

It wasn’t until Joel was awake that the three of you were allowed to visit, Ellie stepping in first, followed by you and then Tommy.

“Baby girls,” Joel groaned out and you went to pieces, Tommy’s grip on you was the only thing holding you up as Ellie choked back her own tears, moving to Joel’s side and pushing herself against him. 

“M’sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.” Ellie choked out and you stayed by the door with Tommy, much as you wanted to bury yourself against Joel’s other side, Ellie needed this and so did Joel. 

“Nothin’ t’be sorry for.” Joel assured her, cupping the back of her head slowly and wincing as he kissed the top of her head. 

You listened as Ellie and Joel spoke softly to each other, each of their eyes filled with tears but there was so much relief on their faces as they finally reconnected, realising how close they’d been to losing everything, losing each other without resolving anything, Ellie realising she had nearly been condemned to a life of what if’s and all encompassing grief. You watched the pair with your own watery eyes and shaky smile, leaning against Tommy’s chest as the man kept a steady arm around you, his own eyes stinging with tears. 

“C’mere you.” Joel finally said, looking over at you and you let out a small sob, feeling like you would have been frozen to place if not for Tommy guiding you over to the bed. 

You practically collapsed into Joel’s chest, letting yourself sob into the man as he held you close to him, not caring about his burning sides as he smiled up at Tommy, appreciation clear on his face for looking after the two of you whilst he was down.

You could still see the image of him lying on the floor, bloody and beaten. Even in the hospital bed he looked weak but he looked like Joel. In that cabin he had looked unrecognisable. It turned your stomach sick, you never wanted to see Joel like that again.

For not the first time that night you felt a twisted satisfaction as you remember sinking the knife into Abby’s neck, not even sparing her another look as she fell to the floor as you took the rest of her group out alongside Ellie.

Joel kept whispering words of reassurance as you and Ellie burrowed into him, not a dry eye in the room. You could feel Joel’s heartbeat against your ear, the steady thumping assuring you he was alive, you were home, Joel and Ellie had made up and everyone was safe.

“Love you dad.” You interrupted his steady stream of assurance, the whispered words choked out between soft sobs but Joel’s heart ached nonetheless.

“I love you two, both of you, so damn much.” He promised, kissing both of your heads again and you let out a shaky breath, everything was going to be ok.

“Love you.” Ellie mumbled and you laughed, the sound mixing with a sob but you couldn’t help it, Ellie had finally realised what you had known all along, the world was too dangerous, too unpredictable to be anything but honest with your feelings.

For Ellie’s sake, Joel didn’t make a fuss over the words but inside his heart exploded. He had never needed Ellie to say those words to him, he’d always known, even in the time she was mad at him, he’d known that deep down, under all of the anger and confusion Ellie loved him.

He was just glad he’d lived long enough to hear the words from both of his girls.

Thank you for reading! Link in my bio to add yourself to the taglist!

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[starrdream]

would you be up to doing a nsfw alphabet for Anakin? If so thank you!

Absolutely! Mind you I've never done this so my apologies if I messed some letters up.

Anakin Skywalker nsfw alphabet

A = Aftercare

Anakin is big on aftercare. If he doesn’t take care of his sweet girl after wearing her out so thoroughly then who will? He’ll cuddle you and make sure you’re okay. Depending on time of day you guys make food together or go out to eat afterwards.

B = Body part

He likes all of his muscles, really. He spent all those years training and loves it when you pine over them. On you, let’s be real, everything. He loves absolutely everything about you. But Anakin is definitely a tits guy. Loves sucking, groping and doing literally anything with them.

C = Cum

Absolutely loves to cum on and in you. Likes to do it on your tits when in missionary and your face when you’re giving him head. It just turns him on even more to see your skin soaked in his release.

D = Dirty secret

Before the two of you ever started dating, Anakin was down bad. Since the cheap holovids weren't cutting it anymore, he'd use the force to make visions of you naked and masturbate off of that. Once he even tried to manipulate your thoughts into having rather inappropriate dreams of him. Never really worked though.

E = Experience

Aotc!Anakin is definitely inexperienced and almost completely clueless. Rots!Anakin on the other hand..This man knows what to do, when and how to please you. He probably knows what you like better than you do.

F = Favorite position

Anakin has a few favorites. He fucks you in missionary and cowgirl the most. His absolute favorite would probably be reverse cowgirl because it’s equally hot and intimate-the way he can be as close, touchy and as foul as he wants really gets him going. He can do anything-play with your tits and clit, spank your ass into oblivion. Even better if it’s in front of a mirror. If you guys are fucking anywhere but the bed and the couch he’ll do it doggystyle. It’s the easiest and most comfortable one, especially in the kitchen and shower. Always up for anything you wanna try.

G = Goofy

Anakin is a tease by nature and I feel like he’d drop a harmless tease when he thinks it’s appropriate. Nothing serious that could ruin the mood though.

H = Hair

He’s not the type to be clean shaven 24/7 but he does his best to keep it neat. Same goes for all the other hair on his body-shaved, gets waxed, gets regular haircuts etc.

I = Intimacy

Absolutely yes. He believes that that’s the first and most important thing to worry about in moments like these. He’s usually super caring during sex and will whisper the sweetest things to you.

J = Jack off

Aotc!Anakin would jerk off a bunch. I’m talking as many times he could fit in a day. He is a horny teenager after all. When he’s on missions with Obi-wan and, for obvious reasons, can’t get a few minutes for himself he’ll get annoyed and frustrated.

Rots!Anakin doesn’t jerk off often. Maybe once or twice every two weeks. Why would he need to? He has you. He only jerks off if you’re not there or he’s away. Prefers to have you do it anyway.

K = Kink

Anakin has the biggest mommy kink but absolutely refuses to acknowledge it because he thinks it’s embarrassing. You definitely know and he acts on it subconsciously. Besides that he’s definitely into praising as well as degrading you. That goes for him, too. He loves being praised especially after a long day.

Also, you can’t convince me he wouldn’t use the force inappropriately. He is the chosen one after all, why not use his ‘special’ abilities for more than good.

L = Location

His favorite is obviously in the comfort of your own home-in your bedroom, kitchen, shower, living room..But if there’s a chance to slip you panties down in a public bathroom or his speeder you best believe he’s taking it.

M = Motivation

Sometimes the mere thought of you is enough to turn him on. He’ll get all hot and bothered if he walks in on you changing/showering and you pay him no mind, just going on with your task. If he hears you let out one of those soft moans when you wake up, especially in the morning, he’ll be as hard as a rock in seconds. Big on foreplay too, he loves it.

N = No

He wouldn’t be down for anything that’ll hurt you (knife play etc..). He also looks like someone who wouldn’t enjoy threesomes that much. Why share when he can have all of you? He’d hate to see some other guys shoving himself down your throat and such.

O = Oral

He’s a sucker for head. He could never get enough of the way your soft lips feel wrapped around him. Loves to see you on your knees, struggling to fit him all the way in as tears blur your vision.

Loves to eat you out too, more for his pleasure than yours. Came just from the noises you make while he’s sucking and lapping at your pussy more times than he’d like to admit.

P = Pace

Always depends on his mood. If you pissed him off earlier in the day or something happened, he’s definitely rough. On every other occasion he asks or goes off of your reactions. If you’re enjoying yourself while he’s slow-he’ll keep it that way. If you ask him to go harder, he will.

Q = Quickie

Depends on the situation. He doesn’t like to rush things with you because he wants it to be special and feel good. But if you’ve been teasing him all day and he’s half hard minutes before he has to leave for a meeting or a mission he won’t think twice before blowing your back out against the wall. He’s always down for it, even in the bathrooms of the Jedi Temple.

R = Risk

If there’s one thing that Anakin does consistently it’s take risks. If the Council is having a meeting in the room next to you, he’ll fuck you harder and faster, make sure you’re one loud mess before placing a hand over your mouth to shut you up.

He’ll definitely look forward to fucking you somewhere semi-public. Just the thought of being able to get cough turns him on even more.

S = Stamina

Considerng he’s spent a lot of time in training, he’s got quite the stamina. But because he’s afraid of hurting you he’ll go for as long as you’ll let him. I feel like he’d be able to last a good 4-5 rounds before it becomes too much and borderline uncomfortable.

T = Toys

Doesn’t use them on himself nor you. Not the biggest fan of them. Why would he waste money on stuff like that when you have each other? I think it would take some convincing to get him to try it and he wouldn't be the biggest fan of it.

U = Unfair

He is unfair. He’ll edge you for as long as he can, either completely denying or drawing out your orgasm. To top it off he’ll be super encouraging and sweet, only making it worse. Likes to tie you up and make you watch him masturbate or lazily tease you with his fingers while typing away at his data pad.

V = Vocal

Absolutely. Anakin whimpers like a baby and I will die on that hill if I have to. It doesn’t matter if he’s top, bottom, receiving or giving head you can hear him always even if it’s soft grunts and puffs. And he’ll be all proud of it, not even attempting to tone it down because 1) the Jedi Temple walls are thick; and 2) he knows you’re a sucker for it. He’ll be all up in your ear moaning and huffing with every thrust.

W = Wild card

I previously mentioned Anakin using the force. Sometimes he’ll think his skills (both bedroom and Jedi) aren’t enough and he has this weird fantasy of making you cum just by using his mind-aka the force. He’ll sometimes try to do so while you guys are already having sex, just to see if he can make you cum faster. And boy, it does not disappoint when you’re basically shaking under him in seconds. Definitely boosts his ego.

He’d never admit it because he doesn’t know how to approach the whole conversation and is afraid of your reaction, but he’s been thinking about fucking you in your sleep. A lot. He’ll wake up randomly throughout the night or earlier than you in the morning and be painfully hard. He’s never acted on it because he never asked and he doesn’t want to cross any boundaries. There’s just something appealing about you completely submitting to him and not being able to do anything about it. He doesn’t even have to fuck you properly, if you let him slip his cock through those thighs he’ll be more than happy.

X = X-ray

I’m thinking somewhere around 6.5-7 inches. Nothing huge-just big enough for you to feel full. It’s thick so he definitely stretches you out good before stuffing you full of him. I’d say he has prominent veins you can feel wether you’re stroking him or sucking him off.

Y = Yearning

Anakin is the textbook definition of yearning. This man would do anything for you. He’s cuddly and clingy in the comfort of your own home it’s weird to see him so serious and stoic in meetings or in public. Though he’s definitely not afraid to display affection in public. He’ll leave a lingering kiss, wrap an arm around your shoulders and stare at you with those love-sick eyes like there’s no tomorrow. He’s very proud to be with you and makes sure you know you’re his priority at all times.

Z = Zzz

I just know he already has issues with sleeping because of his nightmares. That doesn’t mean he won’t be knocked out in a span of 5 minutes if you guys have been at it for a while. He would try his best to never fall asleep before you do though, he needs to make sure you’re satisfied and just as sleepy as him before he lets himself rest. Very cuddly in his sleep too.

A/n: Sorry for not posting I was busy studying for mocks. Honestly I got so cooked I should’ve just written fanfiction instead😭😭

[bluntzah]

COME & SEE ME FOR ONCE ੈ♡˳

♫ sza — 2AM. nav ; m.list.

word count. 1.9k

warnings. mentions of unhealthy relationships, sexual + graphic content, please review all warnings before proceeding. i’m not responsible for what you choose to engage or interact with.

summary. you support hamzah’s media hustle, but his constant absence hurts. when he leaves again mid-fuck, you’re left wondering if love is enough when you always come last to this motherfucker.

Your boyfriend is a busy man. Hamzah dedicates a lot of his time to filming for YouTube, constantly creating content, brainstorming ideas, and bringing them to life. From the beginning, you knew what you were signing up for. He made it clear that he takes his YouTube career seriously. Of course you supported it. You always backed Hamzah in whatever he chose to do: if he likes it, you loved it. That was all that mattered to you.

There was never a moment you didn’t have Hamzah’s back. No matter what he needed, you were there. If he ever forgot something important: whether at your place or his: off filming something with Mandy and Martin, you’d step in without hesitation. Sometimes that meant driving across town in the middle of your own busy day, retracing his steps to find whatever he left behind. Other times, it meant calling in a favor from a friend, asking them to go out of their way just to make sure he had what he needed to keep filming.

You supported your boyfriend more than anything in the world. His passion, his grind: you admired it, stood by that shit alongside him, never ever asked him to slow down. But that didn’t mean his absence didn’t sting sometimes.

On nights out with your girlfriends: dressed up, laughing, dancing at the club — you’d catch their boyfriends with them. Arms wrapped around their waists, sharing drinks, stealing kisses between freaky ass songs.

And then there was you sipping your drink alone, smiling through it, but feeling disappointed. Not because you doubted his love, but because you wished, once in a fuckin’ blue moon, he had the time to be there. To pull you close, to make memories outside of his hustle.

You knew exactly what you were signing up for: he made it clear from the start. And you accepted it, with your chest. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt sometimes, even just a little. That being said, every moment you do get with him, you hold onto like it’s gold. Just like now, this moment you’re in, making it count.

It’s a Saturday. You’re beneath Hamzah in his warm sheets, his body pressed close in missionary. Each deep thrust has his cock sliding in and out of you, your squishy walls gripping him greedily.

You love every second of it. After a long week of barely seeing your boyfriend, with him pulled in every direction but yours, having him this close making you feel so good feels like oxygen. So you take full advantage: hooking one leg around his waist, your heel pressing into his lower back, urging him so much deeper.

“Mm—missed you so much… missed your cock so bad,” you breathe out, lips parted and trembling. Your hand finds Hamzah’s, the one wrapped around your throat, and you guide it downward, over your collarbone, until it cups your breast.

“Work, baby… y’know that,” Hamzah murmurs, he gently brushes a strand of hair from your face. Needing nothing in the way of your beauty, needing to see the way your eyes slowly go cross from how good he’s making you feel. Especially after a week without him inside you — it had been pure torture.

“I know…” you whimper, hips rolling up in a desperate plea for more. “Just miss you. Feels like we’re never this close anymore…” You’re not sure if it’s the way you’re so drunk on his dick or the raw honesty slipping from your lips, but something in your voice makes Hamzah pause. His thrusts slow, then stop completely, buried deep inside you.

He went unmoving for a minute — clearly caught in some thought. You were just about to ask what was on his mind when, without a breath, he moved. He flipped the two of you over, his back hitting the mattress, and you landing on top. His hands gripped your hips, lifting you, positioning you exactly where he wanted.

“What…” you start to ask, but he cuts you off with action instead of words. His cock presses against your soaked folds, lining himself up before guiding you down onto him. You don’t resist at all, clutching his shoulders, the muscle of his meat beneath your fingers as you slowly sink onto him, taking him in with a choked breath, the stretch as delicious as the way he fills you.

He was stretching you so deeply, that your head began to fall against his shoulder, a soft moan running out your lips. “Nah, don’t drift,” he murmured, wrapping an arm tighter around your waist. “You just said we’re never this close… and you’re right. So let me feel you all close like this.”

You lifted your head, only for him to wrap his arms around you, pulling you into a hug. The kind of hug you’d normally hate from anyone else, the kind that made you feel caged. But with Hamzah, in this angle, it felt different. His tip brushed your g-spot just right, making you shiver.

He fucked up into you, syncing his thrusts with your bounces. Yes, yes, yes. You needed this so desperately, especially after the week you’d had. The way he hit that perfect spot perfectly sent a spurt of euphoria through you, as the pleasure made your eye twitch shut. You missed this, missed him. Missed the way your bodies fit so perfectly as he moved inside you, hitting every spot just right. Even his soft whimpers, those deep moans had you seeing stars: they were incredibly sexy.

You’d been craving this, aching shitless for it. That beautiful heat between you was everything… until Hamzah’s phone rang from the desk: it began buzzing once. He didn’t move. You opened your mouth to ask, but he silenced you with a kiss, his hand sliding up to pinch your breast just right, drawing a soft gasp from your lips he swallowed whole.

The second time it rang, your eyes flicked toward it again. Hamzah gently turned your face back to him, brushing your jaw. Focus on him. On how good he was making you feel. And you did — rolling your hips to meet his, lips parted as dirty moans slipped through your teeth.

By the third ring, your patience cracked. “Just answer the fuckin’ call,” you muttered, frustrated as you lifted yourself off him and swung your legs over the bed.

It’s not that you wanted to be a bitch for the fuck of it, but you seen the way his phone, and that call, started to circle his mind. That was the whole reason you kept looking over, because his lifting of his hips into you slowed and he started to dissociate slightly. You rather him take the damn call than think of something else while he’s inside you. You’re not fuckin’ with it.

If it’s on his mind that much, then let him take the damn call. The fact that he doesn’t even protest just proves your point even more.

You started slipping on your panties, one foot through the hole after the other. Hamzah grabbed his phone, sliding his thumb across the screen to accept the call, bringing it to his ear. One hand rested on his hip, his bare ass cheeks and back turned toward you.

You grabbed Hamzah’s old shirt and slipped it on, not bothering with a bra. This was your boyfriend’s house, and the only company besides you was him and his cats.

Hamzah kept talking on the phone, brown eyes moving to you every few seconds. He held the phone between his ear and shoulder as he peeled off the condom, tossed it in the trash, and reached for the boxers he’d flung on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, I’ll be there in like five or six minutes,” he said, slipping them on.

You almost wanted to roll your eyes: of course the one rare moment you two had alone had to be interrupted.

A voice was heard on the other end, followed by the sound of clicking. Hamzah set his phone down on the bed, grabbing his pants and stepping into them. “I’ll make it up to you soon, baby—swear on my life,” he said with guilt. “Martin lost some footage for a video due in a few days, and we’ve got to reshoot it.”

He pulled on his socks, then slid into his shoes as he sat at the edge of the bed. You moved toward him until you were right behind him. Leaning in, you pressed a soft kiss to the side of his neck, then another, and another.

He let himself melt into you, leaning into the presses of your lips as they brushed over his skin. A tickle went through him when you kissed just over his pulse, the spot so sensitive it made him tilt his head. His nose brushed yours before he moved closer, until his mouth found your bottom lip, catching it between his own and giving it a suck before releasing it with a pull.

“I’ll make it up to you. Promise.” he repeated, but deep down, you knew he wouldn’t. The cycle would just keep repeating itself. He couldn’t even give you a full hour before something or someone else pulled him away. This wasn’t the first time it had happened, not by far. It had been the routine most of the times you two had been together. It was frustrating.

“You aren’t.” You said. Hamzah blinked a couple of times, clearly confused. “What?” he asked, and this time, you almost wanted to shout it at him. You were sure you talked clearly with no stutter.

“I said.” You take a deep breath. “You aren’t. You aren’t gonna make shit up. This is like, what? The hundredth time this happened? You and Martin just film shit and don’t save it or something?” You know this is going to annoy him. He’s told you many times what he does for work and what packages come with it. But it’s just so frustrating to stay silent.

“Don’t start with that,” Hamzah muttered as he grabbed his shirt and pulled it on. “I told you—” But you cut him off, already knowing what was coming next. “Yes, I know, you warned me about what I was getting into,” you rolled your eyes. “But it’s so hard when I just want to spend time with my boyfriend, and he’s always caught up with something. Or when we finally do get time together, it feels half assed. What, Martin gives you an hour to push your dick inside me, and then it’s straight back to filming?”

When you finally stopped talking, you let out a quiet huff, arms crossing over your chest out of instinct. “Are you done?” Hamzah asked, clearly referring to your rant. The way he said it made your blood boil even more: like he wasn’t taking a single word you said seriously.

You rolled your eyes and looked away. It always felt like he wasn’t really listening: your words going in one ear and right out the other.

When he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead, mumbling a casual “Bye, babe,” you didn’t say a word. You didn’t even glance at him. The only sound was the jingle of his keys as he walked out the door, leaving you there, barely covered in his shirt, lying alone in his bed, while he just… left.

[saffusthings]

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part thirty-four: so close, yet so far

word count: 5.0k

warnings: this chapter includes descriptions of unhealthy behavior and alcohol abuse. reader discretion is advised.

thirty-three | thirty-four | thirty-five

They sat outside the little bakery, elbows brushing on the cramped metal table, half-eaten pastries between them. The hot chocolate here was decent — she wouldn’t go so far as to say good — and she teased him for it with a smile and a glint in her eye that made something in his chest warm a little.

They spent their time passing wordless judgement on the terrible playlist overhead, debating whether almond croissants were overrated, flicking stray crumbs at one another. Liam was unusually quiet, but she tried to let it be.

The two of them sat in the corner by the windows, sharing a perfectly toasted almond croissant and a pair of mismatched mugs. She furrowed her brows at how much of his drink still remained in his cup, likely gone. When she looked up at him, she found his eyes already on her.

He tilted his head with a knowing smirk. “What, have I got powder sugar on my face again?”

She smiled around the rim of her coffee cup. “Maybe.”

He chuckled, low and short. Then his eyes flickered back to the street outside, distant for a breath. It was then that she brought it up, all tentative and careful. “You mentioned your brothers. Um, the other night.”

The words felt like skipping stones — light on the surface, hiding how deep they wanted to go.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment, drawing out the word like he was stalling. He stirred his coffee absentmindedly, though it didn’t need it. “I did. I mean, I do.”

“Will I…. ever get to meet them?” she asked, aiming for lightness but hearing her hesitation betray her.

The man across from her shrugged, casual but too quick about it. “Eh, they’re all usually pretty busy.”

It was a bad excuse. She knew it. He knew she knew it.

“They sound pretty important to you,” she said instead, trying again, busying her fingers by folding and unfolding her paper napkin.

You’re important to me too, she didn’t say.

Lando's posture shifted, barely, but enough. There was a slight stiffening of his shoulders, and a tension in his jaw. He still held the coffee, but he wasn’t drinking anymore.

It hit her then—that twitchy, haunted kind of defensiveness he slipped into when something precious was threatened. Like if he admitted it mattered, the world would hear it and take it away.

The wave of vulnerability had apparently passed, and she’d have to wait patiently until the tide rolled in again. That seemed to be a pattern with him, she’d noticed – sometimes he’d unknowingly show her a glimpse of his heart, holding it out with careful, trembling hands like it was something precious to be held. But moments later he’d retreat within himself once again as soon as he was aware of what he’d done. That’s when he’d put the soft parts of himself away where no one could reject or abandon them like he had once been.

Her gaze traced over his silhouette against the soft light that emanated through the murky sky outside, the passing clouds casting flickering shadows over the contours of his face.  

“Don’t leave me.”

“Just… please. Stay.”

“Last night… it shouldn't have happened.”

She breathed deeply and gave him a sad little smile, the kind that didn’t ask for anything back.

“It’s okay,” Y/N said softly. “I didn’t mean to push.”

I just wanted to be part of your world. I wanted to meet the people that matter most to you. I wanted to be part of your world the way you are part of mine.

He said nothing.

She set the napkin down. Even though it was soundless, it still felt loud to her somehow. “I was only curious. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry.”

A beat of silence passed. Then another. She could just feel herself flushing with the awkwardness of it, a hot undercurrent of regret crawling up her spine as her face grew hot unpleasantly. 

Stupid, stupid, you always want too much—

But then he spoke, voice low and rough around the edges.

“I… Just…”

He seemed to struggle to find the words. 

“Give me a little time, yeah?”

She blinked, startled.

He wasn’t looking directly at her anymore — his thumb brushed over the rim of the mug like he needed something to do with his hands — but even she could tell that his words were real, earnest in a way that almost hurt to hear.

Her heart twisted, traitorous and tender all at once.

“Okay,” she whispered, smiling at him through it, even when it hurt. “Take all the time you need.”

I’ll wait as long as it takes.

The awkwardness didn’t quite leave after that, shifting and swirling between them like smoke. But there was something else beneath it too. It was a sincerity – a thread tying them together, thin and invisible, tugging a little tighter with every truth shared.

Outside, the clouds floated between all the shades of grey, like even the sky couldn't decide whether it was going to storm. Y/N watch people stroll past the windows, deep in conversation and huddled together, wearing their sweaters and light coats.

Inside, she watched Liam stir his coffee too many times and thought:

I’ll wait. As long as it takes.

Meanwhile, Lando’s thoughts had already drifted well beyond the cold coffee in front of him. Being reminded of his ‘brothers’ made a pang of guilt go through his chest. Even the image of his parents grave didn’t fail to remind him of a different one — the solid granite headstone that he placed with his own two hands after he buried his friend. 

He needed to be more careful if he wanted to make sure he didn’t make a mistake again. He would die before he let anyone lay a hand on them again. He’d die before he let anyone lay a hand on her. It would be a cold day in hell before he let them take someone else away from him again.

No matter how much he wished he could continue to live in these half-delusions of stolen moments of peace that lived far away from the blood running down the back alleys of Monte Carlo, he knew that he was also the one who would have to put his gloves on and get his hands dirty. 

After all, there was dirty work to be done, and there was no man in all of Monaco who was better at what he did than Lando Norris. 

It was a few days later when the large door to Lando’s office creaked open hesitantly.

When Carlos stepped through the heavy oak doors to the boss’s office, he half-expected to find it empty, like it had been most nights lately. Truth be told, the rest of the Circle still hadn’t quite gotten used to Lando being gone so much now, to him haunting someone else’s walls instead of his own more often than not.

But tonight, the old desk lamp was the only thing lighting the room, throwing warped shadows across the mess inside. Carlos stopped short.

When he looked inside, he froze.

Papers carpeted almost everything in sight – the desk, the floor, even pinned to the walls. The walls were littered with a hodgepodge of photos, CCTV stills, maps, receipts, scraps of connection that barely held together. A timeline snaked across the length of the room, erratic and angry with time stamps circled in red pen several times over. Eleven from where he stood, he could distinguish certain images in the sea of evidence. 

Grainy street cam images of a blurred figure moving past the caféA printed photograph of the type of knife used on DanielCross-references between the Leclercs and Gasly’s crew, the names scrawled with a furious hand. Points of contact. Suspected hideouts.

It looked like the inside of a man’s unraveling mind.

In the center of it all, Lando Norris stood like a statue, pale under the dim light, staring at it with the hollow-eyed intensity of a man who hadn’t slept right in days. Maybe longer.

One hand raked through his messy curls, his other hand drumming against a photo of the front of Brews & Books hard enough that the edge bent under his fingers. Lando didn’t look up when he spoke. His voice was low and scratchy, raw from misuse.

"Y’need something?"

Carlos swallowed thickly. "No, boss. Just… erm, I am just checking in."

For a long moment, the only sound was the relentless tap of Lando’s fingers. Carlos carefully stepped closer, unsure whether approaching was the right thing to do. It was only when came near that he was able to notice that the room wasn’t the only thing unusual. Lando wore an unfamiliar expression on his face, dark circles under his eyes and he seemed to be muttering something under his breath until Carlos came to stand beside him.

“There’s something missing," he said, voice low but shaking with fury. "I keep going over it. In my head, in the street cams, Logan’s pictures, the data—"

He turned around, his hand suddenly slamming down and sweeping across the desk, sending papers, pens, an old coffee mug crashing to the floor. Even the Spaniard flinched back, caught off guard.

"It doesn’t make any fucking sense!" he bellowed, chest heaving. Lando leaned over the desk, his hands gripping the edge so tightly his knuckles went bloodless. For a second, it looked like he might tear the whole thing apart with his bare hands.

Lando ran his hands through his hair yet again, standing up only to begin pacing his office back and forth like some caged animal. He spoke again then, but this time quieter, his voice colder than ice.

"I’ll kill them."

His dark eyes were wild, glittering in the dim light.

 "I’ll hunt ‘em down like dogs," he whispered. "Corner them like the fuckin’ rats they are.”

“Mate, what are you saying? If–”

It was like the Brit didn’t even hear him.

“I’ll break his fingers one by one so he can’t ever hold a weapon again. I’ll cut his tongue out before he can even think of fucking lying to me. I'll– I’ll find something he loves and rip it apart right in front of him so he knows what it feels like."

His voice dropped even lower to something more sinister. He stood, pacing the room, hands running through his hair, eyes wild as he rambled like a madman.

“What they took…” His voice trembled as if he could hardly speak the words, fury rising in his chest. “What they took from us, from me, from– from her…”

He froze, as if suddenly realizing something. His gaze darkened. “How dare they try to fuckin’ touch her? How fucking dare they?”

He turned abruptly, fixing Carlos with a look that made his blood run cold. “They made a mistake. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure they pay for it. I’ll teach them a lesson, alright. I’ll find their weakness because everyone has one. And when I do…”

He clenched his fists, teeth grinding together, his voice now dripping with malevolence. “I’ll find Leclerc. I’ll– I’ll rip him apart if I have to. I’ll leave him on the floor, gutted, so everyone will know. So everyone will see what happens when you try to take what’s mine!”

Carlos, still standing in the doorway, took a deep breath, forcing himself to swallow the knot in his throat. “Lando…” he said, his voice barely a whisper, “We need to talk about this, hermano. You are not thinking straight.”

But Lando didn’t answer him. He was already back at the desk, his eyes locked on the screens, desperately searching for something that would make everything fall into place, a last missing piece.

He wouldn’t rest until he found it.

Lando’s hands shook as he sifted through the files again, muttering to himself. He was practically stumbling now, so consumed by the need to find answers, to pinpoint the one thing that would make all of this make sense. His eyes were wide, dark with frustration, and the bottle of whiskey had already been cracked open, half-gone, and yet he kept reaching for it.

“Alright, no more drinks tonight,” Carlos grimaced, scrunching his nose at the pungent smell of alcohol from Lando’s breath. He took a half glass that Lando seemed to have forgotten about for the time being and poured it into a potted plant nearby instead. “And when is the last time you slept, eh?”

Carlos moved to the other side of the desk as he watched Lando focus intently on pouring himself a new glass. He gently plucked it from his hand and set it down far out of his rech, hoping he was too inebriated by now to go after it. He wasn’t too far off, it seemed, as Lando just went on, lost in his thoughts.

“Fuckin’ gunman was too smart,” Lando muttered, eyes glazed over. He didn’t even notice Carlos moving the glass. “He avoids all the cameras, didn’t leave a trace. Look, see? He uses the hat. I hate hats like that.”

Carlos turned his attention to where Lando was rapidly pointing between a series of photos, snapshots of the gunman leaving the scene of the shooting that killed that old lady. 

Lando continued, undeterred by the lack of audible response. “S’not… messy, y’know? He’s not– not arrogant like Gasly or Leclerc. They would’ve been more sloppy. They don’t give a shit No, this guy’s... this guy’s different. He’s, uh, tall. Tall and fast. Maybe… Maybe it could be Esteban? Yeah, yeah... but Esteban doesn’t have the cause…”

Carlos bit back a sigh, sitting down across from him. He didn’t want to interrupt, but he couldn’t let Lando keep spiraling like this.

“But if it’s not Esteban,” Lando continued, his voice rising in pitch, the frustration clear, and he stumbled over his words, “then who the fuck is it? Who’s fast enough, who’s quick enough to get in and out like that? The little one? What his fuckin’ name, the little Leclerc… Him, maybe?”

Carlos didn’t even get a chance to butt in, before lando cut himself off, mind whirling faster than even he could keep up. “It could, he’s fast, but–” He growled in frustration. “But– No, no, he’s too young, too dumb. Fuck! I don’t know.”

He slammed his fist onto the desk again, hard enough to make the bookshelves tremble against the walls.

Carlos’s voice was calm, soothing, though the older man was struggling to keep his own anxiety in check. “Lando, you need to take it easy, mate. You are not going to figure this out in one night. You need to sleep. You need to rest.”

But of course, Lando was well beyond hearing him. His mind was running a thousand miles a minute, trying to piece together the jumbled mess of thoughts that never seemed to fit. He was a man unraveling at the seams, and all Carlos could do was watch, powerless.

“Charles — no, it’s not him, not his height,” Lando muttered, shaking his head violently, his fingers gripping the edge of the desk. “It has to be someone on his fucking behalf. Someone quick, young, someone who could’ve gotten in and out fast... but who? Fucking who, Carlos?”

Carlos leaned forward, trying his best to keep his voice level yet again. “We don’t know, hermano. Let’s slow down, alright? We’ll figure it out, but you need to take a step back.”

But Lando’s eyes were wild, unfocused. He wasn’t listening. “It’s Pierre,” he hissed, almost to himself. “It’s Pierre who would’ve known about her shift—Kika works with her. He could’ve... he could’ve known when she was there.”

Carlos knew there was no use in trying to reason with him right now. Lando had worked himself into a frenzy, and the more Carlos tried to calm him down, the more agitated he became. It was like watching a man fighting himself, and Carlos wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this up.

He couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Lando,” Carlos said, his voice sharp. “Stop! Just— stop it. You are not thinking straight. This isn’t right.”

But Lando wasn’t listening. He wasn’t even aware that Carlos had been speaking. He grabbed another file, tossing it across the desk, frustrated. “I’ve got the CCTV, I’ve got Logan’s pictures, I’ve got the bullet shells—what the fuck am I missing? What is it?” His voice cracked, barely audible now. “I’m so fucking close.”

That’s it.

Carlos sat back, his mind racing. He couldn’t let Lando keep going like this. It was clear he wasn’t going to listen to reason, not like this. The younger man was running on empty, and the all the liquor he’d consumed wasn’t helping. The man needed rest, not more whiskey. He needed someone to help him see past the blur.

With a deep breath, Carlos made the call.

“Max,” he said quietly, into the phone. “Lando’s... not alright. Can you come get him? He’s not in a good place right now.”

As the conversation ended, Lando continued to ramble, his words barely making sense, his movements jerky. “I’ll get them, Carlos,” he muttered, his voice lower, darker. “I’ll fucking get them for what they did. To her. To me. To Daniel.”

Carlos stood up, his hand on Lando’s shoulder, trying to guide him away from the desk. “Come on, mate. You’ve been at this for almost two days. You need rest. You’re not gonna get answers like this.”

Lando didn’t respond. He just stared at the wall, his jaw clenched tight, his eyes dull and bloodshot.

Max Fewtrell arrived moments later, his face taut with worry. He looked at Carlos and then at Lando, who had fallen silent, his body sagging as if the fight had been drained out of him.

“Take him home,” Carlos said, his voice resigned. “He needs sleep. He needs... something.”

Max nodded, walking over to Lando and gently taking hold of his arm. “Come on, mate,” he said softly. “Let’s get you out of here.”

There was an odd knock at the door. Not urgent or rhythmic, just... offbeat and uneven.

Unfamiliar.

Carefully, she opened it to find a stranger standing there, slightly out of breath, his arm slung firmly around a half-conscious Liam. Liam, who looked like he’d been poured into the shape of a man and then left out to dry, his form rumpled, sagging, his eyes glazed.

“Hi,” the stranger said, awkwardly clearing his throat. He appeared young, likely around Liam’s age, if she had to guess. He seemed well kept, so she could probably rule out him being one of those weirdos that lived down the block. “I— I’m Max. He’s, uh...” He gestured down to the weight dragging on his side. “He’s drunk. I think he could use some company tonight.”

She nodded once, her hand already reaching out for Lando’s weight. “Thank you for bringing him home, Max.”

Max gave a small smile, half-gratitude and half-apology. “Yeah. Of course.” He hesitated, as if he wanted to say something more, but Lando groaned and shifted, and that was cue enough. 

Instead, what he said was, “He’s heavier than he looks. Good luck.”

With a nod, Max turned and disappeared down the hallway and into the night.

She eased Liam inside, his full weight slumping into her side until he was half-carried, half-dragged to the couch. He mumbled something that might’ve been her name, or perhaps it was a string of consonants meant to sound like it. Lando leaned more of his weight against her. “Smells like you,” he mumbled, somewhere between recognition and comfort, and she huffed a laugh, guiding him inside.

“Yeah, well. That tends to happen when you’re in my apartment.”

“Mm,” he hummed.

When she dropped him gently onto the cushions, he sighed as if he’d been holding tension in for hours.

Then, he blinked up at her.

“You were reading,” he slurred, his eyes falling on the book still splayed open on the armrest. “You always read.”

“Well, yes. I like reading,” she replied with a soft smile, moving to tidy up the blanket he’d bunched with his elbow.

He reached out suddenly, his fingers catching a lock of her hair between them. “I like your hair.”

Her breath caught, half-amused. “You told me that last week.”

“I did?” He frowned, like the thought surprised him. Then his face relaxed into a crooked smile. “Smart me.”

Once she got him settled on the couch, she helped him out of his jacket one sleeve at a time. He flopped back with a groan, arm over his face like the light hurt.

“You okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. His hand dropped to the side, head turning until his gaze settled on the book she’d set face down on the coffee table.

Her fingers brushed the hair back from his forehead, and he sighed like the tension was melting from his spine. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The TV flickered quietly in the background, the only sound in the room besides the rhythm of his breathing.

“I don’t like being drunk,” he admitted softly, voice slurred but honest.

“Then why’d you drink?”

He paused at that. She leaned back to look at him , waiting patiently to listen to his answer like it mattered.

“Because if I stopped thinking tonight, I thought maybe I’d stop feeling too.”

She didn’t respond right away. Truthfully, she didn’t know what to say – so she settled for saying nothing. Instead, she just ran her thumb along his temple, slow and steady.

He looked up at her then — not smiling, not joking, just watching her like he needed to memorize the shape of her kindness.

“I like it here,” he said, voice quiet as if he was sharing a secret someone else might accidently overhear. “With you.”

She could’ve said something witty, or maybe even deflected like she always did. But tonight, she just whispered, “Good. You know you’re always welcome to stay.”

He smiled again, sleepier this time and let his eyes fall closed for a long blink as he leaned his head back against the couch.

“Don’t disappear, yeah?” he mumbled.

“I won’t,” she promised, soft and sincere. “I’m not going anywhere.”

After Y/N returned from the kitchen with some electrolytes and pain medication for the inevitable hangover he’d suffer tomorrow, she returned to find him sitting up again, halfway between sleep and consciousness. His eyelids were fluttering, barely hanging on. 

He reached for her before he could stop himself, one of his hands curling itself loosely around her wrist, the pad of his thumb tracing absent, slow circles against her skin. There was nothing sexual or even intentional about it – just a kind of tethering, like he didn’t want to drift too far.

“You’re good t’me,” he mumbled, barely comprehensible. “Don’t get it. But I like it.”

Her heart fluttered so rapidly that it felt like her breath had escaped her, and took anything she could have thought to say along with it. She focused on the only thing she still could, just brushing his hair back from his face with her, feeling something soft and stupid settle in her chest.

Finally, the soothing motion of her hand stopped, causing him to blink  groggily. “Alright, buddy,” she murmured, “let’s get you horizontal. You should probably get some proper rest.”

He blinked owlishly, looking up at her as if it was his first time ever seeing her. “But you were readin’.” he slurred.

She glanced at the book she’d put aside when she heard Max knock on the door. “Yeah, I was.”

“That’s nice. You read nice things.”

“I try to,” she laughed. “Come on, lay back before you fall over, stupid.”

“Nice,” he said, genuinely. “You’ve got the kind of face that should always be near a book. Or in a paintin’. Or…” He swayed. “In my lap. Wait—no. Me? My head. In your lap.”

She couldn’t help it — she snorted. “You’re so articulate when you’re drunk.”

“Mm, yes, ’m very talented,” he replied solemnly, then immediately missed the couch by a few inches and collapsed half-on, half-off it with a dull thump.

She rolled her eyes, crouching beside him to help maneuver his limbs. “Alright, Casanova, come on.” She guided him up and onto the cushions, and when she finally sat down, he immediately curled onto his side and nudged his head into her lap like it was where he belonged.

She froze for just a second — surprised at how naturally he did it, how much he seemed to trust her this way. Her fingers hovered over his curls, indecisive, before she allowed them to settle there gently, simply resting their comfortable weight.

Oh, Liam. Why do you do this to me?

It took what was probably a concerning amount of effort for her to try and breath very, very slowly in hopes that it would quiet the way her heart was hammering against her ribs. It would be quite embarrassing if he could hear it.

Mortifying, really.

Just as soon as she’d deemed her efforts mostly successful, his eyes fluttered closed before opening again slowly, like he was afraid he’d miss something if he blinked too long. 

His fingers brushed her wrist again, then lazily trailed to the hem of her sleeve. He smiled up at her, squinting like she was glowing under a sun only he could see.

“So pretty, you are,” he murmured, words thick and slow. “Can’t believe you’re real.”

Oh, fuck me.

You can’t just say things like that.

To his credit, however, it was hard to distinguish of he was even aware he’d said that aloud, or if he simply thought he was talking to himself. She raised an eyebrow, amused. “I’m, uh, I am very real, I assure you.”

Apparently satisfied with her answer, his eyes fluttered closed. “Mm. Dunno, you feel like a dream. Like, the good kind. One of the good ones. The ones you wake up from and try to fall back asleep for.”

She swallowed, heart tripping over itself.

“Liam…”

Her heart gave a quiet, reluctant thud.

“You should sleep,” she said gently, brushing a few stray curls from his forehead. It was like she couldn’t help it – hopefully, he’d be too hungover in the morning to remember any of this.

“But you were reading.” He blinked up at her, almost pouting. “Read to me?”

“I’m not reading that to you,” she laughed, nodding at the very nonfiction-looking book. “You’ll have nightmares about European history.”

He hummed like that was a genuine concern. “You’ll protect me?”

She smiled despite herself. “From Napoleon?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Of course. Always.”

A beat passed. He blinked slowly, his long lashes brushing his cheeks. Y/N had always found it remarkably unfair how he naturally had such long beautiful lashes, ne that framed his eyes so perfectly it was like God personally wanted her to suffer knowing how beautiful his eyes were 

“I like your laugh,” he murmured, already drifting. “And your hands. And your whole… you-ness.”

She didn’t answer. She just kept brushing his hair back, slower now. His breathing evened out, lips slightly parted, finally quiet in a way she hadn’t seen him all week.

“Can you still read to me? I just… I like hearing your voice.”

She couldn’t help but smile at the way he asked, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “Hm? Y- yeah, of course. Just relax, you can close your eyes too, if you want to.”

Lando’s lips twitched in a sleepy grin, and he gave her a slow nod, letting his body go limp. She wasn’t sure if he’d heard her last words, but he wasn’t fighting it anymore — his tiredness was taking over. She turned to the book, brushing a few stray hairs away from his forehead as she began reading lowly in the quiet room.

He shifted a bit, restless at first, but she kept going, her voice steady and warm as she read. It wasn’t anything special, really — just the hum of her voice and the rustle of pages. But then he shifted again, and again, clearly unable to get comfortable.

She paused, glancing down at him. “Hey, something wrong?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his hand, tentative and slow, stretched up from his side and reached for her free one. She blinked, unsure at first, but then she let him take her hand. He pulled it gently to his head, bringing her fingers to lightly brush against the soft strands of his hair, as if seeking permission.

This boy will be the death of me.

She didn’t question it. She just let him, sensing the need for something more than what words could give him right now.

A small smile tugged at her lips as she began to play with his hair, the soft, rhythmic motion easing into something natural. His head tilted slightly, almost imperceptibly, as he leaned into her touch.

Without saying anything else, she resumed reading. It was a slow, gentle ebb of words, her voice falling into a soothing lull as the minutes passed. By the time she reached the end of the page, his breathing had already deepened, soft and steady. 

He was out like a light — his face relaxed like’d never known anything but sleep as restful as this. Like he’d never known stress, or fear, or grief. Like those things would never be able to reach him again.

Even once she stopped reading out loud, she couldn’t help but smile to herself, continuing to run her fingers through his hair as he slept. Something in the quiet comfort of that moment made her chest tighten, but in the best way — like she was finally allowed to just be, without the weight of the world pressing down on her, or him. Like she was allowed one more glimpse of him, another sliver of this dream she’d begun to crave so deeply.

It was a pocket of peace, the two of them in this bubble. The last thought she remembered having as her own eyelids began to drift close was how much she wished she could freeze this moment in time, a snow globe capturing the sweetest of dreams.

a/n: i'm so sorry this wasn't out when promised. yesterday was a shit day. sorry if this is shit.

[whyohwhydoris]

This. This right here. And, even if you play online, there are good tools that don't put money directly in the pockets of a company which treats far too many of its employees poorly, and is increasingly trying to turn D&D into a micro-transaction laden hell.

To start: Books are, for the most part, permanent. Sure, they can get damaged, but WotC can and will change D&D Beyond on you without notice. I play with a large club, and I have actively seen problems where players have built and specced characters, only for changes on the backend to effect how the characters play.

But, more importantly, if you use the books and use the character sheet and roll your dice? I have noticed that most players are better when they do these things.

This isn't to say you have to use paper though, at 36 dollars a year for D&D beyond, you can buy enough pens paper to play a lot. And, of course, there are those for whom tools like D&D Beyond are important for accessibility (though, I would still prefer to see other tools used, that isn't on those who need the accessibility so much at the community to make the tools comparable).

But, when you are looking through the books as books, when you are actively cross-referencing, when you are writing things down and taking notes you start to understand the systems more fluidly.

This is really obvious with spells. Because a lot of spells are picked once and kept, a lot of players will only ever use well-known spells like fireball. This is exacerbated by tools like D&D Beyond, where it is difficult to look through all the spells you can take and compare them. But, having the book in front of you lets quickly look at spells, compare them, consider them related to each other. It is easy to flip between two pages and read text. It is hard to load back and forth through 3 different web pages on your phone. D&D beyond tanks spell discoverability.

It also makes using your abilities harder because you have to conform to WotC's classifications of your abilities. You know how you want to play your character - this means you can easily format your sheet to bolster your character. Do you have two features you like to combo together? Make the notes next to each other. Is there an obscure rule interaction you're abusing? Put the page number on your character sheet. Is some campaign revaluation really important? You're already charting your character - notes are an easy extra.

So, that's great, but how does that make players better? The example that jumps to mind is find familiar. Rules-as-Written, the Giant Fly is a valid form for the find-familiar spell. It's a large creature with a flying speed, and would be a willing creature. A level 1 wizard could have a flying mount. D&D Beyond will not suggest this to you. What it will do is quick link to the stat blocks for the creatures suggested in the spell. This limits the way a player views the mechanics. It become mentally prescriptive. Where as using the books requires you to look up the stat-blocks independently, and makes it more obvious that what you're looking for is a CR 0 Beast statblock, any CR 0 Beast statblock, to choose as you please. To me, a better player is the player who realizes that interaction, and who can now interact with the mechanics directly, and not just by selecting off a menu. It's the difference between cooking your own meals and buying frozen dinners.

Similarly, D&D Beyond doesn't make it easy to scrawl "True Strike @ Level 7" next to your cantrips to remind yourself that your greatsword (Graze mastery) wielding Eldritch Knight should take the cantrip at level 7 (when "War Magic" kicks in) for a guaranteed 1d6+int radiant damage per turn. When you get cantrips at level 3, Truestrike isn't actually that good for an Eldritch Knight - it lets you change the damage type, and makes the attack magic, but neither of those is super important at level 3. By level 5, it is an actively bad choice. But at level 7, it becomes a really quite good choice. But that series of interactions is hard to see when you're trying to interact with your character as they are at level 3 or 5, and not actively cross referencing all the time.

But, I think the most important example I can think of is filtering information. A lot of abilities, spells, and equipment have large text blocks that you need to be able to extract the key facets of. What I see at the tables I play at and DM is that players are constantly reading entire paragraphs of text to find the small segment about what they are allowed to do. When you play the game with a character sheet and the books, you can write down the 2-3 important facts you need, and a page number. I actively see players with paper play more quickly. They know that their Second Wind is 1d10+Fighter Level in healing. They know that their spell is doing damage and slowing the enemy. And more importantly, they know this before their turn. They're better able to plot out their plans because their reference isn't also the tool they are using to mechanically play the game. But Also:

We have already seen WotC justify removing things from the PHB because "no one used them" and making decisions which make the books less useful, and which have unintended rules consequences. D&D Beyond exists solely at the discretion of these knuckleheads. But your books, once they are in your hands? Your character sheets and your notes? They are untouchable.

For example: the 5.5e PHB has no lists of common gods in it (despite having a cosmology sitting in the back of the book). This is despite the fact that both the Paladin and the Cleric strongly suggest you are worshiping a god. While this is not a requirement of the class, it is an important part of the theme and feeling of D&D - and it has been stripped out. And so, instead of providing a tool that tables can choose to ignore, it has been wholly removed.

For example: Jeremy Crawford got butt-hurt when people pointed out that Dragon's Breath can be twinned, and it's an amazing combo. This got nerfed by errata - but not for any mechanically sound reason. Similarly, the cantrip Booming Blade was powerful when used with the twinned spell feature - and was again on the receiving end of an errata. On D&D Beyond, you have to live in the walled garden of these decisions. And more worryingly, we've seen their (poor) efforts with Sigil, which will constrain and curtail your ability to ignore such arbitrary decisions even more.

For example: The 5e PHB is formatted so that class spell lists are immediately next to the spells theirselves. This makes intuitive sense if you are needing to cross-reference your spell options with the spells theirselves. But the 5.5e spell lists now exist in the classes. This has two consequences. 1) It is now considerably harder to cross reference your spells, as you're flipping between at least the class and spell sections. 2) It is considerably harder to use features like Magic Initiate, or sub classes like Eldritch Knight or Arcane Trickster, who must now cross reference two or more separate class sections. 3) This has the unintended consequence of making a class's spell list an implicit class feature - this means that an accurate rules-as-written interpretation can state that Eldritch Knights and Arcane Tricksters cannot cast scrolls as neither the Fighter or Rogue class has a spell list with-in their class. Collectively, these kinds of changes are being made everywhere through the books, with evidence of a lack of intentionality, forethought, and care in doing so.

As WotC increasingly try to use churn-as-profit methods like they have with Magic the Gathering - making incremental changes which are monetized and with a designed date of expiry - in D&D, these kinds of changes will add up, but more importantly you will lose access to the older resources. Already it is more difficult to run a 5e campaign in D&D Beyond. The only reason you still can is because WotC needed 5.5e to be "backward compatible" because they knew players were not going to be willing to invest in an entirely new edition. They knew they couldn't sell the new product if they jettisoned the old one. And they are also likely to continue the trend of diminishing the books. There is less lore, and sometimes less important lore, in 5.5e. There is no indication that WotC isn't going to continue dumming down spells, nor any indication that they are going to be more serious about ensuring mechanical ruggedness. The art is more eurocentric than ever. There is less flesh on the bones of this game than ever. And all of that is going to directly affect D&D Beyond. It will not effect the books you have now. They cannot undo what has been done in the real world the way they can in the digital one.

I may not be openly vocal about it but I am a certified dndbeyond hater. Have been since day one. Log the fuck off, cancel your account, and stop paying hasbro rent on your imagination. I'm serious.

"OH but it's so useful to help remember all my character abilities and spells"

No it's not. You've only been tricked into thinking it's easy because you're a fucking Ipad baby who's let your brain be sandpapered smooth by corprorate UI design. The moment the wifi cuts out or your app fails to load you're going to forget how to play your character and you're going to eat up precious session time looking it up on your phone.

"but there's so much text, I could never keep track of it all!"

PAPER, motherfucker. Read your abilities and either transcribe them into a word doc to print out or grab a notebook from the dollarstore. Writing them out this way will not only keep them on hand but help you learn how they work in the first place. Doodle in the margins, apply cute stickers, and spill things on them like god intended.

"But how will my DM be able to see my stats and track my damage?"

Why the fuck does your DM need to manage your character sheet? That's your job. Keeping track of your abilities and doing minor math is part of the fun of the game, and the moment you let a computer do the gruntwork you've put up another barrier between you and the character you've created.

Don't even get me started on people who pay for digital dice skins when real dice are right there. Real life illustration of Plato's cave.

[bisexualbellamyblake]

buddie 816 coda

“You said you should’ve been there.”

Buck’s voice is soft when he says the words into the darkness of the bedroom. He’s not even sure if Eddie’s still awake; it’s been a while since they said goodnight, after Buck managed to convince him that he didn’t actually have to crash on the couch. Not after today, not after everything.

But the bed shifts with movement, and then Eddie’s turning to face him. “Yeah.”

Buck swallows. His heart feels like lead in his chest, but that’s nothing new. “I’m glad you weren’t,” he admits after a moment, and it’s dark, but he still sees the way Eddie’s brow creases in confusion.

He doesn’t respond.

Buck continues. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if something happened to you. If you’d been in there, too. Losing you, I think I’d—” He cuts himself off with a shaky breath, tears hot at his eyes. He feels terrible even saying this; even contemplating what Eddie’s loss might mean to him, when Bobby’s the one who’s actually dead.

Buck loved Bobby, loves Bobby. The father he never had, the person who taught him what being a man meant. Life without him is something he’s still coming to terms with, still trying to comprehend. All he knows is that it’ll never be the same again.

He takes another breath, hard around the tightness of his throat.

His eyes flick over Eddie’s face. The bags under his eyes, the stubble that’s already grown back since he shaved earlier today.

“I know — I know you feel guilty about it,” he says, because even though Eddie hasn’t actually admitted as much, Buck knows him, right to his core. Knows how much he loved Bobby, too. “But selfishly, I’m glad you weren’t there.”

Eddie nods.

They’re quiet for a little while longer.

“Maddie said something to me a few days ago.”

“What was it?”

Buck clears his throat. “She said she loved me. Which isn’t — I know that, obviously. But she said — she said she should start saying it more, and I think that’s — that’s wise.” He should’ve told Bobby in the lab. Should’ve told Bobby how much he was loved, how important he was, how Buck owed so much of his life to him. He blinks, and those tears spill over now, hot on his face. Eddie shuffles closer in bed. “So, I love you. I love you, Eddie, okay? I need to say it. I need you to hear it.”

And Buck doesn’t know exactly what way he means the words, but he knows they’re true, and he knows he needs to say them. For now, that’s enough.

Eddie nods again, and his expression is raw, his eyes wet, too. “I love you, too, Buck.”

Buck sniffles, nods. Manages a smile. “I’m glad you’re here now,” he says, and maybe he means LA, or maybe he means in this house, in this bed, with Buck right now, but it doesn’t really matter.

Eddie smiles, too. Reaches out to take Buck’s hand, thumb running softly over his knuckles.

“So am I.”

[apollabarnes]

part one // part two // part three // part four // part five // part six // part seven // part eight // part nine // part ten // part eleven // part twelve // part thirteen // part fourteen // part fifteen // part sixteen // part seventeen

"shrapnel." tommy puts his coffee down, looks across to evan. "ready?"

"are you sure? we've barely been up for half an hour."

"it's easier when i'm tired," tommy confesses, "i lied when i said i don't talk to my dad much. sort of. he's been dead since i was in the army. so i don't talk to him a lot. or at all. for obvious reasons."

evan licks his lips. "thanks for telling me, tommy."

tommy wants to shrug the thanks off, knows that they ran into issues because he treated everything like it wasn't important. he takes the thank you. "you're welcome. there's more, but — later."

"metal screws," evan offers, like he understands. "ready?"

tommy thinks about evan throwing up blood, about metal pieces packed tight against tommy's side until he can get to a surgeon. "hit me."

"my parents didn't really want another kid. there's more to it than that, but…" evan picks at the placemat in front of him, "after the hospital," he decides, getting up and heading for the door.

"yeah." tommy follows after him, misses the loft when he has to step away from evan to get in his truck. at the loft they'd have ten minutes pressed shoulder to shoulder; here they have two dozen steps. "does maddie need anything before we head over?"

"mrs. lee came by last night with some clothes." evan hops into the passenger seat, tapping his fingers against his thigh as he carefully doesn't look at tommy. tommy aches. "are you coming in or dropping me off?"

"i don't have a shift today, so that's up to you."

"come in," evan asks.

"okay."

tommy does the math, pulls into a drive-thru, and orders a dozen breakfast burritos. he pauses, adds another six to the order, and gets a dozen black coffees with cream and sugar on the side.

they're not in a rush today; tommy skips the emergency entrance and cruises through the parking garage until they find a spot close to the elevators.

"i don't think we're going to eat eighteen burritos," evan says finally.

"we'll bribe the nurses with the leftovers. not a big deal."

"i heard the total, it's kind of a big deal," evan mutters, which makes tommy laugh.

"you take the coffee," tommy reaches over to grab the bags of food from evan's lap. "i'll get the doors."

may and harry are in with athena and bobby, and denny pops his head in when he smells the food. mara follows once denny gives her the all clear. tommy's extra burritos disappear at an alarming rate, and he has to corral enough for the adults before the kids can eat them all. he looks over at evan, raising an eyebrow.

"fine, you were right," evan rolls his eyes, "don't be smug about it."

athena finishes her coffee in record time and stands up. "kids, why don't you go and take the rest of the burritos and coffee around? i'll know if you eat them instead of handing them out. that means you, mister," she eyes them sternly, pointing at harry.

"i'm going to track some decent coffee down," she tells bobby, kissing his temple. "don't let buck smother you too much."

"hey!" evan protests with a laugh. he's been sitting on the edge of bobby's bed since they got there, so athena has a point.

"come on tommy, i need someone to carry the rest of them."

tommy glances over at the other two, sees them nod in unison and shrugs. "sure."

"hey, bobby, do you know where they ran—" athena closes the door behind her and evan's voice gets cut off.

"i vote we avoid the cafeteria," tommy says slowly, holding the elevator door open for her. athena looks like she hasn't slept all night. "there's a coffee shop on the other side of the block. we could sit down for a minute."

athena rubs her forehead, glancing around the empty elevator. "bobby couldn't feel his leg for three minutes this morning."

"wait, what?"

"they're running some more tests later today. it might be nerve damage from when he got tossed around during the explosion."

"okay. it was just three minutes, right?"

"yeah, but," athena sighs, "he told me it's been tingling since we got here last night."

[daddyfuckedme]

THE BELTANE CARD OF THE DAY: the message you need to see on this fine pagan holiday.

The Queen of Cups reversed talks about things not always going our way, and when that happens you shouldn't be bitter or angry but change your perspective and move within the flow instead. It's time to focus inwards and take care of yourself. You're always taking care of others but take some time for you now. I know we all love the people closest to us, but try not to depend on them for your fulfilment and happiness. It's important to create healthy boundaries so you aren't giving too much and not getting enough in return, which is causing you emotional harm. It's a great time to get back out that journal, that deck of tarot cards or a quiet time with yourself and connect to your intuition again. Be gentle with yourself, you are enough alone.

For a reading, message me.

[batsandbirdbrains]

I want to read this so badly I’m begging someone to write some variation of it pls

The one where Dick isn’t the step-dad, he’s the dad that stepped up

Im fiddling around w the ages because it’s more fun that way. Also it’s in the yj cartoon universe but the timeline will be wonky bc I didnt care for seasons 3&4. So anyway let’s make it post season 2, Dick is 16ish, and like so many of my other yj fic ideas, he’s currently heavily disliked by most JL and yj team members bc of the whole deep cover thing. Also Artemis never went back to be Kaldur’s backup, she refused, so Dick did double time as both Nightwing and Renegade, Deathstroke’s apprentice. He and Bruce had a falling out bc Bruce didn’t like how he didn’t do everything perfectly while Bruce was gone.

So anyway Dick is living in Blüdhaven, his exhausted, he’s not taking very good care of himself, he’s running himself ragged as both Nightwing and also at his day job at a seedy dive bar.

And one night he comes home, ready to face plant on his dusty couch, only to be greeted by his arch nemesis: Talia al Ghul.

He can’t fuckin stand her. The feeling is very mutual.

Talia was very close with Bruce when Dick was younger. Dick was definitely not super jealous at the time. Also definitely didn’t let her words about him not being his real son get under his skin. That never happened.

And now she’s sitting in his couch, looking around and judging his non-existent decor. With a tiny kid next to her.

The tiny kid looks equally disgusted with the apartment. And way too much like Bruce for Dick’s comfort.

“Is this a hallucination or is there actually a succubus sitting in my living room,” Dick manages to say in a bored voice.

“Charming as always, Richard,” Talia says back at him. Before he can reply, she continues with, “I’m here on important business, so please for once drop the attitude with me.”

“And what’s so important you’ve dragged a toddler into my humble abode?”

“Tone,” she snaps at him, and he snorts at her. She’s not his mother, she doesn’t get to lecture him on his snotty attitude with her.

“Look, if you’re looking for Bruce, you’re way off target. We haven’t spoken in months. You’d think you and your little spies would know that.”

“Of course I know that,” she huffs at him. “That’s exactly why I’m here with you. I need you to do something very important for me.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that? Drop dead for ya so your little Bruce clone over there gets all my inheritance? I’m sure you’ll be happy to hear he’s cut me off entirely, so no need to worry.” He sways a bit as he turns around, and he only limps a little bit as he heads to his fridge. Not that there’s anything in there, but maybe if he rummages around and stares at it long enough, food will appear. He doesn’t pull his head out of the fridge before saying in a mocking tone, “You can leave now.”

“I need you to raise Damian.”

Dick stares at the flickering lightbulb in his fridge, the hum of it buzzing between his ears.

“I must finally be completely nuts,” he says, straightening up, hand still on the fridge door, “because I could’a swore I heard you just say you want me raising the love child you must’ve had with the man who kicked me to the curb six months ago.”

“Richard, will you take this seriously please?”

The way her voice sounds almost desperate is what gets Dick to finally turn around.

“Are you serious?” he asks. “You’re being forreal right now?”

“I’m being completely serious,” she tells him. “I don’t want my son anywhere near my father. I want him raised by a good man.”

“So take him to Bruce! What do you need me for?”

“Did you not just admit that Bruce kicked you out?” She said slowly to him. “You, his sixteen year old son-“

“Ward.”

“-who he once used to tell me was the light of his life? He turned on you, just like that. The boy he’d raised for eight years. Richard, you are still a minor-“

“Then why are you asking me to raise your baby?” Dick screeches.

“M’not a baby!”

“Oh my God, it talks!”

“Richard!” Talia is pinching the bridge of her nose. She looks like she’s regretting the decision to come here. Good.

“Richard,” she says again, softer. “Please. You are a better man than Bruce Wayne. You know that.”

“Do I?” he laughs, feeling so out of his league right now. He has no idea what’s happening.

“You’re a smart boy, Richard, I know you’ll figure this out.”

“You’re really leaving your kid with a kid?”

“You’ve graduated high school, haven’t you?” she says, as if that means anything. “Quite the achievement for one your age, considering all your extra curricular activities. Not to mention saving the world from an alien invasion.”

Dick’s face darkens at the mention of it, and for some reason, he doesn’t immediately want to shrug off the hand Talia lays on his shoulder.

“You’re a good man,” she says gently. “You’re bright. You’re resourceful. You will be good for him. Better than anyone else he might be able to go to.”

He’s overwhelmed. He’s still in his Nightwing costume. He’s covered in dried blood and mud. He’s tired.

But now Talia is leaving, and there’s a two year old mini-Bruce sitting on his couch staring into his soul.

“Okay,” Dick breathes. “It’s okay. We’re okay. Uh-“

Dick doesn’t know what to do. Damian is still staring at him. Dick’s not sure he’s even blinking.

“Do you like Frosted Flakes?”

Damian’s never had Frosted Flakes. Dick remedies that immediately. Damian’s smile after his first bite is enough to ease the tightness in Dick’s chest just a little bit. He ends up getting Damian safely tucked into bed, leaving the door to his room ajar so he can go have a breakdown in the living room so he doesn’t disturb him.

Of course Dick will raise Damian. He doesn’t really have any other choice, does he? Plus, he’s somehow already managing to worm his way into Dick’s heart. God, is this what Bruce felt like when Dick first came to live with him-

No.

He stops that thought immediately. He’s nothing like Bruce. He’ll never be anything like Bruce. Because now that Damian is his, he won’t ever let him go, he won’t ever make Damian leave just because he might do something Dick doesn’t like. Damian is his now, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure Damian always knows that.

Except Dick is broke, and there’s hardly anything edible in this apartment, and his job doesn’t pay well enough to support himself and a toddler.

And Dick doesn’t have that many options on who to call for help.

So after a week of juggling his job and his new kid and a bunch of different possible outcomes, he makes a decision.

And the next night, he shows up on doorstep with Damian asleep in his arms and an overstuffed bag strapped to his back.

Slade only raises an eyebrow.

“What’s with the kid?”

“He’s mine,” Dick chokes out. “Don’t question it. Please.”

Slade just sighs, then steps aside to let Dick in the door. The house is familiar, Dick spent a lot of time here during his stint as Renegade. It used to feel so suffocating, being in Deathstroke’s home. Now it feels like a relief.

“What are you doing here, kid? Not that I’m not happy to see you,” Slade asks, sitting in a chair and swirling a half-empty glass of whiskey. He motions for Dick to sit on the couch across from him, and he does after a moment of shimmying the bag off his back without jostling Damian too much.

He sits there for a moment, Damian on his lap with his face tucked against his chest. He has one hand twirling Damian’s hair between his fingers, and he doesn’t look up when he speaks.

“You said I could come back anytime,” Dick says. “No questions asked.”

“I think you and I both know that didn’t apply to a situation like this.”

“Please,” Dick pleads. “I need the work. So I can take care of him.”

Slade’s face changes, but he doesn’t say anything. They’re both quiet for a long time, Dick trying to focus on the soft breaths from Damian as he sleeps. Eventually, Slade stops swirling the glass so he can bring it up to his mouth to empty the rest of it.

“You can stay in your old room for now,” Slade says, getting up. “But we’ll be relocating by the end of the week.”

Dick doesn’t know what to say, just stays rooted to the couch, hugging Damian a little tighter. Slade sees it and lets out a huff of a laugh.

“Don’t worry,” he says, “I’ll pick somewhere with good schools for the kid.”

Dick’s mind is moving like molasses as Slade walks behind the couch, grips his shoulder, and leans close enough to whisper in Dick’s ear, “Welcome back, Renegade.”

Dick waits until he hears Slade move into the kitchen to bring Damian and their stuff up to his old room. It still looks the same, not that it had many personal touches to begin with. A couple trinkets. Some souvenirs from jobs. A picture he and Slade had taken together, posing as tourists while they scoped out a target. If you squint, they almost look like a family.

Dick tucks Damian into bed, making sure he has the stuffed elephant he insisted he needed so he and Dick could match. It had been $30 - completely outrageous for a stuffed doll, in Dick’s humble opinion - but the way Damian’s face looked so excited at the prospect of having a similar kind of toy to the one he knew Dick had made him instantly cave. Dick had to beg off the cooks at the bar for a few free to-go boxes for a few days afterwards, but it had been worth it.

Dick shuts off the light, leaving the curtains drawn enough for the light from the moon to shine in just in case Damian woke up before morning, then collapsed into the bed next to him. He wrapped his arm around Damian, wanting to keep him safe, to let him know Dick was right there if he needed anything.

And Dick went to sleep trying not to feel like he just sold his soul. It will be worth it. It has to be worth it.

[heartyluv]

Note: Guys, bear with me. I just thought about how Caleb would be with you when you’re pregnant and it’s the cutest thing ever. (∩˃o˂∩)

Word Count: 977

No warnings :)

Caleb/Pregnant!Reader Headcanons

☘︎ This sweet man is texting and calling you every single minute of everyday when he’s not able to be around you. He’ll leave the house to head to work and will call you as soon as he’s on the highway.

☘︎ “How are you feeling, princess? Just want to make sure you’re okay. Call me if anything, alright? I’ll answer no matter what I’m doing, so never feel like you’re bothering me or anything like that. You’ll always be more important.”

☘︎ He likes to facetime you during his lunch or any time he has a break. He’ll hold off on important paperwork if he can sit with you and make sure you’re having a proper meal.

☘︎ Now when I’m imagining this, I’m still thinking of him as a Colonel, so I feel like he’s very routine in how you will be taking care of yourself. He has your vitamins and supplements ready every morning with the proper amount of water. And he’s definitely purchased several things you can use to easily workout like exercise bands because he’d rather you find a way to stay active in the house instead of wandering outside.

☘︎ When he comes home from work, the man is on his knees and kissing all over your belly. He lovessss whispering to your guy’s baby. He even makes stupid little jokes that make you smile so hard because he’s so corny.

☘︎ “We’re gonna have to share mama one day. Not usually my thing, but for you? I’ll make an exception.”

☘︎ He cooks you dinner every single night. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have enough time to make you breakfast often, so he goes all out and makes sure he heads to the store to buy all the things to make your favorite dishes. He makes sure to make more than usual because what kind of man would he be if he didn’t make sure both of his babies were full of tasty food?

☘︎ He goes all out for the nursery and baby clothes. He’ll buy clothes for you all to match and if someone doesn’t have it, he’ll buy it. Whether it’s a new onesie for the baby, a dress for you, or a shirt for him, he’s buying it.

☘︎ The nursery has so many things that he just saw and thought you and the baby would love. And I firmly believe Caleb painted the room himself.

☘︎ Your man is putting lotion on your body after every shower when it gets a little more difficult for you as your belly gets bigger. He tells you about his day and things he wants to do for you and the baby while caressing your skin with his strong and loving hands. He loves the little snores that fall from you when you fall asleep because of how comfortable you became.

☘︎ Caleb most definitely takes up most of the chores in the house as your pregnancy progresses. He doesn’t care if you want to help, he will not have his woman who’s actively working everyday to keep herself and their baby healthy, cleaning up.

☘︎ “It’s my job to take care of you and I take great pride in that. Please, baby. Just let me do this for you?”

☘︎ Now, he doesn’t restrict you in ways that makes you feel like he’s not listening to you. He will back off if he sees that you really want to do something that won’t endanger you, but he’s gonna be a helicopter parent. Like I mean seeing him peek behind the wall when you try and clean the bathroom or something LOLL.

☘︎ Caleb will get up at two in the morning to get any food you’re craving to help you satisfy those needs. He’ll go to three different places if he has to. It’s worth it to see that loving smile on your face when he walks through the door.

☘︎ I feel like he is lowkey more prepared than you are. When you finally decide to get the hospital bag together, he’s already done it and lets you go through it to make sure he’s got everything you need. You’re shocked and grateful to see that he has things you didn’t even think of.

☘︎ I just really believe that he falls even more with you and your body. Seeing how it shapes and changes to create life, seeing how strong and resilient you are. It makes him so happy to see how radiant and happy you become. But he knows pregnancy can have its lows and he’s there to support you through every bit of it. He’ll hold you when you cry, comfort you in all your concerns, and show how supportive he is of you and the choices you want to make.

☘︎ “It’s okay to be scared, my love. But you’ll be a great mom. You are a great mom. Our baby is spoiled rotten already, being able to have a woman as beautiful and caring as you to be the apple of their eye.”

☘︎ I also think Caleb isn’t just a “girl dad” or a “boy dad”. I feel like he has the fraternal twins girl/boy pair LOLL.

☘︎ Final thing, Caleb is overprotective like it’s nobody’s business. It’s to the point that it scares people who have to deal with him. He’s so serious about your safety and well being in the hospital.

☘︎ He’s not leaving your side not once and the only time he would is to see where nurses take your baby when they’re taken out of the room. But, he only feels comfortable doing that when you have your close friend or family member there to take his spot until he returns. If not, the baby doesn’t leave the room. He doesn’t care if he’s being difficult, they need to bring anything for testing where he is.

☘︎ Long story short, Caleb is father, lover, husband, boyfriend, everything of the year.

[seawitchkaraoke]

Another thing I noticed while watching the grand complication job: when Sophie originally goes on her "you've no idea what fuse you just lit" rant, talking about how Parker and Astrid hate each other and how Parker might kill Astrid and all that.... her tone of voice is exactly the same as when she yells about the bad guy having taken "the safety off the gun" and how "it takes all his control not to kill someone" when they pretend that Eliot got drugged during the boxing match in the Tap Out Job.

Like. It's so similar, it made me pause the episode and go hmmm Sophie do be exaggerating the truth for the grift, methinks.

And, yes. Of course she was. She's using the truth (they hate each other, Parker is legitimately dangerous and willing to kill ppl, Sophie is upset about Bligh setting them against each other like that) to disguise the bigger truth (they love Sophie more than they hate each other, Parker hasn't been the person who runs off to solve problems on her own for a long time, she hasn't even stabbed anyone with a fork recently)

And that performance by Sophie is really important in both scenes! She scares the mark enough so the guy in the Tap Out Job doesn't take time to check for a pulse himself before running off and Bligh believes her plan is working, doesn't question the "you need to back off" "no you" confrontation between Astrid and Parker, believes (at least for a moment) the possibility that Astrid killed Parker and gets generally unbalanced enough to make the mistakes that let them save Sophie in the end.

(and I believe that "you need to back off" argument was absolutely a performance at least on Parker's side as well. Bc it makes absolutely no sense as a conclusion. Clearly if the bad guy threatens to kill Sophie either way, you need to team up. But she knows they're being watched and she also knows Tara is on route so she performs and stalls for time)

[toxicrelief]

Crawling Back to You

Chapter ten

Synopsis: After as bad a fight as you had just experienced against Omnipotus, a lot of the Guardians are in need of your assistance. So, it’s time to make your rounds, after a brief visit to an old friend.

Pairing: Rex x F!Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Chapter: 10/?

Masterlist of all Chapters

TW: Descriptions of Gore and Excessive Blood, Descriptions of Vomiting

Note: Okay I lied, NEXT chapter will bring us to chapter one. getting super close :) and thank you everyone for the comments and theories! I love reading them!

“Flowers?”

“I didn’t know what else to get.” You admit with a lopsided smile, holding out the bouquet in front of you. “It didn’t feel appropriate to get you some random bottle of liquor when I have no clue what you like.” Rex was far easier to apologize to, maybe that was one of his few strengths. You had thought you were making progress with him, but you honestly had a really hard time reading him. You just knew he was hiding something; you couldn’t tell if it was related to you or not.

Donald hesitated before taking them from you. His head turned from side to side, looking for somewhere to place them, but he obviously did not spot someplace satisfactory. You felt bad now, he looked unbelievably dorky holding an obnoxiously sized bundle of flowers. “Thanks…”

“I snapped at you, during the museum job. And I’ve felt bad about it for ages.” Your hands gestured with you while you talked. “I bought these right before the showdown with Omnipotus, and since you’re here now it seemed like the best time.” In retrospect, it definitely was not.

He looked down at them, you couldn’t see his eyes, but he had a steady frown on his lips. “You snapped at me?”

You grimace slightly, maybe you have made the interaction much bigger in your head. After all, Cecil probably yelled at Donald enough that he hardly noticed a difference. Still, you did not want to excuse yourself when you knew you should be better. “I did, and I am sorry.”

“Oh, okay.” Donald returns his gaze to the flowers, the fluorescent lights of the Guardian’s headquarters reflecting off of them.

You liked Donald. He was quiet, competent. He could go completely unnoticed, but you knew how important he was. How much he did for the GDA. You had seen it firsthand when Cecil was familiarizing you with everything. Donald had supplied you with the files of all the superheroes you were going to work with after you had expressed anxiety to him about your oncoming situation. He never said much, but you felt comfortable in his presence. Like an old friend you used to tell everything, now you were distant, but you knew they had your best interest at heart.

A small silence settled over the two of you and you realized how odd it was to see him in the Guardians Headquarters.

“Why are you here Donald?” You inquired, now over the nerves of apologizing. “Did Cecil send you to check on everyone?”

“Yes, but more specifically you.”

“Aw, you guys worried about me?” You give him a cocky smile and lightly punch his arm, immediately feeling awkward afterward when he looks at your point of contact without speaking.

“How are you feeling? It was pretty rough out there, and the scanners are showing that your brain waves are still running slower. You’re not healing as quickly as we would like.”

“It was a rough battle, I’ll adjust.” You nod, you know he’s right, the residual headache is still there even a few hours later. “I think after a night’s sleep I’ll be back to my normal capacity. Right now, I just want to make sure everyone else is doing okay.”

“Everyone is alive, as far as I know none of them are in critical condition. Let them heal naturally or heal them tomorrow after resting.”

You put your hands on your hips raising a brow at him. “Is this a suggestion or an order Donald? Because it is my job to heal these people. I am not going to make them wait because I have a little headache.”

“It is a suggestion from someone who cares.” He says softly. “Your vitals have been all over the place for weeks, you’re unbalanced. With your incident and the last few close calls, you need to be more careful until you reach standard levels.”

The incident. Just call it what it is. You let someone die, no need to dance around it. You frowned slightly to yourself. Both Donald and Cecil had been dancing around the subject at hand. You didn’t even know the man’s name. Maybe it would be inappropriate to visit the grave of someone you had failed that much, but part of you wanted to. A more selfish part of you hoped that if you could, the nightmares would go away.

Maybe Donald and Cecil weren’t dancing around it, maybe they had just moved past it. And you were the one stuck in the past. If you weren’t careful it would start to affect your efficiency. You needed to start trying to move on. You can’t save everyone. But you should have been able to save him.

You blink a few times at Donald and then give him a soft smile. “Donald, I really appreciate your concern, but I am okay. I’ve got this. And if I don’t, should I really be on the team?”

“You’re not on the team Killdeer. You work for Cecil, and your worth expands beyond healing some scratches.”

You give him a nod of acknowledgment, but you have no intention of slinking off to bed in your apartment while these people are in pain. “Thank you, Donald.” You utter softly, before turning to leave the room you are standing in.

“Keep your earpiece in.” Donald says, and you look back at him for a final glance. He’s standing alone in the center of the room. The flowers held lightly in his grip. It was sweet really.

“I will Donald.”

__

“I thought you were bulletproof.” Rex sneered.

“There were no damn bullets out there were there?” Bulletproof snarked back.

It was your first time seeing Bulletproof out of his suit, it was almost jarring to actually see his eyes and to see the angry expression he was making at Rex. You ignored their bickering and turned your attention to the long laceration up his arm. “How did you get this?” You questioned, examining it further while grabbing some saline solution and antiseptic they had in the kitchen.

“Damn thing grabbed me. It had these weird claws on its knuckles, wasn’t pleasant I can tell you that.” His gaze dropped to the bottles in your hands. “You need that?”

It came across as a little rude, probably unintentionally so, but you felt yourself bristle a little. “If I purify it before healing it, I won’t have to use as much energy to make sure that your body cleanses itself from the inside.”

“Does it take a lot of energy to heal someone?” He seemed to be genuinely interested, and you felt your souring mood instantly fade away.

You pulled a chair up in front of him, sitting down with your knees almost touching. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Rex tense a little. He probably thought he was entitled to go first, but you were working your way down into the smaller injuries. And besides the cuts he received from saving you, he wasn’t doing too badly.

You began to clear any debris from the gash and used a saline wash to clean it up. “It depends on the injury. A gash like this will probably take a pretty large amount of effort to heal, whereas Rex’s little scratches will take significantly less.”

“The fact I only have a few little scratches I think speaks to how awesome of a hero I am.” Rex leaned against the kitchen wall, a proud smirk on his face.

“Or it goes to show how unhelpful you are. How you hardly get in the real fights.” Bulletproof retorted.

“Look here dickhead, just because I am able to do just as much as you can without being able to fly and without getting hurt doesn’t mean-“

“Oh god please just shut up.” Amanda groaned from her place at the table, Rae sat next to her with her head resting on her arms.

“What’s even wrong with you? You look perfectly fine.” Rex focused his animosity on Amanda now, tilting his head.

“Nothing asshole, maybe I just want to be here for my teammates.” She spat back.

“We don’t need you here pitying us-” Rex started, stepping forward with an antagonistic finger pointed in her direction.

“I want her here.” You said simply, not bothering to look up from your work. A soft snicker escaped Rae but she didn’t lift her head at all either. You were getting a little worried about her, during your brief examination of them all she was showing signs of a concussion, but Bulletproof was losing blood. Even though he still seemed to have the energy to argue with Rex.

Rex hmphed loudly but didn’t continue, he recrossed his arms and rested his back against the wall once again.

“At least one of you has good tastes in company.” Amanda says, which makes you sigh because you know the arguing is about to start up again from this. Like bickering children.

You put down the bottles and grip the overside of Bulletproof’s forearm closing your eyes in concentration. Amanda leans forward slightly in her chair, her eyes wide as she analyzes what you are doing. The abrasion began to mend before their eyes, as if in reverse. Bulletproof grimaced quietly, a stark contrast to Rex’s outburst when you had healed him the first time. The sound of him shifting behind you told you he was reliving the same memory.

You glanced back for a moment, and his eyes immediately locked with yours. He maintained your gaze for a moment before looking away, his folded arms tightening slightly over his chest.

Odd.

You looked back at your work, focusing more on it. The wound was stitching itself organically. Any blood that was being pushed to the surface immediately sank back into the tissue until it was mended completely.

“It’s like it never happened.” Amanda stated, awe clear in her voice. “Pretty cool party trick.”

“But a party trick nonetheless.” Rex immediately interjected. You were getting tired of his whiplash, every time you thought you were both past frivolous insults, he always managed to input another. What an asshole.

You shook your head slightly, the headache was setting in strongly against you. It felt like miniature icepicks were taking turns going in and out at the base of your skull. Nothing new, but you were feeling your tolerance for the bickering begin the melt away.

“Seriously Rex?” Bulletproof responded.

“Why are you here Rex? You here to get healed for your little boo-boos?” Amanda’s tone was laced with the annoyance you decided to keep to yourself.

“Maybe I just want to be here for my teammates.” He said in a mocking tone, repeating Amanda’s earlier sentiment.

“You’re such a child.” Amanda spat.

“Look who’s talking!” Rex retorted.

“Thank you.” Bulletproof said to you, breaking your concentration from the once again oncoming fight.

“You’re welcome Zandale.” You said quietly in response, giving him a tired smile. He stood up, turning his arm a few times while looking over your handy work. He gave a silent nod and then went to leave, giving Rex a nasty look before exiting the kitchen.

Bulletproof’s exit left enough silence for you to turn your attention to Rae who was still laying her head on her arms.

“Rae, come here Hun.” You patted the seat and after a moment she looked up and bobbed her head. She clumsily made her way over staggering slightly to the right on her way over. She seemed to be getting worse as the day was going on, earlier she seemed almost fine. The adrenaline of their earlier battle was probably wearing off. As she sat down you placed your hand on her forearm, preparing to mentally check her. She was wearing a green and grey striped t-shirt; it was cute how everyone seemed more likely to wear the color scheme of their suits even when in their street clothes.

“Your hands are cold.” Rae stated, as she slurred just a little at the end of it, a telltale sign of some sort of brain damage.

“I know.” You responded gently. Her hair was still wet, dripping down her shirt leaving little streaks. “Can you tell me what your name is?” You were resorting to asking her questions, determined to conserve as much energy as possible as your head was killing you already. You wanted to be sure it was most likely a concussion before interfacing with her.

“You don’t know my name?” She frowned at this.

“I know your name.” You reassure, “I just need to hear you say it.”

“What is the point of this?” Rex’s sounds off again, which you consider ignoring, but you figure that will just edge him on.

“I’m checking for a concussion.”

“Can’t you just…I don’t know, tell?” He scoffs.

“The more time I spend determining what the extent of her injuries are, the more energy I burn off. If I can determine the core issue it is much easier to go from there.”

“Stop bothering her Rex.” Amanda glares at him.

“Your name?” You return your attention back to Rae.

“Rachel.” You actually had not known this was her name, so you looked at Amanda to confirm, who simply shrugged, clearly also not having known.

“And your last name?”

“My last name?”

“Yes.” You nodded. She didn’t immediately respond, her gaze wandering over the kitchen.

“Rachel.”

“Where are you right now Rachel?”

“The kitchen.” She looked over at the sink area, clearly taking cues from her surroundings rather than from her inner knowledge.

“The kitchen where?”

She remained silent at this, giving you a look like you had just asked her to do a backflip.

“Okay, Rae, do you know who I am?”

She nodded and gave a smile, immediately saying your name. “Well, that’s good.” You smiled at her. “I was getting a little nervous.” You closed your eyes and focused on the inferior parietal lobule as well as the hippocampus. The brain is a delicate organ, it takes a lot of focus to make sure that you do not accidentally do more damage than good. One small hiccup and you could leave her paralyzed or dead.

Luckily Rex remains quiet for this, and after a few minutes you see Rae’s brow relax, and as far as you can feel her cognitive functions should be back to normal.

“What is your name?” You ask, rubbing one of your eyes with the heel of your palm, willing away the shredding pain behind your eyes. You’re not too far yet though, you weren’t doing too shabby. And Donald dared to doubt you.

“Rae.” She said with a smile, sitting up straighter.

“Full name.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Well, she seemed fine now. You stretched, a wave of exhaustion falling over you. Soon you’d need to sleep this all off, it had been an extremely long day. “Amanda, can you make sure Rae gets back to her room? Right now, she’s feeling good because of the aftereffects, but once the usual aches set in it’ll hit like a truck.”

“Sure, why not.” Amanda stands up, heading to the door and holding it open for Rae.

“I’ll check on you tomorrow, okay?” You give Rae a pat on the arm you had just been holding on to.

“Next time drinks are on me.” Rae says, standing up with a little spring in her step.

“I’m sure you’ll bring them but somehow I doubt you’ll pay for them.” You tease back, which earns her giving you a shushing gesture before leaving with Amanda.

“Bye Rex.” She says with a glint in her eyes before disappearing out the door. Even with it closed behind them you can hear them both laughing loudly. Who knows why.

“Rather chipper.” Rex states sourly.

“It’ll wear off, you would know.” You lean back in the chair, rubbing the back of your neck.

It was now just the two of you. Hopefully, it would be quick, you were exhausted and in pain.

“Are you going to sit down Rex?” You cocked your head at him, crossing your leg over the other.

“No.”

“Are you going to stand over there like a creep until I feel so uncomfortable I leave?”

“It’s a free fucking country.”

“Well in that case I think I’ll be going-” You uncrossed your legs, putting your hands on your knees to stand up, only to hear him sigh and watch him sit in the chair in front of you. “Or not…I suppose.” You relaxed back into your chair, making no move to heal him. If you were being fully honest you weren’t sure that his minimal injuries were something that concerned you right now. You weren’t sure how much juice you had in you.

“So that fuzzy thing, after healing, that is a side effect of your abilities.” It’s a statement he’s trying to make, not a question.

“I’ve heard it can be. I don’t experience the same effect, so I am not sure.”

“But that is what Rae was feeling right?”

“I don’t know Rex, why don’t you ask her tomorrow?” You sigh softly.

“Why are you so secretive?” He accuses suddenly, a completely different tone entering his voice.

“What?” You sit up slightly at this.

“Access to our files, somehow being able to run missions alone, your little relationship with Cecil. What am I missing?”

“Can I not just be good company?” You furrow your brow at him, tensing slightly.

“No, not to Cecil.”

“I don’t know what you want from me, Rex. I don’t do my job, you’re not happy, I do my job, you’re not happy.” You sit forward slightly. “You tell me you don’t dislike me, you save my ass out in the field, and then you talk shit about me to my face and consistently complain about me.”

Rex’s jaw tightens at this, but he doesn’t say anything immediately in response.

“What can I do Rex? What can I do to make you stop hating me so much huh?” Your frustration is growing by the minute, and you can almost swear your headache is getting worse alongside it. “You want me to quit? Fine, I could quit, but I don’t think that would solve it, would it? You would continue hating me until you forgot about my existence, and maybe not even then.” You stand up promptly, your chair screeching against the floor at the sudden movement. “I think you would grow old and hear the mention of my name, and only know you recognized it by the bitter taste in your mouth.” Your words are coming out harsher than you usually would let them, but you can’t find it in you to care. “You are miserable Rex, and I think that misery will follow you until the day you die.”

“What the fuck is your problem?” He says surprisingly calm, he’s still sitting, and his head is cocked upwards to look at you. His green eyes look darker than normal, and his jaw is ridged.

“You’re my fucking problem Rex!” You run your hands through your hair, stopping with them covering your face for a brief instant. You take a slow breath trying to regain composure. “Do you receive some kind of joy by being the only Guardian left fighting my presence?”

“I’m not the only one-”

“You’re the only one doing it outwardly! At least with the others, they have the decency to do it behind my back!” You took a few steps away, drumming your fingers on the countertop. After a silent, tense few seconds, you turn back around to continue your point only to see he is right behind you. Your back hits the edge of the counter as you try to step back, effectively trapping you.

“I don’t trust you.” He says through gritted teeth, his dark gaze resting on your face.

“Anyone can tell that much.” You respond back immediately.

“You and Cecil are hiding something; I just can’t prove it yet.”

“Are you always this suspicious of new hires?” You squint at him, your voice low.

“Maybe, when it is necessary.”

“Shapesmith is clearly an alien of some sort and you’re more worried about me, why? If you are really so determined to maintain the Guardians, then why aren’t you giving him as much shit as you are me?”

“Maybe I don’t see him as a threat.” Rex’s voice was low, and he was alarmingly close.

“And I am?” You try not to laugh. “An alien versus someone whose power is healing?”

“Is it?”

Your blood runs a little cold at this. How much did he really know? Was he simply baiting you? At this point, you couldn’t tell, and his close proximity was not making it easier.

“Did you want me to heal your scratch or not?” You finally rasp, your eyes dropping to the long gash on his jawline.

“Why would I want that?”

“Chasing that fuzzy feeling?”

“And everyone gets that?” You’re pleased he seems so easily deterred from his previous question.

“So I am told.” Before you think better of it your hand comes up to the side of his face, your fingers tracing over the wound. He doesn’t immediately back away or really have any reaction. He seems ridged. As if he were willing to stay exactly still. After the first swipe of your fingertip you restarted, the pad of your index finger making contact with the upper portion of the scratch. As you swiped down it mended, leaving his skin completely unharmed. Soft and golden. He let out a slow, controlled breath, his eyes were drilling into your face. “There, now it is like you never even saved me.” You say sourly.

“That was only one of the cuts from that ordeal.” He breathes, and for a moment you are sure you feel the atmosphere between you shift. The tension is less fueled by anger and irritation but now it is fueled by something else.

You blink a few times coming up with a response, but before you can think of one, you’re thoughts are interrupted.

“Are you okay?” genuine concern laced his voice.

“What do you mean?” You give him a weird look, and then you hear a voice over your earpiece.

“Brain wave levels are showing a spike, possible episode incoming.” It is a voice you don’t recognize, most likely one of Cecil’s agents.

“Shit!” You exclaim, putting a hand up to your upper lip. You pull your hand back but don’t see any blood. You wipe under your eye and instantaneously you feel the moisture. Pulling your hand back you see it, blood spread over the side of your index finger. “Shit, shit, shit.” You try to focus on breathing. This is not a good time.

Maybe it’s not real. You had not recognized the voice, and usually, your nose bleeds first. Maybe this is like that episode you had after your shower a few weeks ago. “Do you see this?” Panic is laced in your voice unintentionally; you hold your bloodied hand out to Rex.

“What-”

“Rex, do you see it?!” You repeat louder.

“Yes-”

“Rex!”

“Fuck Joy- yes I see it, what is happening?”

The metallic taste begins to fill your mouth, as you feel an oncoming heave working its way up your throat. The trash is too high, once you lose the use of your legs you will pull it down with you. You push past Rex to enter the kitchen, ripping open the cabinets in search of a bucket.

“Joy, what do I do?”

Blood is filling your mouth, and you can hardly hear him, a quick touch to your ear shows that you’re starting to lose blood there too. Finally, you locate what must be a mop bucket and fall to your knees. Your body fights itself, attempting to heal the abrasions you likely now have there too.

You begin to retch into the bucket, crimson blood quickly working to fill it, your eyes blur red as more seeps out of your tear ducts.

Hands come from somewhere behind you, pulling your hair back. A nice gesture, but it was not much use. In a few moments you would be completely out, and the blood would continue to leak out of you regardless.

“Robot! Robo- Rudy help me! Rudy!” Rex’s desperate pleas are drowned out by your gagging, and soon you start to feel your grip on consciousness loosening until you don’t remember what happened next.

Author's Note: This one goes out to the people who were upset we yelled at Donald, you all were heard. After almost one month of writing were nearly at 40k words and up to chapter one, I am so excited

divider credit: @/ saradika

taglist: @kittymeowmrow @sketchlove @jewelwayne101