#I was originally just going to draw him bleeding but then his face turned out like that and I was like ''Might as well''

[bullet-prooflove]

A Pound of Flesh - EZ Reyes x Reader

Tagging: @infinity-mars @@lobakomwonkru @danzer8705 @keyweegirlie @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @est1887 @the-wandering-lunatic @alwaysachorusgirl @anime-weeb-4-life @multifandomloversworld @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @spookyboogyuniverse @spaghettificationandpretzels @thanossexual @thebaileybugle @oureternalbond @bonsaijoons @sclitvdes @appreciatelove @weiwei0210 @proceduralpassion @crazy4chickennuggets @callsignartemis @kmc1989 @justreblogginfics @irishavengersassemble @keyweegirlie @zaenight @wolfiekru

Sequel to The Water Tower

Prequel to "you have my life in your hands" and Drinking Tonight

Set in the Community Living Universe

The jukebox is broken. That is the first thing that EZ sees when he steps into the bar that morning. There’s a surge of something in his body, a rush of adrenaline, a flash of panic. Glass litters the floor crunching underneath the heels of his boots as he ducks behind the bar finding you absent. The stench of spirits fills his nostrils, it tastes sharp on his tongue as he surveys the mess.

His brain flashes back to that truck, the one advertising beverages coming up the road, the man he didn’t recognise in the cab. He remembers thinking it was a too early for vendors, that they usually came in the afternoon. He’s about to bolt up the backstairs to your apartment when he hears your footsteps coming down.

It sounds like thunder, a quick aggressive pace as you hurtle through the side door, your eyes blazing, and an ice pack clutched to the left side of your face.

“I told you to stay the fuck out…” You trail off when you see it’s him standing there, the fire in your eyes dying just a little. He’s in front of you before you can blink, his hand enclosing over the ice pack as he draws it away from your cheek to survey the damage. The left side of your face is already swelling, he knows it’s going to bruise by tomorrow. Your lip is split, still bleeding.

“Who was it?” He asks you. His voice is low, his face set like granite, his eyes darkening as he guides the icepack back to your face. “Was it the guy that just left?”

“EZ…” You say with a thread of warning.

He gives you a look, it’s filled with fire and brimstone as he bows his head, his nostrils flaring as he tries to repress the rage that pulses through his veins.

“Who put their hands on you?”

You turn your head away, but he cups your chin and guides your gaze back to his. You see a myriad of emotions flicker through him, he’s trying to hold it all back but it’s there underneath the surface.

“Is this about paying back the debt?”

He sees your jaw clench, the way your shoulders tense and your muscles tighten. He doesn’t expect an answer because you view this as your problem, not his. He may be your boyfriend, but this shit is on you. It’s exhausting, it has to be, trying to hold everything together and then this…

This violence, this mayhem.

“What else did he want?”

He’s been asking around about the shitheads you owe money to. He knows that the original lender, the father is sick, that his son Grady has a screw loose, that he’d been stepping up and making collections, increasing interest. The ones that are struggling to pay he leverages, a couple of hours with their women until they can scrape the money together.

“Did he…”

You shake your head, your eyes stinging. He sees it, you know he does. His gaze slips down to your clothes, to the missing buttons, the torn pocket. The scent of another man’s aftershave on your skin. It fills him with vitriol, he knows he’s going to kill the son of a bitch who put his hands on you. He’s going to wrap his hands around his throat and choke the life right out of him.

“But he tried?” EZ asks you, this thumb chasing over the blush of your cheek as he cradles your face in his hands.

He thinks that Grady must have heard the bike, that he must have known what it meant. It wasn’t a secret that you had ties to the MC, that you were his fucking girl.

“You can’t pay, can you?” He already knows the answer, that the new interest rates are too exorbitant for most people, that Grady is using that to take his pound of flesh.

He knows how much this bar means to you, that it’s the final piece of your heritage, the only thing you have left because the world has taken everything else.

“I don’t have a choice.” You tell him. “It’ll be once, just once.”

EZ looks at you sadly because it’s never just once, this kind of thing it goes on and on and on. He knows that it will destroy you, that every time a piece of your soul will leave your body until there’s nothing left. He won’t let that happen to you; he can’t bear the fucking thought of it.

In that moment he knows exactly what he has to do. He thinks of the stash of money he keeps in his father’s house, hidden behind a panel in the bathroom. His escape plan, Felipe calls it. Just in case shit goes sour with the DEA. Funds to get out of the country, to start a new life somewhere else. It’s too late for that now, he’s already started putting down roots. Even if the whole thing does blow up, he’ll face the consequences, he can’t leave Angel and he can’t leave you. You mean too much to him.

He knows what his father would say, don’t be so fucking stupid.

The thing about EZ is, he’s anything but stupid. He’s learned from his mistakes, and he knows if he lets you do this, it’s something that neither of you will come back from.

“You may not have a choice.” He says, drawing away from you. “But I do.”

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[aries-writingblog]

Enemy Fire: 25

Summary: There's a new kid in town, and she's got a city to usurp.

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem! Reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: language, stab wound, violence, mention of gun violence, alcohol consumption

AN: it’s here, babes. The moment we’ve all waited for. Photos from Pinterest (credit to original creator)

Jason paced over the carpet in the hallway. The strands of thread worn into tracks from how he had been continuously treading over them.

The room to his left was silent— barely even the thumping heartbeats audible. But fuck, was he relieved to hear two.

His hands hadn’t stopped shaking since Bruce told him. He’d shoved them deep into his pockets, forcing his face to stay neutral when his heart exploded into fragments. Piercing his insides, slicing his organs.

In that instant, Jason wished he had let her leave Gotham. He wanted to go back and get her out before anything else could happen.

Go back to the stakeout mission, get up, throw his cup away, get on his bike and leave.

He should’ve known that his luck would bleed into her own. He was cursed and it was on her now.

There was no escape anymore.

The door clicked open, and the tall frame of Alfred presented itself. He closed the door firmly, his gaze swinging onto the flushed face of Jason before him.

“What happened?” Jason demanded, his eyes wide. Boring into Alfred’s face.

The boy was disheveled, clearly distraught. Alfred blamed Bruce; All he was probably told was that YN was stabbed and Alfred was working on her. It was no good, riling Jason up, that way.

Making him worry over nothing.

“She aided Master Bruce in stopping a robbery. One of the thieves pulled a knife. On Damian.”

“She took it for him?” Jason asked, confusion riddling his features.

YN took a knife? For Damian Wayne, of all people…

“Then she shot them.” Alfred continued, untroubled by the bewilderment of his ward.

“Damian?”

“The criminals, Master Todd, keep afoot.” Alfred advised, linking his hands together behind his back.

Jason pressed his hand to his face, exhaling a soft sigh. Adam’s Apple bobbing as he swallowed; His fingers moving to comb through his hair, pushing it back from where it flopped over his forehead.

“She lose blood?”

“Not much.” Alfred informed. Jason’s knees almost gave out from relief. “I’ve finished bandaging her wound, but I’m putting her on strict bed rest for a week. Until I know more about her healing patterns.”

“Oh yeah, that’ll be fun for all of us.” Jason muttered.

YN would not take kindly to being told to sit out on her newly acquired taste of freedom. Even if it was to heal an injury.

Jason approached the door, his hand on the handle.

“Master Jason,” Alfred interrupted, drawing his attention back to the elder butler. His face as solemn as ever, the same gleam to his eyes as always present. “I would advise keeping the arguments to a minimum. The poor girl was just stabbed, I’m sure she wants some rest before the two of you pick it back up?”

“And let her get away with being stupid?” He asked, shaking his head. “No promises, Alfred.”

He opened the door and stepped through.

The blinds and curtains were wide open, allowing as much sunlight as possible to filter through.

That much, he was certain was Yn’s work.

She always seemed to sit in patches of sunlight, like a cat. Relishing in the warmth provided by a star, millions of miles away.

The closest she would let comfort be.

YN sat, sulking on her bed. Hands in her lap, her head turned to stare out of the window. Her lips pursed, face pinched. Blankets over her legs, pooled around waist.

“Jesus, Tails.” Jason grumbled, slamming the door behind himself.

She frowned, her head turned further away from him as he stalked closer.

Without any formalities, he sauntered to her bedside. Using three fingertips, he yanked her shirt up enough to see her side.

“Ow.” She jerked away, slapping at his hand to leave her alone.

Jason resisted her attacks; Though he dropped her shirt, he towered over her body. Glaring down at her.

“Can you maybe not get stabbed while my back is turned?” He asked, gesturing with one hand, down to her injured side.

YN crossed her arms, a pout on her lips.

“I can’t help that.” She croaked, voice harsher than he had expected. “Don’t turn your back, keep an eye on me at all times— I thought that’s why I moved into this godforsaken mansion to begin with and here we are—“

“YN.” He interrupted. She faltered, wide eyes focused on his face. “Shut. Up. You panicked, again.”

Like a child scorned, she bit down on her lip, eyes cast into her lap. She seemed to be retreating into herself.

“Sorry.” YN apologized, softly.

Jason’s hand pushed through his hair. Hesitating, debating whether he would be welcome into her little world she seemed to have retreated into.

He sat down on the mattress, his weight only halfway secured. When she didn’t curl further into herself, he settled more.

He had to wonder, what it was like in her childhood. Having been brought up an instrument of pain. Of terror.

What happened when she failed?

What made her panic every single time she was forced to make a decision?

He didn’t know if the answers were better than the questions.

Jason reached out, carefully. His fingertips lightly brushing her arm before falling to the sheets beside her thigh.

“It’s okay here; You can panic here.” Jason consoled.

Yn’s eyes met his, still watery from pain and tired from her exhaustion and whatever Alfred had prescribed.

“I didn’t freeze up, out there.” She clarified.

Jason smiled, no teeth showing— he didn’t doubt that. YN never froze, exactly. She just… rushed in.

“But you made reckless decisions when shit hit the fan.” He explained, nodding down to her injury. YN’s frown returned, as did her avoidance of eye contact. “It’s something you can learn to control, you can use it to your advantage. Your fight or flight will kick in, but you have to wait it out. Identify what can help you and not just jump to the first thing that comes to mind.”

YN sank deeper into the mattress. She supposed he had some semblance of what her thought process was. Bruce had told her stories of a younger, much less experienced Jason.

One who rushed, far too often; One who fought too hard to prove himself.

Who disobeyed orders and followed his straying emotions to his own death.

A boy who had poured his soul into being who he was today.

She couldn’t compete with that. She had been led around on a leash— aimed her weapon at whom ever stood before her. Unquestioning.

It was why she was doubting herself now, wasn’t it?

YN winced, pulling her knees to her chest. Wrapping her arms around her legs, hugging the solidness against her body. Grounding herself from the spiral she had been caught in one too many times before.

“You think I can?” She asked, her lip half quirked into a smile. It didn’t stick for long; Just enough to flash at him before she buried her face in her arms.

Curling tighter.

Closing herself off.

“Stop doubting yourself.” Jason scooted closer, tilting his head to catch her gaze. “I don’t know what you’ve been told before us, but people can change. They do, all the time.”

“You have a lot of faith in me.” She decided, her eyes meeting his.

Because you don’t seem to have any, he wanted to grab her, shake her, scream at her. Jason had to have faith in her, because he was carrying enough for the whole family.

She had to prove them wrong.

YN could be better.

Because that would mean Jason wasn’t faking. Two data points were always better than a single incident. A lucky mistake.

A fluke.

An accident.

Jason’s tongue kissed his teeth.

He didn’t know what was worse: the skepticism in her tone or the fact that she said it at all.

Sometimes, she was her own worst enemy. Sometimes, she just needed to shut up and stop thinking.

Without warning, Jason swept forward and pressed his lips to hers. YN jumped— startled by his sudden movement. As she jolted back, the kiss disconnected; Not for long, as she surged forward, teeth clashing messily.

She noticed, instantly— his lips were cold. In fact, there was little to no body heat coming from him. His hands that cupped her face were equally chilled.

An unsteady flare burned her chest, her skin grew warmer. Jason’s face burned, his skin warm from the heat emanating from her body. She was so… warm.

God, she was warm. Warmer than her normal, scorching temperature.

This felt cosmic— like he was standing too close to the sun. Tempting the flames to caress his face, burn the oxygen from his lungs.

He broke away, panting, his breath fanning over her lips and his forehead pressed to hers.

His mismatched eyes flickered between hers, analyzing every color and pattern he could. He had rarely found himself that close, or at least, without being harmed.

Even so, she didn’t back away either. Keeping the proximity zero to none; Inhaling each exhale.

“What the fuck was that?” She whispered.

Jason closed his eyes, shaking his head. He knew he had to explain his actions but he didn’t quite trust his voice.

Her fingertips scorched her prints into the skin of his neck. Heat bled onto the edge of his scar— and she could feel his chilled touch, thumb brushing along the raised edge of the scar on her cheek.

“I don’t know.”

YN sighed.

She was actually speechless. His skin felt heavenly against her own— cold, but far from lifeless.

Her eyes closed, eyelashes still wet from her earlier tears of pain and the fit she threw with Alfred’s stitching. The wound that had relatively calmed since her arrival, flared again— every rapid heartbeat sending a fresh wave of dulled, throbbing pain down her side. Washing over her entire body.

But she didn’t regret that. Not now. Not when she had just tasted paradise. From such an unlikely source.

What… the… fuck…

A sudden, stressful knock on the door sent both pairs of eyes flying open. Both parties scrambling away, disconnecting and shattering the strange, uncertain air between them.

“Hey, YN?” Duke called, standing behind the closed door.

YN cleared her throat, busying her hands with the blankets and her own clothes— anything to keep her mind off the walking enigma known as Jason Todd.

“You can come in.” YN answered, her voice nearly level.

Jason was mildly impressed— slightly annoyed— at her ability to act as if nothing had happened. To brush all her vulnerability back under a rug, hide it with a neutral face.

Because his mind had malfunctioned. He felt sluggish and tipsy. Off kilter— his world had just been rocked off its axis by a single kiss. Two pairs of lips brushing together had deconstructed his entire surroundings into 2D minimalist artwork.

Everything had shifted just two degrees.

Just left of normal.

“Jason, hey. I didn’t know you were here.” Duke’s voice was breathless. As though he had run all the way from the city.

“Just leaving.” His voice was hoarse. His face burned as he cleared his throat, cramming all the unidentifiable emotions back down his throat— successfully this time. As they all made it down without getting hung. His eyes flicked to YN. “I’ll be back here in a few hours, Tails.”

YN nodded. Though her mind was flying down the tracks— screaming and crying and, by all means, in full panic mode.

But she was not going to get up and start screaming, without prompt. She was going to act normally until she could think it through.

She could act normal for five minutes until his irritating face left her sight.

How fucking dare he kiss her like that— kiss her at all, really?

Who the fuck did he think he was, and why didn’t she just push him away when it happened?

YN blinked, realizing that she had, one, been glaring at him in silence, and two, he wanted an actual answer. With her words.

Now he was taunting her.

Her skin flushed with another bout of heat, only this time, she recognized it.

Anger.

“Got it. Enjoy your freedom.” YN snipped, folding her hands over her blankets.

Jason tipped his head.

“Enjoy your imprisonment.” He responded, quickly turning to make his hurried exit.

YN clenched her jaw, her hands spreading over the blankets. Smoothing them out. She inhaled deeply before turning her attention back to Duke.

“What’s up with you?” She snapped.

Duke paused. Maybe she wasn’t the best person to ask; She looked extra pissed today. Jason probably had something to do with that— they fought like alley cats on good days.

This seemed to be a bad day.

But he had no one else to ask, at the moment. Other than someone who seemed to be an expert. Or at least, closer to one than any one else of the Manor.

“I might need your help.” He started, hands wringing together. YN lifted a brow, urging him to continue. She might’ve been injured but she didn’t want to sit there all day, listening to his problem. “I have this friend… she had a blood test done last week and found out she has the Metagene.”

This was his problem? Seriously?

“This friend have powers?” YN asked.

Duke thought back to the spark against his palm when he touched the door handle. It could’ve been static, but it had happened every day, at least three times a day, for the past week.

Maybe coincidental.

Maybe abilities.

“No.” He answered, to be on the safe side.

“Then she’s a carrier. Next.”

He blinked.

“Carrier?”

YN scoffed, her eyes piercing through his skull.

She really was in a bad mood today.

“Are you deaf? Carrier. No abilities, you pass it on. What’s the problem?” She snapped.

Duke’s face broke out in a large grin— relief draining down.

He nearly leapt forward to press a thankful kiss to her forehead, until he thought better. Realizing that she was injured, not restrained.

“Absolutely nothing— it is a great day!” He cried, hands on his hips.

YN rolled her eyes.

These people were truly irritating.

“Hey, dickhead,” She interrupted his parade, prepared to rain bombs if she needed. “Being a meta isn’t the worst thing to happen to a person.”

Duke��s smile fell. Guilt stabbed his heart; He didn’t realize that in his celebration, she would be impacted.

He was practically spitting in her face.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” He started, shaking his head. Before he could continue, she scoffed. Her eyes rolling as her head turned away, arms crossing.

Hurt flickered across her features before she covered it with anger.

“Sure.” Her voice was monotone.

Duke pressed his lips together. If he spoke further, she would just become more angry. There was no explaining or apologizing now; She was already stirred up.

She would only lash out and leave both of them hurt.

He turned away, his hand on the doorknob. Stopping for a moment to look back at her.

“Thanks, YN.” He called.

He opened the door and stepped out, hearing a slightly sarcastic ‘no problem’ behind him.

Roy pocketed his keys, shouldering his door open. Jason ambled in behind him, his eyes already bleary. Limbs jelly.

He had nearly broken into the apartment hours prior, jimmying the window and sliding in. He crashed on the couch when he heard very loud, very abrasive singing from the shower.

The first of him that Roy saw was Jason’s ass— as he lay face down into the cushions. The last of his vodka sat on the coffee table beside him.

So after prying his friend from the couch, and putting pants on, Roy downed the rest of the alcohol and then dragged Jason out on the town.

In search of the nearest liquor store.

Which was where they were returning from.

Roy tossed his keys, missing them completely as they came back down, but left them on the floor. He was much more interested in the bag he carried in his arms.

He put it down on the kitchen table, rubbing his palms together eagerly. Jason had stumbled after him, picking up the keys and turning the lights on.

Roy pushed a bottle of something into his chest, before rifling through the bag again.

Jason cracked it open and downed a large gulp, without thinking. He winced at the tingle in his throat.

“What the fuck is in this, gasoline?” He coughed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Roy’s eyes rolled, head tilting to glance over his shoulder. His hands stalled, glass bottles clinking together in the brown bag.

“You wanted liquor. Mkay? L-I-K….” His eyebrows furrowed, mouthing the letters again. “That’s not right. Liq… liquor.” He shook his head, the thoughts leaving like an etch-a-sketch. Just like that, his brain was blank again. “You wanted to get fucked up. This is the fastest solution.”

“I didn’t want to sear off my tastebuds.” Jason complained.

He thrust the bottle back into Roy’s chest, forcing him to take it. He ambled over to the cabinets, rummaging through the various cups and mugs for shot glasses.

“That’s the sacrifice you make, my friend.” Roy responded, crumpling the bag up. He was definitely feeling the effects of their pregaming; He blinked heavily, trying to clear his bleary eyes. “You never drink, anyhow. What’s the problem?”

Jason groaned, snatching the glasses and leaning his forehead against the door.

Flashes of heat filled his memory, coals being raked across his flesh.

A shiver ran down his spine— he could feel the press of her lips to his. The warmth. The eager reciprocation. His hands on her.

He shouldn’t have run out like that. He should’ve stayed and talked through it all. It wasn’t fair to her.

He squeezed his eyes shut, grinding his teeth. No. No, he did the right thing. He needed to leave right when he did. If he had stayed, he would’ve become a jerk.

He would’ve snapped at her, retreated into himself. Protected himself. And she would’ve gotten pissed and it would’ve ended in a fight.

They always fight.

So why did it feel so good?

“My fucking life is the problem, man.” Jason whispered, his eyes cracking open again.

Roy paused, his mind sobering.

“Jason,” He spoke softly, steadily. He swallowed, teeth running over his bottom lip. “If it’s this again, we’re getting you help, this time. I’m not letting you go through this alone.”

Jason turned, taking in his friend’s stance. The tenseness in his shoulders.

Roy thought…

He left the glasses on the counter, hand extended to his friend.

“No, it’s… no.” Jason stumbled as he stepped forward, a wave of vertigo smashing into his head. He pressed his hand against the sink instead and shifted his weight into the counter. Then, he sank down to sit on the floor, pressed to the cabinets. He pushed his palms into his eye sockets until he saw stars. “I just, I don’t know where my head is at. Every decision I’ve made these past few days have been clouded. The whole situation with YN and Bruce. My family.”

Roy exhaled, blinking away his watery eyes.

He leaned across, snatching the glasses and two bottles before sinking to the floor across from Jason. The steel toes of Jason’s boots pressed into his tibia.

“What’s going on, man?” He asked, settling into place. He cracked the lids of the bottles, pouring up two shots and tapping Jason’s leg.

Jason looked up, seeing Roy knock his first shot back. He accepted the other glass, letting it slide easily down his throat.

He exhaled sharply, allowing Roy to refill the glass. He shot it back before brushing a hand through his hair.

“It’s all just… jumbled up at this point. I don’t know anymore.” He complained, gratefully accepting his next shot.

“Start at the top. What’s eating you the most?”

Jason stared into his empty glass.

That was the problem: everything was. Bruce and Dick, YN. Alfred’s cryptic glances when he asked where YN was. Tim’s doubtful looks on both of them. Cassandra’s extremely concerning, ever growing bond between her and YN.

Because one of them loved to light things on fire, the other could do it with her body.

He didn’t know what was bugging him the most because everything was bugging him. All of it at the same time.

So he spilled.

Everything.

Anything he could think of came tumbling out of his mouth, crashing into the still air of Roy’s kitchen.

The more Jason spoke, the more Roy understood why he wanted to drink tonight. He couldn’t trust himself to tell it sober, so he was forcing his own hand. Talking everything out, speaking it out loud. Forcing himself to come to terms with his situation.

So Roy let him keep talking, and kept pouring drinks.

“And I don’t even blame Bruce anymore, that’s the fucked up thing about this.” Jason spat, infuriated by his torn apart mind. All the narratives he had listened to and choices he made, a toxic concoction of confusion. “I want to be angry at him, at all of them. But they make it so hard to stay angry.”

The redhead hummed in sympathy, a soft grunt escaping him when he shuffled to sit beside the rambling drunk in his kitchen. He settled in, back pressed to the cabinet, shoulder pressed to shoulder. Their extended legs nearly touching, Roy’s wiggling, shoeless foot tapped rhythmically against Jason’s boot mindlessly.

“And YN scares me. I don’t admit it to her, but she scares me. She’s powerful, and she can control the abilities but she can’t control herself.” He slammed his fist into his knee, pounding it like a gavel. Declaring his judgement over this enigma of his mind. “But it’s not even her abilities— it’s her. She is this… giant, fucking problem. It was one after the other and, granted I may have caused a few of those problems, but it’s just… it’s like trouble knows how to find her. She’s a divining rod. And she always lets it get to her. And dammit, she drives me insane; With her— with her, cocky arrogance and her absolute need to be right all the time. And this childlike sense of right and wrong, it’s like she’s not even empathizing.”

“Oh, shit.” Roy tilted, nearly falling over as he grabbed for the runaway cap.

He let it roll across the room— he didn’t need it anyway, the bottle was empty.

“And what’s worse: Dick is on her tail. He’s dogging her about being this hero and saving the world, when she doesn’t even conceptualice being her. She’s never lived.” Jason exhaled, tongue running along the inside of his teeth. His palms lay flat on his kneecaps, wiping sweat onto the fabric of his pants. “And that’s wrong. It’s not fair; To pull her from one fight to the next.”

He released an exasperated breath, marking the end of his tirade.

His chest didn’t feel as tight, he supposed that was some relief. He didn’t feel as constricted, as trapped. That had been the original purpose of the whole night.

But now he was hijacked. His mind replaying the moment. The moment he decided to let his body take control, instead of his mind.

And the first thing it did was press itself to her. Cradled her closely, as if it was possible of softness.

How long had this been going unnoticed— unsupervised? How long had he been suppressing his body’s thoughts, his heart’s thoughts? All in favor of keeping everything under his mind’s control.

In favor of keeping his control.

“I think….” Jason paused, his thoughts muddy. All he knew, for certain, was the feelings that pooled in his chest. Right beneath his sternum, sloshing against his heart. “Roy, I think I love her.”

The red head hiccuped, his brow furrowing.

“Who?” He asked, head tilting against the cabinet to look at his friend.

He squinted, zoning in on a single Jason— because he was seeing multiple.

Jason ignored his drunken stupor, and kept going. Unable to stop himself from regurgitating all the thoughts and feeling he had kept pinned, like a moth to a cork board.

All of it piling on top of each other for weeks— months.

Every time he thought back to a moment in time with YN, he could feel every tilt in the relationship. Pushing it toward the present.

God, he had been so blind.

“For these past few weeks it’s been like this weird… tingle in my chest and my palms get all sweaty. And I thought it was a heart attack or something,” Jason admitted, voice thick with Gothamite drawl.

“My grandpa had a stroke once.”

Jason buried his head in his hands, pressing the backs onto his knees.

“God, what am I supposed to do?” He moaned, voice muffled by his own legs.

Roy grunted, pushing himself onto his knees and flopping directly in front of Jason. He put his hands on his friend’s shoulders and pushed him back, where he could see his face.

“Tell you what we’re gonna do,” Roy slurred, his eyes glassy. “We are getting in your car and going to BurgerBats and getting those shitty little kids meals.”

Jason blinked, heavily.

Had they even been having the same conversation?

Even though, he couldn’t deny that his stomach felt empty. His chest felt full enough for his whole body— bursting at the seams. Waiting for him to explode.

“First, we can’t drive.” Jason reasoned. Roy hummed, disappointedly.

“You’re right, I never even passed my drivers test.” Roy grouched, hands falling from Jason’s shoulders. He settled in at his feet, sliding off his knees and onto his ass.

“Second, it’s BatBurger, you dumb idiot.” Jason scolded, leaning back into the cabinet. Lips pouted, he had already started sulking.

“Hell, what do I know?” Roy exhaled, leaning against Jason’s knees. They sat together in the silence, a comforting, drunken silence, steeped in camaraderie. Roy blinked, his brain reeling to catch up from minutes of words being spoken at him. “You love her?”

The quiet of the kitchen wasn’t oppressive or even passive.

More contemplative.

More troubled. Confounded; They sat, stewing in Jason’s contempt. The faintest taste of happiness in his mouth, on his tongue.

“At the very least.” He confirmed. He exhaled shakily. “I kissed her, Roy. I didn’t even think about it. I was just so relieved to see her alive that I… I just went for it.”

Roy propped his chin on top of Jason’s knees, peering up at him through his lashes.

Jason wasn’t the Casanova of the family— by any means. He didn’t kiss anyone, barely even acknowledged someone’s presence.

There had always been too much on his mind for it to think of women. Well, his exception of Wonder Woman, but that was more of a childhood fascination than anything.

“She burn you or somethin?” He asked, peeking at his forearms in search of any markings.

Jason shook his head, his eyelids drooping lower. He had nearly exhausted himself, and the hard, cool tile of Roy’s kitchen was becoming increasingly appealing.

“She’s warm. Really, really warm. It felt like kissing one of Alfred’s cookies when they’re fresh.” He divulged. His hands held out in front of him, palms caressing her invisible body between them.

“Damn.” Roy slumped more weight against Jason’s legs. He cast a side eye glance to his friend. “D’you make out with cookies when we aren’t watching?”

Jason sighed, cracking one eye open.

“I wish I could kill you.” He teased.

Roy grinned, a doped up, full teeth smile.

“That’s suicide, Jaybird.” He warned. Jason’s brow crinkled in confusion. Roy only shrugged.

Jason pressed his palm to Roy’s forehead and pushed backward, sending him flat on his back.

It was silent for a moment before the redhead burst out into a barrage of giggles, his hands falling to rest on his shaking belly. Face turning various shades of red as he ran out of air.

Jason tilted his head back again, a smile pulling his own lips back.

#enemy fire #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x f!reader

[starsheild]

Partner: Part 5

Sirens blaring and lights flashing Prowl navigated the congested streets far faster and smoother than any other unit would have been able to manage. With Sierra listening to the bands he had selected, running them against current traffic conditions since there was no reason for her to keep her eyes on the road and he was able to concentrate fully on what he was doing- dodging stupid human drivers.

Tomorrow would mark three years of a successful partnership, a miracle. They had discussed taking the day off and celebrating somehow. After this run it was looking far more appealing that Prowl had originally considered. Everything about this report disturbed him, because it sounded nothing like anything he had dealt with over the last three years.

For three years he had been dealing with humans, one hundred percent predictable only in the fact that they were unpredictable. Granted he could run odds and possibility percentages, but even when he did that there were times when Sierra would point to the one of the possibilities that he had listed as unlikely and that would be the one that would turn out to be right.

No, what troubled him about this whole scenario was the fact that he had heard nothing of the like for three years. Not since he had left the Autobots. This entire thing sounded of Decepticon activity, and he was taking his partner into the middle of it with no back-up.

A solid thump on his dash finally got his attention. "Prowl?"

"Yes?"

"What's wrong?"

The mech contemplated his answer. There was no point in lying or trying to avoid the question. Sierra had gotten very good at reading him and would recognize either attempt in the span of a human heart beat.

"I do not like this call. And I do not like the fact that you are with me this time."

Tension and irritation. He had been expecting both, and was just thankful as he made another sharp turn that no ordinary car and driver could have managed that so far he seemed to have avoided her anger. "This does not sound like the doing of humans, and I would not want you in danger you are unable to face."

Another thump on his dash. "When are you going to learn that I am full of surprises? Just drive- I can handle myself."

+++++

Yes, she could handle herself, Prowls failing processor mused. But it would seem that he no longer had the talent for predicting what his enemy was going to do. The fact that it had been some time since he had gone head to head with this particular set of foes was irrelevant.

He had a matter of human minutes before he lost enough energon to be critical, then not much longer after that he would finish fading, perhaps into the peace that he had been seeking all this time.

Sierra would be all right. He had gotten the emergency call in, and the Decepticons were long gone by now. The energy he had spared on a scan granted him the peace he now felt. She was merely unconscious, slightly battered and bruised, and when she woke she would be sore. But she would live.

Prowl allowed himself to slide toward oblivion. He was not completely satisfied- he had not been able to discover what the Decepticons had been doing here. But for the moment they were gone, and an alert had been sent to Autobots. An alert he hoped they would heed, or at least look into. Much beyond that was beyond his ability, and he found himself content with that.

Discomfort and pain assaulted his senses, drawing him back to the world around him as he forced his processor to focus again. Sierra was up and she was doing something to him, touching him-

"No." The protest came out soft, weak as she worked.

"You're bleeding out, whatever it is."

"Hurt yourself."

"Too late." That flippant humor mingled with steely determination. "I'm not about to stand around and let you die or offline or whatever it is you do. I went through three partners to find someone I could work with, and I don't think they are about to give me another chance."

"Not worth it." Prowl protested. His audios were still functioning just fine and he could hear the burning of her skin as the refined energon struck it, burning away at her worse than any acid known to humans.

A derisive snort was the last thing he would recall.

#starsheildwrites #TFFic:Partner

[frodo-with-glasses]

Thanks for your patience, @invisiblewashboard! Let’s talk about this little doodle. ^-^

(See the original post here!)

1. What made you want to draw this scene?

Originally, I had a plan to draw the entire confrontation with Saruman at Bag End as a series of long comics, and this would have been the final panel after Saruman’s and Wormtongue’s deaths. But by the time I got to this point, I was feeling a bit worn out; I’d already drawn A LOT for the Scouring of the Shire, spending almost a month total on the single chapter, and I didn’t have the energy for an entire comic that would ultimately end on a downer note. But I couldn’t ignore this moment—it’s important, however painful it is—so I had to draw at least this panel.

3. What does [character’s] facial expression mean/what’s going through their head?

Pippin is looking at the bodies of Wormtongue and Saruman. This is about five seconds after Frodo pulled the hem of the cloak over Saruman’s shriveled face and turned away. Pippin is still trying to come to grips with the horror of what he just saw; he’s grappling with the thought that he just saw a wizard die and a disturbed man shot down in front of his cousin’s childhood home. Is this is the end of their journey? All the toil and hardship, and this is their reward? It doesn’t really feel like a reward. It feels like there’s no boundary line between war and peace anymore. One bleeds into the other—just like Grima bleeding into the garden path on the lawn of Bag End.

19. [X] is my favorite part of this drawing; tell me more about it!

Ohohoho you KNOW how I feel about Frodo and Merry’s friendship 🤣 Throughout this read-through I’ve fallen in love with the idea that the two of them have been best friends since Merry was a lad, and even as they’re older they still have that steady, familial, almost brotherly bond. The hand on Frodo’s shoulder is a reverse parallel to this post; neither Frodo nor Merry is a particularly touchy-feely person (definitely not as much as Sam), but in moments of deep sorrow, they’ll offer sympathy through their presence and a hand on the shoulder. Merry knows this hard for Frodo. He’s thinking about how terrible he’d feel if this death and devastation happened on the doorstep of Brandy Hall instead. And he loves Frodo, so he reaches out, and he wordlessly says “I’m sorry”.

(Had I drawn the entire comic, Merry ‘s line of “and the very last end of the war, I hope” would’ve been with a gentle glance at Frodo that Frodo doesn’t notice. For his cousin’s sake—and everyone else’s—Merry hopes this is the end of the war. Please, he begs the universe, haven’t you taken enough? Please, please just let him rest.)

ARTIST COMMENTARY ASK GAME!

#artist commentary ask game #frodo baggins #peregrin took #pippin #meriadoc brandybuck #merry #lord of the rings #lotr #my art #my writing

[dont-f-with-moogles]

Where I Can't Follow

DRAW (AND DRABBLE) THIS IN YOUR STYLE!!!(Original post here)

... This one's for you Giulia @giuliadrawsstuff. Huge congrats on your 1000 drawings and 700 Twitter followers! 🎉 Hope you enjoy it and that it captures the spirit of your art. (Notes at end). Where I Can't Follow Characters: Levi x Hange Word Count: 1526 words

Along the gravel road skeletal trees strained their black, twisted arms heavenwards. The canopy of interwoven limbs threw most of the pathway into shadow, allowing only a slither of grey sky to peep through. An ethereal mist had wound its way around their gnarled trunks, bleeding the scene of what little colour it had. One bird called faintly to another, without answer. A weak breeze sighed amongst the uppermost branches. They reached out, towering and imperious, for nothing could stir them. Only the quiet murmur of the river broke the silence accompanied by the muffle of dead leaves underfoot. 

Levi Ackerman walked, head bowed, hands hanging by his sides. His bare arms were almost blue in the pale dawn light. He had forgotten his coat. Levi hardly recognised the cold anymore.

He knew the way by instinct. Levi paid no attention to his feet as they took him past the dark stretch of water, curls of vapour drifting from its surface. To his right stood a bench of varnished wood and curved, black iron feet. It had not always stood there. Before, there had been a wooden bench until that summer when- 

Levi came to a sudden stop; his lungs filled with frozen air.

-when Hange had kicked its legs to splinters in a blind fury. She had only calmed down when, turning around sharply, she had caught him watching her.

Levi continued without looking back. He passed the tree which the pair of them had climbed on a dare. He crossed the narrow bridge which crawled over the river. These were the murky depths which Hange had waded through, her pant legs rolled up to her calves. She had pressed her toes into silt and sharp stones just to pick up a slug which had been caught in the current. Levi had stood well back as the cursed mollusc had oozed foam into her glistening palm.

He turned away again and crossed the gentle slope towards the grassy mound. Once he, Hange, a whole group of them, had sat together passing around a flask of tea, coils of steam kissing the night air. Its taste, like the memory itself, had dimmed with the passing of time. Levi looked up at the bruised sky; its pallor was mottled with patches of purple. Dark, contorted treetops wound starkly against the dawn horizon. He and Hange had once huddled within that clump of trees, desperate for warmth. As cold as it had been, the pair of them had vowed to stay within the shelter of those strange woods all night rather than go home.

Levi wiped his face with his hand. “Shit… I can’t do this.”

His arm dropped to his side. Through the blackened branches and tendrils of mist someone was walking towards him. Her dark hair was pulled into a dishevelled top knot. Feebly, again, the wind’s breath rippled the sleeves of her purple hoodie. She paid the cold air no mind, but simply pushed her glasses a little higher upon her nose. 

Horrified, Levi screwed his eyes shut and shook his head. It wasn’t possible. He stared into the gloom wildly expecting to see that, like the night itself, Hange had faded away. But there she was; real and solid and still approaching him.

“Is this… is this some sort of sick joke?” he stammered faintly. 

“No joke.” She had come to a rest in front of him. Her large, dark eyes were framed by square glasses, just as she had always worn. He’d pictured these features countless times; her tanned skin and curved nose; her long face and square jaw. This was the face Levi had glimpsed in photographs; the face he’d willed to return in a form more tangible than mere memory.

“H-how the fuck are you here? Now…?” 

Hange reached out and brushed her fist against the green material of his shirt.

“Wow, Levi! You should really bring a jacket when you go out in cold weather.” Hange held out her arms as though to demonstrate. “Even I brought a jumper with me, and I can’t feel anything at all anymore.”

“But…” Levi’s voice was hoarse. “How… are you speaking to me right now? How are you… here?”

“You did it.” Her tone was almost accusatory as regarded him, brow slightly furrowed. “I couldn’t come back before but you were able to bring me to this place.”

Levi gaped wordlessly. 

“Your stories made me feel alive again.” Hange bowed her head so that a tuft of dark fringe fell into her eyes. “They’re what brought me back.”

“Must be losing my fucking mind…”

“Luckily that’s not the case!” Hange clapped a hand down upon Levi’s shoulder. “You, of-sound-mind, chose to come here remember? To the place we knew and loved. There are memories wherever you look.” She clutched him more tightly, and attempted to steer him to the left. Levi, who could not feel the weight of her hand, humoured her by taking a step as she moved. 

“Tell me another story, Levi. What do you remember when you look over there?”

Levi followed the direction of her outstretched arm. He exhaled loudly through his nose.

“That’s where you found that stupid rock-”

“-it was a fragment of smoke quartz actually. I didn’t have any at the time.”

“Of course, who wouldn’t need a piece of gravel?” Levi retorted back at her. 

“Quartz.”

“Whatever. You studied that thing like you’d never seen a hunk of stone before. I couldn’t even get you to look my way.”

“Really, Levi? You were jealous of a rock?”

Levi’s face broke into the first true smile he’d managed in months. Then as he glanced at Hange, standing close behind him, a curious thing happened. The pale contours of her features suddenly seemed sharper. There was colour freshly painted in her cheeks. Each of her features were defined; the contrast of her brightness was that bit more striking against the night’s canvas. And that voice; those words were so true to their owner. Levi could hear them upon the wind without having to chase down through tunnels of memory that which he had assumed had been lost forever. 

“I told you.” Hange’s satisfied smile faltered. “Levi! What’s wrong?”

“It’s been so exhausting without you…” Levi stopped, clenched knuckles pressed to his mouth. He fought to compose himself, but when he spoke again his voice tore with grief. “Hange… please don’t leave me again. You can haunt me here or any damn place you like… just don’t go where I can’t follow you.”

Lovingly she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, tight enough so he could almost feel her. Levi blinked, his eyes awash with tears. His head sank back against her collarbone.

“I told you… I can stay here as long as you keep telling stories about me.”

“...can’t.”

“Levi, please… for me.”

Levi heaved a shuddering breath. Forcing his voice to remain level, he spoke.

“Remember… that time at the airport? I thought for certain I’d miss you before your flight departed... but somehow I just made it in time.”

Hange’s head was leaning against his own. They stood, Levi’s back against Hange’s chest, gazing into the huddle of trees in the distance.

“Yeah, it’s embarrassing to think about now,” Levi continued huskily, “I didn’t mean to just blurt it out. It was a lot, springing something that heavy on you. Shouldn’t have done it where everyone could hear us, but… I’m glad I told you, all the same.  At least it meant that you stayed.”

Hange inclined her head so that her voice was in his ear.

“Levi… you know that story isn’t true. I got on that plane.”

He closed his eyes, the muscles in his jaw clenched.

“I want to tell it that way,” he decided fiercely. “Because I should have been there. I should have told you not to go. Then maybe you wouldn’t be-” 

There was a muffled sound, like a whisper of cloth, and Hange was standing in front of him. She took his face in her hands. There was something so certain, so loving in her expression that Levi’s frantic breaths began to slow. He gazed back at her as she wiped the moisture from his cheek with fingertips that he longed to feel. Levi willed it so, clinging to her forearm as though to ground her to him. 

Hange’s thumb lightly traced his lip with a touch unearthly and imperceptible. “It doesn’t matter now. Doesn’t matter…” 

Levi uttered another gasping sob.

“You can tell real stories… or make up stories about what should have been. The only thing that matters is your love, Levi. Your love will keep me alive for as long as you let yourself feel it.”

Levi blinked again. The trees, the park, her shadow were all a blur.

“Don’t bury your love away. Don’t lock it in a dark place. Don’t bind it in heavy chains that weigh you down. Don’t regret what has come to pass and what hasn’t. Remember me fondly and the memories we shared. Tell our stories, Levi. Air them, give them light. That way I’ll never truly leave you.” 

#draw (and drabble) this in your own style #writing prompts #levihan #levihan fic #levihan fanfiction #levi ackerman #hange zoe #fem!hange zoe #guiliadrawsstuff #lovely moots 💕 #congrats again - you're amazing and the follows are v much deserved! #my writing

[profound-bouquetbird]

i loved the johnny abbot fic 🫶 and i saw that requests were open again, could you write an au ending where he isn’t dead yet (but was shot) and they’re able to save him like they do with Gus in the finale. With him passed out or something, the reader doesn’t move from his bedside until he wakes up.

Yessssss, ty for making this request!!!

For the ones that didn't read, here is the link to the original hc: here (tell me if it doesn't work), this is basically just a rewrite of the ending 🤷‍♀️

Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

As bear beat down the guard she turned towards you. She looked at you with worry as you hugged Jhonny and sobbed

But, instead of only pulling you away, she picked up Johnny and started to run towards the escalator thingy, you ran after them, tears streaming down your face as you mumbled sentences in worry

Bear and Rusty's mom and dad were able to stop the bleeding and bandage him up, putting him in a guest room for him to heal. But, they didn't let anyone check up on him, especially hybrids. Since he is a part of the Last Men

You would constantly ask if Johnny was okay, if you needed to do anything, if they needed help with caring for him, you were honestly starting to get pretty annoying. It was like a kid asking: 'are we there yet?' every ten minutes on a five hour long car ride

Bear tried to distract you by making you play with the hybrids including Rusty

But you just kept thinking about Johnny, and it didn't help when Gus got shot as well

After a while you got sick of everyone, not enough to yell at them or hate them, you were just angry that no one actually tried to do anything to make you feel better

What you didn't know was, they were trying to do everything to make you feel better, but they were just trying to shove the thought of Johnny potentially dying out of the way

At one point, you stopped listening and went straight into the guest bedroom, blocking the door

You turned around to see Johnny, just laying there. It absolutely broke your heart and the tears just started to fall

You walked towards his bed, crawling up on it and just cuddling to his side. You sobbed for a while, a looonnnggg while

When you finally calmed down you started to talk to him, telling him all of the things that happened, how you were so mad at Bear for not letting you visit him etc. etc.

It made you feel better, and after some time, you unblocked the door. But you didn't get out, no, you went right back to Johnny's side, you just unblocked the door so that people could walk in

When Bear tried to open the door and it actually worked, she ran in there so quickly. Only to find you cuddled up by Johnny's side,your tail wrapped around one of his arms whilst you slept peacfully

Bear didn't have the heart to pull you away, sighing in defeat as she let you nap

You didn't leave Johnny's side for a week after that, wanting to be there then he woke up. But eventually you got bored and finally started to play with the other hybrids, but you never actually left the house Johnny was staying at, still wanting to be close when and if he woke up

And on one miraculous day, Johnny woke up

You were just drawing on the floor with Rusty when you heard Rusty's mom approaching. You turned to her with a smile, not knowing what was going on. "He woke up." Was all you needed to hear, you dropped everything and ran towards the guest bedroom

You looked inside to see Johnny groaning as he sat on the bed, his head leaned against the bedframe, Rusty's dad was trying to help him calm down and relax

You walked in slowly, tilting your head to the side. Johnny immediately noticed you as he gave you a warm smile, "Hey there." You started to bawl your eyes out, running towards Johnny as you tackled him in a hug, squeaking him tight

You started to ramble and sob, your words were jumbled up, poor Johnny couldn't even comprehend what you were saying. He slowly calmed you down, whipping the tears from your face and hugging you tightly, muttering comforting words that calmed you down

You were now telling him the amazing things that happened while he was asleep and just rambling on and on o-about how you missed him and how you made him hundreds upon hundreds of drawings and jewelry, aka macaroni necklaces and chaotic bracelets

Johnny couldn't be more happier

#sweet tooth x reader #p sweet rooth x reader #sweet tooth #johnny abbot x reader platonic #johnny abbot #hybrid reader

[weepingfromacedartree]

Dancing Around the Truth: Chapter 3

Hi all and happy Friday! Chapter 3 is now available!!

Apologies for the slight delay on this chapter... I blame Queen Charlotte lol.

Chapter 3: Wednesday

The sky is navy blue above Colin’s head as he walks from Bridgerton House to Featherington House. He hardly realizes this fact, though, as his eyes remain trained ahead. 

The first matter on Colin’s mind Wednesday morning was Penelope. He was out of bed before he had the chance to draw his first breath. He was nearly out the door by his second breath, but then he remembered that he did, in fact, sleep nude. 

His thoughts are no less singularly-focused now. He does not pay any mind to the sun as it begins to bleed into the early morning sky. Nor does he pay any mind to the continued absence of the Featherington butler when Anne grants him entry into the home. He certainly does not think about propriety when he embarks up the staircase alone, en route to Peneleope’s door. It is not until that sage green door comes into his view that his brain regains access to critical thought. 

Unlike the day prior, there is no cacophony of coughing coming through from the other side. It’s unnervingly quiet. Colin does not waste a second to ponder any logical reasonings for this silence. Instead, he opens the door.

Penelope is still sleeping. As one could logically expect her to do at this hour. 

As Colin steps forward, he realizes another notable difference between now and yesterday. While he left her sleeping peacefully last night, she looks far from peace this morning. She looks miserable. 

She’s laying on her side, long red tendrils hiding her face from his view. Her pristine white sheets are no longer pulled up to her neck, but thrown aside. A thin white nightgown is the only fabric covering her body. The table he had dragged next to her bed has since been pushed back to its original position. In its place on the floor now lays a rather large bowl. A distinct, unmistakable smell warns him not to look inside of it. 

The whole scene makes Colin feel rather ill himself. And, suddenly, very aware of his own presence in the room. 

It feels wrong.

Before he exits back into the hallway, he steals a blank sheet of paper and quill from atop Penelope’s desk. 

“Here,” he says to Anne when he finds her back downstairs. “Send this into town. To the physician. Tell him it’s urgent.” 

⚘  ⚘  ⚘

Colin feels at war with himself once again. He suddenly longs for the days he once hated. When all he had to worry about was losing Penelope’s favor. At the time, that seemed like the most important thing in the world to him. But now he has her honor — or perhaps even more — in his hands. 

He has to be careful. For Penelope.

With his back aligned perfectly against a sage green door, Colin watches as sunlight overtakes the sky through the closest window. The sky is bright and blue by the time he hears the silence diminish behind him. 

He doesn’t move. He waits to hear something other than a cough. For a bell. Or for Penelope’s voice calling out to her maid. But he hears nothing of the sort. Only cough after cough after cough after cough. As they grow louder, Colin grows more restless. 

He turns on his heel and faces the door. His nose barely a centimeter from the thin piece of wood that divides them. After taking a breath, he knocks three times against it. 

Nothing. 

“Pen, it’s me,” he calls out weakly. “Colin.” 

Still, nothing. Even her coughing has momentarily ceased. 

It picks up approximately 30 seconds later, even more haggard than before. Colin wonders what lengths she is willing to go to in order to pretend she had not heard him — while he can stand there all day if that is what Penelope requires, he desperately, selfishly wishes to be closer. 

Just as he’s about to call out to her again, he hears her voice. “Come in.” 

The first thing he notices when he opens the door is that Penelope is sitting up. She is not upright, but she is at least situated comfortably against the pillows behind her. The second thing he notices is her eyes, somehow both wide and heavy. Surprised but tired. Next, he notices her hair. It’s been twisted into a long red braid down her side sometime between him leaving her room an hour ago and entering again just a second ago. As he gets closer, the last thing he notices is the bowl. Or, the sudden absence of the bowl. He guesses it was pushed beneath the bed, out of sight, but certainly still present in the air around them. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“What are you doing here?” 

They speak at the exact same time. He sounds terrified. She can barely speak at all. Her throat is evidently still parched from sleep. Sensing the effort it takes for her to pronounce each word, Colin answers before she has the chance to. 

“Is it such a mystery? I came to check on your well-being. To see if your condition has improved.” It has not, which is more evident than ever when she breaks into another coughing fit. 

It only takes him three strides to be back by her side, too quick for Penelope to tell him to stay away again. He pours her a glass of water from the platter still sitting on the table nearest her bed. She takes it without word or complaint. But with a nod, she signals him back to exile. Without a word from his own mouth, Colin follows her gaze and retreats to his spot on the settee. 

While she continues gulping down her water, Colin picks up the book from the spot he had left it the previous night. 

“But more importantly, I need to find out what happens to Mr. Collins after that mockery of a proposal.” 

Once the cup has been emptied, she places it on the blanket beside her. Then, she throws Colin another glare. 

“I am serious, Colin.” 

“As am I, Pen.” 

She had laughed at that yesterday, now she looks like she wants to shoot daggers into his head. 

“Fine. Collins proposes Charlotte, Darcy convinces Bingley to —” 

“Hey! You agreed to not spoil anything.” 

Colin attempts to redirect his annoyance over Penelope’s inability to talk of her illness seriously to the book grasped in his hand. But all things considered, he struggles to maintain the bit. He keeps getting distracted by her eyes; he did not know it was possible for someone to appear so fatigued and alert at the same time. 

When he walks over again to replenish her cup, Penelope tries to protest, but literally cannot produce the words. She sends him another glare, but it is not enough to keep him away. 

Once she’s hydrated enough to speak again, Colin retreats to the sofa. 

“The novel ends with Elizabeth realizing Darcy has been dead for ages. That she has fallen in love with a ghost. That is why he is habitually in a dreadful mood.”

For the first time in what feels like days, Colin smiles. At least she has not lost her humor. 

“I thought you said Elizabeth lived ‘happily ever after.’”

“She does. She dies so they can be together.” 

“Is that not the ending of Romeo and Juliet?” 

She considers this a moment. “Yes.”  

“Is that not a tragedy?” 

Colin usually loves making Penelope laugh. In a different context, he would consider it an accomplishment. But the way her throat constricts as she laughs now — sounding as if it is literally pushing all of the air from her lungs — he wishes he had shut his mouth minutes ago. 

“Sorry, um…” He fumbles for the book beside him. “The discussion of Mr. Collins's offer —” 

“Stop.” She sounds exasperated. “Honestly, Colin. What are you doing here?” 

“I already told you,” he says, still somewhat perplexed by her confusion on the subject. “I came to inquire on your health.”

“Yes, well…” She raises her hands in the air as if trying to signal something to Colin with them. Perhaps she is simply pointing him towards the door. “You have inquired. You may go.” 

“Penelope.” His voice sounds more stern than he ever cares to be with her, “You’re not seriously trying to suggest that you are no longer ill.” 

“Of course not, but that does not mean I require your presence.” The words feel like daggers in his head. 

He looks around wildly, then gestures to the empty room around them. “You are ill, you must require someone’s presence.”

“As I told you, I have an entire staff of people here to take care of me.” He can tell by her pattern of speech that she is trying extremely hard to keep her voice steady. 

Colin thinks of Anne the maid. From the brief interactions they’d had so far, he could tell she cared for Penelope greatly. But the woman also appeared to be so young… 

“Where is your housekeeper — Mrs. Varley? I have not seen her once in the past two days.” 

Penelope looks down.

“Varley always takes this week to visit her daughter in the country.” 

“Did she depart knowing you were ill?” 

“No. My fever came on after she departed.” 

Colin sighs. He looks down and realizes that he’s pacing around the room. He does not even recall standing from the settee. 

“Did you write to your mother about your illness?” 

“No. She is en route to Ireland, I could not write to her now if I wanted to.”

“What about your —” 

“Colin! Please. Stop.” She does not sound angry. She sounds so, so tired. “Maybe it is customary for family to dote on one another when sick at the Bridgerton household, but that is not the case here. Even if my mama was present in this home, she would not be in this room taking care of me. That is a maid’s job.” 

He’s unsure if it’s the look in her eyes, the tremor in her voice, or just the words themselves, but Colin’s heart breaks for Penelope. All he ever wanted to do was protect her. To think that someone else would cast off that responsibility, to make her believe she is undeserving of such care… 

“I know you were supposed to leave for Aubrey Hall yesterday.” She leans over just far enough to reach the table beside her. She opens the drawer and reveals a piece of paper. A letter. “You wrote it, yourself.” 

Shit.

“Now, tell me. Did you write the lie four days ago? Or do you speak it to me now?”

“Pen —” 

“I know how close you are with your family. That is not something you should take for granted. Go, be with them.” 

Colin shakes his head. “No.” 

She isn’t looking at him. Her gaze seems fixed somewhere between his eyes and her lap. He does not want to admit it to himself, but Colin cannot help feeling as if the two of them are out of sync. Perhaps worse than ever before. 

He needs to fix this.

“If you truly desire for me to leave, I shall go. But I will not travel any further than to my own home across the street. Even if I wanted to — which I assure you I do not — I could not physically bring myself to travel a step further. Not while knowing that you are here, in this state.”

As he speaks, Colin realizes that, even now, he struggles to achieve the balance between what he wants to tell Penelope and what he fears will push her away from him. Again. 

And then it hits him. 

What he wants to tell her is nothing compared to what she needs to hear. 

“My family is important to me, but that does not change the fact that you, Pen, are important to me. Please, do not ask me to leave when every instinct in my body begs me to remain by your side. You are my…” 

He takes a deep breath and considers his words before he speaks. He has always struggled to define their relationship, even before it had been upended at the start of this season. She is Pen, but what does that mean? He certainly does not have the time to figure that out right now. 

“My friend. I will not forsake you.” 

When she finally looks up at him, there are tears swimming in her bright blue eyes. Colin’s fingers twitch. He goes to retrieve the handkerchief from his pocket, but her tears disappear just as quickly as they came. She coughs and raises a hand to her face. Instead of covering her mouth, she wipes at her eyes. 

“Fine,” she says, after a moment. “Stay.” 

⚘  ⚘  ⚘

Over the course of the day’s remaining hours, Colin discovers that Penelope has a habit of falling asleep at all of the most exciting points of the story. 

Bingley disappears from town. Penelope’s eyes flutter shut. 

Darcy delivers the most insulting proposal of all time. Penelope drifts back to sleep. 

That bastard Whickham returns. Penelope starts snoring. 

Under different circumstances, Colin might be annoyed. Although he had only insisted on reading the book as an excuse to stay near Penelope, he can’t deny that the story has intrigued him. If he were reading to Gregory or Hyacinth, he probably would have kept silently reading the second they had shut their eyes. Penelope’s already read the book twice before, surely she would not care if he did so now. But he truly does not want to. He is not annoyed. He wants to share each word with her. 

Colin regards the book in his hands. They’re nearly finished with Volume Two and it is only his second day by her side. Between her snoring and his witty interjections, how had they managed to go through it so quickly? He would desire nothing more than to finish the book tomorrow and have her illness end with it, but he does not have time to entertain such optimistic thoughts. 

In the back of his mind, Colin wonders if Penelope will try to exile him to Bridgerton House the moment after he recites the last line of the novel. He usually finds it very easy to entertain such pessimistic thoughts, but he is able to throw this one out of his mind rather quickly. 

Something felt different between them after their conversation that morning. Is it foolish of him to think that, after a year living on the outskirts of her favor, they have finally come to an understanding of who they are to one another? 

Colin looks down at the book in his hands once again. He suddenly feels an inexplicable desire to turn to the last page and read the final sentence. Ignoring that urge, he places the novel on the floor beneath his seat. 

Just a few feet from where Colin sits, Penelope lays in her bed still sleeping. He could lean over and brush away the hair from her fevered face if he wanted to. During her second nap that day, Colin had taken the opportunity to lift a mint green armchair from the corner of her room and place it beside her bed. Although comfortable, the settee was too far away for Colin to keep a proper eye on her. And too large to maneuver silently. 

If she had noticed the change in seating arrangement when she eventually awoke around noon, she had not said so. 

Glancing over his shoulder, Colin realizes that the sun has nearly disappeared from the world outside Penelope’s window. 

The day had slipped away from him. It feels like only a moment ago that he was running over here at dawn. Hell, it feels like only a moment ago that he was kneeling beside her bed while she slept, debating whether he should stay by her side or retreat to his own home. 

Yesterday, he departed because his head told him it was the proper thing to do. The right thing to do. Today, Colin curses himself for not listening to his heart all along. 

He needs to stay. Surely, they both know that now. 

After spending the latter half of the day slumped in Penelope’s chair, Colin stands. Nerves shoot up his legs, begging him to sit back down. He takes a step forward anyway. He’s about to reach for the match stick he had spied on Penelope’s desk, then…

“Shit.” The word slips from his mouth before he can manage to hold it in his breath. There’s a figure in the doorway. He sighs when he recognizes the shape. 

“Apologies, Anne.” He speaks quietly, careful not to wake Penelope. 

“Please, no apologies are necessary, sir.” She follows Colin’s lead. Her voice is barely a whisper as she tiptoes into the room. There is a matchstick placed between her fingers. The room grows darker by the second. 

“No.” Colin’s hand reaches for the desk, nearly knocking off a pile of books as he grabs for the matchbox. “Not necessary. I’ll light a candle for her.”

Anne nods in response. Even in the dark of the room, Colin can see a smile appear on her face before she turns away from him. 

Fire grazes his fingers as he strikes the head of the wooden splint against the matchbox. He uses the flame to light a single wick on the candelabra closest to Penelope. She has already shifted in her sleep, her face now turned away from the mass of red curls sprawled across white pillows. The candlelight reveals a pinched expression persevering through sleep. 

Colin feels a guilty longing in his heart for Penelope’s voice. He knows she needs her rest more than anything else at this moment, but the silence of the room feels heavier than the growing darkness. He wants to fill it with her laughter like men fill a bar with smoke.

While Penelope sleeps, Colin has nothing but his thoughts and worries to entertain him. If his heartbeat is any indication, he will not be surrendering himself to sleep anytime soon. Especially not when… 

Colin shuts Penelope’s door quietly behind him, just to take off running in the direction of the servants’ quarters. 

“Mr. Bridgerton?!” Anne calls to him from inside the kitchen. Clearly, his footsteps were anything but quiet. 

“Ah — Anne! Just the person I was looking for.”

Her brown eyes widen. They glance to the left, towards the staircase down the hall. “Is Miss Featherington well, sir? I was just putting together —“ 

“Oh — yes, she is fine. Well — still sleeping.” He runs a hand through this hair and notices his fingers trembling slightly. 

“It’s just — I realized that the doctor never arrived to check on Pen today. Did you — do you know if my note was successfully passed on to him?” 

After the attention and care he had witnessed this young woman show Penelope over the last two days, Colin sincerely attempts to rid his voice of any accusation when he delivers the last question. However, he finds it hard to regulate anything with the thoughts currently running rampant in his mind. 

“Yes, sir, of course!” Anne says emphatically. “The messenger boy hand-delivered it first thing this morning.”

“Right, thank you. Goodnight, Anne.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Bridgerton.”  

The trip back to Penelope’s bed chambers is quick. His thoughts — really just a jumble or worries and insults — cloud his brain. One second, he’s bidding goodnight to a maid, the next, he’s standing with his nose an inch from a sage green door. 

His hand grasping the brass doorknob, Colin swears that he will drag that doctor to Featherington House before the sun rises the next morning. 

When he walks through Penelope’s door, he sees that she has shifted in her sleep yet again. Her neck is turned so far that her face is out of Colin’s view from the armchair. He briefly thinks of transferring it to the opposite side of her bed, but plops himself down before he can follow through on the impulse. 

Without her face to gaze upon, Colin finds his attention suddenly focused on her chest. How it rises and falls. Rises and falls. Rises and falls. When she is awake, it seems as though it pains her just to breathe… but now? He can’t look away. 

Colin’s heartbeat finally evens out, as if it’s a clock keeping time to Penelope’s breath. Thoughts of careless kin and idiotic doctors start to filter out of his mind. He sinks even deeper into the chair cushion, watching her. Rising and falling. 

Rising and falling. 

Rising and  

#fanfic #bridgerton #fanfiction #polin #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton #penelope x colin #dancing around the truth #weepingfromacedartree

[sandsofsolstice]

(((ok this drawing will probs not be finished so take this sort-of-okay version, an illustration from a scene in the fic)))

Rating: M

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence + Blood

Pairings: The PolyculeTM (Jackal/Dune/Carrion/Locust)

Summary: During one of his late night patrols, Dune Zerda is ambushed by Sphinx's lackeys. Although he's able to stumble home, he's been seriously stabbed - it'll take him quite a bit to recover. Will he be able to let down his walls and allow his partners to take care of him? Will he brave accepting tender loving care from them?

Excerpt below this line:

“Tell me who did this,” Jackal says. His rage is barely concealed, shaking with fury, all that righteous anger bubbling up to protect Dune. “Tell me who, and I will kill them.”

“Guess who’s little henchmen,” Dune snarls with a scoff. Who else could it have been besides Sphinx’s underlings? No one wants him dead more than Jackal’s ex, the man’s jealousy running even hotter than his vengeance. It makes him wonder why he isn’t well and truly dead in the sands right now.

Jackal’s scorpion-like tail thrashes angrily as he turns towards the door, hands balled into fists, his pacifism abandoned. He can’t quite remember the last time he saw Jackal this angry: maybe the last time he was actually face-to-face with Sphinx? Perhaps it was the time someone had vandalized the graveyard.

“You will make him better,” Jackal hisses, looking at Locust, the man shrinking a little under his gaze. It’s easy to forget that below his quietness and kindness that the man was practically raised to be a weapon. It’s easy to forget that he runs this town, that he protects it. He’s always so… mellow, when he’s at home. Dune wishes he could fully appreciate the moment.

Instead, when Jackal races out the door, pure panic grips his heart. “Go after him,” Dune says, voice shaking. “If anything happens to him-” his voice breaks, cutting him off.

Locust starts to object before cutting himself off. “Go. But be back fast,” he tells his husband, who spreads his giant wings as he runs out the door next. Dune can faintly hear the powerful wingbeats beating through the air. Jackal couldn’t have gotten far, and Carrion’s faster flying then Jackal is sprinting. It eases the pain in his chest, ever so slightly.

“Just us two, then,” Locust says, sadly, holding Dune up by his shoulders.

“I really hope you’re not the last bastard I see,” Dune says back, trying to put some bite behind his words. He wants to argue and bicker with Locust, for things to feel normal, like he wasn’t bleeding out on the kitchen counter.

#sols ocs #sols art #oc art #original character art #original character #oc #ocs #original characters #ao3 fanfic #oc fanfiction #i poured my heart and soul into this one and hand crafted it with love #so kudos and comments and such would be very much so appreciated #dunes birthday is april 13th! he'll turn 24. i wrote the og of this fic on his birthday #do not read that one its this one except 90% shorter and with terrible writing #i love you dune zerda #the entirety of 2024 so far my entire mind and heart has been dedicated to that man #that awful awful lovely complex man

[macbethz]

fuck it manchester black design tierlist

this man has never been drawn consistently in his LIFE so here are my opinions on them rated from best to worst

1. any Doug Mahnke

YOU CANT. OUTDO. THE DOER. Literally the og. this man has been drawing manchester black for 25 sluttly slutty years and shows no sign of stopping. my one complaint is that he has never drawn him with purple hair since his debut. #Sad!

2. Mike Perkins

Literally only drew him for a fraction of a single issue but I really loved it because it was a nice balance between his original design and the more scrawny design they've been going with recently. really keeping him looking pathetic while still bringing in the original facial structure of the mahnke look. he looks like hes high as balls. 10/10

3. DC animated

this is the design that brought him to the wider world and it really is so so good!!! I love how they incorporated the piercings and more punk elements despite those not being a huge part of his design before. Probably objectively the best design just in terms of like. shape language etc but i am a little comic biased what can i saw

4. Duncan Rouleau

I have to give this design credit for coining the percings and tripp pants look but unfortunately at this point in his career it seems Duncan had not yet mastered the human face and its very clear in every panel

5. Mikel Janin (and associated superman and the authority designs)

this design at first enamored me with morrisons writing and its skrunkly ratlike swag (which is especially visible in longer range shots and exaggerated expressions see image 2). but unfortunately he did turn Manchester into purple constantine for the remainder of the run and that i can not abide. the level of patheticness is so good but unfortunately Janin made the mistake of thinking he needed to be a twink to be that pathetic. incorrect! he now does not read as the same character!

6: Teen Titans

im not even calling out a specific artist here because they are all guilty to me. This design is so bad. I hate it so much. It bleeds 2014. it is SO early new 52 trying to hard to reinvent the wheel. why is his hair red. why is he supposedly 19. the redesigned tattoo is an interesting idea but it simply does not look good. i really hate that every time you google manchester black this specific image pops up like 20 times and its somehow even uglier than him in the normal art style of that comic. And you know DC wants to forget it too because they've basically pretended this comic never existed when discussing his past. also the comic run this was in characterized him so god-awfully that it made me physically ill

#does this matter to anyone. no. however I do what I want #warlock wartalks #Manchester black

[scarrletmoon]

Rules: Pick any ten of your fics, scroll roughly to the midpoint, pick a line (or three) and share it. Then tag ten people.

@adhduck AND @unadulteratedkr both tagged me in this, and i didn't get to it bc

a) i took all my fics off AO3 and

b) i was in tumblr jail for almost a week 😔

but anyway here goes! also if you see this and want to do it, you should do it (yes!! you!!) bc there's no way im going to be able to remember 10 people to tag who haven't been tagged already

i did something inadvisable and went back through ALL my fics (most of which i've anonymized now) from when i was 16/17 to now. sure was embarrassing reading my old shit!

also there's a fun little easter egg at the end of this post from a chapter of PB i never got to post

Untitled (Attack on Titan, M) [2013]

He might’ve moaned aloud, and so what if he did? He deserved it for dealing with that one idiot customer who kept muttering loudly about how terrible Eren was at his job while he was trying to work…

2. Coming Home (Sherlock, T) [2012]

John missed the cases and losing sleep and shouting about the dead animals left in the sink but there was something keeping him back from saying so.

3. Baiser Brûlés (Sherlock, T) [2012]

'Do you know how lightning works, Sherlock?' John murmured. His voice was calm and relaxed. Sherlock liked it best that way. 'Vaguely,' he muttered, finding John's hand on his thigh and turning it over to lazily trace the lines on his palm.

4. Grim Designs (Attack on Titan, T) [2013]

To his surprise he is the first to cry; when he tries to apologise- for making them worry, for being stupid, for nearly dying- they refuse to hear it. The nurse, much to his frustration, sides with them. In all the chaos, no one but Eren notices the man with the raven wings in the corner of the room, who disappears as quickly as he appears.

5. Glass Houses (OFMD, E) [2022]

When Stede dragged his eyes away from Ed’s cock to look at his face, he found Ed biting his lip and smiling, which was somehow more devastating than just watching him soundlessly moan through the window. This was his own private smile, easy and natural, maybe even entirely unintentional.

6. White (Sherlock, M) [2012]

All he’d done was try to help Sherlock before he gave himself pneumonia wandering around town in the pouring rain. That was all. He’d do the same if he saw anyone else he knew in the same situation- and even people he didn’t know, if they were willing to accept his help.

7. Accusation (Original, T) [2013]

He lied, of course. They found her body later, sucked dry with her eyes still wide open in horror.

8. Polaris (Haikyu!!, T) [2015]

Daichi turned to see that Suga was already looking at him. There was just enough light that Daichi could make out Suga’s face in the dim light, all concerned lines and deep frown. At some point, Suga had put his hand on Daichi’s, so they weren’t quite holding hands but they could if they wanted. Daichi wanted.

9. Unhand Me or Bleed (OFMD, E) [2022]

Ed didn’t know why that turned him on so much – mostly the pain from a tattoo countered any sexiness that came from laying it all out for someone to draw on him anyway - but maybe it was the way Stede was looking at him, like Ed was his , the way Stede had his hands on his skin, on his hips, lightly scratching down his back, his rings cold on Ed’s warm body. “Kiss me,” Stede breathed. 

10. Powder Blue, Chapter 31 (OFMD, E) [2023]

Tentatively, he slid one hand from around Stede’s neck to his collar, down to his chest where the first two buttons of his shirt were already undone. When Ed paused his fingers there, he could feel the wild thump of Stede’s heart, racing as fast his own was. Ed pushed the next button open with his thumb, and Stede broke the kiss but didn’t stop him. His hands twitched on Ed’s back, but he didn’t pull the hand away or tell him to stop. “Go on,” Stede whispered.

#scarrlet rambles #tag meme

[rebelrebelwrites]

Did someone already ask about Oak Park for the WIP game?

They did not, and I appreciate you asking! Summoning all of my emotional fortitude to answer this because hello anxiety (cue the Jason Isbell song), but this one is my current WIP; an original novel.

The Summary: Historical preservationist Charlotte Harper accepts an assignment in Oak Park, Illinois to authenticate an unprecedented find: letters found between famous architect Frank Lloyd Wright's first wife, Catherine, and his most maligned (and first female) employee, Marion Mahony. When the letters stand to prove that much more was between the two women than previously believed, Charlotte sets out to unravel the true history... the only thing standing in her way? Sam, the self-satisfied but infuriatingly charming preservation carpenter on the project, who found the letters in the first place.

The Gist: A story told in 2 parts—of self-discovery and romance for Charlotte and Sam, as well as Marion and Catherine in the not-too-distant past.

The Snippet:

"What are you doing here?" Charlotte asks.

"You know, I think that's the second time today you've asked me that," Sam says. A trickle of shame shivers down Charlotte's back, but she ignores it.

"It’s still a valid question," she says.

"What do you think, Charlie?" he asks, a little exasperation bleeding into his amusement. "I live here."

“You... live here,” she repeats.

“Funny, we didn’t use to have an echo in here,” he smarms. “Yes. Me and Philly boy, Philly boy and I. Frank’s the first floor, we’re the second. Assume you’re taking the attic?”

“Well, I was,” she says. “Now I’m not so sure.”

“C’mon now, Chuck. You don’t need to worry about me.” Laughter lights up his eyes, and she notes green threaded with specks of gold. “I’ve already forgiven you for this morning. No need to be embarrassed. Besides–” his tongue flicks between his teeth, a teasing taste of his own smile. “I like a woman on top.”

His grin grows. Glows. Charlotte can’t help but stare at the sheer gall of it.

“Wow,” she manages. “You’re. Wow.”

“Effortlessly charming? I know, I know. But we should keep this professional.” He winks—again—before bursting into real laughter at the look on her face: something halfway between horror and disbelief.

“Relax, relax,” he says, “Look, I’m sorry, but you make it too easy.” He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll be good, yeah?”

Charlotte sighs, low and long. “Professionalism. Right.”

She turns toward the narrow stairway, but before she can steal away, Frank emerges from the entrance to his apartment, dark eyes darting between them. 

“Oh! Sam, good. I just found the key to Charlotte’s apartment. Do you mind showing her? The stairs–”

“No worries, Frankie. I got it. D’you–?” Sam bends a little to rub at Phil the Great’s belly, letting go of his leash. Wordlessly, Frank beckons the dog forward with a few light taps on his thigh. Charlotte can’t help but be impressed when he immediately obeys, padding forward into Frank’s apartment.

“He can keep me company for a bit,” Frank agrees. He hands Sam a key before turning to her. “I hope you don’t mind. These stairs are a bit tricky for my old knees.”

“Of course; I don’t mind. Not at all,” Charlotte says, still halfway up the first step.

“Bless you,” he says, mustache twitching. “Let me know if you have any questions once Sam’s done showing you around.”

“I will. Thank you.” He nods, then shuffles back into his apartment, leaving the door slightly ajar. Charlotte stares after him, feeling a bit bereft until warm knuckles nudge her elbow. 

She starts; looks over her shoulder at Sam, her brain short-circuiting a little at the unexpected touch and how close he’s hovering behind her. He meets her stare with a raise of his eyebrows.

“Only one way to go, Chuck,” he says, tilting his chin up. The movement draws her attention to his throat; the bob of his Adam’s apple, and a spiky something scratches in her chest before she shakes her head, pushing it away.

Her spine stiffens. “Right,” she says. She turns forward and starts to climb.

She’s glad she didn’t force Frank to show her the apartment as they wind their way up the narrow staircase, passing what must be Sam’s place on the second floor, before ascending to the attic. 

The third-floor landing is definitely cramped. Sam has to stoop to avoid hitting his head, and they're a little closer than Charlotte considers comfortable, crowding each other and the apartment entrance: another door that's too big to be there, despite looking original.

"Well, this is it," Sam says. He grins, gestures to the door, then stoops even more to fit the key in the lock and push it open. She watches him duck through, following with uncertain footsteps.

Thankfully, the apartment itself is a bit bigger than the landing. Sam has to move to the middle to avoid brushing his head against the ceiling, but he can stand upright, at least. She notes low light, a tiny kitchen—barely more than two burners and a slim fridge—and to her right, a tight hallway she hopes leads to a bathroom and a bedroom.

To her left, a small living room—dim, too, but awash in dancing color. Charlotte beams as she weaves between a cozy little couch and a bookcase, making for the dormer window of shimmering stained glass.

“Is this original, too?”

“Think so,” Sam says. He watches her press a palm to panes made of myriad shades: jewel-bright blue, peridot green, burnt orange, deep crimson.

“You like it.”

He joins her in two strides; his shoulder brushing the wall opposite her. In her periphery, the light filtering in through the stained glass sparks more gold in his eyes.

“I do," she says, pulling her hand back. She meets his gaze, then mirrors him, leaning against the window frame.

“Me too,” he says. He smiles again; another flicker across his face before it becomes something wistful. “Almost makes me wish I’d taken this flat over mine.”

“We could always swap,” Charlotte says. Her smile twists into something more teasing before she can think better of it.

Sam lays a hand on his chest. “You wouldn’t do that to Philly, would you?”

She chuckles. "No, I wouldn't," she admits. "He clearly needs his space. Probably from you."

Sam's eyebrows shoot up his forehead, but his grin stays bright. "And you were worried! Not even a full day and you fit in fine, Chuck." He bumps her arm with his elbow, and the spiky, foreign thing in her chest turns squiggly.

"If I was worried about anything," she says, crossing her arms, "It was that you're hard of hearing. You know, since my name is Charlotte."

"Not a fan of nicknames?" he asks. "Or is it just that one in particular? We'll find something that fits you, Charlie. Give it time. We've only just met."

She clicks her tongue at him, and the squiggly something doesn't miss his eyes zero in on her mouth. She glances down at her feet; clears her throat.

"This what got you into the work?"

She looks back up at the question. He nods toward the window; his smile melting into something more mellow, like a lazy trickle of tree sap. "Or was it Wright himself?"

"Presumptuous of you," she tsks. "You know I'm here for Marion."

"Do I?" he asks. He furrows his brow, and something like the shadow that passed over his face earlier that morning reappears—fleeting and fickle, and gone in the space of a breath.

+++

I lived in Chicago for years, and recently went back and visited the FLW house/studio tour for the first time and that plus the inspo fuel that is this fandom sparked this (could maybe be an AU if you blink real, real hard) idea. We'll see if it goes anywhere!

And now I'm going to work on this today and try not to be too anxious about posting part of it on the internet 🤣

#leaving this tagless because terror

[sergeantsporks]

Gilded Family

Rating: Teen and Up, Gen

Ch 5 /?: No One Else

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4

In which none of the previous golden guards or wittebro died, actually, they're all fine and living happily together as one big dysfunctional family

Ao3

“—and then when he makes it to shore, he finds out Clerval has been murdered, and he’s suspect number one! He ends up getting sick for some reason? He’s just weird like that, he’s kind of a wimp, actually, not my favorite protagonist, but—”

Hunter sprang to his feet, scattering discarded weeds everywhere, as he spotted a glimmer of movement in the mysterious section of house, disrupting Jason’s ‘summary.’ “There!”

Jason jumped. “There what?!”

Hunter gestured with his trowel. “There’s someone in there!”

“Oh. Yeah, it’s probably Mom. Or Dad. They go in there to cry sometimes.”

“What’s in that room?”

Mole scooped up a pile of weeds and stomped away, towards the compost, throwing each plant in one by one, a little more aggressively than Hunter thought was necessary.

Jason gave Mole an uneasy glance. “Oh. Nothing. It’s… an empty bedroom.”

Hunter frowned. “Why’s it empty?”

“Because no one lives there,” Jason replied matter-of-factly.

Hunter reached out, tousling his hair and getting dirt from the garden in it. “Alright, smart-alec.”

Jason ducked away with a yelp. “Hey, kind of an obvious answer! That’s on you! Anyway, as I was saying—”

He was interrupted by yells for help from the forest. Hunter and Jason glanced at each other, then ran for the gate, opening it just in time to see Meleager, Horus, and Hamlet stumble out of the trees, carrying Venari between them. Hunter ran to meet them, scooping the Grimwalker out of their arms. They were bleeding from their side, and their eyes were already closed.

“I’ll get Mom,” Jason said, dashing off towards the house.

Hunter hefted Venari in his arms, moving as quickly as he could towards the house. “What happened?!”

“It was a demon,” Hamlet half-sobbed, “It came out of nowhere, and—and—”

Mrs. Wittebane was waiting for him at the door, rushing them into another room and directing Hunter to a bed where he gently lay the injured Grimwalker down. “Will they be okay?”

“It’s not the worst injury I’ve seen.” She held out her hands, drawing a circle to make them glow with healing light.

The original burst through the door, and Meleager turned to face him, face pale. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, it’s my fault, I should have—I should have been watching better, they’re my responsibility when we’re out, I’m sorry—”

Wittebane reached out towards him, then stalled when Meleager flinched. “It’s not your fault,” he said in a low, steady voice, underscored with what Hunter was pretty sure was barely-contained panic, “Meleager, it isn’t your fault, okay? You couldn’t predict or prevent this, it… things just happen sometimes, but this isn’t your fault.” He knelt next to his wife. “What’s the rundown?”

She shook her head, glancing back at the grimwalkers. The others were all crowding around the door, peering in at Venari. “It was venomous,” she said in a low voice, “They need an antidote. I can delay the venom with my magic, but without an actual cure…”

Wittebane stood up. “Okay,” he said in a firm, businesslike voice, “Meleager, Sam, you’re with me. Grab a couple of concealment stones, we’re going to town. Meleager, can you describe the demon you saw?”

He nodded. “I can do that. I can—yes. I can do that.”

“Okay. We’re going to visit every potion brewer, beast keeper, and healer until we find an antidote. If you two can piece together what that thing was, we’ll have a starting point, but even if not, I’m sure a beastkeeper will know. In the meantime, no one goes out past the fence.”

“Couldn’t we make an antivenom from the venom of the thing?” one of the grimwalkers (Chryses, if Hunter remembered correctly) piped up, “If we could find it, then… never mind,” he broke off hastily as Wittebane turned towards him.

“No, it’s a good idea. But I don’t want anyone else getting bitten, not for a maybe. Everyone stays inside the fence.” He nodded to Cherry. “You’re in charge while your mother and I are busy. No one goes into the woods.”

The one-eyed Grimwalker nodded seriously. “Yes, sir.”

Wittebane nodded to Meleager and Sam. “Let’s go.”

Mrs. Wittebane jumped up to follow them as they swept out, and Hunter followed, pressing himself against the wall outside a door as she pulled her husband into the room.

“Be careful. Be safe. Please. Make sure they all come home.”

Hunter peered around to get a glimpse of Wittebane gently pressing his forehead to hers, holding her face in his hands as she squeezed his wrists. “We’ll make it back. All of us. I won’t fail another kid. I won’t.”

He took Petro’s condition hard, Hunter realized, The only one he couldn’t completely save.

If he loses another one, it’ll kill him.

I have to do something.

He peeled himself off the wall, sliding back into place with the other grimwalkers outside of Venari’s room. The two Wittebanes walked out of the room, but went opposite directions down the hallway. The door slammed, and just like that, they were gone.

Mrs. Wittebane wiped at her eyes, then shooed the grimwalkers away. “Okay, okay, all of you go back to what you were doing before, they’ll be fine.”

Hamlet and Horus planted themselves firmly in the room next to Venari’s bed. “We’re staying,” Horus announced.

“Of course. But the rest of you.”

They filed off, gathering silently in the kitchen instead. Cherry gave all of them a stern look, then went outside. Through the window, Hunter saw him plant himself where he could watch the major points of exit from the house.

“You think they’ll be able to find an antidote in time?” Jason asked in a small voice.

There was a chorus of “yes”s and “of course”s from the other assorted Grimwalkers. Steven waved his hands at Jason frantically. “Mom’ll keep the venom from killing them, Dad’ll get the antidote, it’ll be fine, don’t worry about it.”

The other Grimwalkers chimed their agreement, then looked at each other, and wandered off in separate directions, leaving only Mole, Jason, and Hunter behind. Jason rested his elbows on the counter, putting his chin in his hand. “Bunch of liars,” he said gloomily, “Sometimes they act like I wasn’t a golden guard, too. I’m not stupid, I know the situation’s bad, I just...”

Sometimes I kind of forget that you were, too, Hunter thought, fidgeting with his hands, You don’t exactly look the part. “Yeah,” he agreed softly, glancing towards the door, “Situation’s bad.”

Jason perked up, his eyes flicking back and forth between Hunter and the door. “You’re going after it,” he breathed, “You’re—”

Hunter put a hand over his mouth, glancing around to see if anyone heard.

“Mrgh!” Jason protested, tugging at his arm.

“Shhhhhh,” Hunter hissed, “Look, I can’t just sit around and—” something slimy touched his hand, and he yanked it back from Jason’s mouth. “Did you just lick me?!”

Mole snickered.

Jason made a face, then spit in the sink, rinsing it away. “Your hand tastes like dirt,” he complained.

Hunter washed his hand in the sink, scrubbing. “That is disgusting!”

“Anyway. How are you planning on getting past Cherry? He might be half blind, but he’s really sensitive, he’ll know.”

“You’re not going to try to stop me?”

Jason twisted the bottom of his shirt in his hands. “It’s bad,” he said softly, “There’s no guarantee Dad and the others will be able to find a cure, or that they’ll get it back here in time. If you think you can get its venom for an antidote…” He shook his head. “Don’t get bitten?” he pleaded.

“I won’t.”

“Can I…”

“No. You need to stay here.”

Jason sighed. “Okay. Figured it was a long shot.”

Hunter glanced out the window at the silent sentinel that was Cherry. “Any ideas?”

“Mmm… I could distract him, so you could sneak out?”

“That’ll never work, he’ll suspect you in a heartbeat. Darius got scouts to help him sneak out at night by being a distraction all the time, and I always caught him.”

“Yeah, alright, that’s fair.”

Mole tapped the table to get their attention and jerked his head towards the dining room window.

Jason’s eyes lit up. “If I made it look like I was really attempting an escape, he wouldn’t realize it was a distraction! I’ll go out the window, and you wait for him to follow! Don’t worry, I’ll be quiet enough he thinks it’s real, but not so sneaky I actually get out! Mole can go out a different window, just in case! That way, if he does figure it out, he’ll think it’s just a distraction for Mole! You just have to be sneakier than the two of us.”

Hunter bit his lip, thinking. “You two won’t get in trouble, will you?”

“From Cherry? Pflbt. Nah, he’ll just make us come back inside. It’ll be fine. Venari needs this, come on, it doesn’t matter.”

Mole nodded in agreement, and the two of them split up, Jason clambering out the dining room window and Mole going down the hallway to try a different one. Hunter took a knife and a discarded broom handle, watching as Cherry suddenly sprinted off in the direction of the dining room, yelling something that sounded like “JASON, I CAN SEE YOU”. Hunter shook his head with a small smile, opening the door and slipping out, carefully sticking to the shadows of the house and keeping an eye out for Cherry. He reached for the gate handle, and with the sound of a deep inhale, Cherry appeared on top of the fence.

“I can’t let you leave.”

Hunter’s head whipped around as he looked backwards to where Jason had gone. “How—?”

“Jason and Mole aren’t conceited enough to think they can beat some monster that took out Venari, and they’re not stupid enough to try. I knew they wouldn’t actually be trying to get away.”

“Then who…?”

“Dagger’s on it. He’s wearing one of my eyepatches.”

“I’m not Jason, and I’m not Mole. I can handle this.”

Cherry shook his head. “I can’t let you. Dad said to keep everyone out of the woods until he came back. So I am.”

Hunter threw his hands up. “You’re not even a little worried?!”

“Of course I’m worried about Venari,” Cherry replied, his voice aggrieved, but still even. “But I can’t just let you run off and get yourself poisoned, too. I can’t risk more of us dying.”

“So you admit it, then?” Hunter asked in a low voice, “You know Venari is dying, but you won’t do anything about it?”

“We just have to trust Dad. He’ll come back with the antidote. I just have to believe in him, and make sure no one else gets hurt. He trusted me to do that, it’s my job, and I’m not going to let him down.”

Hunter ran a hand through his hair. “You’re not at all thinking maybe you just replaced Uncle with someone else? Following his every order, worried about messing up? Believing that he’s some higher being that we can trust to fix all the problems, we just have to trust him?!”

Cherry shook his head again, still deadly calm. “Dad is not Uncle Belos. Even if I did fail to keep one of you from running off to kill this thing, he wouldn’t punish me. They are not the same.”

“Prove it. Let me go.”

Cherry glanced at the woods behind him. “I can’t do that. This is to keep the rest of you safe.”

“I can take care of myself. I won’t take any unnecessary risks. Is it really worth Venari dying to keep me from maybe getting hurt?!” Hunter took a deep breath. “You guys saved me. You took me in. Let me do this for you, let me save them.”

I can’t just sit by and do nothing while someone dies.

Cherry looked up towards the house, then gave Hunter a long look, and hopped off of the fence, leaving the gate free. “Be quick. Be safe. Like you said, no unnecessary risks.”

Hunter opened the gate, slipping out. “Thank you. I’ll say that I slipped past you so that you won’t get in trouble.”

Cherry just shook his head as the gate swung shut.

Hunter quickly found the trail of blood leading into the woods. It’s not much, but it’s a starting point.

The trail wasn’t a direct line just splotches of blood here and there, but they were relatively consistent in their spacing, and he was able to find each one easily.

“Look, see, there it is!”

Hunter pricked up at the voice, ducking behind a tree.

“Oh, yeah, you’re right. Good eye!”

“Thanks.”

Grimwalker voices. Hunter came out from his hiding place. “What are you two doing out?”

The two (Cyrus and Matt, if he remembered correctly) jumped, whirling to point weapons at him.

“Oh,” Cyrus said finally, without lowering his knife, “It’s you. Hi. Here to get some of the venom from the big bad whatever it is?”

Hunter crossed his arms. “How did you two get past Cherry?”

“His room is slapped right up against the fence,” Matt said casually, “We figured that if he was outside watching the main exits, he wasn’t in his room, so we snuck out that way.”

“You weren’t worried he might have set up a trap in there?”

“He did,” Cyrus responded, equally casually, “We disarmed it.”

Hunter shook his head. “This is dangerous. You need to go back.”

“Bit hypocritical of you,” Matt shot back, “What are you doing out here?”

“I’m going to get some of that thing’s venom so they can make a cure for Venari, and I’m going to kill it.”

“That’s what we’re doing, too. Why don’t you just team up with us?”

Did they think this was some kind of game? “This thing took out Venari, and Meleager couldn’t do anything to stop it. It’s too dangerous for you.”

They both stared at him, as if they couldn’t quite understand what he was talking about. Then Matt slapped a hand to his forehead. “Oh! Oh, you thought…” he turned to face Cyrus, who still looked confused. “He thought Meleager, Hamlet, Horus, and Venari were the strongest in the family.”

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

Hunter felt like the rug had been yanked out from under him. They were the hunters, they were the ones that went out into the world—of course he’d thought they were the strongest. Sure, he’d bested them easily, but he’d just assumed they were out of practice fighting another witch.

“Are they… not?” he ventured tentatively.

Cyrus laughed. “Nah, they’re just the angriest.”

“In terms of strength and combat prowess, plenty of us are stronger,” Matt explained kindly, “We don’t use that often, because we don’t have need to. They’re competent, to be sure, and they can handle themselves just fine, but they’re far from the strongest.”

“Oh,” Hunter said faintly, “So you really think you can take on this demon?”

“Oh, yeah, absolutely.” Matt blinked at him. “Did you bring a jar to collect the venom in?”

Hunter shook his head. “I just figured I’d bring its decapitated head. Or rip out a venom gland.”

“Gross.”

“Violent,” Cyrus agreed. He handed Hunter a jar with cloth covering the opening. “There, now all of us have one. Just get it to bite on the cloth!”

Hunter blinked at the jar. “Did you see the size of Venari’s bite?! If it bites on this jar, it’ll shatter it!”

“Well, we’ll restrain it first,” Matt commented, “Don’t worry, we have traps.”

“And I grabbed some sleeping nettles,” Cyrus volunteered, “We’re going to go to where it attacked Venari, set up camp, and wait. We’ll surround the area with traps, wait for it to come for us, knock it out, get the venom safely, then kill it, just to be sure. If the sleeping nettles or the traps aren’t strong enough for it, we’ll have to fight it, but it should be—”

“Um, Cyrus?” Matt interrupted faintly, looking over Hunter’s shoulder, “Do we have a plan for if it ambushes us?”

Cyrus froze. “Hunter, don’t. Move.” He slowly pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket, then lunged forwards with a war cry. Matt grabbed the front of Hunter’s shirt at the same time, yanking him forward. Hunter heard teeth snap in the air behind him, and then a hiss of anger. He whirled around to see a lizardlike demon with sharp teeth and eyes all along its back get tangled up in vines from Cyrus’ glyph. Cyrus brought his leg in a furious kick that cracked into its jaw, making it shriek.

Matt jumped forward, slapping down a glyph of his own. Hunter eyed their surroundings, and the beast, and clambered up into a tree, swinging down almost immediately and landing on the creature’s back. He started smacking and poking its eyes with his makeshift staff, making it shriek with pain. Its tail whipped around, and too late, Hunter realized there was a scaly hand on the end, one that grabbed his arm and threw him to the side. Hunter made himself go limp and rolled with the impact when he hit the ground, then sprang back up. Matt threw a crumpled piece of paper at him, and Hunter snatched it out of the air, spreading it out and smacking it. Vines pinned the tail down, and Cyrus opened a pouch, throwing a handful of sleeping nettles into the demon’s face. It dropped almost immediately to sleep.

“Hah,” Matt panted, “Well, that was closer than I wanted it to be.”

Hunter nudged it with his foot. “How do we know this is the same demon? Or that it’s venomous?”

Cyrus gestured to a yellowish liquid dribbling out of its mouth. “Pretty sure that’s the venom. You hurting its eyes probably pushed the glands down and forced it out. Or something. I don’t know how biology works. Does the jaw look like the same shape as the bite?”

Hunter examined it, tracing the shape. “Yeah.”

Cyrus pressed the monster’s jaws to the cloth of the jar, and venom streamed in. He repeated with various section of the jaw, until the jar was full. “That should be enough.”

There was a glint in the creature’s eyes, and Hunter grabbed Cyrus, yanking him backwards. “Watch out!”

It lunged out of the vines, and Hunter brought his broom handle swinging with an almighty crack down between its two face eyes.

The broom handle splintered and broke.

“Uh-oh,” he said in a small voice as it turned its attention on him. He dodged a swipe of claws, pulling out the knife he’d taken to replace the broom handle. Matt created a spear out of ice, hurling it as hard as he could. It shattered against the creature’s skin. The demon lunged out, and Matt dodged its bite, only for the thing’s claws on the end of its tail to slash across his chest.

Matt dropped with a scream, and Cyrus leapt forward with a scream, driving a knife right through its tail, pinning it to the ground.

“KILL IT!” he hollered, “KILL IT NOW!”

Hunter jumped forward with his own knife, dodging a snap of the jaws, then stabbing it in the eye with the splintered broom handle. He dodged a half blind shriek and clawing with its leg, then lunged, bringing his knife home in its throat. It dropped with a gurgle, thrashing and twisting weakly until finally, it just stopped.

Cyrus knelt down next to Matt. “Are you okay?!”

“Just a scratch,” Matt wheezed. Blood had already spread across the front of his shirt, and Hunter hissed in. Those scratches looked deep. And who knew what this thing had in its claws?

Cyrus handed the jar of venom to Hunter. “Take it to Mom. I’ll get him home.”

“Are you sure? What if—”

“Go, before it’s too late for Venari!”

Hunter gave him a brief nod, and sprinted back in the direction of the house, vaulting over logs and rocks. He burst in the gate, shooting past Cherry and all the way back to Venari’s room, holding out the jar to Mrs. Wittebane, panting.

“Oh! Hunter is—is that what I think it is?!”

“Venom,” he panted, “Antidote. Hurry. Matt injured.”

“Matt?! Oh—never mind, tell me later.” She took the jar from him, shooting to the kitchen.

Hamlet and Horus blinked at him from Venari’s bedside. “You… you killed it?” Hamlet asked slowly.

“With help.”

They both nodded, then went quiet again. Hunter let out a deep sigh, then stretched, wincing. Ow. Getting tossed around by that thing had hurt more than he’d thought it would. He checked for injuries, spotting a couple of scrapes on his elbows and legs. Cyrus limped in, hauling Matt with him. The injured Grimwalker had vines securing scraps of fabric to his injury. Hunter wordlessly helped carry him to his room. The first Grimwalker Hunter had ever spoken to (Auric, if he remembered the name correctly) came in with bandages, a washcloth, and a bowl of water. He shooed the two of them out and closed the door. Cyrus sat down outside with a whump. Hunter slowly lowered himself down to sit next to him.

“No one knows you were gone. You don’t have to…”

“Nah, I’ll own up. Can’t let you and Matt take all the blame, huh?”

“Is he going to be okay?”

“Sure.” Cyrus’ voice wobbled ever-so-slightly. “Auric’s great, best doctor we’ve got, besides Mom, of course.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, how are you coping with losing your kid?”

It was an obvious change of topic, but it still threw Hunter off guard, making his heart clench at the thought of his student. “I—I mean, he’s not dead, I—”

“He’s not?”

Hunter played with a new hole in his shirt from the fight. “No. Thank titan. I thought for sure Belos would kill him after I attacked him.”

Cyrus ‘hm’ed in agreement. “I’m surprised he even let you have an outside friend in the first place. A witch friend? Man. Guess he’s gotten more lenient.”

More lenient?

“He used to be stricter about it?” Hunter’s eyes widened as he started connecting the dots. “Oh. You had…”

Cyrus rested his chin on his knees. “Mmm. Wasn’t the same as you and your kid.”

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. It was… I just wanted to check, because I know it can be… tough… at first. Pain fades eventually, though. I guess.”

Hunter thought of the bittersweet feeling he got whenever he remembered Darius. Maybe he wasn’t dead, but he’d never see him again. Never talk to him again. It was almost like he WAS dead, except with that melancholy some day that echoed in his mind.

“I guess,” he echoed softly, then, after a moment of hesitation, “Tell me about them?”

A brief smile. “He was… smart. And sweet. And he felt… safe. If I got hurt on mission, or by Belos, I’d go to him. To crash for a bit. To be healed.” Another soft smile, this one staying. Hunter watched with a smile of his own playing at his lips, watching Cyrus’ tension fade, remembering. “He’d always give the wound a little kiss, always said it made it heal faster.”

“He sounds wonderful.”

“He was.” Cyrus brushed at his eyes. “Guess I was kind of an idiot for thinking I could hide him from Belos, huh? If I’d really loved him, I would have made him go away, I would have…” He swiped at his eyes. “Ah, what does it matter. Can’t change the past, right? In the end, I wasn’t enough to protect him. I got left injured on a mountain to die. Belos said that if I could make it back in time to stop him… But I collapsed, and when I woke up here, I was seventy years too late.”

A shock ran down Hunter’s spine, and he jolted upright. “What?! You mean they prevented you from…”

Cyrus twirled his forelock between his fingers. “Ah, I would have died on that mountain anyway. I wasn’t making it back, Belos knew that. He just wanted me to wallow in my failure for a bit first. You know, the usual.”

“The usual,” Hunter repeated.

Mrs. Wittebane ran back towards Venari’s room, carrying a new bowl. Hunter scrambled to his feet to follow. Cyrus didn’t get up, his eyes fixed on the door, fingers still twisting his hair.

“Hey.” Hunter offered him a hand. “Venari’s going to be okay, thanks to you. We’re not going to lose anyone else.”

Cyrus grasped his hand, hauling himself up to his feet. “No one else.”

#toh #the owl house #toh fanfiction #my writing #the golden guard #gilded family au

[catscardigan]

I have many thoughts about the latest episode... too many to make any kind of coherent point. I’m definitely going to have to go back and rewatch the ep again, but the main things I picked up from my first watch are this....  Bobby FINALLY admitting in canon what we knew all along. Buck IS his son. Maybe not in origin, but in all the ways that matter now. 

Eddie is in love with Buck. The small snippets we got in this ep spoke so much louder than other, longer interactions we got. The “DO MORE” rattles in my head constantly. Eddie is surrounded by people who have known/loved Buck for longer than he has, been through some significant traumas together, but maintain a level of composure whilst worried for their friend/son. Eddie’s reaction is that of someone who is completely and utterly in love and we can see him starting to bleed his inner thoughts out into the open. These two words have completely destroyed me. 

Not to mention Eddie’s reaction when he takes Christopher to see Buck. Not being able to look at the person who’s hurt? Silently crying so not to draw attention? Book end this with the absolute JOY and RELIEF on this mans face when they visit Buck once he’s awake? That’s some next level love shit and I will stand on any hill and scream this point. 

Christopher. Now aside from him speaking to Buck (yeah thanks Fox, I’ve literally burnt away the skin from my face thanks to the tears), we have the moment where he asks Buck to help find his dad. THIS is what has kept my cogs turning all night..... I was trying to think about when Chris has ever asked him to look for Eddie. I don’t think he ever has....meaning this is something NEW and it screams. 

WHY does Christopher need help finding Eddie? Where is he? Why is he lost? Is it really Christopher who is trying to find something, or is it a prompt for Buck? There’s also something really off about Buck’s response. He says he’s going to feel guilty about it later. Why would he feel guilty? Buck knows he’s on a path to discover who he is and I think this episode has helped him A LOT...but there’s still more to come and I reckon Eddie (including Christopher) is the key to that. Buck isn’t ready to find Eddie yet, but when he does? I for one am very excited to see where this goes. 

My FINAL thought (for now) is Margaret & Phillip. Their “redemption” arc. There was nothing about their behaviour or action that screams redemption to me. As someone who has had a traumatic childhood, I relate too hard to Buck and how he sees himself and how his mind works. So for me, this wasn’t a Buckley Parent redemption arc - this was well and truly Buck accepting HIMSELF for who he is and almost keeping himself in a (hopefully) healthy self-preservation mode. He is letting his parents into his life *just enough* to keep the peace. The conversation about the couch solidified this thought for me. As much as Buck forgives his parents of origin, he doesn’t NEED them to be happy with himself. 

If you read this far...THANK YOU! It’s not often I spill my brain onto this app, but last night was too important 🖤

#911 meta #my thoughts on this wee woo show #do more keeps me awake at night #do more is the new because evan #911 fox #evan buckley my beloved #christopher diaz is too precious for this world #edmundo diaz my beloved #911 on fox #911 spoilers

[demonangelgirl134]

El Diablo au

Chapter 6: Reuniting with Gene and meeting Phoenix Slickfingers

Everyone stared in shock after the masked figure removed their mask after El Diablo hit them with the guitar, and revealed their long blond hair with a blue streak and dyed orange going into red at the ends and quite beautiful feminine face (despite the huge welt on their head where Diablo hit them). So, it was now confirmed that the masked figure, who Diablo and everyone thought was a man, was actually a girl.

"You hit me in the head with a guitar!?" She angrily yelled to Diablo

"Y-you're... You're a woman?!" Diablo replied in confusion as he dropped the guitar and realized that it was a girl who was pulling off all those stunts, dance moves, and sword fighting skills, and it left him both stunned and sorta lovestruck. "Wow."

"Hmf. Amateur." The girl scoffed as she put her sword back in its holster and turned to walk away. Just then, Diablo was broken from his love trance and realized he had just hit a girl.

"Wait! Ma'am! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" He exclaimed after he jumped up a pile of crates and pulled his sword out of the ceiling. But the girl had already disappeared behind a curtain on the other side of the room.

Diablo followed the girl through the curtain to try and apologize for hitting her and found himself in a dark room full of crates and barrels, which he believed was a storage room of some kind. But the second he stepped foot inside, he got a strange feeling that he was being watched. But he still continued on because he had to apologize to the girl, so he kept his hand on the handle of his sword in case he needed to draw it.

"Long time no see, brother." Diablo suddenly heard behind him and immediately whipped out his sword and pointed it at the sorce, then saw a familiar face at the end of it.

The person had dark brown fur, fluffy hair that was the same color as their fur, long gold horns that were all cracked and chipped up, two huge scars across their right eye, a dark green nose with a horizontal scar on it, and was dressed in a Spanish peasant outfit. Diablo immediately recognized them and was not happy at all to see them.

"Well, well. Look who it is; Gene Morningside." Said Diablo while backing Gene against the wall.

"H-hey, Luce. It's been a while, hasn't it? Hehe." Gene nervously stammered.

"You've got a lot of nerve showing your face to me again," Diablo hissed while still backing Gene against the wall.

"Look, I know you're mad, you have every right to. But it's still good to see you again, Lucif--" Gene said as he attempted to pull Diablo into a hug, but was cut off by him jabbing his sword at his face and backing him even further into the wall. "Are those new boots?"

"No! They're the same boots! The same ones from before you betrayed me! And it's Diablo now!" Diablo hissed.

"Betrayed you? You left ME stranded on Heaven's bridge bleeding and surrounded by soldiers!!" Gene replied while pushing Diablo's sword off to the side.

"Yeah! And just how did we end up on that bridge exactly?" Diablo replied angrily, putting his sword away.

"Because we're brothers and brothers are supposed to always be--" Gene angrily replied but was interrupted.

"Boys! Boys! Enough! Cut it out!" Said a female voice, breaking up the argument between the two demons.

The two demons looked up at where the voice came from and the same girl Diablo hit was sitting at the top of a tall pile of crates with her legs crossed looking down at them, except she was now wearing a black button shirt instead of the black leather tunic she was originally wearing.

"Well, he started it!" Said Gene, pointing to Diablo.

"I have an obvious feeling that he didn't, Gene." She replied as she jumped down the crates and approached them. "Also, remember why we're here."

"Wait, You know her, Gene!?" Diablo exclaimed in confusion

"Yeah, practically everyone in town knows me." She replied.

"And how's that??" Asked Diablo.

"What? You haven't heard of her?? She's Phoenix Slickfingers, the slickest of all thieves!" Gene replied, putting his arm around Diablo. "They say She's so sneaky, you'd never even know she was there."

"That's right, Gene. Also, that's an awful lot of heel for a man doncha think?" Said Phoenix, holding up a pair of boots.

Diablo immediately recognized those boots and realized that Phoenix managed to swipe them clean off his feet without him even noticing as She handed them back to him. "Wow! You are sneaky." He replied as he put them back on his feet. But then he snapped out of his love trance again when he realized that Gene must've been the one who sent Phoenix to foil his heist and bring him to this place, which he didn't take well at all and snapped in his face.

"I had those magic beans in my grasp, Gene!" He snapped while throwing Gene's arm off himself. "Until you sent this rather attractive Devil woman to interfere! You are a curse on my life!" Diablo then started to storm out, but Gene jumped in front of him.

"Yes, I sent Phoenix to bring you here but hear me out okay?" Gene exclaimed. "with her skills, your sword, and my brains we've got a fighting chance! Come on, bro, You know that nobody's ever ripped off the giants' castle and lived to tell the tale, so you need a plan. And you know that I've been studying for this job my whole life." He then pulled out a notebook full of notes and showed it to Diablo. "And let's be honest, without me, you wouldn't even know where to plant the beans. but Cagney and Hilda do and they're on their way! Come on, bro, we go up the beanstalk outlaws and come down legends. What do you say? Partners??" He added, holding out his hand for a handshake.

But Diablo didn't want to team up with Gene again, Not after what he did. So instead, he refused and walked around Gene and began to leave. "No. Never again." He said while walking away.

"I'm sorry okay! Come on, It was years ago! You can't hold a grudge!" Gene responded, following after him through the curtain, but Diablo ignored him and continued to storm off.

"Oh no, this is bad! This is bad!" Gene panicked.

"I'll go talk to him, Gene. I have better people skills." Said Phoenix as she walked past him and followed Diablo.

Stay tuned for part 7.

#my ocs #the cuphead show #scene redraw #cuphead au #cuphead oc #puss in boots #el diablo au #Gene Morningside #Roxy Bureile

[cassurrjoybell-30]

Bonding with the Enemy - Chapter 21

*Warning Adult Content*

Jared

"What the fuck?" Jasper yelped, jumping back as he cradled his forehead.

"Why would you do that?"

Darren was still standing against the tree, totally stunned by what just happened.

He had gone in heat so suddenly that he had no idea how to deal with it and consented to letting Jasper 'help'.

Honestly, he knew the guy didn't deserve the head-butt but it was a knee-jerk reaction. 

"I don't know," Darren replied lamely.

As the Alpha tentatively checked for bleeding, Darren readjusted his pants so he was no longer exposed.

Glancing around, he prayed that no one had witnessed anything.

"Can you at least try not to be such an ass-hat?" Jasper growled out as his own excitement died down in leu of pain.

"Excuse me? Did you just call me 'pants'?"

"What?"

"What else would an ass wear for a hat?" Darren explained, trying his best to change the topic and spilling word vomit as he did so.

Jasper looked at him like he was insane, then shook his head and stared off into the sky.

It was going to take a while for the scent of their arousal to fade away, so the rogue would have to wait and wash off before he could head back into town without drawing unwanted attention to the fact that he was in heat.

"I think I need a bathroom," he muttered, unwilling to make eye contact with the Alpha.

Jasper agreed and they quickly drove to the nearest gas station.

The soap there would suffice to wash away most of the scent.

When they were done, Darren refused to get in the car and started walking along the nearest strip mall.

The Alpha stepped behind him.

"You're not trying to avoid me now, are you?"

A blush returned to the rogue's face as he was confronted with the unwanted topic.

"No?"

"Because you agreed to..."

"I know," Darren snapped and walked faster.

What pissed him off most was the fact that he couldn't even be angry at the man for what he did.

Jasper had asked first and even blamed himself, not knowing it was the mate bond's fault.

He thought he was bonded to someone else that had rejected him and was still willing to 'help' Darren.

"Where are you going?" Jasper asked, keeping up with the beet red rogue.

Darren examined their surroundings before returning his full attention to the Alpha.

"I can see more ghosts now."

Jasper suddenly looked excited.

"That's great. But none of the kids disappeared around here?"

"I know. The point of going into town was just to confirm if I could see more. Since the highest population would be closer to the center of town, I figured there'd be a higher concentration of ghosts too."

Turning, Darren glanced at a teenage spirit who was leaning against the wall of a music shop.

"So I was right," Jasper concluded.

"They weren't showing themselves before because you were an outsider."

It annoyed Darren that the Alpha's suspicions were correct but he couldn't deny it anymore.

After all, ghosts could have preferences too and these ones were once loyal pack members.

The old lady in the park was most likely a rare exception.

Darren sighed dejectedly.

"Yeah, big deal. How about we loop back around to areas that the kids were last seen and see if we can find witnesses?"

"Sounds good," Jasper agreed, immediately putting his original plans on hold.

The first place they decided to check was the kindergarten playground.

As they pulled up, a chill fell upon the car and suddenly Darren found himself rubbing his arms for warmth.

A presence then caught his attention and the rogue turned around to find a strange man slouching in the back seat.

A shiver went down his spine as the man slowly raised his head, then smiled.

Most of his teeth were rotten or missing and his face was slim and bony.

Then, he vanished.

Jasper noticed the rogue staring off into the back seat and turned to see what was so interesting.

"Something back there?"

Darren nodded silently.

"Is it a ghost?"

He figured if anyone would know who the guy was, it'd be one of the Alphas.

"Do you know anything about a creepy dude with bad teeth that used to hang out around here?"

Jasper eyed him seriously for a good long minute.

"Jared Holmes. He tried to join the pack some years ago but got rejected when I caught him snooping around the school. He had a really bad criminal record and we banned him from returning."

Darren glanced back once more in case the creep was still there.

"I think he returned anyways."

"You're saying he's dead?"

"Yeah and ghosts have a habit of haunting people, so if there was a kid he had targeted before being banned, they would most likely be the one he's haunting now."

"And he was in the back seat? Why?"

That was a logical question and Darren had to think it over before realizing the most likely reason.

"Because of you."

"Me?"

He nodded.

"He's haunting a kid that he never got his hands on and you were the reason why. Are you surprised he'd pop up whenever you got close?"

Jasper seemed stunned, then leaned back in his seat.

"Great, so you're saying I'm being haunted?"

"Only whenever you're around his actual target. Anyways..." Darren opened his door.

"He's gone now and we've got other ghosts to interview."

There were a number of kids running around the school playground.

As usual, Darren kept close to the perimeter with Jasper so no one would chase him away.

Soon enough, he found a ghost standing hear the front entrance of the school.

He was hovering near the mascot statue and was wearing a sweater vest and glasses.

"Excuse me," Darren addressed the man, drawing the eyes of a few living passerby's as he appeared to speak to the wolf statue.

"I was wondering if you saw what happened to, er..." he turned to Jasper, "What were the kids names again?"

"Alice Jones and Cody McMillan."

"Yeah, those two."

He crossed his fingers, hoping the ghost would know who he was talking about since he had foolishly forgotten to bring any pictures.

The ghost didn't seem as surprised as most were when Darren approached them, and instead scratched his chin in thought.

"I think I remember those two. Alice was in Mr. Hopkins class and was always surrounded by other girls during recess and little Cody wanted to be an art major if I remember. He liked to sketch the statue and the school building. They were pretty good scribbles for a six year old," he laughed to himself, then went serious.

"It's a shame that they stopped coming. I wondered what had happened to them."

"Do you remember when you last saw them? The reports say they went missing after school and it sounds like you keep an eye on the students," Darren pushed.

"Of course I do. I loved being a teacher and my wife is the principal. I like to think I'm helping. Anyways, let's see...I remember Cody had decided to walk home the last time I saw him and as for Alice, hmm," the ghost squinted in thought. "I don't remember. If she left, she might not have left from the front entrance like the other students."

"So you saw nothing?"

"Sorry. I wish I could be of more help," the ghost shrugged.

Darren sighed, indicating to Jasper that there was no lead here.

"Are there any other ghosts around we could ask?" the Alpha wondered.

To that, the spirit scowled.

"I don't think you'd want to speak to him. I doubt he has any good intentions."

"So that's a yes?" Darren replied, knowing Jasper wouldn't know that the ghost had responded to him.

The ghost shook his head.

"He's a real creep who's been haunting a poor girl for the passed few years. I tried chasing him off but I can't move too far from my wife. So there's nothing I can do when he follows her home." the spirit then sighed. "She'll be moving to the other campus next year, so I won't be able to help at all anymore."

"Let me guess, gross looking with bad teeth and a creepy smile?"

"That's the one."

Darren glanced at Jasper, who seemed to understand what they were talking about despite only hearing the rogue's side.

"The ghost saw Jared?"

"Yep."

"If you're searching for him, take a look over there," the professor pointed across the street, and Darren's eyes followed. 

Hovering at the edge of the parking lot was a barely visible shadow figure.

"I make sure he never enters the building," the professor explained, then cursed under his breath as a woman emerged from the school with a young girl at her side.

The little girl had long brown hair that was braided back, holding the rest of her hair out of her face.

She looked pale and weak as she stumbled beside by her mother, her eyes downcast.

Darren watched as they passed on their way to the parking lot across the street.

As soon as they crossed the perimeter, the shadow disappeared from it's original position and reappeared at the girl's side where it solidified into the bony figure of Jared.

The creep then began petting the girl on her head as she waited for her mother to unlock the car and every time he touched her, the girl began coughing terribly.

"That monster has been making her sick and her mother thinks she has some sort of autoimmune disease. I'd chase him off if I could but he's learned to stay out of my range. I'm worried that he might someday switch his target to her little sister."

Darren was familiar with this sort of thing.

The man had become an evil spirit, feeding off the girl's living essence and unfortunately, the professor was correct.

He would switch targets as soon as he was finished with her. 

From the looks of it, she didn't have much time left.

Turning to relay this information, he found that Jasper had wandered off towards the mother and child silently.

As soon as the mother recognized him, she slapped on a smile and greeted him vibrantly.

Then, he turned towards the little girl and kneeled down.

Since he was out of earshot, Darren couldn't hear what was being said but whatever it was, it had the girl laughing.

Jared's ghost was scowling down at him as he grasped the girls shoulder, causing her to cough more violently.

Darren felt helpless in situations like these.

Evil spirits required specialists to deal with them and while he was able to see and speak with ghosts, he couldn't actually do anything himself if they became dangerous.

He watched as the Alpha put his hand on the girls head, then closed his eyes.

A blue aura appeared around his palm and spread along the girl's body.

Whatever it was, it had Jared pulling his hand away instantly as his form began to fade.

The color returned to the girl's face and she gasped like she had been holding her breath.

After that, Jasper patted her head and waved at the mother who stood by in shock.

"What was that?" Darren asked the nearby ghost, never having seen anything like that before.

The professor's spirit whistled.

"That's the power of an Alpha."

"Healing?"

"It's more like a protective aura that they can share with pack members.

It's their responsibility to look after us so it only makes sense for them to have that kind of ability."

The rogue stared at Jasper in confusion.

He had always assumed that the only power an Alpha would have was the Alpha Command and their forceful presence.

It was hard for him to consider that they had non-threatening abilities as well.

Before he could wrap his head around the idea, he spotted a familiar figure nearby.

She was standing by the fence of the playground, watching the other kids with her back turned to him.

Despite this, he recognized the blond hair from the Cafe' and Darren pointed.

"Do you know her?"

The professor glanced in that direction and nodded.

"Yes. That's Holly. She's a bit anti-social. Why?"

"What is it?" Jasper asked as he returned in time to overhear Darren.

"It's her," Darren explained. "The ghost form earlier is here."

Jasper tilted his head.

"By the fence?"

"Y-yeah... How did you...?"

Darren realized that even though he was pointing in her direction, there was no way for Jasper to know she was standing by the fence and not by the playground equipment.

"Blond hair and blue eyes right?" the Alpha put his hands on his hips and glanced between the fence and Darren.

"You're talking about the girl watching the others?"

"You can see her too?" Darren asked, shocked.

"Of course I can because she's not a ghost," Jasper explained.

"That's Beta Kenny's daughter."

[brooklynislandgirl]

@kylo-wrecked   {{And angels weep}}

A single word ought not bite and make the wound bleed, but it does. She feels it slink its way into her at too-damn-late in the early morning, reeking of stale beer and blue jazz flavoured smoke. Helps itself to left over cold sobe noodles right out of the carton in the fridge. She doesn't remember giving it a key or extending him that kind of invitation but there they have it. She still manages to roll over ~all of her body turned toward him~ and let it stay. Regardless of his intentions perhaps she's fallen pray to the depth of potency that he holds, the faint strains of a sonata she cannot remember the name of, if he's an original composition created in the moment or something classic from a time long before they were even born. He slices through everything else with a clean edge. Scores her in a way she can't put a finger on. He leaves behind the kind of desecration with that duality of expression, which itself hinges the world on her own empathy. She cannot make herself look away.

At least not until the waitress edges her way into the middle of this stunted conversation, a wall built with speed as if by Hadrian. It's enough to shunt her nearly back into her liminal space. Not the first time she's been culled from a conversation, not the first time she's experienced the sudden and bitter realisation that she's competing outside of her weight class. As such the surprise when she notices him still casting his Stygian gaze her way is genuine and not one she can easily hide behind a mask of feigned apathy. He draws over himself, night over a starless sea. No. That isn't right, implies a seamless fluidity. Neither is it chorea or myoclonic muscle disorder. It's the spasm of a jellyfish on the body of a robust and beautiful orchid mantis. Does he eat lotuses? She's a hundred percent sure that if he did, they would melt on his tongue, just to be that much closer to him. But she isn't blind, she can see a glimpse of something darkly fragile beneath his gilded facade. She gets completely blind-sided. "How...." did you know what I was going to ask you? "How you know dat word?" It's a co-opted word from when missionaries came, the advanced scouts of what would become a occupying force, one that would illegally overthrow the monarchy and drag her kingdom into pampered slavery. A much larger scale than what was done to her very own mother. It can mean half, or it can mean part, and is used, sometimes welcome and sometimes scornfully for those with island blood. Later it was borrowed by others and Beth can't really blame them for stealing a stolen word.  For him to know it? A new flare of intrigue lights her gaze as she gazes more boldly. Just in time to see the mouthed words. What Beth lacks in aural capacity she more than makes up for with sight and smell and taste. Her tongue flirts with the edge of her lower lip and she swallows. She nods even as her face screams in red. They really are beautiful. He rises like a wave and the feel of his crashes over her. As her head tilts up to meet his face she finds her hand of its own accord reaching out. She'd intended to catch him by the wrist, halt his inevitable flight. Instead, she brushes his hip. She nods and in turn climbs off the couch. She’s all sand coloured skin and the skeleton of some kind of perfume that’s subtle but sweet. The whisper of a dress she wears hugs her in shadow as she asks "Go wheah? Some place mo' quiet?"

#kylo-wrecked #Smile Like Film Noir|Ben Solo #Lonely As a Ghost Town|Ben and Beth #Between Blues We Can't Name|Music!Verse #Brooklyn Stories|New York