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nereidprinc3ss · 6 months ago

Note

hi!!! here for a request. can we have a imagine where reader has a wound from surgery or whatever on like in a rib and she hides to change the bandages but then spencer sees her and he’s like ‘lemme help you’ and…

you do you for the rest!

in which spencer helps BAU fem!reader change her bandages in the bathroom at work. it's intimate, and he's adorable and awkward, and it only fuels her terrible, terrible crush.

warnings/tags: fluff, talk/description of wound, brief talk of being stabbed (does not actually occur in this fic lol), reader wears a bra, spencer undoes said bra but not sexually, lots of suggestive humor and teasing, a TINY sprinkling of angst but not really, idiots in love

a/n: i'm picturing early seasons spencer and it is filling me with so much unbridled joy. I. LOVE. HIM. thank you for the request!! and lets not talk about how inconsistent my formatting for requests is pls and thanks!!

It’s not like you meant to bend down so quickly that your wound reopened—but here you are, suffering the consequences of your actions in the women’s bathroom at Quantico as you try to assess the injury before you re-bandage it. And your shoe is still untied.

Unfortunately, the fact that you had quite literally been stabbed in the back last week makes it hard to reach said injury—especially when you’re at work and so can’t take off your shirt like you normally would. And all this struggling means it’s taking longer than it should, so now you’re focused on the wound and its scabby, wet edges and all the things it’s secreting rather than hurrying to give another statement of the entire event to Hotch since the first one had apparently been too sparse on the details.

A knock sounds on the open door. Spencer calls your name.

“You in there?”

The angle of your neck has your voice slightly strained as you call back, “yeah, what’s up? Is it Hotch?” you pause to hiss as you accidentally scratch at the wound with a nail. You don’t even want to know how much bacteria you just introduced to it. “Tell him I didn’t forget our meeting, I’ll be there in—”

“It’s not Hotch. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay with your back? I know you said you were going to check on it, but you’ve been in there a while.”

You sigh, dropping your sore arm as you continue to hold up your shirt with the other and regarding the reflection of your back in the mirror.

“Actually—could you come in here?”

There’s a pause.

“You want me to come into the women’s restroom?”

“Yes, Spencer. It’s fine. There’s nobody else in here. I just… I need some help, I think.”

The last part is admitted quietly, with an air of defeat. To admit to needing help, is, by your standards, the same as failure. Spencer knows this, which is probably the only reason he puts aside his hesitations and shuffles uncertainly into the tiled room. If you’re asking for help, it’s because you really need it.

“What do you need help with?” he asks, sweeping his gaze suspiciously around the lavatory as if you were lying about there not being any other women present and this whole thing might be a trap of some sort.

“It’s gross, and you can totally say no.”

He raises his brows expectantly, before spotting the weeping wound on your back. Unconsciously he steps closer, leaning forward. It’s not your fault, and the gore is not specific to you—anyone’s body would react this way to being stabbed. But you still feel embarrassed by the close attention to such an ugly marring, which nobody besides you and your doctors has actually seen up close.

“That doesn’t look good,” he mutters. The expression on his face is irritatingly familiar—the drawn brows, tightened eyes, barely parted lips—but it takes a moment before you realize what it is.

“Reid,” you complain. He’s still stooped over slightly to examine the wound, and looks up at you through dark lashes with those infuriatingly warm puppydog eyes.

“What?”

“You’re looking at me the way you look at a dead body on the slab.”

His nose scrunches.

Some might say it scrunches adorably.

“No, I’m not. That’s just my face.”

“Okay, well stop. It’s freaking me out.”

He pouts—actually pouts. Subtle, but bottom lip jutted out and all. It’s ridiculously endearing.

“My face freaks you out?”

“Wh—no! That’s not what I said! You have—you have a great face! I didn’t mean—”

You manage to claw yourself out of the hole you’re digging when you see the dopey smile growing on his face.

Oh. He was fucking with you.

He never used to do that. It’s unnerving to be the fucked with instead of the fucker for a change. Especially when it’s Spencer.

“What did you need me for?” Spencer asks by way of peace offering. You close your eyes and sigh, attempting to collect your thoughts without his presence re-scrambling them.

“Um—I just need you to put this bandage over it. I can’t reach without taking my shirt off.”

And now you’re forced to wonder if he’s thinking about you shirtless as much as you’re thinking about you shirtless.

“Yeah—don’t do that,” he says absentmindedly, stepping again closer to get a better look before turning to the nearest sink.

For some reason, this offends you.

“Why not?”

Spencer pulls another face as he washes his hands—you love the constant flow of expressions he always seems so unconscious of. Even when they’re not pleasant and directed at you.

“Are you asking me why shouldn’t you take your shirt off?” he clarifies.

“I know why I shouldn’t take my shirt off, but I want to know why you think I shouldn’t take my shirt off.”

“Because we’re at work?” he observes astutely. You frown deeply at his completely logical reply. Spencer chuckles as he dries his hands and approaches once more, taking the square of gauze pre-lined with medical tape from your hand. “I mean, I can’t stop you. But it would be kind of a weird choice.”

“Oh, so me shirtless is weird?”

Cool fingers meet the comparatively hot skin of your back—where everything is still sensitive because the wound wreaked havoc on your nerves there. You flinch slightly.

“Sorry,” he murmurs gently. Though his touch is so incredibly light it doesn’t really hurt—it hurts much less than when you’re tending to the wound, anyway. It’s almost soothing. After a moment he continues, a bit louder. “And that is not what I was saying. But I am completely comfortable asserting that it would be weird for you to be shirtless at work.”

The gentle touches contrast with his teasing words and serve to disorient you as you’re shaken back in to your usual dynamic. Which is markedly more sarcastic.

“Well—”

Before you have to think of something to say, Spencer interrupts you.

“Your, um—I think your… brassiere… is in the way.”

As soon as he says it you burst out laughing. It echoes through the room.

“My brassiere? Are you actually 70 years old?”

His brows knit even tighter and his face gets very pink very quickly. He can’t meet your eyes over your shoulder.

“That’s what it’s called.”

“Spencer, you may be the first person to use that word since 1952. Say bra.”

“I don’t want to,” he complains. Your laughter only grows as your head tips back.

“Why? How is brassiere better than bra?”

“It’s—it’s too colloquial! I’m trying to be professional!”

“Call it a bra or I’m going to rub my dirty hands all over my back,” you threaten, adopting a poker face so he knows you mean business. His eyes widen immediately.

“Oh my god! Bra! Do you want to introduce staph and meningitis and g—do not do that!”

“See? How hard was that?”

“I hate you,” he mumbles, face still flushed and adorable. “And you still have to take it off.”

“Excuse me?” you grin, pretending to be affronted because you know he didn’t mean it like that but it’s fun to pretend he did. Fun for you, of course. Not so much for him. He's utterly flustered by this point.

“Or at least undo it! It’s in the way.”

With a deeply bored sigh, you go to unclasp your bra—but as you go to do it your shirt drops down. You grimace, humor briefly forgotten as the fabric brushes the damaged skin.

“I can’t—”

“Okay, just—I’ll do it,” Spencer says. “Just move your shirt again.”

So you do, watching his reflection as he works.

And you have not one joke to break the heavy silence with as you feel his knuckles gently pressing into the middle of your back, as he unclasps the bra with his characteristic tenderness and a surprising amount of agility. It’s quiet except for your pulse in your own ears as he carefully pushes it out of his way, holding it down with a hand to your rib cage and fingertips slipping just under the fabric of your shirt—unintentionally and certainly non-sexual, no doubt, but skimming under your heart in a way that still feels so intimate you’re realizing how touch-starved you are.

“You do that often?” you find yourself asking, because you’re stupid, and you need to cool the tension before it chokes you, and you can’t help yourself even though you don’t actually want to know the answer.

“I,” he begins, voice quiet as rustling paper, tongue darting over his lip and eyes narrowed. The sentence stalls as he focuses on placing the patch just so. “Do not think that is an appropriate workplace question.”

Something aches in the pit of your stomach.

Something resembling jealousy.

It was not the timid evasive linguistic maneuver of someone who is insecure about the thing they’re discussing. It was not the awkward fumbling no but I don’t want to tell you that which you were expecting from Spencer Reid.

Nor is it an easy yes—an admission between friends. He doesn’t want to tell you.

You swallow and try to act like yourself.

“Yet here you are, in the woman’s restroom at our place of employment, undoing my bra. I think we’re past professionalism.”

“When you decontextualize it like that it sounds like something it’s not. This is professional, because I’m helping you with a wound you sustained on the job. I’m being a good colleague.”

Your lips twist into a smile he can’t see.

“A great colleague would kiss it better.”

“It's almost like you want me to file a sexual harassment complaint with HR," he says through a little smirk as he smooths the bandage over. Before you can snip back, he steamrolls over his own teasing—you’ve both been speaking in almost reverent tones since he started but his voice loses the sarcastic edge from a second before and reverts back to concerned and sweet. “Does that feel okay?”

You rotate your shoulders best you can without letting go of your shirt or flashing the good doctor to check if it feels secure.

“It’s good. And hey—if I were going to sexually harass you I would do a lot better than that. You think that’s my best material? That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I keep so many inappropriate comments to myself. You’d be shocked by some of the things I have almost said to you.”

He laughs, secures the band of your bra and begins fitting it to the clasp you’d had it on—and at that precise moment Emily walks in.

“H—woah.”

“It’s—I’m—I was helping her!” Spencer panics, immediately removing his hands from you like his palms are burning and holding them up defensively.

“Oh, you helped me alright,” you tease, pulling your shirt back into place.

“Don’t say it like that!” And then, to Emily, “I was changing out her bandage!”

“Changing my bandage,” you emphasize, winking more than is advisable.

“That’s—this is a hostile work environment! I feel unsafe!” Spencer almost yells, half laughs, as he scampers towards the door. “I’m going to HR!”

“Shut up! You love it!”

His laughter audibly travels farther away for several moments as he presumably goes back down the hallway to do his actual job.

You have the stupidest grin on your face, but you wipe it off when you notice Emily staring.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head and looking away, moving toward a stall. “You’re just… you guys are funny.”

“What do you mean funny?” You demand, standing right outside her stall as she closes it.

“Wh—I mean funny! Are you going to listen to me pee, you weirdo?”

You frown.

She makes a good point.

Unfortunately, giving Hotch a more detailed statement is just as bad as you’d thought it’d be. Despite how cheery you’ve tried to remain about the whole situation, despite the way you insisted that the wound was so shallow you didn’t need more than a few days off work, despite the jokes you make about forgetting it’s even there because it’s on your back—it’s hard not to remember exactly how the glass felt twisting under your skin, how you’d felt suddenly so hot and lightheaded and sick to your stomach and the way Morgan hollered because he didn’t know how deep it had gone after you crumpled quick from shock, when you’re asked to describe it all in excruciating detail.

It only takes ten minutes, but they seem to drag on and on and by the time you’re leaving Hotch’s office you feel utterly drained. You hurry back to your desk, covertly wiping away moisture that you refuse to allow to become tears. Once seated, and having dodged sympathetic looks and avoided any do you want to talk about its, you allow yourself a few deep breaths with your eyes shut.

When you open them, you realize there’s a fresh cup of your favorite tea on your desk, in the Snoopy mug the team is always fighting over. Now his little black nose is covered by a square of yellow paper. You’re already smiling as you peel away the sticky note and hold it closer.

On it is an adorably odd smiley-face, and a note in familiar, messy looping scrawl.

I would never report you to HR beautiful

That would be a stab in the back!

You snort loudly and clap a hand to your mouth—but you’ve already drawn the attention of almost everyone in the bullpen.

When you turn to look at Spencer, he’s not looking back. Instead, his eyes are firmly trained on his computer screen. But he’s got his chin propped on his fist over the desk, and his knuckles are doing a poor job of concealing a giant self satisfied grin. He is the only person on the team who knows you well enough to make such a distasteful joke. And he also knows you well enough to know that it would make you feel so much better after your meeting with Hotch than all the well-meaning sincerity in the world ever could.

Funny.

Maybe that is the right word for what you two are.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x self insert #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfic

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writer-logbook · 3 months ago

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How to improve your writing style : a 5-steps guide.

Intro : I love the 5-steps format, don’t mind me. Again, this essay is based on my personal experience.

Read in different genres. Ok, I know you’ve probably heard this advice more than you can count but did you ask yourself why it is so important ? You probably wonder ‘‘How reading some historical fiction will help me writing my sci-fi novel ?’’ For that simple reason my friend : they meet different purposes. You don’t know how to describe a castle ? It’s okay, historical fiction got your back. Because it aims at something more realistic and accurate, it would tend to be more specific and detailed when it comes to describing clothes, furniture, places and so on. Why ? Because, most of the time, THEY ACTUALLY EXISTED. Take a closer look at how it is done and draw your inspiration from it (but please avoid plagiarism it’s bad - and illegal)

Take notes and CLASSIFY them. To make reading somehow useful, you have to actually make it concious, which means you have to write things down to remember them. When I come across a description I like, I tend to takes notes of the figures of speech that are used and class them, so when I have to write a similar scene, I have an idea of what have been already used, and weither or not it achieved its goal. I am NOT talking about COPY another author’s style !!!! It’s about finding inspiration and new approaches. I also tend to take notes of the new words I wish to incoporate into my writing. The thesaurus is my new bestie.

Rewrite the same scene from different POVs. First of all, it’s fun. And it’s a really good way to spot quirky formulations. For instance, if you describe a ship, the captain’s POV should be different from that of a simple observer. The first one would be naming each part princisely whereas the other would only be admiring the surface without knowing anything. If the caption is the same for both POVs, maybe you should consider write your passage again (or have a good reason, like a strong amateurism for the mere observer). It’s go hand in hand with coherence - but it would be an essay for another time (maybe).

Read your text aloud. I put major emphasis on that one because it’s as underated as reading books for various genres. You have no idea how much we DON’T speak the way we write. Even dialogues are crafted in our stories - so make sure to give them proper attention. (i even read my email aloud but-). I KNOW how cringey it might be as I am doing it MYSELF but the benefits are worth the 35-minutes shame I endure from my own mess. Before you can shine, you have to polish (shout out to the one who said that first if it’s not me).

Take a step back. I strongly advice you to let some time pass before reading your text again and profreading it. It will cast a new light upon your work and with fresh eyes you’d be more likely able to spot what needs to be erased or rephrased.

That’s all for me today. Since I would be entering my proofreading phase for my writing contest, the next essay would probably about proofreading (with examples from my own novel ?). Unless someone wants me to write on a specific subject first.

Gentle reminder that I’m still French and not a native so please forgive my dubious grammar and outrageous mispellings.

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cheeseceli · 1 year ago

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SKZ arguing over the bill

Pairing: ot8!skz × gn!reader (individually)

Genre: fluff

Request: yes!

Warning: mentions of food, reader never pays lmao. Changbin, Chan, Seungmin's were heavily inspired by "Telling your Stray Kids boyfriend you can’t afford to eat out with them" by @ronnierites . If you don't allow this pls lemme know and I'll delete this post. Not proofread

A/n: that's kinda a new format, hope you guys like it! And this have been on my to do list since forever lol sorry for the wait

Bang Chan

Doesn't want you to feel uncomfortable

But he wants to spoil you so badly

Would let you pay if you were uncomfortable but he wants to make sure you get it he would love to pay for you as well

"You know Chris, I can pay for it."

"I know."

"So?"

"I'd rather do it. But thank you baby."

"But-" you stopped talking once you saw his card swiping. You truly should be used at this point "oh."

"Why do I feel like you're unhappy?"

"It's not that I am not happy, it's just that you always pay."

"It's my pleasure."

"But I don't know, I don't want you to think you're being pressured or something like that."

"Babe, I don't feel like that at all. Don't you worry. You're always doing so much for me, that's just a little 'thank you' of mine."

You gave him a little smile and proceeded to hug him, feeling safe in his warmth.

"I'm so lucky to have you."

"I should be the one saying it."

Lee Know

Bro you don't even spare a chance

He's paying before you even have a chance to take your wallet out of your pocket

I'm surprised you even try tbh

"Should we ask for the bill?"

"Oh, I already paid for it, don't worry."

You looked dumbfounded at him while he was finishing his food. You didn't see him talk to a waiter and you're sure he didn't pay for it before you two had your meal.

"What? When?"

"When we were asking for the dishes. Didn't you see it?"

"No?" you tried to recall the moment with no success "Why would you pay? I feel bad that you pay for everything all the time. I don't feel like reciprocating enough."

His eyes soften and a little smile comes to his lips while he watches you pout. If only you knew how much you did for him.

"Hey, look at me. It's okay. You already reciprocate with everything you do. That's already perfect"

Changbin

He pays with the money, you pay back with kisses

Sorry but that's his boyfriend duty

He is physically incapable of not paying for everything

"Hey baby. I'm off work in 40 minutes. I'll pick you up so we can have lunch, okay?"

You were glad that for once you were on a voice call with him instead of being in a face time like you'd usually do. This way he didn't see the way your smile dropped so quickly.

"Um, I don't think I'll be able to."

"Oh? Why?"

"I'm kinda... broke right now. I haven't received my last payment yet."

"Okay? What does that have to do with anything?"

"I don't want you to be the one who always pays for our things. I should be able to pay sometimes."

"You don't need to. That's my boyfriend duty. You know I don't mind, I actually enjoy it quite a lot."

"Still bothers me though. I'd hate to not contribute at all."

"You can always cuddle with me and shower me with kisses. That will make me happier than anything money can buy."

Hyunjin

Stop he'll be like genuinely so sad if he can't pay

He would let you pay if you were really insistent

But then he'll go like :( and you would let him take the bill out of pity lmao

"Hyunjin, stop looking at me like that."

"But darling, I can pay. You know it doesn't bother me."

"Just this once, let me pay, okay?"

"Okay"

"...Jinnie I really need you to stop that."

"I'm not even doing anything."

"Oh God" you sigh and let your head fall, knowing the man beside you won the argument once more "Fine. You can pay."

He didn't waste a second, swiping his card as fast as possible just so you couldn't have the time to change your mind. After he payed the meal, he took your hand in his and started to walk in the direction of the restaurant's exit with a triumphant (and really sweet) smile.

"I swear I don't get why you like to pay so much."

"My love should be treated as royalty, and that includes me paying for everything you wish for."

Han

Bro is offended

Believes with all his heart that he should be the one paying

Tries to distract you when the time to pay comes

"Were you paying while I was in the restroom?"

"... perhaps."

"Han."

"Baby. You know I like to pay for you."

"But you do that all the time."

"It's my way of showing love! If you ask me, I actually don't think it's enough. It's the least I can do."

He could see in your eyes that you weren't convinced. Unfortunately (for you), he only saw that as an opportunity to spend even more money. Maybe then you would believe him.

"C'mon, lemme show you a little bit of love. You can pay me back with thousands of kisses if that's what's bothering you."

Felix

He loves to pay.

If he could, he would pay for absolutely everything that you could ever want or need.

But if that's something which really bothers you, he will let you pay as well

Tries to do that "the one who invites is the one who pays" thing and fails

"Felix. Don't even dare."

He looked at you confused until he realised you were staring at the credit card in his hand, probably hoping that it could disappear before the waiter came back with the bill.

"C'mon, it's just a small lunch. I can pay for it."

"No. I invited you. I pay."

"Actually, if you think about it, I'm the one who suggested this place."

"Two years ago."

"Still counts."

"Not as an invitation though. I'm the one who asked if you wanted to come here."

Felix sighed, knowing he wouldn't be able to convince you of otherwise. If only he could.

"Okay. Next time it's on me."

Seungmin

LMAO sorry you're 100% not paying

Don't even try

Boyfriend duty pt 2 except he is even more dedicated somehow

"Why did you bring your wallet?"

"I wanted to pay for this one."

"... why?"

"You always pay for everything."

"And I don't plan on stopping so you can take your wallet away."

"Minnie, please. I don't want you to be the one who always end up paying for everything."

"But I want to. I wouldn't mind paying for every single thing for the rest of our lives. So you can't take your money away of my sight because I'm paying."

"For the rest of our lives huh?"

"Don't tease." But you didn't miss how the corners of his lips lifted once he thought you weren't looking anymore.

I.N

Rock, paper, scissors. The winner is the one who pays

It's funny and neither of you can complain about the outcome of it because it's technically fair

Except you always throw scissors first and never noticed it

And Jeongin doesn't have the heart to tell you

"We should change this game."

"No way" he said while giving the money to the cashier whilst trying to hide his grin from you "Not my fault you are horrible at this."

"Seriously though, I think you're cheating. It's impossible for you to win every single time."

"How does one cheat at 'rock, paper, scissors'? Besides, you won yesterday."

"After losing at least 50 times. And I got to pay for some ice cream. It's not the same as paying for a whole meal."

"Get better at this and maybe you get to pay for a whole meal one day. C'mon, we can have some milkshake now. Maybe you'll win this time."

You had a feeling you wouldn't though. He was sure you wouldn't.

Reblogs and feedback are appreciated!

Dividers by @cafekitsune

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netherfeildren · 6 months ago

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FABLE OF THE DOG : 1. The Two Headed Calf

Series Masterlist;

Pairing: Joel Miller x FMC

Summary: Welcome home and buck up, cowgirl.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Cowboy/Heiress AU; Slowburn(ish); Original Characters; Alcohol & Drug Use; Discussions of Grief; Daddy Issues; Graphic Descriptions of Vomiting; Description of a Dead Body; Death of a Parent; Parental Neglect; Older Man/Younger Woman; Jealousy; Past Teenage Crush; Unrequited Pinning; Yearning and Longing Galore; Boss’s Daughter; Complicated Family Relationships; A Home is a Place but ALSO a Person!; Found Family

A/N: Disclaimer, I know nothing about Wyoming and it’s geography, ranching, or being a cowboy and just made all this up. Any and all misrepresentations are fallacy of my laziness.

The FMC tag was decided because she has a last name. It was just too difficult for me to speak in depth about her father without giving him a name, and thus her one too. After that decision was made, she kind of went away from me and devolved into her own person who I have come to be quite obsessed with. It’s still written in ‘you’ format, anyhow.

I’ve been having a whole lot of fun with this, I hope you do too.

Word Count: 10K

Read on AO3

1: The Two Headed Calf

“She’s been shut up in that house goin’ on three days now, Joel,” Tommy says as the two brothers make their way across the lawn.

The ride had been long and hard, and Joel is tired—he levels a dark look at him. “Just sayin’. Nothin’ you find in there’s gonna be pretty to look at.” He raises his hands in surrender at the brooding glare, that non-confrontational shrug that’s set Joel on edge since they were boys.

“One of you’s should’a gone in there. Made sure she’s okay.”

“The housekeepers’ve been keepin’ an eye. And Frank tried to go in there and check on her himself, but she’s angry as a barn cat. Hissin’ ‘nd yowlin’, and just bein’ downright scary as hell, to be honest. You should be prepared is all I’m tryin’ to say.”

“Her father just died, Tommy. I’m not expectin’ pretty sights right now,” Joel gruffs, trying to swallow the panic that flutters in his throat as they crest the final hill up to the big house.

The beautiful stone, oak, glass monstrosity that’s stood as monument to this place, this home that is not truly his, for over a decade now. The Kelly Ranch. The sky above is still a sultry, yawning blue, deep and tired, basking in the throes of dawn as the sun just now makes its way over the crest of the Tetons in the distance so that the house sits for just a moment longer in its pool of shadowed blues.

Joel pauses on the border of that somber darkness, afraid suddenly of what awaits him inside; boots glued to the ground with the gum of cowardice. He doesn’t want to see her broken. He doesn’t want to see her hurting. But there’s no other recourse, he knows this. The death of the estranged father she’d fought with all her life, the inheritance of this world that seems suddenly too big for just one orphaned girl, all alone now.

He’s afraid that he’ll walk into that house he’s always seen as other and home all wrapped into one—that Olympus that was so far removed and out of reach even when he walked through it’s halls to the man who’d given him sanctuary and salvation, to the man he knew mistreated her sometimes, didn’t love her enough—and not have the capacity to recognize her, this girl who’d always been familiar and stranger all in one also.

Joel Miller suddenly feels afraid of the memory she exists as in his mind, in the face of the woman he knows she is now.

When he lets himself in the back kitchen door, it’s still nighttime within. The cool dryness of the AC cranked up to inhuman temperatures makes him shiver once while sprouting a damp sweat along his nape. He should’ve showered before coming, should’ve washed the ride and the days of camp off his skin before walking into her presence, but all he’d managed were his hands and face. There’d been panic to make sure she was well, if not then alive, at least. But he should be more presentable for her.

Hell, he should’ve been here for her when she came home for the first time in two years to the house where her father had died. He should’ve been here when the man died.

But the herd had needed moving. He hadn’t thought it’d all happen so quickly, thought he had more time, that they all had more time. He’d hoped she wouldn’t return at all, if he was being honest. There was nothing here for her. Nothing except memories of a gilded and loveless, already motherless childhood. The reality of all she was set to inherit. The truth of an aloneness Joel didn’t know if she was prepared for.

He moves through the house slowly, afraid to disturb the ghosts and the silence. The interior, immaculate and beautiful and solemn. Something out of a movie picture or the gloss of a magazine. Something covered not in dust but in sadness. The stairs are silent as his spinning mind makes up for the creak, the boots she’d sent him on his last birthday hit the richly piled rug at the top, and the hallway to the bedrooms yawns long and frightening in front of him. Two grand a pop, the boots—Lucchese, he’d looked them up on the iPhone she’d sent him the year before. A gift giver, generous to a fault, kind to a detriment. She sent something to all the ranch hands that’d worked for her father since she was a girl. Something for the entire ranch at Christmas. And all he managed each time was a perfunctory thank you card, like he did every year because he remembered, years ago, in her little voice, polite people send thank you notes, Joel, my grandmother told me so. Last year he’d written that they were too much, that she shouldn’t have, that he was grateful. There wasn’t much else to say.

That was the extent of their communication, familiar and stranger in one, the far removed golden child of the Kelly. They’d all called him that, the Kelly, for as long as he’d known the man. As if he was some Scottish laird of old, ruling over his clan and half the world. Egotistical, was what it really was. He’d thought himself a god among men, in the face of his only child. Ridiculous was what Joel saw it all for, a put on play, a farce.

And wonder of wonders, she was entirely unlike him because of course she would be. Of course a man ruled by nothing more than ego and narcissism had been sent his polar opposite in the form of his only child. Kind hearted, was what she was—sending him a birthday gift every year. Remembering them all here always no matter how far she’d gone. He sent her a thank you note for each benevolence in return, a word of respectful gratitude for the fact that a person like her could ever remember a dog like him.

Sometimes, Joel had wanted to go to him, the old man, Oswald Kelly, and ask him where his daughter was, why he wasn’t looking for her, keeping her closer, caring for her. He wasn’t the sort of man that could’ve ever understood such callous behavior towards one’s child.

The last time she’d been here, over two years ago: less than forty eight hours that had ended in screaming so terrible they’d all heard it down from the barn, sitting in uncomfortable, swollen silence, the spinning of tires ringing as she yelled at her father that he was never going to see her again, the man’s echoing laugh as she’d fled him.

Joel hadn’t seen her on that visit, it’d been so quick and angry. Flying down on the jet from New Haven for her father’s seventieth birthday and not even making it long enough for the festivities. This was what her life was, as he’d observed it from a distance for all these years, the singular daughter of this great house, coming to her father, attempting joy and finding nothing but disappointment at the end of him.

She’d been right, a knowing streak running through her. Kelly had never seen her again, and Joel didn’t know if the old man had regretted it or not, the anger and the estrangement and the lack of love. But the last time he’d spoken to him, hours before setting off on their move, the herd always came before everything else, the ranch was all that mattered is what the man had always said, with death scratching at the window, his frail and withered body licked down to almost nothing from the austere and imposing figure Joel had always known him as, he’d asked for her. His only child. Do you think she’ll come, Joel? The dying man had asked him. My daughter, do you think she’ll come see me? Joel had lied a lie he hadn’t known was one, said she would, that he’d call her as soon as he was back.

In the end, he hadn’t even afforded her that decency, a personal call.

He comes to her open bedroom door now, pitch dark as grief within, and the stench of sorrow and liquor seeping from the living grave. He looks down the long and empty hall for a brief second, wishing it didn’t have to be him, that again, he didn't have to see her any way other than okay. And he realizes that there’s something about her, as she will exist now, that makes him cowardly. Something about this house without the man who’d granted him the absolution of a hiding place all those years ago, who’d understood and sheltered Joel in the midst of his own past grief, that makes him cowardly. The house feels wrong without Kelly within it, wrong with only her as its holder now.

Joel steps into her dark, and it’s a battleground—

—You are silent and motionless in the blue room.

Nothing of the gleaming splendor that dresses the rest of the home sleeps in here. There are clothes everywhere, an exploded suitcase lies open and massacred in the middle of the plush white rug, a turned over bottle of red wine bleeding into your clothes. Shredded pages with scratched on writing slashed across them, the dusted white mounds of crushed pills, as if you’d smashed each one individually beneath the thumb of your grief. The sight makes him more afraid, the scent of weed and cigarettes heavy in the air, as he takes the final step towards the wrecked bed, and a single small foot hangs limply from the edge.

He stares at it long and hard for a second, afraid, afraid again, still, of what he’ll find. He says your name once, short and gruff like a dog’s bark. It’s what he feels like. Animal, bestial, lacking any sort of cognizance amidst this minefield. His heart beats against his spine, and he thinks he should do something else, shake you, check for a pulse, his bones throb inside his skin. He needs to fucking move, but the smell of smoke is so cloying he’s choking on his own tongue.

Your ankle twitches.

And Joel sucks in a sigh of relieved air without panic, saying your name again. His voice is level now, maybe gentle, no more barking dog. His eyes move up the length of one pretty leg, and then quickly, he averts his gaze when he gets high up enough he’s met with soft-creased asscheek covered in silk. Swallowing his tongue, his eyes roll in their sockets, looking for anything else to look at besides the sight of panty clad ass. He steps closer again, gripping the edge of the sheet to pull it over your scantily clad body, eyes flitting to the silver spun clock on the nightstand, the warm glow of the hall light shows that they have two hours to get you sober and presentable before the funeral.

Joel should have been here. He does not feel that he is even here now. And the guilt eats at him like acid. The fear too.

“Darlin’, you’ve gotta get up now,” he says softly, taking hold of your shoulder, scalded by the feel of fragile skin, realizing with the suddenness of a gunshot that you’ll be the Kelly now. He gives you a gentle shake, “We’ve gotta get you ready,” and his heart pumps blood like a machine. The sight of the dry liquor bottle toppled on the nightstand, the shattered glass glittering the floor in crystal, the empty pill bottles, it all taunts him. His guilt is a cacophony in his mind. He knows he’s going to have to stick his fingers down your throat, make you spit it all up, that you’ll hate him for all of this afterwards, but when his gaze meets streaked rust, dark and shocking against the white sheets, he’s kicked into terrified action.

He turns you over, your head lolling sickeningly in unconscious stupor, hair a tangled mess strewn about your face so that he has to dig for your eyes, parting the curtains of your fringe to uncover you. He focuses on your closed eyes, the too long lashes clumped together, lips cracked and parched.

He should’ve fucking been here.

Smoothing his fingers along the lengths of your arms, he keeps his eyes on your face and averted from all the skin that keeps peeking out below, searching the divots and slopes of your arms for hurts. When he gets to your right hand, battleground of a long ago broken hurt, he finds the drying crust of blood, the ragged split in the soft, small palm, thankfully shallow.

His eyes smart, looking down at the broken glass, feeling the tear in you.

Gripping you gently below the elbows he pulls you into his arms, cradled like a child, light as loss. Your head lolls again, neck crooked at an unnatural angle as he carries you into the restroom, careful of your head, knocking the lights on and putting you down in front of the toilet bowl. He pulls your camisole to rights, making sure everything is covered, and gathers your mess of hair as carefully as he can, trying his best to not snag the fragile strands in his too rough hands, but gripping you firmly in position. And ignoring the sound of your awakening cry, he sticks two fingers into your slack jawed mouth and down your throat until he feels the hot rush of vomit.

Crouching behind you, his thighs bracket you, keeping your form from slumping over as you empty the poison from your belly, flushing the alcohol soaked bile as you struggle. He wipes his messy hand on the leg of his jeans and rubs soothing circles on your back, his fingers woven through the soft silk of your hair to keep your head in place and your face clear. His heart thumps in rhythm with your heaves, your too quick, panicked breathing. There seems to be not enough oxygen for the two of you and your grief in the too small room of the commode, and Joel gasps like a dying fish, trying to swallow calm breaths.

When you finally stop your heaving, you rest your arms at the edge of the gleaming porcelain, head hung low, defeated, wracked with shivers or silent sobs, he isn’t sure, a strange and horrible keening noise, so small he barely catches it, held in your throat. There’s the finest down of peach fuzz that covers the tender slope of your vulnerable nape, and it makes Joel feel suddenly, just as vulnerable, just as unprotected. At a complete loss for how to help you.

“Finally decided to show your face,” you croak, voice ragged with your sick.

His fingers tighten once around your shoulder, a panicked tick of reminder that he’s here now, that he’s him. “I was moving the herd. It had to be done. Your father, he—” he stutters, trying explain, tripping over his own guilt ridden words. “I didn’t think it’d happen now, so fast, that you’d get here so soon. I thought we had more time.”

We.

Your skin seems to cool by the second beneath his fingertips, and then you’re shrugging his touch away, huddling closer to the porcelain bowl, further away from him.

“Get out.”

“Let me explain. I—” And he’s begging now. He can hear the note of it in his voice. Begging for forgiveness. For a chance.

“I don’t want to see you.” You don’t say his name. “Get out.” It feels worse than anything.

“I’m here now. I didn’t know— I didn’t think.” He reaches to grab for you again, but you turn to face him suddenly. Wiping the back of your hand against your mouth, pushing your heels at his shins to kick him away. Your eyes are red rimmed, the hollows beneath bruised with lack of sleep. But fire spits from the deep color, all anger and hurt.

“Go deal with your fucking ranch,” you fling the words at him. “It’s all you care about anyways.” And they weren’t shivers, he sees now, they’re tears tracked as proof of all his guilt, all his lacking, along the slopes of your fine grained cheeks.

Your, you say. As if this place and anything in it has ever been his. He’s never wanted any of it like that, only ever seen a thing that needed taking care of, and him, with the ability to care for it.

“I needed you,” you whisper as if the thought comes along on a second wind of anger, a realization that sends your voice breaking, hitching, your chest caving in on itself as the tears come faster and faster now. “He’s dead, and I needed you.”

“I’m sorry,” he begs. “I’m so sorry.” His voice breaks now too. He thinks he’ll cry now too, for the man who he also lost, who despite it all meant something to him, as well. For you, who’s lost even more. For Joel’s own guilt.

But he doesn’t think you see any of that, not his apology, not his regret, not his own grief. You turn away from him again, laying your temple down again on your forearm. “Get out. I’ll be ready soon.”

And so he goes.

Your father is made small and withered in death.

One of the wealthiest men in the entire world. A stranger, a titan, a nightmare of a man.

It wasn’t something you’d ever considered, that a human body could look so colorless and frigid and not alive. Like a shock or a ringing bell, it’s a realization that you’re an orphan now. That you’re all alone.

You feel something like a memory of regret. Or something that’s like the idea that you should feel regret, that you should feel guilt for how it was between the two of you. But all that is overshadowed by the reality of what you weren’t. All you feel even more, or in actual reality, is the old loss of what you’d never been to each other. That, you realize, is the seed of your grief. That long ago wound, that child’s understanding that he wasn’t like all the other fathers, that he’d never care for you the way other children were cared for.

Looking down at the frozen face that looks nothing like the one he’d worn the last time you’d seen him, the wispy thatch of hair that hadn’t been so jarringly white before sickness had ravaged his body, you realize that this is no new loss, it is only a continuation, a reopening of a very old one.

The cavernous cathedral at your back is silent, vacated by the sea of people that had congregated here earlier. And with sickening curiosity, you uncoil an arm from where you’ve got it wrapped around yourself, reaching out to press a finger against the ice cold back of his hand. Shockingly not alive; he feels made of rubber.

Everyone that’d been here to bid farewell to this behemoth turned slip of a man, to catch a glimpse of you, packed like teeth into Jackson’s grandest cathedral; business men and heads of state from around the world, the oldest family names in the country, figures of the highest echelons of wealth and society, vipers circling the barrel—half the world here to see this person who was supposed to have been your father but was really only a stranger.

You take your hand back, and you don’t say goodbye as you turn away from his body. There’s no farewell to really tell.

And at the back of the church, hiding in a bright ream of sunlight, Joel stands propped against the face of a saint. Dark and silent and maybe even more far removed than your dead dad. Watching sentinel. Oswald Kelly’s hovering man—come to watch over him one last time.

The silk of your stockings slide against each other at the junction of your thighs, the hiss of your skirt around your calves as your reed thin heels click against the stone, and you pull your armor as tightly around yourself as you can. There’s a hollow echo inside of everywhere and everything, your mind like a gong, reverberating, and his gaze is so steady, hazel bright, deeply shaded by the lip of his dark hat, beckoning you towards him from beneath the brim.

Large and strong and steadfast, your heart gives a painful, longing thump—stupid, writhing thing—and you can only bear to look him in the eye for a second, and if you were to really think about saying goodbye to that father that never really was, lying behind you, slipping further and further away, you’d say it to the man that always stood as his shadow before the world, before you ever said it to the man himself.

The drive back home is cast in frigid silence and made all the more uncomfortable because you can practically hear Joel’s brain clicking and ticking away with worry.

He’d sent your car and driver away with a harsh word while you collected your final goodbyes and words of respect from the last smattering of people congregated and waiting for the newly birthed heir to one of the greatest fortunes in the world.

Hovering over your shoulder, he’d kept anyone from stepping too close or getting too friendly, so close you could feel the heat of his chest through the silk of your blouse, and then going suddenly full on aggressive when a reporter from the New York Times had approached, fishing for a quote on the future of the Kelly empire. Ushering you away with a hovering hand at the small of your back before the man could get half a question out, he’s opening the truck’s door for you as a haze descends over your eyes, the distant shutter and flash of cameras bursting in your peripherals, a latent hangover and sleep deprivation and not enough to eat in the last forty eight hours causing you to sag in his hold. Then it’s only his big fist wrapping around the span of your wrist as he lifts you into the truck, your eyes downcast and unable to take in sight or sound, vision all a blur. You murmur a barely there thank you with his hand fitting at the dip of your waist, big body blocking yours entirely from prying eyes trying to catch a glimpse or a stumble, and for a single second, your entire weight is suspended in his hold, allowing you to bypass the struggle of balancing your high heel on the step up, and then you’re sliding onto the leather of the seat, the whisper of your cashmere and silk rustling around you as he handles you like a child being spirited away from the scene of a crime.

The door shuts gently behind you, face turned away from the flashing lights, the watchful eyes of the whole world, and worst of all, the assessment of his concerned gaze. All you’re afforded are thirty seconds of privacy to let out a single gasping sob.

And now, an hour and a half of silent purgatory.

You slip your heels off, flexing your smarting toes against the damp of your stockings and tuck your folded legs beneath you on the seat. Paying the frantic energy of his anxiety and lodged words no mind, you consider instead: your new reality. The burden of it all means very little to you now. The last of your worries is being readied for entombing as the two of you speed down the eighty nine, zinging past the bright Wyoming green. The thrum of his truck drowns out your thoughts, brand new, probably over a hundred grand, only the best for your father’s right hand man, and the Kelly Ranch insignia emblazoned proudly on the sides. A brand for the whole world to see just who exactly is being whisked away to her old home turned brand spanking new grave.

You might be feeling a little bit dramatic. But then again— you’d just put your last remaining parent in an actual grave, surely that provides you some allowances.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his big paw gripping the leathered steering wheel in a death clutch, knuckles white with his frustration at the dilemma you pose, his own discomfort. You’re sure if he thought you wouldn’t catch him, he’d be squirming in his seat.

You do something to him sometimes, you know this. Not in any way you’d like, not in any interesting way, that of a woman affecting a man, but something respectfully harrowing. Maybe something a little bit like fear.

There has existed between the two of you, always, that strange intimacy of two people who’ve known each other for a very long time, and yet, have always remained at a far removed, arms length distance from one another.

A professional intimacy of sorts. Your father’s foreman, shadow, fixer. The man who guarded that treasure trove you’d inherit one day, today; the thing your father loved most in the world. Two people who’ve known each other a long time, and yet, don’t really know each other at all.

There has always been, however, the fact of the birthday.

The birthday. Your birthday.

The way you’d latched onto that small, immense, detail when you’d first discovered it at fourteen, when he’d newly arrived at the ranch and the true weight of your first real crush had really hit you, it was probably not entirely healthy. But you’d thought yourself in love with your father’s man, the first figure of the male species who’d ever drawn your attention in such a way.

He’d never paid you any mind; you were the boss's daughter, a figurehead or a responsibility, maybe a nuisance, although he’d never ever treated you as one. But the day someone had let slip it was his birthday, on the same day as yours, your teenage heart had swelled with the naive hope of fate. It was meant to be, the two of you were connected, so on and so forth, swallowed by girlish innocence and made buoyant by fantasy.

But you’d had something to share with someone, which was what really mattered. Something tangible, even if only in your inexperienced little mind, something to wield as comfort so that the first time your father had forgotten your special day, fifteen, and what a tender age it had been, you’d had something to cling to. That's when your gifts to him had started. It was your way of making sure there was at least one person in the whole world who’d remember that was your day too. That you were alive, that you mattered. A reminder of yourself. And as the years and birthdays passed, sometimes, when he sent those coldly gracious notes of his, you’d wished you could’ve written back with honesty. Said something like, I’m so lonely, wish you were here, wherever it was in the world you’d found yourself at the time.

And of course, he was gorgeous and older, strong and patient and capable, entirely unattainable. Impossible to forget. You’d gone so far, traveled wide, gotten yourself an overpriced education that would probably serve you for nothing, had lovers and parties and splendor, and always, you remembered your gifts for him, you remembered him. It was the single most important detail of your birthday every year.

The leather creaks beneath his fist again, chapped knuckles set to burst before he flexes his fingers out, long and straight. Thickly built hands, strong, made for working or hurting, on a man who you’ve never seen be anything but stoically patient.

He was strange in that way, neither wholly impulsive nor precisely intentional in his mannerisms. More so, it was that there was something extremely neutral about him, a middle buoyancy of personality. Strict with the cowboys, exacting, wielding his title as ranch foreman with an iron fist and your father’s blessing, and yet still, quiet, serious, with that patient gentleness about him. You’d seen it in the way he’d handled Ellie when she’d first come to the ranch, young and skinny with that hollow look of trauma kids who’d seen things they shouldn’t have shamed adults with. She’d been a little older than you, and with an air you’d not understood, a sort of lived past you’d been naive to the existence of, frightened when confronted by it, and yet inevitably, the two of you’d become fast friends eventually.

You’d even experienced it yourself, on two treasured occasions, that gentleness that you’d held onto for years. Nurturing the memory of him in your mind like a delusional bloom.

He stretches his hand again, wheel caught between his thumb and forefinger, cinching it there, back and forth. His nails are meticulously clean, cut to the quick, and you imagine he must spend a great deal of time cleaning himself up when he works so hard at getting himself so dirty most days.

You can see him sneaking glances at you, and he coughs once, a clearing of his nervous throat. Averting your gaze, you turn your face away so that you’ll be able to watch him through the reflection in the window. He monopolizes the space in the cabin of the truck, broad shoulders and hulking form, all the fine leather smell washed away in the scent of him. That bay rum aftershave he’s always worn, the one with the distinctive notes of bay leaf, cloves and citrus. An old fashioned scent, masculine and crisp.

You’d snuck into the bunk once with Ellie, before he’d moved into the foreman’s cabin, before Switzerland, when the two of you were still girls running rampant and free through the ranch, clutching desperately at the last vestiges of any sort of happy childhood you could scrounge up for one another. You’d peeked in his things, found a whole world of Joel shaped curiosities. The glass etched bottle of aftershave, a hole spotted t-shirt with a burnt orange longhorn across the front, Flannery O’Connor’s The Complete Stories—something you found comforting, knowing he could read about the small, the freakish, real life; thinking that perhaps he was homesick for the comfort of the South, hungering for a taste of the life he’d had then, through books. And then, in a spine cracked copy of Suttree, the pages almost falling apart beneath your fingertips, dog eared and well loved, her picture tucked between the pages.

It had been the first time you’d done something you knew you shouldn’t have and actually regretted it, looking down at that green eyed photograph.

You’d run back to your room after that, ashamed and something a little bit like jealous, desperate to know who she was, desperate for someone to keep a picture of you like that—as if they loved you. And years later, you’d found the scent for yourself. The little molasses glass bottle you still have and pull out on occasion, when you’re feeling extra bad, extra lonesome, extra far away from the whole world, just for a reminding of home.

Beside you, he sighs again, coughs again, brings you back to himself and the present. Just spit it out already, you think exasperatedly, say something, anything else besides how sorry you are.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he starts, and you roll your eyes, scoffing quietly.

“You already said that.” Sullen. Mullish. You wish you were a child who could still throw a tantrum and get away with it. Letting your eyes go unfocused from his reflection in the window, you brood at the sight of everything that’s yours now as he turns off the highway, passing below the iron eave of the Kelly Ranch entrance. Eight hundred thousand acres of pristine Wyoming land nestled into the deep valley surrounded by the Grand Tetons mountain range.

“Well, I’m sayin’ it again.” He’s driving too fast, and you refuse to turn and look at his face. Your heart beats blood in your ears, and you screw your eyes shut to the dizzying blur of green legacy, not wanting to see any of it—him.

Your belly swoops, going slightly nauseous and gurgling.

“I didn’t think you’d get here so quick.” He swallows, “Hell, I didn’t think it’d all happen so damn fast.”

“I was already in New York,” you tell him, voice clipped with breathlessness. “I left Paris last week.”

“What? I didn’t know— I—”

“Why would you?”

“I would’ve called you. I would’ve gotten you out here quicker.”

“Ellie called. It’s better like this, Joel.” Finally letting yourself say his name out loud, it feels wrong and molten on your tongue, a heaviness being spit up from the depths of your stomach. “We don’t have to pretend anymore. He’s dead now.”

“There’s no pretending. He wanted to see you—”

“Please, stop.”

But he urges on unheeded: “He told me so before I left. Told me—”

“Stop,” you snap. Finally turning to look at him and hating him for it. For how gorgeous he is, for all the things he’s always made you feel for as long as you can remember what it was to feel something for a man, for all he did or did not have with your father when you had none of it or so much of an entirely different thing. “Stop. I don’t want to hear any of it. It doesn't matter anymore, Joel.”

“But you should know. You deserve to know that—”

“What?” Because that one hurts. “I deserve to know what?” That he actually had loved you but had just never been able to show it? That now it was too late? That the only person the great Oswald Kelly had ever been able to speak to of the supposed care he had for his only daughter was the hired help? You’d read once that one should never let their parents anywhere near their real humiliations. You’d tried your damndest to follow that as soon as you’d grown up. “It’s not your place,” you seethe with teeth bared, an animal shoved into a corner and made to fight for its life, deciding you won’t ever let Joel near them either.

He spits a cursing, growled sound of frustration, but doesn’t continue. The two of you find yourselves at an impasse, and you turn back to your windowed mirror of him, eyes pinching hot, filling with tears. One of the things your father disliked most about you, your easy tears, and a single salt marred inadequacy tracks down the slope of your cheek, dripping off the edge of your jaw into the bandaged cup of your palm, and you breathe slow and measured through your open mouth, watching the fog cloud grow and shrink against the glass obscuring your vision of him.

The last time you’d missed your mother, the one you’d never known, in any sort of real and true way, you’d been eighteen. Returning to an empty house after celebrating your high school graduation in a far off school, alone.

In the midst of your sophomore year, you’d been sent away to a Swiss boarding school. It had been something worse than devastating, losing your life in Wyoming, the only home you’d ever know, Ellie, the other people on the ranch… But it was far removed enough that you couldn’t bother, where you couldn’t ask for things like attention or consideration. The education had been excellent, the upbringing desperately lonely ending on a whimpering sigh despite your many accomplishments. You’d wanted her very badly then indeed, your mother. To have been there, to have helped you pick your dress, kissed your cheek after watching you walk across the stage. To have wiped your tears when she told you that your father wasn’t there because he was busy managing the whole world, but that he was proud of you, that he’d have been there if he could. You’d wished she could’ve been there to lie to you so that you wouldn’t have needed to lie to yourself.

Peering down from your balanced perch atop the deck’s bannister, you survey the deep bed of Lily of the Valley, destroyed beneath the vindictive soles of your bare feet. He’d planted them for her all around the house after she’d died, her favorite flower.

You’d always hated them.

And that was the thing of it all, which you’d learned when you grew old enough to recognize such things like disdain. He couldn't stand you because you reminded him of her. Clichéd and old and tired. An excuse for being a neglectful father. The daughter who was too much like her dead mother, and thus did not deserve to be loved.

You tip your head back, nursing at the lip of fine aged Macallan, and the sky is a glass mirror of blackened silver streaks. You’re almost positive that all the stars in the Milky Way are visible from right here at this very spot in the heart of Wyoming. The sight makes your broken heart feel full and falsely mended.

You’re certain you’re painting a pretty picture right now: tipsy on a bottle of your dead dad’s sacredly hoarded whiskey that probably cost as much as someone’s house, staring up at the stars in your newly inherited home with a whole unappreciated life full of possibilities ahead of you. Basking in the title of your newly minted— orphan-hood? Orphan-ness? A peer of the orphans.

You snort softly, sucking on the bottle again, letting the heat of it settle in your belly, smolder in your heart. Your head feels full of bubbles and sugar and sad.

There’s a part of you that feels a little ridiculous, despite the circumstances. You’re good at compartmentalizing, good at being objective of your realities. Obviously: sad because your father is now dead, and it’d been nine months and eleven days since you’d last spoken to him. Sad because he’d never given a shit about you. Sad because you’re alone, dumped by the stupid French jockey boyfriend who you’d not even liked very much, just a few days before this whole pathetic ordeal of acquiring your orphan-hood, yeah, that’s what you’re sticking with, had occurred. Not to mention the army of looming lawyers and financial advisors and various heads of business vying for your attention, waiting for the what next?

And Joel.

A one man army of looming Joel.

So you’re feeling morose, blue, maybe a little spoiled, but brought low and cut short. Depressed and unsatisfied with your life thus far.

Poor little rich girl. Poor little orphan. Poor little me.

What you want?

Someone to care.

Someone to love you.

Hard to come by. Impossible to buy.

The stars gleam purple silver, winking at you. The bracketing black so dark it swallows the eye. Another taste of the nutty bouquet of smoked apple oranges, and soon you’ll be tipsy enough you won’t be able to balance your butt on the bannister’s ledge anymore. Maybe you’ll go humpty dumpty over the edge and crack your skull against your mother’s valley of destroyed Lily’s.

You laugh again with sound now, not crazy, only an orphan, ha, but you think that it’s only that it feels shockingly as if you’ve fallen through the surface of your life. As if you are still falling with nothing and no one to grab on to, to help stabilize you. A really terrible, shit-out-of-luck feeling.

Your eyes continue their infernal leaking, and you blow your nose loudly on the inside of your sweater. You’ve given yourself three days to do whatever the hell you want, be as disgusting as you may. When the three days are up you’ll plan to get your act together, take responsibility and hold of your life and become the woman you should be.

Who that is? Still being decided.

You think that maybe you’ll buy another jet before that time’s up. Or an island. Something ridiculous. Maybe you’ll sell the goddamn ranch.

You eye the dark rolling hills of the valley with seething suspicion. Let’s see what Joel says about that. You, marching up to the highway entrance and spearing a For Sale sign in the dirt of the largest privately owned cattle ranch in the continental United States. Way more than that God forsaken surly frown is what you’d get.

So long, Joel, it’s been swell. I’m done with this place. It’s time to pack it up and find some new hunk of land to care about more than you care about me or anything else.

Maybe you’ll be real funny and put up a Craigslist ad.

And it isn’t that you don’t love this place, the only home you’ve ever known. You do. In a way that is passionate and consuming and irreconcilable. Everything about it, the serenity, the guarding mountains and the deep woods, the home you’d been born in, that both your parents had died in. You do love it in your way.

It’s only that every man you’ve ever loved—loved—had always cared more about the place than he’d ever cared about you.

For the longest time, most of your youth until you’d decided that you officially felt an adult, you’d thought you’d hated your father. There was just so much anger and resentment and the resound of his ever furious words and insults and endless disappointment. The echo of no mother ringing so loudly in your ears that the confounding feelings had all been mistaken for hatred. But with age and distance and life, you’d realized you didn't hate him. You never had. You thought, actually, and this was a very good and mature thought of yours, that you were the only person in the whole world that had ever seen him as only a man and not a god.

He was only a man, full of greed and grief and missing the mother of the child he’d probably never wanted. Nothing more or less.

Maybe it was that you felt sorry for him. Not in the way of pity, but in the way of one person feeling empathy for another in a clinical and helpless sort of manner. And a numb, detached sort of sadness. A longing for something that you’d never had and had always wanted but eventually learned to live without.

Ultimately, his disappointment had turned on him, and now it was all you felt you had for him at the end of it all.

But, for some reason, and an annoying one at that, you do think that, if you try very, very hard, you could bring yourself to hate Joel Miller. There’s satisfaction in that possibility, vindication—resentment that even now, as practically strangers, you know he’d be able to pull that sort of feeling out of you which could result in hatred. Something strong and overwhelming and not easily escaped.

Your stomach rumbles, and you smile blithely at all your inherited legacy, filling the hollow with more drink. Three days to behave very badly, as badly as you can. The whiskey is so good, and swishing it around in your mouth, you tip your head back further, gurgling it loudly at the back of your throat.

“What the hell are you doing?”

You jerk, scrambling to keep your balance, choking a little on smokey apples and your own spit. A trickle of the golden amber liquor drips out of the corner of your mouth as you find him hiding in the dark across the deck. Accustomed to drooling over him, you wipe it away with the back of your hand.

“Having a party. Would you like to join?”

“Are you drunk again?”

Tough crowd. Ugh. “Never mind. You’re not invited. Go away.”

“You need to go inside and go to bed.”

You tip your chin at him, putting on doe eyes. “Alright. And are you going to be my new daddy also?” You say in a baby voice.

Fucking Christ, you hear him whisper under his breath, turning away to run an exasperated palm over his mouth. Frustration seethes off of him like sulfur. He’s tired. Of you maybe. Of the whole circus this place has become in the past few days—and rightfully so.

“What do you want? I’m extremely busy, if you can’t tell.”

“Just thought I’d check on ya.” Courteous, always the gentleman, bullshit. You roll your eyes at him.

“I don’t need you to check on me.” And you, ever the child. One day you swear you’ll grow up.

But it can’t be said that you’re entirely selfish either. You have considered the fact of Joel’s own grief at the loss of your father. After all, they’d been much closer than you’d ever been to him for many years. And maybe, in his own cold and removed and superior way, your father had seen this man who you’ve thought yourself in love with since you were a teenager, as something like a son.

Probably, that’s just your own wishful thinking: that Oswald Kelly had ever been capable of such tender feelings.

Maybe the fact of Joel’s own grief is the thorn beneath your nail bed that’s making you so angry with him, so needing of his attention. Maybe it’s that he’d failed to fulfill your silly and girlish fantasy that upon receiving the news of your only remaining parents death, he’d have been here waiting for you, at this home he’d guarded for you for so long, ready to take you into his arms and console and care for you.

When instead, he’d been off doing what he’d always done for as long as you’d known him. Protecting your father’s interests, his legacy.

“Is this how it’s going to be?”

“How?”

“You, being difficult.” Driving me fuckin’ crazy— he adds again under his breath.

“I’m an orphan now, Joel.” You’re becoming quickly addicted to the word. “I think I should be afforded a tiny bit of leeway to drive people fuckin’ crazy,” you mock his Southern drawl. Enough of your time had been spent in Europe over the past two years, kissing Europeans, that you’d sloughed off the last of your American twang; something of a vaguely European lilt peppering your words every now and then that Ellie likes to tease you for whenever the two of you speak on occasion.

A muscle under his left eye twitches at the jab, and you take another deep swig of the bottle, provoking him with your gaze. Wishing you had whatever it is a woman needs to entice this man. Like the fucking vet. Fucking world renowned, brilliant, highly coveted, beautiful veterinarian. You know about her. You’re sure he thinks he’s been discreet over the years with their whatever they’ve had, Tess, but you know.

Maybe you’ll be insane and irrational and possessive, taking advantage of your three crazy days, and fire her with your new found power. See what he has to say about that. Ha.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Obviously not.

Despite your current hysteria, your goal is not to send the ranch head over heels into a tailspin.

But the imagining is soothing.

“Want some?” You hold the heavy crystal out towards him in a peace offering, held precariously between two sweaty knuckles. “It’s probably worth as much as your truck. Would be a waste for me to finish on my own.” You eye what’s left of it, about half, and give him a sheepish grin. It really is very good.

He looks at you for one long, solemn moment, always so silent and pensive, this strange enigma of a man. You get to watch in real time as he loses whatever fight it is he’s trying to fight against you, victorious when he shrugs and comes over slowly, resting his butt against the bannister—a carefully respectful distance away from you.

When he takes the bottle from your swinging clutch, gripped from the base, careful not to touch you in any way, you see the real sad in his eyes. The dim lights bleeding out through the big windows of the family room without a family shine on his face in strips and bursts. A shadow here, golden warmth there. He’s got more lines around his eyes than you remember from the last time you’d been this close to him. Smile lines made bright white in the center and gold burnished at the edges from too much sun. There’s little bursts of silver threaded at his temples now too, a gleam here and there in his dark beard. Forty four years old, he’d turned on your last birthday.

You dig your nails into the soft meat of your palms, and your belly smolders as he brings the bottle to his lips, tasting the exact place your own mouth had just been moments ago. You press your knees together as hard as you can, head a little woozy with the color of his eyes; the most gorgeous green, caramel hazel.

You’d graduated two years ago with a degree in art history and had done absolutely nothing with it since. It was just that everything appeared boring and pointless and shallow. Your whole life had one day suddenly seemed just a little silly. Useless, overpriced degree, nothing to be done with extensive knowledge in color theory when your world is expecting such different things from you now.

But you sure as hell can appreciate the color of his eyes in extensive and meticulous detail. There is that.

Watching the slow slide of the amber liquor down the bottle-neck, the long pull of his lush mouth, the ripple of his strong throat, and the way his eyes go a little wider, shocked at how good it is. You laugh soft: “I know, right.”

He takes another pull, another swallow. That’s what you want to be—swallowed just like that. “Damn, that’s good.” His mouth is a little wet, bottom lip shiny with thousands of dollars worth of your father’s favorite whiskey, and his eyes are sad.

You’d said you were going to be bad, but you don’t want to be bad to him. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

He swallows again, tipping his head towards you, trying to catch your too soft words—he’s got a bad ear, you know why—and turns to peer at you from beneath his low pulled brow, the tip of his tongue peeking out to swipe at the drop of liquor you wish you could suck off his tongue.

“You’ve got nothin’ to be sorry for.”

The first time he’d shown you that gentleness of his: You’d fallen from your horse at school in your junior year. Something had frightened the beast, and she’d bucked you, sent you flying ten feet in the air, ragdoll-like, before you’d landed badly on your right arm, a comminuted fracture in your radius that you’d needed surgery to fix. At your insistence, and with only a few weeks left to spare, you’d been sent home for the remainder of the semester. Your father had been incensed but eventually allowed it. He’d been away from the ranch on business, after all, at no risk of being truly disturbed by you. But when you’d been readying to return to Switzerland at the end of the summer, arm healed, courage not, you’d not been able to get back on a horse no matter what you tried. Joel had helped you, before they’d shipped you off again. Trotted the corral with you for hours and hours before you’d finally been able to relax and sit on your own without tears and vertigo. No questions or admonishments, nothing but the quiet burr of his deep voice, guiding you and the mare along.

It had been a kindness unlike any you’d experienced in maybe your whole life.

“I’ve been bad.”

“Nah. You couldn’t ever be.”

The second time: “Did today make you think of Sarah?” Years after you’d found that green eyed photograph, he’d shared her with you.

His gaze turns suddenly sharp, but you’re not worried you’ve stepped in unbreachable territory. “Yeah.” The echo of her name rings around the two of you.

“In a bad way or a good way?” He takes another long swig, a low whistle through his teeth and a shake of his head before he’s handing the bottle back to you—again, carefully.

“Both.”

You take your own swallow, slicking your tongue all around where his just was, and you’re drunk for real now. Drunk on a man.

“Do you ever regret telling me about her?”

“Nah.” He tips his head back, looking up at the thick beams of the deck’s awning. He’s got the longest lashes you’ve ever seen on a man, thick and curling. The deepest voice you’ve ever heard too, sultry, a bedroom voice. A voice for fucking. Your belly swirls and dips, and you want so much you’re dizzy with it.

Heart beating like it’s about to burst, out of breath on the verge of hyperventilating, you can taste his mouth in your mouth, the imagination flavor of it. This is what it must feel like to die. This is what your father must have felt like three days ago, this agony.

His Adam’s apple bobs, and it’s so pronounced, the skin of his throat sun pebbled. There isn’t an inch of him that isn’t all rough-hewn man. “You needed to hear about her then, I s’pose.”

Yes. “You told me when I needed you to.” After that lonely graduation, the last time you’d missed her really very badly, longed for a mother. Alone, alone, alone little girl.

“You were missin’ your momma somethin’ fierce. Needed to know you weren’t the only one that felt like that sometimes.”

You laugh a not-laugh, butt scraping against the railing, slipping off your perch, socked-feet thudding beside his gifted boots. The pleasure you feel whenever you see him use one of the things you’ve given him is indescribable.

“Silly,” you say with barely any sound, his bad ear reaches for your voice again. “At the time it felt like I was the only person in the whole world that had ever felt like that.”

“We all feel like that at one point or another, I reckon.”

“Will you miss him a lot?” You ask looking up at him, the beautiful profile, the strong jaw. You’ve always wondered how he sees you. If he’s ever thought you were beautiful. Other men do, it’s a common thing, a nothing sort of thing. There are always men, there will always be men. But this singular man—this one is not like the rest.

“Maybe. Can’t tell yet, don’t think. But it felt wrong earlier, walking through his house without him in it.” His house, not yours.

“Do you wish he’d been your father?” And he turns to look down at you at that, gaze snapping, and you can tell you’ve shocked him with the question. But you’d always wondered.

“No. Never,” he says with such assuredness, an uncompromising shake of his head.

And the answer doesn't necessarily shock you in turn. You don't think anyone could have ever wanted a father like that. But it also doesn't help you understand what it was that lived between them either.

He sighs, perhaps reading the confusion in your gaze. “He helped me at a time when I needed it real bad. Gave me a place and a purpose and a thing to do and take care of. You get me? It was gratitude—maybe. He saved me in a way, after Sarah. Nothing more.” He thinks for a moment, and then, “Perhaps it was that we understood each other about certain things.”

You gaze across the sprawl of dark land as far as the eye reaches, that point of no return where the earth shoots up into the sky, purple blue behemoths in the shape of mountains.

From this spot, rooted to the deck of your family home, it seems like the whole world is yours to keep. Also, like you’ll never be able to touch any of it with fingers or taste or meaning.

Your love for this place is complicated—tied up in the people, the memories, the could’ves and should’ves, the whole dreamscape idea of the monument of childhood and all it’d really never been. The time away had felt eternal, like you’d never really been here to begin with, like the young girl who’d grown up on this land had never really existed. But you’d not forgotten them, this, despite your distance. Your home, the father that wouldn’t want you, Wyoming and all its splendor, the people you’d left behind, Joel and Ellie and shared birthdays that meant a secret world to you. Morsels of small happinesses interloped amidst a largely lonely and sad childhood. That’s what it was at its core.

“Would you be angry with me if I gave it all away?”

He thinks for a moment, maybe you’re making him sadder, but then finally says with a swallow, “No. It’s yours to do with as you please.”

You eye the quarter of whiskey left, but your belly isn’t hungry for its warmth anymore. You want something heavier now.

“Could you even do that—legally—sell it or somethin’?”

“Probably not. He probably tied it to my fucking life. Sell and die.” You mime your name in an imitation of your fathers deep voice, frowning at yourself the way he’d always frowned when he looked at you, but it pulls a laugh from him, and the painful memory is worth it. “But I have a billion dollars to spend now. More?” You tap your chin—you want to make him laugh again. “Gotta think of something interesting to do with it all.”

His mouth slides into an easy half grin. Like the moon—that beautiful. And he turns to face you fully. “You’re gonna be just fine. You know that, right?”

You turn to face him too, gripping the bannister for dear life. “What? Will you make sure of it?”

“That’s my plan.”

“How’re you gonna do that, d’you reckon?” The American twang bleeds back into your voice, and you’re all swollen lush on the inside, heart a beating fist in your chest.

“Haven’t gotten that far, if I’m bein’ honest with you.” God. His eyes, the strong bridge of his nose, his mouth. He’s so tall your head has to crook back to look up at him. “I’ll figure something out.” And after another pensive second, and still with that soft, sloped eye smile, he asks, and nicely, “Will you stop drinking now—for me?”

“Maybe tomorrow,” you say with the same sort of smile in return.

And then suddenly, like vomit again but maybe more humiliating this time: “Did you respect him?” Because you don’t know all the things about him that there are to know, but you do know that Joel Miller’s respect is a thing hard earned.

He clicks his tongue, and you hear the pop of his jaw as he shifts it like he’s chewing on an honesty. His eyes, his eyes, they’re serious, mercurial, warm and deep also. You worry he won’t answer, that he wouldn’t want to disappoint you or something, but then: “No,” said real simple like.

“Why not?”

And the way he looks down at you, you know already, and it makes that falling through the surface of your own life feeling rise up inside you again, makes your ears pop with embarrassment. Ah. “He never did a very good job of hiding the way he treated you, sweetheart. I couldn’t ever respect a man like that.”

This is reality right here, this is you falling through your life, this is the realization that it wasn’t only you imposing yourself, your existence, on someone with gifts they didn’t want or ask for. Joel had seen. Joel had understood.

Someone else had noticed that you exist, and it had been him.

What else had you ever wanted?

And in the blink of a desperate, yearning eye, drunk on a man still, you’re throwing yourself at him, pressing your mouth hot and heavy to his, kissing him full on the way you’d dreamt of since you knew to dream of such things.

Chapter 2; Sugar, Not so Sweet

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#fable of the dog fic #vic fic #joel miller fanfiction #Joel Miller x FMC #joel miller smut #Joel miller angst #the last of us AU

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silverwhittlingknife · 5 months ago

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So you're a go to source for all things Dick&Tim bros and you tend to write primarily from Dick's POV. So, odd question, but if you were to summarize their relationship from his POV in FIVE panels which panels would you pick? Keeping in mind that one specific aspect of their relationship that you love needs to be clearly represented by each panel (loyalty, trust etc). I hope this is a fun challenge and not an annoying question so if you don't want to answer that's cool! Have a wonderful day!

No more talk. The same thoughts run through two minds... (SotB 29) / You're my equal. My closest ally. (RR 1) / I can't stop thinking how much I rely on him. (GoG 3)

25 Feelings Dick Has About Tim

This was such a kind ask & a cool challenge which I totally failed; here are TWENTY-five panels of Dick's POV on Tim sdfdsfds Look, I got carried away! Marcia and Cindy! The boys!!

OKAY SO BEFORE I GET TO THE PANELS A FEW NOTES:

WARNING THAT THERE ARE SOME NEGATIVE EMOTIONS IN HERE because I love conflict but but but you gotta remember those are not the final word!! They are complicated people and sometimes they get mad at each other BUT ultimately their relationship is so hugely important in both their lives & they love each other and rely on each other so much -!!! <3

Also I have CONCLUDING THOUGHTS at the end about what Dick's POV leaves out (mostly: a lot of Dick defending & protecting & supporting Tim, which Dick does instinctively but isn't very self-aware about most of the time)

I have loosely organized my list into 5^5 format (5 categories with 5 examples each!), so if you want to skip to a relevant one, here are the categories!!

Below the cut:

I hate him and find him infuriating (#1-5)

On second thought, he's endearing & fun (#6-10)

Grief is complicated & he's all tangled up in mine (#11-15)

I love him & think highly of him (#16-20)

I rely on him & though it's hard for me, I trust him (#21-25)

I hate him and find him infuriating (#1 - 5)

1) He thinks he’s so smart and can psychoanalyze me and Bruce, but he doesn’t know me at all, he should get lost (New Titans 61)

2) He thinks he’s so smart and can psychoanalyze Bruce but he doesn’t know Bruce at all, he should get lost (Gotham Knights 26)

3) He is so nosy about stuff that is MY business (Robin 0)

4) He sounds like an insincere suck-up half the time... but okay, fine, if you push him he's got a sense of humor about it (New Titans 65)

5) I'm sure he's a better vigilante than me. It's my fault for being a failure, but I resent him anyway. (Nightwing 9 - Dick's having a nightmare)

On second thought, he's kinda endearing (#6-10)

6) He worries too much and gets anxious so easily, but it makes him fun to tease (Robin 67)

7) I'm not that competitive - okay, so maybe I'm a little competitive, I gotta make sure he doesn't get a swelled head (Prodigal)

8) I'm supposed to be his favorite! It is not cool for him to be fanboying over my not-girlfriend's not-boyfriend!! (Birds of Prey 19)

9) We have fun together. I can kick back and relax when it's just the two of us. Plus I get to boss him around a bit. (Prodigal)

10) He’s always trying to reassure me, and I guess it's a little comforting, but also he doesn’t really get it. Or me. He makes excuses that he shouldn't, because he doesn't understand that I suck. (Nightwing 64)

Grief is complicated and he's all tangled up in mine (#11 - 15)

11) He reminds me of everything I try not to think about. Sometimes the memories are so strong it hurts to look at him. (Batman 441)

12) WHY IS HE BEING IMPOSSIBLE ALL OF A SUDDEN??? THIS IS SO FRUSTRATING (Nightwing 139)

13) We're the same. He says all the things I don't let myself think about. It's like arguing with myself. (Nightwing 139)

14) He thinks he gets to tell me what to do but he doesn’t, fuck him (Battle for the Cowl)

15) Life sucks, so what. I sucked it up so he should too (RR 1)

I love him and think highly of him (#16 - 20)

16) He’s the closest thing to a brother I’ll ever have. If someone hurts him I will hurt them harder. (Nightwing 6)

17) I can't handle the idea of losing him. (Nightwing 97)

17) He’s so good and I’m not. I'm afraid I’m bad for him. (Nightwing 110)

18) He’s better than me, and it’s kind of a relief because I know no matter what he’ll be okay. (Gates of Gotham 3)

19) In my head he’s the responsible one. (Gotham Knights 10)

I rely on him, and though it's hard for me, I trust him (#20-25)

20) I know I have to trust him but I'm afraid he'll make the wrong choices and get hurt (Nightwing 139)

21) I'm sure I know what he should do because I see myself in him - not that I can take my own advice, but he should (Blackest Night 3)

22) I trust him. When I’m losing my grip on things, he pulls me back. (Gotham Knights 10)

23) I want him to trust me (Red Robin 12)

24) He can tell when I'm lying. Sometimes he sees my weaknesses better than I wish he did. (Detective Comics 874)

25) He’s always there when I need him. (Teen Titans / Outsiders Secret Files)

Final rambling thoughts:

TIM: Uhh, okay, so I'm just skimming this list - do you really trust me? you're not just saying that? - but anyway, I'm confused because you left some stuff out? Like some stuff that's kinda important? DICK: No? I think I got everything? TIM (starts counting on his fingers): The time I was having a bad day but then I called you. The time I got captured by Two-Face but then you saved me. The time I fell off a train but then you saved me. The time I fell off a building but then you saved me. The time I fell off a different building - DICK: I feel like you're trying to make some kind of point but I'm not sure what it could be.

SO THE THING IS, I put 25 panels in here and not a single one has Dick catching Tim when he’s falling!!! But I think that's a central motif of their relationship from Tim’s POV, not Dick’s. I love Dick, but in some ways I think he is spectacularly un-self-aware.

And I think he especially has a lot of blind spots about Tim. He kinda intermittently gets that Tim admires him, and he enjoys it in a playful I-get-to-boss-you-around way. But Dick tends to consistently underestimate all of his own good qualities & skills, and he meets Tim at a point in his life when he's especially down on himself & his abilities. And so he's unable to see his own influence on Tim, & therefore unable to fully understand a lot of Tim's priorities and loyalties and motivations, because you can't actually understand Tim without understanding Dick's impact on him. There's a fascinating moment in Bruce Wayne: Murderer when Dick's completely blindsided & upset to discover that Tim doesn't entirely trust Bruce, even though this has been a definitive fact of Tim's whole thing ever since he showed up with his Batman needs Robin theory, and Barbara has to actively remind Dick of the obvious-to-everyone-except-Dick fact that a lot of Tim's loyalty is to Dick, and Tim loves Bruce but feels free to be more wary of him. (And to give Bruce credit: this is not something he ever begrudges.) But anyway Babs points this out, and Dick manages to sorta process it for about five seconds, but he cannot actually accept it into his worldview so instead he discards it at the speed of light and goes off and has an argument with Tim instead sdfsfdsf

All of Dick's virtues - Dick's kindness at the circus and Dick's determination to fight through grief and Dick's rigid sense of morals and Dick's vigilante skills and every time Dick has ever backed Tim up or listened to him or protected him or saved him from something or just been casually kind to a stranger in Tim's presence etc etc etc - all these things loom really large in Tim's mental story of Who Dick Is, and What Dick And Tim's Relationship Is. Tim meets Dick before he meets Bruce, trusts Dick more than Bruce, aspires to be Robin instead of Batman. And so in Tim's default version of the story, Dick is the super-special and admirable hero and Tim is... nobody in particular, a tagalong outsider who's barely managing to be a hero, not part of Dick and Bruce's family and not part of their story, who, if he's VERY LUCKY and tries REALLY HARD, might be able to fight his way to proving himself and offering something to Dick that Dick will value, if Dick doesn't get fed up with him first.

But that's not Dick's version of the story!!!

Dick's version of the story is almost the exact opposite, a story where Dick's an outcast failure black sheep who's screwing up everything he tries, and meanwhile Tim is The Sudden New Perfect Robin Who's Better Than Me And Probably Bruce Loves Him More And Probably They Gossip About What A Loser I Am, mixed with a complicated edge of Tim Thinks He's So Smart But He Doesn't Know Me/Us At All. Dick gets much more attached to Tim over time, and Tim gets unnervingly better at the know-it-all psychoanalysis so then Dick gets to have complicated feelings about him being right instead of just annoyance at him for being wrong, plus Dick's relationship with Bruce improves a lot, so Tim stops feeling so threatening. But Dick never fundamentally changes his basic theory of their relationship in which Tim is highly impressive and capable, and Dick is not so much.

And so asking Dick about Tim is kinda like if you asked George Bailey to tell you about Harry Bailey in It's A Wonderful Life; like, you'll be there for five hours while he tells you how great Harry is, and how accomplished Harry is, and how he doesn't really get how or why Harry does the things he does, and maybe George does feel a little resentful or jealous sometimes, but that pales in comparison to all his admiration and trust for Harry who he loves so much, who's better than him in so many ways, and he's not gonna openly gripe but secretly he can't help but feel sometimes like he's such a failure in comparison to Harry, a perfect person who emerged fully formed from Zeus's head with all the virtues and also all the accomplishments, etc. etc. etc. --

-- and he will not actually remember the part where he changed and saved Harry's whole entire life unless you literally send him to an alternate timeline in order to force him to remember it. <3

#i enjoyed thinking about this so much i wrote a novel with All My Thoughts sorry sdfsdfs #tim drake #dick grayson #somewhat tangential but as i was writing this i was thinking about zahri's post #about how different types of stories offer different kinds of emotional payoffs #and i think for me for dick and tim the main two payoffs are:#1) someone who sees & understands your grief for deaths that will never get fixed or get better #and who will face your ghosts with you EVEN WHEN you're also mad at each other #2) someone who you look at and you see all the ways that you suck & he's better & you're a loser who's failed him etc etc #but it turns out that you're wrong. that you're good enough. not that none of the failures were real or that they were all in your head #but it turns out that it's okay that you didn't always immediately do or feel the right thing #and it's okay that you weren't perfect. you can fuck up six thousand ways & everything you did right will still matter #not because of making excuses or allowances or somebody pityingly trying to make you feel better #but because in the end the things you did right are just Genuinely More Valuable than anything you did wrong #all the times you tried & everything that you tried to give - everything you think wasn't good enough - it was.#IN OTHER WORDS they are both convinced they're not good enough & they are both wrong <3 #anyway dick and tim are both INCREDIBLY SIMILAR and also CONSTANTLY misreading each other and i love that for them #and like. they will sometimes totally misread each other & then never figure out the part that they misunderstood #but then they manage to keep going anyway. we love each other on purpose <333 #ask tag #dick&tim

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jiniret-writings · 1 year ago

Text

Warm Blankets Pt. 3

Genre: angst, fluff

Pairing: Platonic!skz x 9th member!Reader

Warnings: strong language, self-doubt, arguing, feelings of unworthiness (If I missed any warnings, please let me know)

The actions of the members in this story do not represent how they are in real life. This is all fictional and should not be taken seriously.

Pt. 1 || Pt. 2 || Pt. 3

Earlier That Day

Tensions were high. With comeback so close and so many concerts and events to prepare for, Stray Kids barely had any time to rest. Your days were filled with practices, recordings, and even more practices. Four hours of sleep was your new standard, and even that seemed like a blessing sometimes. That morning was no different. You had woken up at 6am for an early vocal lesson, wanting to do something in your area of comfort before going for your practice with Chan.

You had been given a duo part with the Chan: something you had never done before. It wasn't that you weren't comfortable dancing with Chan. It's just that you never had a solo dance, always preferring to stay in the back for dance breaks. Vocals were your strong suit and you were more than happy being mostly heard and somewhat seen. When you were given the duo part, you were shocked. Seeing your expression, he just smiled at you and patted your head. "You can do it. I know you can," he said. You felt proud that he believed in you enough to give a part like that to you, so you practiced as much as you could, focusing on not just the moves, but making sure they were as perfect as they could be.

For the past few days, you had reached a place where you could be quite proud, but that morning something felt off. You went to your vocal lesson feeling nervous and tense. Your coach noticed and walked you through exercises to expel some of the tension, but you still harbored a feeling of unease. Still, you shook it off and walked to the dance studio. In the end, what mattered was how well you'd be able to dance and follow through on the moves. The choreo this comeback was more intense, but you were also more determined.

The choreo you had with Chan was short, but detailed. And that was where you were having trouble. You weren't a bad dancer, but it didn't come as easily to you as it did for others. It took time for you to really nail some parts. And that day, no one had the patience.

"No, you need to move them together, y/n. Together," Chan stressed, moving his arms and legs together in formation. You huffed in frustration, tired of running this same part over and over. Still, you listened and replicated what Chan did in what you thought was the right way, but he just sighed heavily in frustration, covering his face with his hands and shaking his head.

"I don't get it, okay? Maybe we just stop for today," you groaned, leaning against the wall. Chan just glared at you from where he was sitting on the couch.

"We can't just stop, y/n. You should've had this perfected two days ago."

"Well I don't, and clearly it's not happening now. Maybe if I take a break-"

"We don't HAVE time for breaks!" he yelled, suddenly getting loud. You gawked at him, surprised by the sudden outburst. You clenched your teeth, not wanting to yell back.

"Yes, we do. At least I do. Hyunjin has the practice room reserved after us. I can just ask him to--"

"He has his own practice! He can't babysit-"

"Babysit!?!" You couldn't hold it anymore. You got off your spot on the wall, going to stand closer to Chan. "I am not some CHILD that needs to be watched or whose hand needs to be held!"

"You're sure about that? You can barely extend a leg-"

"I'm trying to--"

"You're not trying hard enough."

"Bullshit! You're just looking for things to criticize about me!" you yelled, having had enough. You were tired and frustrated. You muscles hurt. Your brain hurt, and Chan nitpicking every muscles movement was not helping in any way.

"It's not like I have to look too hard, yeah? You're floundering around!"

"What's THAT supposed to mean?" you asked, taking a deep breathe and closing your eyes, calming yourself.

"YOU-"

"No"

"-IMPOSSIBLE TO-"

"Chan, we are-"

"-AND HOW CAN YOU-"

"THIS ISN'T GETTING US-"

"IF I KNEW YOU'D ACT LIKE THIS, I WOULDN'T HAVE FOUGHT FOR YOU TO BE IN THE GROUP!"

--a breathe--a hand on your arm--and silence

At the Studio with 3RACHA

Thanks to Hyunjin's text, Han and Changbin knew it was a no nonsense type of day. They both arrived at the studio early, having brought some snacks and drinks to get them through. They made sure to bring every essential they would need to make sure they had everything they would need and wouldn't need to take unnecessary pauses for anything. Han even brought heat packs and a blanket in case it got too cold.

The studio was tense. Chan was much more quiet during the session, only nodding or shaking his head for the most part. The track was complex. It was a ballad, but there were tons of small audio elements that helped it give off that "mala-taste genre" feel. Still, he wasn't satisfied.

Han and Changbin each took turns messing around with their soundboards and looking through their libraries, adding and taking away elements that were either too much or not enough. They even set up the mic so they could make more practical sounds, hitting couch cushions together or unlacing their shoelaces to get sounds that were unique and possibly get the sound-bites.

Chan was huffing more than usual, and as they separated to write lyrics, Han started texting Changbin:

Han: Channie-hyung sounds like a dragon Changbin: Don't you dare tell him that Han: I know! Just, do you know who he fought with? Changbin: I called Hyunjin and said it was y/n. Han: NO Changbin: Yeah, they're at the cuties dorm now Han: I wanna be at the cuties dorm Changbin: Han Jisung Han: yeah yeah I HEAR HIMJDBCJ Han: Nvm, false alarm ;)

When Chan walked into the hallway, he started pacing. Nothing was coming easy to him. Everything sounded wrong, looked wrong, felt wrong. His skin was itching and his hair felt so heavy he wanted to shave it off. He started pulling at his clothes lightly, trying to find a way to release this aching discomfort he felt in his abdomen.

And the fight

He didn't know why or how he could've said those words to you. With every step, he replayed that last moment over in his head: the words leaving his mouth, the way your face morphed to shock, Hyunjin pulling you away, your eyes filled with tears...

He had never seen that look on your face. It was betrayal. Pure, complete betrayal.

He remembers the first time he met you. You had entered the company just the day before, hope shining in your eyes. He had been a trainee for five years at that point. He knew the routine: new trainee's came in with hope, they practiced with all they had, and the with each passing month and each passing evaluation, the hoe drained. Each comment from staff or the teachers or even from the other trainee's left them tired. And in the end it either became too much and they left, or they debuted. And then the trials really began.

But you were a fighter. He met you on your second day at the company and you were filled wit so much excitement. You were in a group vocal lesson and your voice was far from mature. You needed work and the vocal coach did not hold back on their criticisms of you. But instead of letting it get to you, you pushed. You listened to the feedback nestled between their biting words and you implemented it. It had been a while since Chan saw that specific vocal coach nod their head in approval at someone they so brutally tore down only an hour ago.

You could've had a big head. Chan knew when he talked to you that you could have an ego the size Jupiter, but instead he was met with someone so incredibly sweet and such a joy to be around. You two had lunch together that day, and from then on, Chan knew he'd fight for you.

He couldn't have thought that he'd fight you like he did today. Sure, you've had your smaller arguments and your disagreements here and there, but it never got to the point where any of you said anything terribly hurtful. You loved each other, you were family. But the look in your eyes when he said the words that he knew would hurt you the most? His chest squeezed so tight he almost forgot how to breathe.

Chan shook his head, walking back to the studio with a bottle of cold water from the vending machine. He knew he needed to apologize, but he didn't know how. When he walked back in the studio, Han and Changbin looked at him with soft eyes. He could've cried.

He sat down and stared at his laptop. Next to him, Han and Changbin shared a look. They couldn't just sit and let this stew on any longer. Changbin had filled Han in on everything that happened, and they knew the sooner they addressed this, the better for everyone.

"Hyung," Han started, closing his laptop and leaning forward. Chan glanced up at him before looking back at his work.

"Yeah?" he answered, much softer then anyone expected. He was still looking down, but his hands had stilled.

"There's so much pressure on us to do well and there's so many deadlines to meet..." He paused, looking at Changbin, who got the hint.

"You snapped at y/n, and that was a dick move."

Chan's head snapped straight up at that. Changbin took that as a good sign and kept going.

"You need to apologize. And soon," he said, getting straight to the point. Chan just looked at him shocked, unable to get any words out. He knew he had to apologize, but did you even want to see him? Wasn't it too soon? Changbin and Han looked at him expectantly, wanting him to say something. Anything.

"I," he cleared his throat, rubbing a hand along his face. "I want to, but..." he stopped. But what? But they might not want to see me. But they might need some time alone. But they might want to take a break from everything but they might want to leave the group but they might want to disappear. Chan's thoughts fed him every scenario and conversation that might happen.

Finally, he looked down at his hands. "But they're with Hyunjin now, and probably with some others, and they might want time to cool off before seeing me," he said finally. He knew Hyunjin wouldn't leave you alone, so at least he knew you had someone with you.

"You don't have to talk to them now. Just apologize. And let them curse you out, it might make them feel better," Han said, giving Chan a small smile.

"Let them know you're here. And that you're sorry and didn't mean anything you said. You didn't mean it, right?"

"Of course I didn't mean it," Chan said. It was the one thing he was sure of all day. It didn't hit him immediately. But when he was watching you and Hyunjin walk away, it was like the words kept repeating in his head, mocking him.

If I knew you'd act like this, I wouldn't have fought for you to be in the group!

He shook his head, and he felt two hands on his back. Han and Changbin had moved right next to him and were looking at him with understanding and care. I don't deserve them, he thought. He laid his head on the table for a few seconds and took some deep breathes. He deserved to be punched and yelled at and told to go fuck himself, but instead he had two of his members comforting him.

"You can wait until tonight. The others are with y/n/n now. But you should apologize before they go to sleep," Changbin said softly. Chan nodded and smiled at the two. They patting his back and went to go sit down. He'd fix this. He had to.

At The Cuties Dorm

When you fell asleep on Felix's shoulder, he gently stroked your cheek with his finger, wiping away the faint tracks your tears left behind. You nuzzled into his finger and clutched onto his arm tighter. Cute he thought.

Minho and Hyunjin walked back to you all and, seeing your sleeping figure, lowered the volume of the TV and looked at your bedroom door. Looking at Felix, he just nodded and moved aside so Minho could pick you up and move you to your room. Felix went to your shared bathroom and took all of your skincare products to your room, setting on your bedside table.

"Besties don't let each other sleep with makeup on," he said quietly, balancing everything in his arms. It was something you would say whenever you all got back from a late-night schedule. You never let him go to bed with his makeup on. So if he was too tired to take it off, you'd finish your skincare routine before going to Felix and doing his. And so you two had a routine: if one was too tired to take their makeup off, the other would do it for them.

When Minho tried to lay you on your bed, you refused to let him go. Your arms stayed clutched around his neck, and your face nuzzled deeper into his chest.

"Okay," he whispered, crouching down to try and place you on the bed again. "I'll get in with you, okay? But I need to put you down first." He kept his voice low, not wanting to wake you any more than you already were. You groaned lightly but your grip loosened. As soon as you were on the bed, he got in next to you. He put arm around your head and you hummed in contentment.

As soon as Felix set everything down, he turned on the little bedside lamp and got to work, getting rid of any makeup still left. They thought you were still awake but that train of thought was interrupted by a small snore. Minho and Felix looked at each other and laughed quietly.

"Long day," Felix said. Minho nodded, just patting your hair and keeping it out of your face. Minho knew about the hate comments you were getting and how much they were actually bothering you. He walked in on you crying in a practice room and your phone had been open next to you. You put up a strong front in front of everyone, but it hurt.

Ever since, when things got bad, you would hand him your phone. It was a silent message: I need a break, I'll be practicing all day. And he'd just nod, give you a hug, and let you go. This time, a small hug wouldn't do. Comments from random strangers on the internet hurt, but comments from the inside burn.

He looked down at you now, peaceful expression on your face, and sighed. He knew Chan would come to apologize and that it would hurt again, but to heal a burn you have to let it sting first.

Almost like the very thought of him summoned him, the doorbell rang. Minho looked at you again, not wanting to let go. But he gently moved his arm from under your head, gave you a small kiss on your head, and went to the kitchen where he saw Chan standing in front of everyone.

Han and Changbin came with him. Minho couldn't see his face, but the grip Changbin had around Felix's shoulders seemed like he was trying to hold the younger member back. His suspicions were confirmed when he came closer and took one look at his face.

"y/n/n is asleep," Seungmin said, leaning against the counter. He didn't look mad, just tired. In fact, they all did (except Felix who was never able to hide his malice). It had been a long...this pressure had been building for too long.

Chan looked at your bedroom door, left slightly open by Minho. All the determination he had on the walk over had left him. All the anger and stress was gone and replaced with intense regret. "Can I?" he asked, nodding towards the door. Jeongin nodded at him, standing on the other side of Felix and putting a hand on his shoulder. He had dropped the glare but disapproval was coming off of him in waves. Chan understood the feeling.

Walking in, he took one look at you and took in a deep breathe. You were curled up on your side, clutching a pillow to your chest. Your breathing was even and every few seconds you'd let out a little snore that made him laugh. Chan put a hand on your cheek and you immediately nuzzled into it.

He teared up and took another breathe. "You are so talented," he started whispering. "You work so hard and try so hard in everything you do. Without you, we aren't Stray Kids. I am so so sorry I made you think something that wasn't true," he continued whispering, not wanting to wake you up but still wanting to get the words out.

But you were awake, having woken up but the sliver of light let in by the open door. You didn't open your eyes, afraid that you'd lose your courage the moment you looked at the person who was like your big brother.

"It hurt," you said quietly. Chan's voice caught in his throat and the pressure in his chest grew. "I know you were stressed and frustrated but it hurt. A lot."

"I know, y/n/n. I know, and I am so sorry. I never should have let my frustration hurt you like that," Chan choked out. He wanted to hug you but he held back. He leaned down, getting on his knees beside the bed so he could be at eye level with you. Your eyes were still closed but you could feel him looking at you, closer than before.

"I never meant to say it. I swear, fuck, I swear on everything that I am that I didn't mean those words for even a second." Chan was crying now, but he said every word as clear as he could. The thought that you thought of yourself as less-than deserving to be in the group and that you were hurting because of him made him feel like pulling his heart out. "This group wouldn't be compete without you. Every day I see you work I am so proud of the performer and the person you've become. I-" his voice caught again, and the tears came much harder. He turned his head away, wiping relentlessly under his eyes.

A few moments later he felt a hand on his arm. Looking over at you quickly, he saw you. Your eyes were open and tears were coming out at the same speed his was. Your lips were wobbling and when you opened your mouth to speak, the only thing that came out was a choked sob. Chan's own sob mirrored yours.

You jumped out of bed and crouched right next to Chan, hugging him tight. At your touch, Chan cried harder, pulling you close and holding a hand to your head.

"I didn't want to disappoint you but I-"

"There's no 'buts' y/n/n, you could never disappoint me. You did so well today and I was just too in my ass to see that," Chan said, holding you tighter.

"You really were an ass," you sobbed out, crying louder. "But I forgive you just please be patient with me."

"I will. I promise I will. I'll be patient and help you through whatever you need and we'll take breaks. And when it gets frustrating, we'll separate and come back after a few minutes and I promise to never, never, talk to you like that again."

The two of you stayed on the floor, crying and apologizing and making promises that you knew would be kept even when the sun rose.

Together

Felix had a real talent for baking. When the two of you emerged intact and together, they knew all was well. Felix was the first to break, giving you both a hug and punching Chan in the arm, holding back so it wouldn't hurt too much.

"We warmed up the cookies and brownies, and I added some sprinkle hearts on the cake," Felix said, walking back to the kitchen. You smiled, taking Chan's hand and following him.

"There's nothing late night sweets can't heal," Changbin said. Han just nodded along beside him, cheeks stuffed. You smiled, squishing one of his cheeks, unable to resist. He half-heartedly tried to bite your hand, making you laugh louder before sitting down next to him, putting a head on his shoulder. He responded in kind, putting his head on top of yours.

"Hey, is that a rat on the cake?" Han asked, trying to discern the shape Hyunjin drew. The artist in question gasped.

"Excuse you! A RAT?!? My cat is not a rat!"

"If you made Dori look like that I'd punch you," Minho added.

"Hyung!" Hyunjin whined.

You giggled and tried getting up to get some cookies but Han pulled you back. "Nuh-uh, you're not moving anywhere," Han said, putting a cookie to your mouth. You rolled your eyes, but chewed, sitting back contently. Chan put a plate of cake and brownies in front of you, ruffling Han's hair, earning him a bite too.

The next hour was filled with stories from the week, laughing until people started falling off chairs, and good food. When the night started catching up to you, you looked at the time and saw it was 4am. Everyone was laughing at a joke Changbin and Seungmin were telling and you smiled.

My members, you thought again, feeling warm inside.

You went off to your room, laying in your bed, letting the laughs lull you to wonderful dreams, but it wasn't long until suddenly Hyunjin yelled, "Where's y/n!" and suddenly you could hear eight pairs of feet running to your room. They rushed in, looking at you in bed, and you were smiling tiredly.

"I'm sorry, I was just tired," you said softly. Changbin cooed at you, coming over and flopping on top of you. You grunted, feeling squished, but it wasn't too bad.

Until the seven others followed, piling on top of you one by one. You sqeaked, surprised by the sudden added weight of eight guys. Everyone was moving around, trying to find a way to get comfortable until finally, they all settled down. Hums of contentment and happy sighs were heard all around.

Knowing it would be useless to fight it, you just relaxed and closed your eyes. And with your members wrapped around you like a warm blanket sleep and sweet dreams came easy.

Thank you so much to everyone who has read this little series and showed it love. Every comment was so sweet and I am genuinely so thankful for everyone who read this! I hope you liked the finale as well! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. And as always, have a great morning, afternoon, evening, and night!

-Jini

Taglist: @armystay89 @lauraliisa @changbinisabigboy @lusimpss @laylasbunbunny @neyangi @hibs8 @lovelmh @viagiraffe @briqnne @unfwairs @silentreadersthings @strawberry31 @emily505 @beomgyu-stan-present

Divider made by: @cafekitsune

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kelppsstuff · 9 months ago

Note

I NEED part two of that cheating Adam fic

That actually made me cry and I desperately want that asshole to get what he deserves

..but what if Lucifer got to wife? Obviously, our dear ruler of hell seems to still be attached to Lilith, considering the ring he's still wearing, so what do you think will happen if he meets reader?

Omggggg, I’m so glad you enjoyed it! And yes Adam shall get what’s coming! And I hope you enjoy this chapter as well! Make sure to take care of your self and have a good day! 💛

“How long.” Part two

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | ALT ENDING

Masterlist

Taglist: @leathesimp @need-a-life-or-grass @biggdaddylonglegs @lululucii @pawstrey @lanny-fanny223 @goseew @adamsfavoritesinner

—

You had spent the five months crying at Emily home. Lilies would show up, your favorite flower. It made your heart ache even more. No matter where you go you couldn’t get far enough away from him.

Sera walked into the guest room you were staying. She looked over you as she thought of her next words. She was sure you would take the job, but would this be better for you? She didn’t know.

“Adam gave the go ahead of princess morningstar’s hotel.” You looked up from under the covers, interested in what she had to say. “We will need someone to overwatch the hotel. No one wants to go and I thought I would ask you.”

You took a breath, but even that felt caged. You were happy Sera gave you this choice of a job. “I’ll do it. Thank you Sera.”

—

You packed all the necessary things, and waited for the portal to hell to open. When you did walk through the portal you looked up at the red sky. As if the clouds were full of blood.

You extended your wings and started to take off where you could see the ‘Hazbin Hotel’ stand. You didn’t want to walk and risk anything bad. Sure you can hide your wings, but not your halo.

When you landed in front of the door, you admit you did feel nervous. You knocked on the door and a woman who had blonde hair and pink rosy checks opened the door. “Uhhh Vaggie!” Her voice was light but strong. Very admirable it felt like.

“Yes?!” Another stern female voice called out through the hotel. “There’s a angel at out door.” She looked to be panicking, so you smile I hope it’ll ease her nerves. I heard running before I saw her face. “What do you want Extermination isn’t for another month.”

“I suppose I should explain now. Adam.” Fuck saying his name hurt. “Has given the hotel a go ahead. The head seraphim sent me to overlook it.”

(Your pov)

The blonde grew stars in her eyes. She grabbed my wrist and immediately started to pull me throughout the entire hotel. “I have to give you a quick tour for now unfortunately. But my dad’s on the way and when he gets here I’ll give you a better tour with him.” She showed me the bar, and lounge that was pretty much it until there was a knock on the door.

“Okay that’s my dad everyone!” Everybody started to get in formation it seemed like. I leaned over to the deer who started to walk into the entry way. “Who’s that girls name?”

He smiled wide and me. “Why Charlie my good fellow.” Charlie? As in Charlotte. As in Morningstar. AS IN LUCIFER?! Oh my god. Before I could panic the doors opened and a shorter man gave Charlie a hug.

“Oh Charlie it is so good to see you!” He spoke with a smile as he let her go. He smiled at him and showed case the entrance. “Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel!” Confetti flew and conveniently it got all over me. Great. Charlie looked panicked for a second, but I payed no mind and I snapped my fingers, carefully getting rid of all of it.

Lucifer looked to the cat that was purring and walking through his legs. He bent down and had a baby voice. “Oh hey little Kiki.” Cute. He then looked to the two flying lambs. “Razzle n Dazzle. Aweee look how much you haven’t grown. Still fun size.” Can he be talking?

I turned my attention back to the deer who smiled menacingly towards the king of hell. I walked up to him and Lucifer started to check out the place. I placed my hand out to him and smiled. “My names Y/N.” The deer turned his head away from Lucifer and turned his smile to me, though it was less terrifying. “Alastor! Quite a pleasure darling, quiet a pleasure!” Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to have a few friends down here?

“I like your voice.”

“Yes, it’s quite perfect for my rad—“

“WHAT IN THE UNHOLY HELL IS THAT?!” I see our king has found the bar. Alastor smile tightened and he teleported through the shadows to where Lucifer was standing. “Just some of the renovations we had done. As a little color don’t you think?”

Lucifer eye brow rise as he asked, “and you are?” I walked over to one of the cookies as Alastor responded. “Alastor, quite a pleasure. You are much shorter than I expected.” I started to choke on the cookie. Bringing attention to me. “I-I’m fine.” I saw Lucifer eyes widen in panic. But he ignored me. For now.

“Is this the bellhop?” He pointed to the deer. “Of course not, I’m the host. You probably heard of me through my radio broadcasts.”

He put his hand to his chin and said “NOPE! I guess that’s why Charlie called in the Hazbin hotel. Ha! Ha! Ha!”

“Ha! Ha! Ha! It was actually my idea.”

“Ha! Ha! Ha! Well it’s not very clever.”

“Ha! Ha! Fuck. You.”

This is exactly what I needed. Pure entertainment.

—

As we started to get our hotel tour, Alastor got held up by some cat, and Charlie got distracted with Vaggie. Giving Lucifer the perfect time to talk to me. “Why are you here? Are these people so dense they can’t tell your an angel?”

I raised my brow, I see why Adam said he was a dick. “If you must know, Heaven gave the go ahead to the hotel just today?” Lucifer eyes widened. “What? How?”

“I believe it was your good friend Adam who gave the order.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at me.

“And are you one of his exterminator pet?” Asshole. “No I’m his wife. Well actually I don’t know? Am I still his wife?” I started to go off, talking to myself completely blocking out Lucifer. A habit I’ve always had.

“Adam re-married?” Now I seemed to have a bit more of his interest. “Why do you care? Trying to go 3 for 3?” I said sarcastically.

“Would you like me too?” We both stopped walking. My eyes widened and when I slowly turned to look at him I noticed his did as well. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean that! Well like not in a like ‘that would never happen way’ but more like ‘it came naturally and unintentionally way.’ And fuck I should stop talking now shouldn’t I—?”

“Yes.” I could feel blood rising to my cheeks, giving me a golden glow. His eyes narrowed to my golden hue cheeks and for a moment I swear his eye had a sparkle, even just a second.

“You bleed gold.” He spoke after a long silence.

“I do.” I am an angel.

“I did too, look at that, we have something in common!” I raised my brow, it was the same tactic he gave his daughter.

“Like how you and your daughter both like girls?” Now it was my turn to see his golden hues.

—

Lucifer had decided to stay in the hotel to grow closer to Charlie. During the duration of the last three weeks we had also gotten closer. I had explained to him that Adam and I were no longer together even though I still wore our wedding ring.

It had been three weeks since I had been in heaven. Three weeks since I entered this hotel. I hadn’t thought too much about Adam in my stay here. Though it appeared today was the day I broke tradition.

Me and Adam had spent years on years on years together. I missed his golden eyes, and I missed his stupid humor, and I had missed him. That made his betrayal all the worse. Every-time I missed him, the memory of him and Lilith came. It wasn’t fair to me. Why was I tormented because I was a faithful wife?

I suppose my saddening thought were clear on my face. “What’s wrong?” Lucifer asked, sitting on the bed next to me. We were in his room, he was making ducks while I became self-depressed. “It’s a long story.” He smiled in understanding, “good thing I have an eternity with nothing better to do.”

“You know me and Adam are no longer together.” He nodded his head at the un-new information. “But you don’t know why.” I cleared my throat and began to tell him. “Adam had cheated on me with Lilith for seven years. And he talks about how sinners could never come to heaven, and yet he let her through the gates himself.” I rushed out the words, but as Lucifer’s eyes widened I knew he heard me.

“Lil-Lilith is in heaven?” His voice broke. “Didn’t you know?” The whole reason I never mentioned her was because I had thought he knew all this time.

He shook his head as tears began to form in his eyes. He loved Lilith and he still does. I didn’t doubt for a second he needed comfort.

I wrapped my hand around him and brung him in for a hug. He clung to me and cried. The only word he spoke was ‘why?’. The same question I had asked since the minute I found out.

“DAD?!” Charlie knocked on the door frantically. We immediately situated ourselves and when he opened the door, we look good as usual. “Yes, Charlie?”

She was panting but her words came out clear as day. “The extermination is still on, and it’s happening next week!”

What the actual fuck?!

—

We got a meeting set up with Heavens high court the next day. I was surprised they allowed Lucifer through the gates as well. The only rule was people of heaven couldn’t know it was him, so he couldn’t go introducing himself as, ‘hi I’m Lucifer, ruler of hell. Your are?’

We walked behind Vaggie and Charlie as Emily and Saint Peter showed everyone around heaven.

Lucifer looked around all the building and shined a big bright smile my way. It was nice to see that sparkle in his eyes, especially when it was so rare too. I was to busy talking with Lucifer I hadn’t even noticed we passed Adam and Lute.

(Third POV)

Adam spat out his drink as he saw Y/N and Lucifer walking smiling at each other. The fuck was HIS wife doing walking that fucking duck-Imp face?

“What the fuck is he doing here?” He asked Lute as if she had all the answers. “I don’t know what they’re doing here sir.”

“It doesn’t even matter, I’m fucking ending this shit now. No way is he getting her.” Adam went to go after them but Lute grabbed ahold of him. “Do you want a fight between first man and the devil in the middle of heaven?!” Adam didn’t even need to think about it the answer was yes.

“Better than waiting for the fucking extermination.” Lute was quick to sush Adam. “What was the extermination one rule?” Adam grounded out like a child. “No one but the exterminators can know about it.” He took a long sip of his drink before speaking up again. “Don’t fucking sush me bitch.”

A light formed behind him, revealing Sera. “You should listen to her more often Adam, maybe then you’d still have your wife.” Sera didn’t know the details only that Adam cheated and Lute tried to stop him. “Fuck Sera you can’t sneak up on a guy like that. Also don’t bring her into this.”

Sera rolled her eyes. “Lucifer set up a meeting for his misguided daughter. I want you to put an end to her silly beliefs.”

Adam shook his head to the taller angel. “No can do, I don’t want Y/N mad at me for the rest of eternity.” Sera glared down at the first man. “You’ll do this unless you want Y/N banished. With Lucifer.”

Rage came across Adam eyes at Sera’s threat, but his mask did a good job in hiding it. “I’ll handle it.” His voice was so cold, even Sera got nervous. She obviously didn’t mean she would actually banish Y/N but it was one of the only ways to get Adam to do his work.

— (Y/N pov) —

I laid on the bed as me and Lucifer walked in our shared room. We had gotten to rooms in the hotel. One for Charlie and Vaggie. The other for me and Lucifer. We wouldn’t be staying the night, so it wasn’t like we were sleeping in the same bed.

“She’s here, Y/N.” Lucifer voice filled the silence. “What should I do?” His voice was soft and his expression was delicate.

“You should go see her.” I may not like the woman but he still does love her. “If you don’t you may regret it.” His eyes drifted away from me and to the window. “Everything is so much different now. I wouldn’t even know where to look.” I couldn’t help him. I didn’t know where she lived. The only reason I knew Adam was with her was because of Lute. Though I swore I wouldn’t sell her out.

“Do you miss it here?” Dumb question, but a reasonable one to ask. “Yeah. I miss seeing the good.” I turned his head to me and looked into his beautiful crimson eyes. “You see it everyday in the mirror.”

I don’t know who leaned in first. I don’t know who kissed who first but I knew we were kissing. And I knew I liked it.

A knock pulled us away from each other I hurried to open the door, thinking Charlie needed something. But my suspicions were wrong as Adam walked past me and into the room. He looked to me and even with his mask on I could see the fury in his eyes. He turned to Lucifer and that when I saw it. My lipstick had smudge on his lips. My eyes widened as Lucifer stood up. Adam gave him one more glance, and I for sure thought he was going to try and kill him, but he didn’t. Instead he gave him a little paper as he turned his body to me and kept his eyes on me the whole time he spoke.

“That’s the address you’ll find Lilith.” Lucifer was about to speak up but Adam cut him off. His voice still calm as ever, but I knew the wrath behind his voice. “You don’t have long until court. I suggest you get a move on while I have a talk with my own wife.”

Lucifer looked to me and I nodded my head. He needed to see Lilith, to at least get closure. He gave one last glance to Adam and walked out the door.

“What do you want?” My voice was shaky even though I tried to harden it. “What do I want?” His voice still calm as he started to walk to me. “I want you back home. I want you back in my bed when I wake up. I want you at my concerts cheering me on again. I want your smile. I want every part of you.” He backed me into the wall and put his hands on my cheek. “And trust me my love. I will have what I want.” I closed my eyes as he rested his head against mine.

“Why are you here. I said I needed time and space.” My voice still in a whisper.

“I gave you six moths, and as for space, you want to hell. Not sure you can get farther than that.” He did have a point, but I still didn’t know how I felt anymore. “I came to tell you, that Sera wants me to end this hotel. At any cost.” The one thing I asked for is what he’s about to end.

“And you’ll just do it no questions asked? Of course.” I scoffed, rolling my eyes. I tried to move my head out of his hands but they tightened.

“Yes. No questions asked, because it’s your banishment on the line. I will face god himself for you. I would do anything to keep you happy and safe, so if I have to make you hate me while doing so? So be it.” He says sternly making sure to look in my eyes. Good talk for someone who cheated.

“You cheated. You don’t get to act like you care now.” I pushed him away and started to walk to the window looking out it, rather than him. “I do care. More than anything.”

“And while I’ve been away? How many vista have you given Lilith? Or any other girl for that matter?” He couldn’t go one day without getting his dick wet.

“Unless I went to the office, I’ve been at home. Ask Sera.”

“You cheated. YOU CHEATED! How am I supposed to forgive you for that?” Adam slowly shook his head. “And while you’ve been away, how many visits have you given Lucifer?” He had a right to assume considering my lipstick was still smudged, I’ll admit that.

“He treats me good!” He had became someone I could rely on. “I treat you good. Yes I fucked up. Not a day goes by that I don’t hate myself for it. And even if you do forget and forgive, I’ll still hate myself. I promise you, I feel more disgusted than you ever could.” He grabbed my hand and showed me my wedding ring. “But you see that babe? we promised through lows and highs we’d make it through. Together.”

I felt like crying, he had a point. We vowed to be together no matter what. But he was unfaithful, he broke those vows first. I couldn’t forgive that. Ever.

“We’ll talk again. I promise. I’ll see you in court.” He kisses my hand with my ring finger. “I love you.” And he walked out. Leaving me alone with nothing but my thoughts.

Why did I miss Adam already?

How is Lucifer doing with Lilith?

Me and Lucifer kissed.

How will court go?

Can we win the trial?

Fuck what now?

—

HIIIIIIIII! So I will say that the first time writing this it got deleted. Sooo I’m sorry if it feels a little rushed. I had also gotten another request so I may come out with that one before the next and final part, or I may not. I really hope you enjoyed this part as I had a lot of fun writing it.

- kelp 💛

Taglist

#hazbin hotel #hazbin #masterlist #adam hazbin hotel #adam is actually hilarious #adam x reader #x reader #hazbin lucifer #lucifer #lucifer x reader

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ssprayberrythings · 11 months ago

Text

snow angels & ski trips | CL16

charles leclerc x female!girlfriend reader

pov: a glimpse on how you and charles spend your holidays

warnings: none, just tooth rotting fluff cause im a hopeless romantic that got carried away while writing this

this is my first f1 related piece of work on here and also my first time writing in the social media format so i hope its okay and you like it <3

@yourusername posted on their story

caption: where could we be going 😉

╰ @yoursister reply: cant wait to see you

╰ @yourmom reply: so excited to see you and charles 🙂

@charles_leclerc posted on their story

caption: she looks so peaceful

*replies disabled*

@f1_updates posted on their insta

user1, user12, user2 and others liked

charles and his girlfriend @yourusername met fans at the airport in y/n’s hometown, guess we know where they’re spending the holidays

view all comments

user1: awe he looks so cute

user2: on twitter fans are saying y/n was offering to take everyones photos #couplegoals

user12: i was there and omg they are the sweetest, y/n really compliments charles well

╰ user4: really? i love that

╰ user15: STOP I CANT

user7: THE OUTFIT IM DYING

@yourmom posted on their insta

yourusername , charles_leclerc & others liked

waited for the last of my children to arrive home to finish decorating the tree

tagged @yourusername @charles_leclerc

view all comments

user1: IM SOBBING, Y/N’S MOM CONSIDERS CHARLES ONE OF HER CHILDREN

user2: LET ME JUST TAKE A MOMENT TO APPRECIATE THIS CAPTION

yourusername: love you mama <3

charles_leclerc: thank you for letting me be part of this family tradition <3

╰ liked by yourusername & yourmom

user15: i’ll be crying for 5-10 business days, no one talk to me

╰ user3: you and me both

╰ user7: same here

@yourusername posted on their insta

charles_leclerc , landonorris & others liked

home sweet home with my love 🥰

tagged @charles_leclerc

view all comments

user1: my parents

user3: y/n is so wholesome, i love her with charles

charles_leclerc: no where else id rather be ❤️

╰ liked by yourusername

landonorris: i need to know, who won the gingerbread house contest ?

╰ yourusername: hehe me and my sister 😹

╰ liked by landonorris & yoursister

user4: charles looks so happy

user10: is no one gonna talk about the cute reindeers

╰ liked by yourusername

@yoursister posted on their story

caption: thanks auntie y/n and uncle charlie for bringing my sweet pea to see the lights, she absolutely loved it <3

╰ yourusername replied: anything for my niece, even if she did kick me out of the passenger seat to sit next to charles

You and Charles carefully walked back into your childhood home, your niece fast asleep in Charles’ arms, her little head on his shoulder.

“How was it?” your sister asked as she took the sleeping child from Charles “Great, she was in complete awe the whole time” you told your sister smiling “She even got to sit in the passenger seat” you added looking at Charles with an amusing look

“How was I supposed to say no when she gave me the cutest dimpled smile” He exclaimed chuckling causing you and your sister to join in

“Well I just appreciate you taking her, we should get going, but we’ll see you at Christmas?” your sister asked as she repositioned the child in her arms so she could slip her boots on

“For sure” You replied, leaning in to give your sister a side hug and leaving a kiss on the sleeping girls forehead

“Thanks auntie Y/N for taking me to the lights” your niece mumbled half awake, half asleep

“Anything for you sweet girl” you told the girl back before showing your sister out, making sure her and your niece were safely in the car before shutting the door and turning to your boyfriend who let out a yawn causing you to chuckle

“Is someone tired?” you asked playfully, walking into his arms looking up at him “Maybe a little bit” he said in response to your question looking down at you

“Why don’t I make us some hot cocoa and then we can go cuddle?” You offered “Sounds good to me” he smiled and leant down to give you a quick kiss, knowing you were both enjoying this peaceful moment

@yourusername posted on their insta

charles_leclerc , yoursister & others liked

its a winter wonderland ❄️

tagged @charles_leclerc

view all comments

user1: they’re so cute it hurts

user2: this called me single in so many way

user6: i just want this

╰ user5: same

╰ user10: same

╰ user8: same

user11: so we’re all just single this winter season?

╰ user1: looks that way

charles_leclerc: never met anyone who loves snow as much as you do

charles_leclerc: my little snow angel 👼

╰ yourusername: that is so cheesy but i love it

╰ charles_leclerc: i love you

╰ yourusername: i love you 😘

@charles_leclerc posted on their story

caption: cuddle pile

*replies have been disabled*

@yourusername posted on their story

caption: my own prince charming 🤍

*replies have been disabled*

@charles_leclerc posted on their insta

yourusername, pierregasly, landonorris & others liked

never been happier then when im with you.

je t’aime, mon amour 🤍

tagged: @yourusername

view all comments

user1: OKAY I CANT

user2: anyone else just want to climb under a rock for the rest of their existence

╰ user3: yes

user4: if anyone needs me i’ll be taking a bath with my toaster

yourusername: charles, im blushing

yourusername: i love you..almost as much as i love snow

╰ charles_leclerc: ALMOST AS MUCH? that hurts

╰ user9: y/n and her snow..the real iconic pairing here

╰ user15: agreed @user9

pierregasly: seriously though @yourusername how many times did he fall on the ice ?

╰ landonorris: we need to know @yourusername

╰ user7: y/n please give us the information we all need

╰ yourusername: only a few times .maybe a bit more..

╰ liked by pierregasly & landonorris

╰ charles_leclerc: babeeeee dont expose me and my terrible skating skills

╰ yourusername: my deepest apologies..but seriously i’m afraid to take you skating again..

@charles_leclerc posted on their story

caption: happy holidays everyone. hope everyone is spending time with the people they love the most ❤️

*replies disabled*

@yourusername posted on their story

captions: christmas dessert prep 🥧 & happy holidays everyone ❤️

*replies disabled*

@yourusername posted on their story

caption: weekend getaway ⛷️❄️

╰ yourbestfriend: have so much fun ;)

╰ landonorris: cant wait to hear all about it..;)

╰ yourusername: why are you being weird? do you know something?

@yourusername posted on their insta

yourbestfriend, charles_leclerc, pierregasly & others liked

he hasn’t stopped looking at me like this…what is he planning 🤭

tagged @charles_leclerc

view all comments

user1: get yourself someone that looks at you the way charles looks at y/n

user2: where can i find one of these ? asking for a friend 😩

user3: god has favourites

charles_leclerc: why do i have to be planning something? can’t i just admire my beautiful girlfriend

user5: charles anytime y/n is around: 🥰🥰🥰

@charles_leclerc posted on his story

caption: i love you

╰ yourusername: i love you more

╰ pierregasly: have you done it yet?

╰ charles_leclerc: no..soon though..!

@yourusername posted on their insta

charles_leclerc, yourbestfriend, pierregasly & others liked

not captured in these photos, the tears rolling down my face

my forever 🥹💍 ✨

tagged: charles_leclerc

view all comments

yourbestfriend: YAYYYYY HE DID IT !!!!

╰ yourusername: YOU KNEW?

╰ yourbestfriend: OF COURSE, WHY ELSE DID I MAKE SURE YOU HAD YOUR NAILS DONE

user1: OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG

user2: THEYRE GETTING MARRIED

user3: I’M CRYING user4: THEY FOUND THEIR FOREVER, NO ONE TALK TO ME

landonorris: congratulations ! it was hard keeping this a secret

╰ yourusername: YOU KNEW TOO?

╰ landonorris: yes, i was with him when he bought it 😎

charles_leclerc: cant wait for a forever of snow ball fights, ski trips, holidays with our families, laughs, cuddles, i could keep going but you get the point.

╰ yourusername: 🥹🥹🥹

charles_leclerc: i love you, mon amour ❤️

╰ liked by yourusername

@charles_leclerc posted on their insta

yourusername, landonorris, pierregasly & others liked

here’s to forever mon amour ❤️💍

tagged: yourusername

view all comments

yourusername: no one else i’d rather spend the rest of my life with ❤️

╰ liked by charles_leclerc

╰ user2: im never moving on from this

user3: they are my roman empire

user5: im😭 so 😭happy 😭for 😭them 😭

pierregasly: congrats man! 😁

╰ liked by charles_leclerc

landonorris: congrats mate !!

╰ liked by charles_leclerc

You and Charles were back at the cabin you were staying at for the weekend. Charles was talking on the phone with his brothers and his mom getting their congratulations even though you made sure your immediate family members knew before you both decided to post on social media.

You were sitting by the fireplace, curled up with a hot cocoa wearing one of Charles’ sweatshirts, admiring the ring on your finger, you still couldn’t believe you were marrying the love of your life. It felt like a dream, one you never wanted to wake up from.

“What are you thinking about mon amour?” Charles asked coming into the living area off of the phone. He sat beside you, wrapping an arm around you, pulling you closer to him

“Just this” you told him referring to the ring he gave you a few hours prior “Cant believe I’m going to be your wife” you smiled, looking at him

“I’d marry you right now if it was an option” He told you returning the same, lovesick smile you were giving him.

“I think our mothers would have heart attacks if we eloped” You joked, knowing your mother was already in wedding mode even if it had only been a few hours “I know” he chuckled, agreeing with you

“Seriously though I’m so lucky” You said giving him a kiss on the cheek

“I’m the lucky one” Charles told you, kissing your head as you laid it on his shoulder “You’re my everything”.

You couldn’t see him but you could hear his smile and you wore a very similar one on your own face.

This was your forever and you couldn’t be happier.

ahhh i hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it! i already have so many other ideas in the works so if this does well i'll definitely start working on them. anyways feel free to comment your thoughts and happy holidays !

#ssprayberrythings x formula one #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #formula one #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #imagines #social media #smau #f1 smau #charles leclerc smau #f1 #f1 imagine

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starry-bi-sky · 11 months ago

Text

Snippets for my Clone^2 Au that I thought was funny...

in incorrect quotes style format (Clone^2 = Both my Clone Damian Au and Clone Bruce Danny aus combined)

Snippet 1: Danny and Damian meeting for the first time

Danny, avoiding Damian's katana: I don't wanna know who made you I don't wanna know who made you I don't wanna know who made you Danny: pleASE STOP TRYING TO STAB ME

------- Snippet 2: Danny and Damian meeting (Alternative)

Bby Damian: gets dropped off in the ONE city where his dad's clone is Danny, internally: damn I don't wanna know who made you

Danny: alright little buddy, lets -- *blocks Damian's sword* please don't stab me -- let's get you something to -- *blocks Damian's sword* please don't stab me -- something to EAT

------------- Snippet 3: Danny checking out books in the library Librarian: oh, are you trying to learn arabic, Mister Fenton?

Danny: oh- uh, yeah :) my parents recently,,, took in a foster kid from overseas,,,, but we found out he doesn't know english and he's having a hard time adjusting Danny, lying (only partially) through his teeth: so I,,, thought,,, maybe it would help him acclimate to his new environment if I learned some arabic :) Librarian: oh how sweet! let me know if you need any help, i can find you more books Danny: thank you

----------

Snippet 4: Damian wants to patrol Damian: let me come with you on patrol Danny, 16 year old idiot who fights without powers: uh. no. you are Itty Bitty Child Damian: comes with anyways

----------- Snippet 5: Damian, trying to fight a ghost without a ghost-proof sword: Danny, catching him and holding him against his chest: *radiating exhaustion* no,,,, no,,,,, not yet,,,,

-------- Snippet 6: danny has an epiphany Danny, realizing that he needs to set an example now that Damian is coming with him on patrol: fUCK Danny: I NEED AN ACTUAL SUIT ---------- Snippet 7; dynamic duo Danny: what is it with you and batman and robin???? Damian, silently sweating: ,,,,,,,because they are exemplary partners and i would like to think that us two are the same Danny, doesnt know identities: ...aww??? thats kinda sweet??? okay :)

---------- Snippet 8: hypocrite Damian: dijaal (affectionate) Danny, on day ?? of solving a cold case after a ghost asked him to: hrbhk - Damian, what are you doing up? it's late, you have school in the morning Damian, staring at him deadpan: you have school too. you should go to bed Danny: five min..utes buddy. then i'll go to bed Damian, grabbing the back of his rolling chair and pushing him to bed: no. now. danny, with eyebags the size of the marianna trench: ...fine. now.

--------- Snippet 9: ...the line Danny, doing homework with Sam and Tucker: Danny: *has an epiphany* wait. shit Tucker and Sam: ...? Danny, his head in his hands: am I Damian's dad or his brother?? Danny: wh- what do we define this??? Tucker: ... you're brothers until its funny? and then you're his dad?

----------- Snippet 10: learning Danny: reading a book about learning arabic Damian, slamming his hand down on the book to get his attention: dijaal, *points to book* kitab Danny, frowning: what? Damian, tapping book: kitab Danny: ..ki..kitab? Kitab? Book? Damian: Boog...book. *points to table* tawila --------- Snippet 11: clone reveal Damian, later after he knows enough english and months of chilling out: i am a clone.... meant to kill my original Danny, internally: wow you don't say? Danny, out loud:..huh. okay. thanks for telling me, uh, same here. except that last part

---

Dijaal = imposter Damian is affectionately calling Danny an imposter because danny is a clone of bruce :)

#dpxdc #dpdc au #dp x dc #dpxdc crossover #dp x dc crossover #danny fenton is not the ghost king #danny fenton is a clone #dp crossover #danny phantom au #dpxdc incorrect quotes format #i was telling my non-dpdc but dc friend about this au #and she pointed out the food for thought of danny being bruce waynes clone and just MMM yes #they talked about how they could see the two of them trying to find that line in their relationship #from brotherly or parental because technically damian is his biological son #by virtue of their existence and dna #they are ESSENTIALLY father and son #but danny is 16 and damian is 7 and neither of them are interested in behaving with that dynamic #and danny struggling to be an older brother and potentially being parental at times because of knowing who they are made of but the *being*#of their relationship #like yes thats ExACTLY why i originally wanted my og damian post #to include bruce clone danny #because of how FASCINATING that dynamic would be #danny doesnt wanna know who made damian because then he might have to get INVOLVED #and he has his own shit to worry about #clone^2

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the-dixon-effect · 1 year ago

Text

The way back home

summary: While out looking for Sophia, Y/N is attacked in the woods by a group of men. After managing to fight them off, she heads towards the farm and is noticeably... changed.

word count: 1.5k

pairing: Daryl Dixon x f!reader

warnings: blood, gore, weapons, fainting, usual twd stuff

Your ears were ringing and your vision blurred. Four bodies lay on the ground in a formation that was anything but neat. From head to toe, you were covered in a thick layer of red. Unbeknownst to you, who stood motionless in a bloody trance, you could've easily been mistaken for a character in a cheap horror movie.

You blinked, once, twice. What the hell just happened? You inspected the nightmarish scene and suddenly it was coming back. You had been searching for Carol's little girl... what was her name? Sophia, yes. The last thing you remembered was a dirty hand covering your mouth before you reached for your knife... and the rest was a blur. Upon closer inspection, it became clear that you shot two of the guys with your short-range pistol, one in the head and one in the neck. You scrambled for your knife, which should've been tucked away in its holster, but instead, you spotted it plunged deep into the skull of one of the sickos who came at you. There was a single body left. The largest of the four men bore a filthy grey t-shirt, camo pants and combat boots. You rolled his limp body over to discover a big pool of dark red blood. You had... you had slashed his neck open. Suddenly you felt a pit in your stomach rise to your mouth and- you were about to be sick.

After expelling the only energy you had left in your body, you realised at once what that familiar growling meant, coming from a few metres away. Shit, you thought, you had to get out of here now before the men you killed start trying to kill you again, in a much more gruesome way.

You ran and ran, and could only hope you were going in the right direction. Collapsing beneath a tree, you glanced at your clothes and noticed your loose white tank top was stained completely red. After a little while the adrenaline wore off, and your stomach hurt like hell. Lifting up your shirt, it revealed a nasty cut from one end of your torso to the other. Immediately, the pain spread throughout your whole body and the excessive bleeding was almost unbearable. One of the guys must have slashed at you with a knife in an attempt to get you off of them.

Your thoughts were fading away, and it was getting harder and harder not to pass out right there. Suddenly, you heard a faint voice in the distance.

"Sophia? Sophia!" You could barely hear the voice, let alone tell who it was. Hell, for a second you couldn't remember your own name. A man appeared in your sight, and you didn't know whether to be scared or thankful. Were you hallucinating? As he approached, you noticed that the man was wielding a crossbow... it was- it was Daryl.

"Y/N? Shit, Y/N! Can ya hear me?" you looked up at him, and he could tell just by looking that you could barely keep your eyes open. "Hey, hey, it's alrigh', it's alrigh'. I'm gon' get you back and Hershel's gonna fix you up, I promise."

Hearing Daryl's voice was like a lifeline. Setting down his crossbow on the ground, he helped you up and held you with your arm draped around his shoulder. As you headed back towards the Greene Farm, warm sunlight began to filter through the trees. It felt like your brain was moving at a quarter of the pace it should be, and the sight of the Greene house in the distance, though beautiful, felt like a million miles away as you and the archer trekked towards it.

"Y/N? Oh my God, Daryl, is she okay?" said Andrea as the two of you approached the house. You were a frightening sight to see, especially for certain members of the group that hadn't quite immersed themselves in this brutal apocalypse.

"Rick! She's got a- a nasty gash underneath her shirt. Hershel better take a look at it."

Right in that moment you collapsed on the ground, falling limply out of Daryl's strong arms. The tall grass of Hershel's pasture enveloped your body, and you could no longer hear the great commotion that was taking place. Despite the incredible amount of pain you were just in, sleep was heavenly.

First came a flurry of voices. Then, the white ceiling appeared and several blurred countenances around the room. Strangely, you couldn't remember a thing about how you got here.

"D-Daryl? Where's Daryl?" you asked, innocently. Suddenly, every face in the room turned to look at you. You were pale, very pale, yet you sat upright in the makeshift hospital bed resting on your forearms.

Following a sudden rush of people turning to surround your bedside, you blacked out again.

"Everyone, I would strongly appreciate it if we could give the girl some space," spoke Hershel, calmly.

"Ya think I could stay?" said Daryl.

"Alright, then. Just don't make a big fuss."

This time, you awoke to a cool breeze through the wide open window and noticed only two figures in the room. It looked like... Daryl and Hershel?

Hershel approached you and placed a hand on your forehead, and though you felt extremely hot and clammy, he seemed to deduce that you were going to be fine.

The door swung open and in entered Shane, Glenn and Hershel's youngest daughter, the blonde one... Beth. That was it.

A wave of confusion passed over you suddenly, as if, in a second, somebody has swiftly erased your memory. "Wh- Where am I? What are you doing here?" You sat upright once more and removed the rest of the covers from yourself. Your eyes were wide and a little bloodshot, and your mouth was shaped by a distinct frown.

"Y/N, Y/N, it's alright. Daryl tells me something happened out in the woods. I just need you to tell me the story. It's okay." said Shane, leaning into you.

"What story? What happened?" Tears began to fill your eyes as you spoke and it was like your whole body was consumed in a state of fright. Immediately, you began to hyperventilate as images of mutilated bodies clouded your mind.

"What's happening?" said Beth.

"She's in shock. Everybody out!" announced Hershel.

When you awoke later, you got out of the bed in the back room and entered the living room. Everyone was gathered around, seemingly waiting to find out what on earth had happened to you. Daryl relayed the story countless times to the likes of Dale, Rick, Shane and Maggie. Just like before, they all turned to face you as if you were some lost child, or a deer in headlights. Daryl captured your eyes and noticed how they seemed... different. The same cheerful, good-spirited girl suddenly appeared before him, pale and cold, and with a new thousand-yard stare that didn't go unnoticed by a single member of the group. If they didn't believe how harsh the new world was before, they certainly did now.

"Y/N, sit down," said Dale. His manner was kind yet you couldn't help but feel threatened by anyone who tried to communicate with you.

"Tell us what happened," spoke Rick.

"I- I don't remember..." you declared. Your legs were shaking and you held you face in your hands as you wracked your brain for anything, any trace of a memory of the event that occurred earlier that day.

Bodies.

How many bodies?

"There was... four. Four bodies. Which meant... four guys, I guess?" you looked up at this statement, this time receiving several pitiful looks from around the room.

Shane was about to speak when Rick raised his hand slightly, "Let her talk."

"I don't know- I don't know! There was... blood, there was so much blood," you began, trying to muster up anything you could. "Please can I go back to bed?" At this request, Daryl practically jumped up from his seat to help you and guided you back to the bedroom to rest.

A heated debate had broken out in the front room. How many more of these men are there? Are they dangerous? Is she even telling the truth? For some members, they feared the worst and assumed that this incident would be the first of many to come, involving a new threat; people.

(one day later, at dawn)

You sat with Daryl on the white porch, facing the sunset behind the trees. The trees, in fact, that the two of you had ventured out of the previous day. Although you hadn't known him long, you decided that you enjoyed his company most of all.

"You know, I think I'm going crazy, Daryl," you said, somewhat wistfully.

"Oh yeah, why's tha'?" he drawled.

"I was just walking 'round here, over in the woods. Saw some freak stumbling around. Went to look a little closer, and this sicko was dressed up like some kind of corpse! You know, fake blood and everything. Guess he was just trying to scare little kids or something."

#brandy writes #daryl dixon #twd angst #daryl dixon angst #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfic #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fluff #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x y/n #daryl dixon x y/n

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thehusbandoden · 1 year ago

Text

You Flinch During an Argument -Amajiki Tamaki

A/n: so sorry this took so long! I had a good thing going but my power went out and it got erased </3

I do think this one's better though. Technically this is the third legitimate try <33

Edit: I'm trying out a new format for my info.. is it better or worse O.o

General info:

Wc: 1,176 words | angst to fluff/comfort | Character/s: Tamaki Amajiki

Warnings!: loneliness, snapping, flinching, a little bit of crying. Please let me know if I miss any! <3

The night was cold as you sleepily flipped through your journal, not wanting to write but knowing you should. The entries from the last three months have been short and filled with a dull ache of lonliness. They lacked the usual length and warmth you poured into the pages, ranting on about how sweet your timid Tamaki is and how much you adore him and his ever lasting warmth.

The rambling would go on and on, but now you wrote a paragraph or two about how your life has been 'fine' and that Tamaki has been super busy- if you wrote at all.

There was one or two that held multiple paragraphs of your frustration and not knowing who to blame- knowing that it wasn't Tamaki's fault that there weren't enough heroes to protect the innocent of your large city.

Tamaki was doing his best to protect the defenseless, and you admired that- but the dull ache that sat in the pit of your stomache couldn't go ignored much longer.

Sighing, you closed your journal, standing up from your desk to head to the living room, deciding to talk to Tamaki tonight.

Four hours later Tamaki walked through the front door, tall form drained from exhaustion as he made his way inside, already stripping off his hero gear.

"Tama?" You call, poking your head out from the living room to sadly smile at your Tamaki.

"Oh. Hey y/n." Tamaki yawned, dropping both his cape and mask onto the floor as he dragged his feet towards your room, tossing his belt onto the kitchen table before moving onto taking off his gear further.

"Wait, Tamaki!" You call, stopping at the bottom of the stairs as Tamaki paused, looking back at you.

"Yes bunny?"

"Ummm.. can we talk?" You ask, smiling at the nickname Tamaki gave you the first week into your marriage- though he later admitted that he thought of it when you two were simply friends but was too shy up until that point-.

"Baby, I'm really tired.. is it important?"

"Yes.. it'll only take five to ten mintues."

"Okay baby, where do you want to talk?" Tamaki yawned.

"How about the living room? I can give you a shoulder massage while we talk if you like." You smile, causing Tamaki's eyes to shine as he smiled down at you.

"I'd like that."

After you were both situated you started by squirting some lotion on your hands before spreading it onto Tamaki's left shoulder, immediately noticing his many knots.

"Okay bunny, what did you want to talk about?"

"Oh.. so I know that you're working really hard and are really tired.. and I also know that we haven't had us time in a while.. so I was wondering if you could take a day or two off? Not much, just a day or two would be fine."

Tamaki was silent as you bit your lip in anticipation, hoping you didn't upset him somehow.

"Y/n.. are you serious?"

"Y-yes?"

"Do you know how many people might be dying right now? I can't just laze about spending time with you because you're feeling lonely. Why don't you go hang out with some friends?"

"T-that's not the same.."

"How so?"

"I want to spend time with you Tamaki. You know, my husband?" You scoff, starting to get annoyed.

"And I want to spend time saving people y/n, why don't you stop being sensitve and start thinking about other people?"

"But I've been holding my feelings back for months! Please! I'm just asking for a day- even a few hours is fine!"

"Y/n. No. Now if you're done I'd like to get to bed."

Jerking his shoulder away from your touch, Tamaki started standing up.

"But wait Tama-"

"No. I'm disappointed in your selfishness y/n."

"Wai-"

"Stop."

"Pl-"

"I said stop!" Tamaki hissed, turning around to face you within a second.

At the sudden movement and change of tone you flinched back, tears gathering in your eyes as you stared up at Tamaki, eyes wide.

As Tamaki glared down at you he froze as you flinched, heart immediately breaking as he saw the tears in the corners of your eyes.

"Y-y-y/n I-"

"I-it's okay Tamaki.. you don't need to say anything. I get it. I-I'll just go to bed now."

"B-but y-y/n.." Tamaki whimpered, guilt consuming him as he watched you walk away.

"Y-y/n.. I'm sorry.."

You quickly got in bed after hurrying up the stairs, wiping at your eyes as you clung to your pillow, staying as far away from Tamaki's side as possible.

You awoke the next morning to the sun shining in your eyes.

Wincing, you turned around to feel for Tamaki, forgetting all about last night and the dreadful few months.

After feeling how cold Tamaki's side of the bed you sighed, memories coming to you in flashes as you stared at his side of the bed.

Wiping away the stray tears, you got out to get ready for a day worse than the one yesterday.

After getting dressed you made your way down stairs, deciding to get on top of your piling to-do list to help get your mind off of Tamaki.

Stepping into the kitchen, you stepped back at the sight of a lavish breakfast filled with all of your favorites spread across the newly cleaned kitchen table.

"T-Tamaki.." you whimper, looking at your beloved with tearful eyes as he guilty studied you with his indigo orbs.

"Y-y/n I-"

You interrupted Tamaki as you rushed into his arms, clutching the back of his shirt, desperate for comfort from the man you've grown to adore.

"Y/n I- I'm so so sorry." Tamaki mumbled, burying his face into your hair to mask the tears falling from his eyes.

"I forgive you Tamaki, I know you were just over worked and didn't mean to take it out on me."

"I promise you- I really didn't me an to, a-and I feel terrible about it."

"Shhh it's okay baby.. I already forgave you. We just need to reflect on what we did wrong tonight and make sure not to do it in the future. Next time, I'll wait until you're less exhausted, and you'll make sure to remind me that you're too tired, mkay?"

"O-okay.."

"Now baby.. why are you home? Don't you have work?"

"Nope, I took the next two weeks and a half off. I know that it won't make up for the months of loneliness, but I'll try to be better, I"ll take less shifts and make sure to only leave for emergencies when I'm off the clock.

"Alright, that's a good start."

"I may need today and possibly tomorrow to sleep.. but I cleaned the entire house -besides our room- and looked at your to- do list and did a few of the bigger things on there.. oh and I made us breakfast.."

"Tamaki. I love you. So, so much."

"I love you too bunny. I'm really rea-"

"Shh, I already said I forgive you. Now, let's eat!"

~~~

Series' masterlist | Tamaki's masterlist | Navigation

Tips <3

Reblogs help spread and support my work, therefore they help me immensely but any support is appreciated <33

Do not copy, repost, nor plagiarize my work. Ask before you translate or use my work in any way minus reblogging.

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guessimjoiningthespidermanfandom · 1 year ago

Note

HELLOO COULD I request earth 42 miles morales saving reader from someone who tried to kidnap them and what he does after? Hope ur havin a gud day

Here

Earth 42!Miles Morales x fem!reader

Earth 42!Miles Morales x black!reader

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Langauge, mentions of death, a tiny bit of nudity, and mentions of violence

Requested: yes

A/N: OKAY ONE REQUEST DOWN MANY MORE TO GO. I wrote most of this sleep deprived on a plane so it might not flow the best but I tried. Still wanna try out headcannons so I might use that format for another request. I'm almost at 200 followers tysm I might do a prompt list and blurb night type thing.

300 Follower Special <3

Masterlist

“I’m gonna kill him.” Miles declared a little too calmly for Y/N’s liking. He looked for his shoes so he could get out of there.

Her heart had finally slowed enough to process what had just happened, the adrenaline wearing off.

Y/N worked the graveyard shift at a gas station a couple of blocks from her apartment complex. She had to save up for school and it rarely got busy that late. It wasn’t a bad deal.

She emptied out the register, but before taking out the trash, she texted Miles to see how far he was.

He always walked her home from work, however today she felt especially tired and Miles wasn’t answering his phone and it was barely a 10-minute walk to her apartment.

What she hadn’t expected was for someone to try and grab her on the way home, Miles had shown up at the exact right time to scare him off.

“Miles,” She called softly, using her voice to beg him to look at her. After a moment's hesitation, he finally looked over at her curled up at the edge of her bed.

He was so angry he was shaking. He snapped at Y/N on the way to her apartment he wasn’t mad at her but he needed someone to be mad at.

“Can you please come sit down?” She patted the spot on the bed beside her. He continued to pace around her room as if he were looking for something.

“Miles,” she begged again.

“I have to do something,”

“Just sit down,” The shakiness in her voice seemed to get him to listen. She grabbed the hand closest to her and held it tightly in her own, before leaning into his side.

She inhaled deeply, relaxing into his warmth and earthy scent.

“Don’t go, won’t change anything,”

“What would’ve happened if I wasn’t there?”

“But you were,” She reminded him.

“You could’ve been killed or worse.” He said. “And you want me to just do nothing?”

“I don’t want you to leave,” She countered. “Need you to stay with me,”

“I’m so sorry I was late,” He kissed her hand. Miles rarely apologized even when he absolutely should so she knew he meant it.

“Not your fault baby,” She mumbled into his shoulder to which he huffed incredulously. “I mean it.”

Instead of corroborating his innocence, he shed light on his thoughts.

“I keep thinking about you dying and it’s all because I didn’t get to you fast enough.” He sighed. “I can’t lose you too.”

Ever since his father's passing Miles had some pretty big shoes to fill. Head of the house, the son of a late police captain, but never just a kid.

Sucking in a breath Y/N immediately shifted her body to grab Miles’ face. She pressed his ear over her heart letting him listen to the continuous thump.

“I’m alive,” She whispered for only him to hear. “I’m right here.”

He twisted himself to hide his face in her chest and wrap his arms tightly around her waist, she ran her hands over the hair at the back of his head humming a song. Miles spoke up never moving his face “I’m supposed to be the one comforting you,”

With a smile never stilling her hand movements she responded. “You don’t have to be a big macho man all the time you know?”

He finally released her with a small dismissive yeah. She pushed herself off the edge of her bed with a groan, bending backward to stretch her back. Miles leaned back on his elbows to watch her.

She made her way over to her dresser before he sat up and then spoke up. “Where you going?”

“I wanna take a shower,” She answered grabbing a plain cotton shirt and some underwear. “I feel dirty,”

He seemed content with her answer and leaned back on his elbows again. “Will you come with me?”

He raised his eyebrow suggestively before she laughed and threw the shirt at him.

“Not like that,” She clarified “You’ll just sit there. I don’t wanna be alone.”

He nodded grabbing the shirt off his chest before following her to the bathroom.

The stuffy humid air surrounded Miles as he sat patiently on her toilet seat.

“You still here?” You called over the running water.

“Yeah babe, still here.”

“Can you talk to me?”

“What’you want me to say?”

“I dunno,” She shrugged despite the fact he couldn’t see her behind the shower curtain. “Just tell me about your day,”

He told her about how in AP BIO they did fetal pig dissections and he got to cut into the brain. By the end of his spiel, she was listening to the creaky twisting of the knob to turn the water off. After asking for the towel she was making him turn around so she could get dressed shushing him before he could make an offhand comment.

He followed her back to her room pulling her comforter back so she could slip in. The second she hit the cool sheets her eyes fluttered shut, sleep dragging her down. He tucked her in, and before he moved to grab her bonnet she gripped his arm keeping him still.

“Don’t go home”

“I won’t, I’m just gonna grab your bonnet, swear,”

“Mhm,” She agreed, releasing his arm and curling in on herself.

He slipped into the bed next to her wrapping his arms around her and pulling her back into his chest. She let out a hum of discomfort before turning to face him, her eyes still shut.

Miles stayed still watching her until her breathing evened out and her body relaxed. Shuffling onto his side to reach into his pocket he pulled his phone out pausing when she stirred at the noise.

Opening the messages app he swiped on his uncle's contact texting him

Some white guy in Bushwick green civic and skull neck tattoo. Call me when you find him.

Shutting his phone off with a click he readjusted himself.

Y/N could say whatever she wanted he was going to kill that man.

#miles morales #earth 42 miles morales x black!reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles morales #prowler!miles #prowler!miles x reader #miles morales fanfiction #miles morales x fem!reader #miles morales x black!reader #miles morales fluff #miles morales angst #miles morales smut #hannah responds ღ #hannah speaks ღ #miles morales x reader

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kangaracha · 5 months ago

Text

QUEENMAKER | CHAPTER 22

---

pairing chan x reader

genre ninth member au, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,

summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.

Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

a/n this thing is a MONSTER and it's all for you. feast. eat pray love. leave me a nice comment. love u all.

previous | masterlist | next

---

The moment you step off the stage, your breath still lost from the energy and flying notes of Hellevator, you are surrounded by bodies, squeezing you even tighter than the fear that you'd held in your chest when you'd first stepped up into the flashing lights.

They accost you right there in the dark underside of the stage, steps away from the eyes of the crowd that had only moments ago born down upon you. You feel lightheaded under their grasp, your knees buckling underneath you as the rush of the stage catches up to you; the struggle of your lungs to draw breath, the relief of having made it to the end, the feeling of having done it, stood there and looked at that crowd and realised the dream that had clutched at you since you were far younger and more naive.

It bubbles up from inside you - first, a gasp of breath, searching for air in the suffocation of eight boys howling around you, and then, inexplicably, a laugh, light and hoarse and rasping at your throat as it struggles to the surface. "Okay, okay, wait," Chan says somewhere to your right, pushing Changbin away before he really can squeeze the life out of you and then the others, one by one. "She can't breathe. Let her - breathe-"

Slowly, the group breaks apart, filtering down the hall and back towards the waiting room. Felix is the one that drags you along first, an arm thrown around your neck before anyone else can and a giddy smile plastered across his face. You feel like you should be wearing one too, with the way your head spins and your chest aches with an emotion you can't quite describe, but you find yourself echoing the softer smile that Chan offers as he falls in step behind you, something unspeakable echoing in his eyes.

You can't make out a single word any of them say as you come into the room, standing there bereft in the centre of the whirlwind as they move around you, splaying out across the couches in the corner or removing a part of their outfit that is too uncomfortable to keep wearing. You're not sure what you want to do; the room buzzes with activity, not only from the members, but the staff as well, shifting back and forth as they push chairs together and set up a camera for the livestream that is to follow. The rings on your fingers twist endlessly as you consider your options, turning around and around with the memories of that stage and those songs, these boys in sync around you-

Your eyes fall on I.N, sitting dejectedly on one of the sofas arranged for the livestream with a look on his face that says he is very much not ready for the camera to be turned on at all. You know why without having to go over and ask. You'd seen it out of the corner of your eye during God's Menu, on your way to the front of the formation; his foot slipping out from underneath him as he crouched and the ungraceful sprawl that had followed. You hadn't had time to see what had happened next, if he'd been late standing back up or if he'd kicked anyone else on the way down, but whatever it was had clearly upset him, if he is hiding in a corner now.

He's not alone, at least; Chan is slumped next to him, one hand patting his knee absent-mindedly. The slaps become harder as you approach, trying to goad the younger boy into moving. You suppose it has the desired effect when his hand reaches out to slap Chan's away, his leg never moving.

"Y/N," Chan says as you approach, relief clear in his voice. "Come here. Tell him he hasn't ruined your whole career."

"Why would he have ruined my career?" you ask, sitting tentatively at the edge of the couch.

"It was so obvious that I fell over," I.N answers dejectedly, his eyes fixed on the floor. "It was your first part in your first stage, and everyone would have just seen me messing it up."

A smile curves at your lips despite yourself, your hands itching to reach out and shake this nonsense from him. "I don't care if anyone was looking at me," you tell him. "Maybe you helped me out. And the other three songs were fine, weren't they?"

"Exactly," Chan agrees. "No one got hurt and everyone enjoyed the stage, that's all that matters."

"I just hate that I messed it up," I.N says, and his eyes turn to you. "You were so nervous, and we wanted it to be perfect, and-"

"Hey, I didn't see a thing." Your hands come up as if confessing, your head shaking. "As far as I knew, everything was perfect."

It's a small lie, omitting what you had clearly seen from the corner of your eye, but he doesn't need to know that, not when he looks at you with such lamb-soft eyes and asks, "Really?" and you are able to nod and pat him on the shoulder and then reach out and envelop him in a hug, the way you imagine you would for any little brother you might have been lucky enough to be blessed with (but these little brothers, you think, might just be the biggest blessing there is to gain, so much so that even now you don't feel worthy of it).

Above his head, your eyes lock with Chan's, sharing a look; there is gratitude in his eyes, and that open warmth that he extends to everyone he meets, and something else that you can't quite pinpoint, an unreadable emotion that flickers across his face and twists in the corner of his mouth, swallowed down before it can give itself a voice.

"What are you looking at?" Chan asks as the clock ticks past midnight, leaning back in his chair to try to peek at your phone screen.

You blink at him in surprise, unprepared for the sudden departure from the conversation you'd been having about whatever happened to come to mind. You'd thought neither of you were really paying attention to the words that were passing between you since Changbin had left the room several minutes ago; Chan's eyes were glued to his laptop and yours to your phone, casually scrolling as you waited for your mind to wind down enough to sleep.

You're reticent to show him what you're scrolling through though, because you know what he'll think, how he'll worry about it. They all do, on the odd occasion they catch you, and maybe they have a point - when you sit here and acknowledge the dissatisfaction that is slowly putting down roots in your chest now that the performance is over and done and you've had time to read what they think and compare it to your memory. You'd been happy with your efforts earlier in the day, but at this hour now, watching it back and seeing the cracks-

"Is that twitter?" he asks, and if he leans even further to be able to see, you don't call him out on it, just sigh and turn your phone so that he can see, accepting your fate. It's too late in the night for lying, and you probably need to hear something nice about yourself just once in this hour, if you're being truthful.

His face furrows as he reads what's on your screen, his hands reaching out to take the phone from your hands. His frown only gets deeper the further he scrolls; it's a darker expression than you'd thought, something closer to fury than you'd thought he was capable of.

"I just wanted to see what they thought of the performance," you say, as if that's any excuse when you'd already had a feeling about what you'd find.

"You could have just asked me if it was good," Chan replies. "Or Lee Know. We're not going to lie to you." You can still see that anger in his face when he looks up, but it isn't directed at you - instead, it softens when your eyes meet, replaced by the concern you knew was coming instead.

You shrug. "I wanted a wide range of opinions," you say, as if that makes the vitriol you've handed him any better.

"This isn't a wide range of opinions," he says. "This is-"

"What is it?" you ask when he pauses mid sentence, craning your neck to see what he's seeing.

He clicks out of it before you can read anything, navigating smoothly back to the endless stream of tweets you'd been looking at before. "Nothing," he claims, and affixes a brightness to his face that tries its best to mask the disgust that struggles to surface. "I can't believe you don't trust us. What are we even here for?"

"I trust you," you say. "I just wanted to see what everyone else said."

"No you don't," he insists, his voice lifting higher and higher as if he's going to laugh. "You didn't even back me up when I told you Changbin's lyrics needed work."

You know the humour is only surface-deep when his eyes flick back to the phone screen, but it gets to you anyway, lifting at the corners of your mouth and easing the weight in your chest. He's hard to resist like that sometimes, even when you know exactly what he is doing and why he is doing it. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"You didn't think I was telling the truth then," he claims, "and you won't think I'm telling the truth now if I tell you the performance was amazing."

"You haven't even tried," you poke back, crossing your arms indignantly. "You just made up all these lies about me for yourself and said nothing."

"Oh, you want my compliments now?"

"No, I'm not that desperate."

"Lying again, it's such a bad look."

"What was that?" you ask as your phone beeps in his hand, a message popping up in the notification bar. Chan clicks it for you dutifully, pulling up your private thread with Changbin - a moment passes while you read, and then you cough out a laugh.

"Wasn't he going to sleep?" you ask, shaking your head at the message.

"It has been a whole three hours since he last ate," Chan answers, and then pauses as he looks at the screen again, his eyes narrowing. "Why are all your contacts blank?"

"What?" you say, and then you see that he has bumped back to your message list; a long line of grey bubbles, broken up only by the colourful pictures that they have set for each other in the group chats. "I don't know."

"I wasn't reading your messages," he adds before you can answer, handing the phone back to you. "I just noticed you had nothing set for Changbin. He's like, the easiest one to get a photo of."

"I don't have any photos of any of you," you point out. "What am I supposed to do, google for photos of you?"

"Just take photos of us?" Chan suggests in answer, and then he sees what your fingers are already up to on your phone screen. "Hey, no, hold on - hey, don't do that-"

"One of these?" you ask and hold the phone up so that he can see, an impish smile on your face.

"No, no, no, no, no," he replies, his ears turning red. "No, put that away. Oh my god."

"What about this?"

"Give me that," he says, snatching at your phone. It takes him three tries to get it - you screech as he leans forward, trapping you between your chair and the table as he grabs at your wrist and then your fingers, the offending photo sliding away on the screen. His breath is hot on your neck when he laughs, his nails gentle where they bite into the skin of your thumb, prying the phone from your grip.

You give it up without fighting; your fun has been had, after all, and his face is flushed red, the laugh that bubbles up from his chest more genuine than the light fun he had been poking earlier. You've even nearly forgotten about the tweets you'd been reading, the black mark they've left inside your chest covered up by your shirt and the silly giggle that spills out of your mouth, unable to be swallowed.

"Here," he says and lifts your phone, posing so subtly for the camera that you're not even sure he knows he's doing it. "Now you have one out of eight." It only takes him a few taps to set the photo, as if it really was as easy as ten seconds of work that you'd been neglecting, and then turns the phone to show you.

"Do you want me to send you photos of the others, or are you going to do it yourself?" he asks.

"No, I'm going to ask Minho for all of his weird photos," you answer.

He laughs despite himself, the giggle high and breathy. "The ones in the group chat aren't enough for you?"

"No," you say. "No, I'm starting to think I need blackmail material."

Chan lets his face fall in slow motion, from humour to despair. "I used to think you were on my side," he laments to the room at large, as dramatic as any actor you've seen, "but you have the worst friends."

"That you introduced me to."

The grin that spreads slowly across his face and the wicked glint that flashes in his eye send apprehension shivering down your spine. "Actually," he says, "Felix introduced you. And you called him sunbaenim."

You freeze, deer in the headlights as your cheeks turn red, and he bursts out laughing, unable to help himself anymore. "Okay," you say, defeated, and sink back into your chair as if it might swallow you, pointing at his computer. "Please go back to your music stuff before I leave."

"Okay then," he says, leaning forward, and then looks at you again. "Hubaenim."

You bury your head in your hands and groan.

TAGLIST

@kokinu09 @rainfallingfromthesky @lixie-phoria @mysweethannie @chlodavids

@hanniemylovelyquokka @tfshouldidohere @lauraliisa @puppysmileseungmin @kalopsian-thoughts

@puppy-minnie @readerofallthingss @dvbkie099 @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @acker-night

@d-chagi @lynlyndoll @borahae-reads @ihrtlix @yienmarkk

@minhwa @i2innie @jinnie-ret @conwunder @amesification

@starssongs98 @weirdhumanbeinglol @morinuu @the-weird-mold-in-the-sink @bokkiesplace

@amyyscorner @jiisungllvr @skzstaykatsy @blackhairandbangs @jungkookies1002

@hyuuukais @imsiriuslyreal @thatonedemigodfromseoul @gini143 @mercurywritesstuff

@splat00z @filmbypsh @palindrome969 @crabrangoongirl25 @enzos-shit

@jabmastersupriseee @kayleefriedchicken @hynjinswrld @duhgurl @cheshireshiya

@keepswingin

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