#and all the canes were in the basement

[rubysunnday]

blood on your lies

summary: four times Y/N got injured and the one time kaz did

"How many fingers?"

"I didn't hit my eyes."

"How many, Y/N?"

Y/N sighed. She squinted slightly. "Four?"

Kaz narrowed his eyes. "Three."

Y/N pursed her lips but didn't move. Her vision kept swimming in and out of focus. Sometimes Kaz and his concern disguised as displeasure was clear and then a moment later, he was just a black blob.

"I'm -"

"If the next word out your mouth is 'fine', I will deduct your wages for this job and hit you with my cane," Kaz warned, raising his eyebrows an inch.

Y/N wanted to argue. She hated appearing weak in front of Kaz. He was the one person she constantly strived to impress and being injured, again, whilst on a job with him was not what she wanted.

She tried to stand up, putting her hands against the wall behind her, intent on using it to push her up.

"No."

A gloved hand pushed down on her shoulder, forcing her to sit back down on the cobble stones. Y/N relented, her head already swimming. She closed her eyes, swallowing back the bile and trying to breath through the nausea building in her throat.

"You can't go to sleep."

Y/N sighed. She opened her eyes, squinting slightly at the light glowing just behind Kaz.

Kaz's eyes narrowed a fraction and he readjusted his weight, moving to block the light with his body.

"I can't sit on the cobbles all night, Kaz," Y/N muttered, bringing a hand to her head and shielding her eyes.

"Jesper will be along soon," Kaz replied, glancing down at his shoes, inspecting them one at a time. "Then when we get back, you're going to rest -"

" - but Kaz -"

" - and not go on any jobs for a few days," Kaz finished, ignoring her. He raised his gaze from his shoes, focusing on her. "You are allowed to be injured. It doesn't make you any less of a Crow."

Y/N, surprised by Kaz's sudden honesty, nodded, silent. Her eyes began to burn and she harshly wiped them, breathing out shakily.

"Ah, Jesper!" Kaz said, turning to face up the street. "Y/N has a concussion."

It was early afternoon which meant the Crow Club was almost silent. Kaz was sat downstairs on the main floor, his papers and books strewn across a booth table. He didn't need to write down the numbers, but he did, just in case anything happened.

It was only because Kaz was sat downstairs, and not in his office, that he heard the almighty bang, followed by a thud, that came from the basement.

He paused, pen hovering over the parchment. There was a groan of pain and whoever was downstairs muttered, "fucking cupboard".

"Y/N?" Kaz called, setting his pen down. "Did you get into a fight with a cupboard?"

Y/N emerged at the top of the stairs leading to the basement. "I walked into a cupboard," she corrected, her voice muffled as she pressed her hand to her her nostrils. Her fingers came away, tinged with red, and she swore.

"Sit down before you bleed on my floor," Kaz said, easing himself out of his seat. "Tilt your head forward, not backwards."

Y/N followed his advice, sitting down in a chair and tilting her head forward. She pinched her nose, just above her nostrils, and held her hand under her nose, catching the blood that dripped down.

A white handkerchief was thrusted into her vision. Y/N blindly took it, pressing it to her nose.

"Don't forget to breathe," Kaz said, his voice coming from somewhere in front of her.

Y/N raised her eyes and she could just see Kaz's shoes, standing in front of her. "I cannot believe I walked into a cupboard."

"You didn't see it coming?"

Y/N lifted her head, looking at Kaz. "Did you just make a joke?"

Kaz's shoulders moved in what looked like a shrug. "I'm actually hilarious, do you not know that, Y/N?"

Y/N huffed out a laugh, lowering her head one again. "My deepest apologies, sir."

Kaz's lips curled up into a smile.

Kaz woke with a start, his mind racing. A quick look around told him that his was no longer inside the building they'd entered. Instead he were outside, lying on the street.

As Kaz sat up, he became aware of how damp the back of his jacket had become, the sensation sending shivers throughout his body as memories came flooding back.

The wet jacket clinging to his back as he stumbled ashore. How it dragged him down, taunting him to let go and sink back under. Jordie.

Jordie suddenly morphed into Y/N and Kaz sat up, looking around the street for any sign of her. He put a hand on the ground, bracing himself to stand up, when he felt a hand brush his. Or he brushed the hand, Kaz wasn't sure.

The contact sent him back to the cobbles but, as Kaz turned his head, he realised it was just Y/N.

She looked serenely peaceful, lying there on the ground, her arms outstretched slightly. Kaz watched her for a moment, waiting to see the comforting sight of her chest rising and falling. It took a moment for his eyes to focus but when they did, he could see her breathing.

Some part of him relaxed.

Kaz pushed himself up onto his knees and crawled to Y/N's side. Swallowing back the panic and the urge to run away, he leant over her, one hand braced on the cobbles on the other side of Y/N, whilst the over reached up.

His hand hovered over her face for a moment. It shook. Kaz breathed in deeply. He put his hand against her cheek, his thumb moving up and down for just a second.

Kaz bought his hand back and moved it down to her shoulder, shaking her as hard as he dared. "Y/N. Y/N, come on, wake up."

Y/N's head slowly moved to the side as Kaz shook her, the orange light from the street lamp above casting shadows across her face. Kaz shook her again, hard this time. He was feeling water rising around him.

"Y/N!" He yelled and, before he could even think, he slapped her.

Y/N inhaled sharply and groaned, sitting up as quickly as she could, hands blindly reaching out to grip whoever had slapped her. Kaz let her grip his hand, let her realise it was him, and then pushed her back.

"What the fuck, Brekker!" Y/N exclaimed, falling back onto her elbows. "What was that for!"

"We have no time to sleep," Kaz said, wincing slightly as he awkwardly clambered to his feet. He was trying not to show his earlier panic and opting for despair and irritation seemed best.

Y/N groaned again, lying back on the floor, closing her eyes. "I have no idea what happened."

"We triggered something in that room," Kaz replied, looking around for his cane. "Knocked us both out. Then we were dragged and dumped out here."

"How long for?"

"Half an hour," Kaz said, still looking. "Ish."

"Ish? Kaz Brekker just said ish, I must be dreaming," Y/N muttered.

Kaz picked his cane up off the floor - it'd been next to his foot the entire time - and turned back to Y/N. Silently, he held out a gloved hand to her.

Y/N, still disorientated and confused, reached up and grabbed his hand, letting him pull her to her feet, without even realising what had just happened.

"What now?"

"We break back in," Kaz said, already making his way down the street. "Come on!"

The boats in the harbour bobbed about as a wave rolled in and sloshed up against the stone walls. They were mid mission - at the most important stage.

And Y/N couldn't breathe.

She'd been pushed down a staircase earlier on in the day, when the mission had just begun. Whilst Inej had taught her how to fall, it hadn't saved her ribs from hitting the edge of the stone steps.

Once the initial pain had faded, Y/N had managed to keep going. She rejoined the group, got assigned a new task by Kaz, and was on her way to do it when she'd breathed in just a little too much.

The pain had flared up until she couldn't stand. Y/N had perched herself on the harbour wall and had sat there since, trying to get control of her pain.

"I don't recall sending you here."

Y/N didn't even have the energy to acknowledge Kaz. She lifted her head, noted him standing in front of her, and dropped it again.

Pain was coursing through her body and Y/N could feel the tears burning her eyes. Tears of frustration and of pain.

"You okay?"

Y/N forced herself to straighten up, to look at Kaz. She breathed in, felt something twinge, and her shoulders shook as she felt the tears spill over.

"Try and breathe through it," Kaz said quietly, his cane hitting the floor once as he moved closer, leaning against the harbour wall beside Y/N. "I get its hard, but try."

Y/N tried to, forcing herself to breathe beyond the pain. Her nails dug into the harbour wall, the stones digging into her palm.

"When I first broke my leg, the pain nearly consumed me," Kaz said, his words almost lost to the wind. "It's hard, when it gets bad, to think beyond it."

"I." Y/N paused. "I tried to cope." She squeezed her eyes shut. "But it got too bad... and then I couldn't breathe."

Kaz's blazer sleeve brushed against her arm. "Nina is near by."

"No, she's busy."

Kaz dug his hand into his pocket, pulling out a small metal tin. He flipped the lid open and picked two white circular tablets out. "Here."

Y/N held her hand out and Kaz dropped them into her hand. "What's this?"

"Drugs," Kaz replied, smirking. "The good kind."

Y/N tried her best not to laugh, but her smile grew. "Thanks."

She put them in her mouth, grimacing slightly at the awful taste in her mouth as they began to dissolve. Kaz held out a flask and Y/N took it, swallowing the tablets with what she'd expected to be alcohol but was actually water.

"When it gets bad and I have to keep going," Kaz said quietly, taking the flask back, "I take those. It doesn't get rid of the pain but it helps."

Y/N turned her head, her eyes settling on his. "Thank you."

Kaz just nodded.

Blood was spilling out onto her hands as she pressed the bandage to Kaz's shoulder, trying to staunch the blood. Kaz was sat on the stone tomb, his head lolling to the side, hitting Y/N's arm every so often.

"You still with me?" Y/N asked, pushing her hands harder against his shoulder, the blood dripping down her arms.

"Ahuh," Kaz muttered, his eyes still shut.

Y/N knew he was battling with himself and his mind and didn't take his grumpiness and silence personally.

Her hands were trembling as she pulled the bandage away from his shoulder for a moment, checking to see if the blood had stopped or not.

"How did you get shot?" Y/N asked softly, pressing the bandage back to his shoulder.

Kaz stilled. Y/N squeezed his shoulder, the blood still running, and he breathed in sharply, coming back.

"He was aiming for you," Kaz said quietly, his voice hoarse. "At your... head."

Y/N froze. She took her hands from Kaz's shoulder, happy that the bleeding had stopped. The cloth dropped to the tomb. Y/N stepped back, standing in front of Kaz, her knees brushing his.

"Is that why you pushed me?"

Kaz nodded stiffly. "Didn't expect to get shot, however."

"Don't think anyone does."

"Unless they see the gun pointed at them," Kaz quipped.

Y/N smiled. Her leg brushed against Kaz's and she was surprised when he didn't flinch. He raised his head, gazing up at her. Y/N, for once, didn't fight the urge. She reached out and gently combed her bloody fingers through his hair. Kaz leant forward, resting his head against her stomach.

"I can stop," Y/N said softly.

Kaz nodded against her. "I know."

She let her fingers run down to his neck, never straying further than where his collar sat.

"We're okay, Kaz," Y/N whispered, leaning her head down to rest on top of his. "We're okay."

#shadow and bone #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone imagines #shadow and bone x reader #six of crows #six of crows imagine #six of crows imagines #six of crows x reader #kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #angst #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker imagines #kaz brekker angst

[charliehoennam]

A/N: fulfilling @j23r23's request. Subtle reminder that my ask open again! Tried my best to sum it up, hope you enjoy <3

Summary: Reader's a pub owner and fianceè to The Alfie Solomons. Turns out she's a bit more than just that.

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x F!reader

Warnings: Language, Adopted!reader, not proof-read, I think that's it??

SHARING IS CARING, SO PLEASE REBLOG

Most people would have been nervous if Alfie Solomons strolled on into their area of business without any notice.

Everywhere he went, his most trusted and strongest lackies followed behind for protection. They were intimidating on their own, but Alfie's dominant presence was enough to make anyone mentally retrace their days, wondering if they'd made their weekly payment for protection or if they'd gotten in trouble with any of Alfie's clan.

You, on the other hand, were not like the others. You remained calm, cool and collected the minute he wandered into your pub.

Despite it being young to the busy street and small in comparison to the neighboring establishments, you had heard many things about Alfie. Only rumors, however, mostly from your drunk clients at the Glass & Barrel.

Some would argue that he was full of himself. Others would make remarks on how he was a form of savior with the jobs he'd given them. A few despised him with all their might for the beating he'd ordered onto them. Judging by what you knew of these specific clients, you knew it hadn't been for nothing.

It was early morning when you hear the doorbell chime. You could hear him mumble on as he looked around at the pub, but couldn't quite make out what he said.

You knew right away who he was. The hat and the cane were dead giveaways, but it was his demeanor that made it clear. And what he did for a living did not sway you in the slightest.

You had expected his visit for a while. It was just a matter of time that he showed up to explain how his method of security works. It was simple. You pay and his boys protect. Extra pay meant he'd place a strong lad in the pub to chase away any unwelcome, rowdy guests.

The first thing Alfie noticed about you when he walked in and sat down at the bar was how unfazed you seemed. He knew at the moment that you were a fearless woman and he admired that.

He assumed you had to be that way, given the dubious characters that milked the bottles from your shelves and the barrels in the basement.

However, there was still a sweetness in you that teased his curiosity. It made him yearn for a woman in such a foreign way that he hadn't felt since he was a young lad.

Since then, his visits became more and more often until you realized he was stopping by about two or three times a week. The funniest thing about his visits was that he never drank anything other than water. It was quite comical.

He enjoyed charming his way into your heart. Every visit consisted of laughter, taste-tests of his finest brews, playful flirting and him trying to convince you to go out on a date with him.

You resisted. Alfie knew that you wouldn't be easy. He could barely imagine just how many drunken fellas have tried their luck with you. The gun you hid under the bar wasn't for nothing.

In fact, your reservation made you all the more special.

He respected your pace and, every time you turned down his invitations, he didn't press you.

"I respect that, love. But a man's gotta try, right? Maybe one day I'll get lucky and you'll say yes."

And he was right. One day, he did get lucky indeed and you finally accepted one of his relentless invitations. However, you requested that it'd be during the day.

You told him it was because the pub made more money at night, but really, you didn't want to give off the impression that you'd be repaying him with sexual favors.

Not that you didn't want to. Alfie's ruggedness was just one of the many features that you admired. You were more than attracted to him, but you weren't the type to sleep with someone so early on.

It was an unspoken boundary, but Alfie understood you better than you could ever imagine. He didn't need to hear you say it and he never forced you or questioned you about it. Truth is he was willing to wait as long as he needed to because he knew it'd be worth the wait. Because something told him that you would be the one.

The chemistry between you and Alfie was naturally cohesive. He cherished every moment he got to spend with you. Every laugh and smile he teased out of you were trophies to him.

Your relationship grew into mutual petting and necking often stolen in secret at the opera, in the corners of fancy restaurants or in the convenient shadows at the pictures. It gradually grew to the point where you finally felt comfortable enough to invite him to spend the night with you.

Alfie was right. It was definitely worth the wait.

He made sure to take it slow as to burn every single second and touch of into his memory. He wanted to make it about you and your pleasure.

Every kiss of his lips burned into your skin. His beard scratched your soft flesh of your as his kisses trailed over your body. His greedy hands pulled and squeezed you tightly, aching to meld your bodies to become one.

He couldn't get enough of you and you couldn't bare to part from him. The softness of his hair when your fingers raked through it, his hairy chest brushing against your breasts and then your back, the moans and groans vibrating from the depths of his core. It was enough to have you addicted to him.

That night with you was unlike any night he'd ever spent with any other woman. There was meaning to this act, deep meaning. You were the woman he loved, the one he hoped to marry. You were the woman that had given him hope to become a father and inspired him to be a better man. Despite being a hardworking man, he felt the lost desire to have a home to return to. Suddenly, Alfie had hope for a future in which he wasn't alone.

Throughout the time he'd gotten to know you, he noticed how you always seemed to stray away when the topic shifted to your family. You didn't lie about them. You told him just enough to satiate to his curiosity that was entirely about your adoptive parents.

The truth was that you barely knew your biological family. You knew who they were - your loving adoptive parents had always been honest with you about your origins - and that you were indeed one of the legendary Shelbys of Birmingham.

You hadn't thought about them for a long time until your now-fiance Alfie was meeting with Tommy Shelby at the distillery.

At first glance, you didn't know who was sitting across from Alfie in his office until Ollie told you and asked you to wait.

You stood outside of the office, away from Alfie's sight. It was clear Tommy was in rough shape. You'd heard about the beat down; you were amazed to see him still walking.

If he recognized you, he didn't make it obvious. He only saw you on his way out of Alfie's office, but he simply walked past you and left the distillery without looking back.

An emptiness hollowed you inside after he left. You wondered if he knew who you were. You wondered if anything would've changed if you had told him. After all these years, you doubted he'd even remember he had a little sister younger than Ada. Granted he was older than you - you yourself didn't remember anything from that time - there was a small part inside you that had hoped he'd remembered, but you had finally been answered.

It'd been a couple of days since you saw Tommy at the distillery. Although it hurt a bit to know he hadn't remembered you, you accepted fate as it was and felt like you could finally put it behind you as if you had finally buried the past.

Until the devil himself walked into the Glass & Barrel, announcing his arrival with the doorbell chime. He paused for a moment and let his eyes scan the pub.

It was early in the morning with only a couple of your regulars: veterans of the war drinking away their sorrows, and Bubba: the large bouncer Alfie insisted to keep inside the pub.

You froze as you watched Tommy take a cigarette before sliding it across his lips to wet the bud. From the corner of your eye, you noticed how Bubba looked at him and sat up alert, instantly recognizing him.

Bubba was a tall man who had gained his nickname for seeming common and unthreatening. You'd seen him in action plenty of times dealing with the rowdy clients to know he was anything but. He could blend into the crowd just as easily as he could fend off four men at once. Bubba always loved a good fight.

You nodded at him to let him know it was alright. He opened his newspaper again, but his eyes stayed locked on Tommy from the far corner.

You treated Tommy as you would treat any customer and offered him a drink.

"Whisky, please," he answered as he sat in front of you at the bar.

"Brown or white?"

"Brown" he nodded watching you move behind the bar. "This place yours?"

"It is, " you answered setting a glass in front of him to pour his drink.

"Nice place... Decorate it yourself?"

"I did."

He nodded and a small sip of his drink.

"You grew up 'round here?"

"Around London, yeah. Moved a bit here and there, but always stayed in London."

"You know, I once had a little sister. She was taken away early from us. My poor mum, she did her best to raise us. We were a bit of a handful. Six in total... Last I heard about her is that she lives in London."

Tommy cradled the glass in his hand and admired the brown liquid, but he could feel your eyes burning through him.

You froze as the realization washed over you. It was no coincidence that he wandered into your pub. It was entirely intentionally.

"Runs her own pub. Seems like that tends to run in the family," he paused and eyed you with a steely steady gaze, as if he could see right through you. "Does he know?"

Tommy felt like he already knew the answer. Alfie would have most likely brought it up during their first meeting if he knew.

"No. I haven't told him. I don't feel it's necessary to."

"I can respect that. But it doesn't change the fact that you're still family."

"With all due respect, Mr. Shelby, I have a family."

"I'm just saying, that's all. If you ever need a hand, you know where to find us."

You didnt bother replying since he was quick to stand, snuffing his cigarette out in the ashtray on the bar.

He stopped just before the door to set his cap on his head before glancing at you one more time on his way out.

You felt Bubba's eyes boring a hole into you so you quickly moved about, getting back to work. There was no doubt he'd be telling Alfie about this little visit. Tommy's a wise man; Bubba knew his visit was no coincidence despite having not been able to hear your conversation.

The truth would have to come out.

Once Eddie arrived to take over the night shift, you made your way a few streets over to the home you and Alfie shared.

Unlocking the door, you walked inside to hang your coat up. But from the corner of your eyes, you could a familiar shadow standing by the fireplace.

Alfie was never home this early. The lack of acknowledgement to your arrival made you certain something was up.

"Alfie. You're home early," you smiled walking towards him.

"Yeah, I am. I had an urgent matter to tend to myself."

"I see..." you nodded as you slowly drifted over towards him over the wooden floor that now felt like eggshells. Had Bubba told him about Tommy's visit? Had word spread about your relation?

"I heard tommy Shelby went to see you today... Care to tell me what that was about?"

"Before I tell you, Alf, there's something you should know."

As he lifted his gaze from the warm fire, his eyes carried the same softness he heard in your voice.

"I never told you this because I never thought it'd be relevant. But the truth is that I was adopted when I was a child... From Birmingham. I was 12 when my parents told me I'd been a Shelby."

You paused, hoping for some sort of reaction from Alfie, but there was nothing that could hint at his reaction.

"I didn't even who they were until that day I went your office. To be quite honest, I didn't even think any of them remembered me. That's why he came to the Glass & Barrel, to tell me he knew it was me."

Unbeknownst to you, Alfie already knew the truth. There was a doubt in the back of his mind that questioned - if you did in fact know your biological family - where your allegiance would lay and, at this point, it was only growing within.

His doubt consumed him, slowly but surely, over the following days. Everything had changed.

You first noticed that Alfie started missing dinner. After you moved in together, he was always home for dinner.

The mornings you once used to treasure due to the breakfast you shared with him were shared only with the presence of Cyril.

Gone before you woke up and home after you'd fallen asleep.

This night, you decided you were not going to bed. Tonight would be the night you confronted him.

The exhaustion of the day was beginning to set in. Your eyes felt heavy as you struggled to read your book, attempting to keep yourself awake.

Cyril, whose head was resting on your lap to be petted, snored peacefully. Blissfully unaware of your brewing angst.

Adrenaline quickly chased away and drowsiness you felt the minute you heard Alfie's car outside. It was now or never.

You waited for him to unlock the door and hang his coat up along with with his hat, still seated on the couch.

Alfie noticed the living room light on as he walked towards it and spotted you on the couch.

"Bit late, innit love? Should be in bed."

"Why are you avoiding me, Alfie?"

"No one's avoiding you," his foot was already on the first step of the stairs. Your anger quickly turned to tears as he proved you right.

"Then stay down here and face me, damn it."

Your hands trembled as you marched towards the stairs. Alfie stopped halfway up them when he turned to face you.

"I did not choose this, Alfie. I did not ask you be a Shelby. I did not choose the family I was born into. But if there's one thing I did choose was you."

Silences lingered heavily. His blue eyes stared down his nose at you. Your chest rose and fell with the adrenaline and flood of emotions coursing through you. As frustrated as you were, you didn't want to hate him. You couldn't if you tried.

Alfie hadn't thought about how his attitude would have affected you. He needed time to think. He trusted you blindly, but not knowing if your allegiance could change paralyzed him.

He watched how deeply emotional you were about his absence and realized that - the same way you chose to leave your biological family in the past despite knowing who they were - he needed to make a choice too.

He walked down the stairs until he stood before you.

"You're right, love," he nodded gazing into your tear-filled eyes. "I'm sorry, yeah?"

His palm met your cheeks as he cradled your face in his hands.

"I'm sorry."

"Do you really think I would betray you, Alf?"

Your hands wrapped lightly around his wrists.

"For a moment, I wasn't sure if I'm not honest. Fuck, love. You gotta see from my side, yeah? Just wasn't expecting the love of my life, the apple of my eye, to be a Shelby. And that you knew."

"I didn't it mattered, Alf. I'm no Shelby. This is where my family is. In this house, here with you. I'm a soon-to-be Solomons."

"Right, you fucking are," he whispered wiping an escaping tear from your cheek.

"I choose you, Alfie. You know that, don't you?"

"Yeah, love. C'mere," his arms opened and welcomes you into his embrace. "I choose you too."

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons x you #alfie solomons x y/n #alfie solomons x f!reader #tom hardy #peaky blinders

[linddzz]

In Which Hob, a Shitty Wizard, Meets a Supposed Demon

Last week or so I made too many posts about what if Hob, still immortal, trying out occultism but kinda crap at it (which is some bullshit considering that Death is his drinking buddy), first meets Dream as the devil in the basement of The Magus Burgess. I called it "the shit-wizard Hob AU"

I still don't know if I'll finish it. But I couldn't stop it from starting.

No editing no betas we post on Tumblr like idiots.

EDIT: very mild editing still no betas we still stupid

********

In August of 1923, Hob Gadling - currently Rob Gedlen- is introduced to a demon.

It is, he has to admit, rather impressive. Or at least, the bonds keeping it tamed are. The prison space is everything a magus cellar should be. All arched, ancient stone and dim lighting that only barely illuminates the painted ceiling. Shadows so deep that even the electric bulbs only give the dark textures of colour. Green algae, the saturated grays and browns of rock, the faded blue and gold of the artificial night sky.

The oily glint of black iron chains. The sweeping ooze of the light over the curved iron scaffolding the chains held up, and the dizzying reflection off of the glass orb held within the iron like a gem clasped in dragon claws suspended over a small, mirror flat moat and an intricate golden circle.

Very impressive. Forboding even. The sort of thing a magus should have in his cellar.

The man inside of it looks for all the world like an ordinary naked man. Right number of limbs, hair and skin natural colors, everything in place where it should be. That's if one ignored the fact that he was sitting calm and clean in a fully airtight sphere of glass. Ordinary, if you were a dimwit and took human shape as a sign of humanity.

“This,” Burgess says with a wicked, bitter sort of pride, “is the Order’s secret of success.”

Hob whistles, because he thinks he should show some sort of appreciation. He's been working for Burgess for a few years now after all, and knows when to look suitably impressed. It is impressive, so he doesn't need to play it up too much when he follows Burgess past the wrought iron gate.

The man in the glass looks less like a mystical secret and more like he needs a coat. He's even sitting with his knees tucked to his chest, delicate ankles crossed in front of him, arms loosely draped forward and black haired head bowed down as if in deep thought.

With his nakedness, the curled position would look painfully vulnerable, were it not for the overwhelming sense that he's waiting.

“He's a demon of dreams. Or close enough to a demon.” Burgess explains. His cane tapping on the stone is the only other sound in that strange space. “I was attempting to summon Death itself, and failed at my task. But I did not come away empty handed.”

Yeah, that's probably for the best. If Hob had sauntered down here and seen Her displayed in a glass cage like a bauble, he would have done something stupid and violent. Best case scenario; She would just laugh at him for overreacting. Worst case; She'd do it with that sad little twist to Her mouth.

The entity Burgess did nab seems miniscule compared to the apparatus around him, to the manor towering over their heads. Yet even Hob and his absolute shit senses for magic can feel how everything is circling the center point of the man. They're all little marbles, orbiting the sphere and the mass within it.

“An incubus?” Hob asks, walking around the perimeter of the moat. His tone is mild, curious, intrigued. It's a talent of his to not exactly lie, but to use some of his feelings to mask others.

It’s a horrible thing, to take the freedom of another for your own benefit.

Her voice echoes in his head. That moment is never far from his head. The sad sweetness of her voice turned sour. The hard disappointment in her dark eyes. He will never forget the horrid, sickening twist of guilt of that meeting, and he feels it when he looks at the demon in the magus’ cellar.

The lights reflect oddly in the sphere, making it seem as if the man himself were the source of illumination. His skin is the sort of gleaming white that poets would froth over. Hob isn't a poet, but even he can tell that “white” hardly does it justice. The alabaster statues a floor above are going to appear dull and crude now when compared to the snow-under-moonlight of the man down here. The shadows of him are blue, violet, deepest velvet black.

Maybe not snow under moonlight, Hob thinks, reminded of the multi-hued winter twilight.

Now that he's closer, Hob can make out the sharply sculpted features of him. His curled body is a lean, hungry twist of muscle that reminds one less of actual flesh than of a tangled metal chord. His cheekbones are sharp and high, his eyes cast down with a sweep of raven wing lashes. The only hints of life are the faint flushes of seashell pink at his ears, his fingers, the still and plush lips.

“If you like.” Burgess says, which means the man isn't an incubus and Burgess thinks he's fucking clever again. The magus is watching Hob now, who is examining the circle, the iron chains, anything that will keep him from thinking too much about the thin form trapped within it.

“I attempted first to gain favors from it.” Burgess continues when Hob says nothing. “But it is stubbornly silent. No matter.”

Burgess has stepped past the moat, past the circle, to stand with his nose nearly touching the round glass wall. Hob stays outside of the barriers, but he is close enough that he can see the hate that always sits beneath his boss’ manners.

“No matter.” Burgess repeats, sneering at his captive. “Found a use for you anyway, didn't I? Just its presence brings power to this place. It amplifies the magic here, makes the spells wrought near it more solid.”

“Not much hope for me then, if I'm already by some magic booster.” Hob grins, and his boss chuckles almost fondly. It had been a whim that had Hob joining the Order. He’d never tried being a magician before, though he had gone to a few seances when they were at their peak. Occultism wasn't too fashionable anymore, so Hob thought it was best to try it out now before it got truly passe.

He's glad he's only been at it for a few years, because he's crap at it. All the costumes and chanting and intricate rituals seem silly, even when he's seen the true results of it. It was just a bunch of nonsense cobbled together from bad translations and old frauds that everyone knew were frauds back in the day! But if you followed the stupid made up rubbish perfectly, sometimes it would result in some actual magic.

That's one of the stupid things about magic. If all you can think about while doing a spell is that you must look like an utter berk, it won't work.

“We all have our talents, Mr. Gedlen.” Burgess says mildly, indulgently. “It's why I have brought you here, actually. You may not have the Gift,” he always referred to magic like that, you could hear the self important capitalized letters in it, “but you’re measured. Resilient. Notably unshakable.

Hob supposed that was true enough. Being in a house with a bunch of wizardy twats who were too busy going mad while practicing the perfect runes took a level head. Someone needed to have enough of a practical mindset to smother out all the fires that tended to happen, even if those fires had colors that gave you a headache.

“I've tried other magicians, promising acolytes, ruffian's from the street.” Burgess continues, sighing with remembered disappointment and gazing hard at the unmoving demon. “They would lose their nerve, complain of nightmares, or they would be too dimwitted to know the sorts of things to report on.”

Hob moves again, still keeping to the edges of the moat, until he is looking at Burgess’ back and into the lowered face of the demon. “You want me to be a guard?” He asks, voice mild because he isn't sure how he feels about that.

“An observer.” Burgess corrects. “You're sharp, though I've noticed that you try not to show it. You don't have a talent for magic, but you're quick to catch onto the supernatural.”

Hob should hope so, all things considered.

“I want you to take one of the guard shifts, yes. But I want to see what you observe compared to the thicker minds my son has hired. I want you to tell me when it moves, how it moved, if the light seemed different, if you felt tired despite the forced march pills you will be required to take. Any sign that it might be trying to wear away at the binds that hold it.

Do not be fooled by it's stillness or fair looks.” Burgess taps his cane on the sphere, making it ring like a perfect crystal. “This is a demon. If it ever breaks free, it will destroy all of us without a thought.”

The demon lifts its head then, and Hob wonders if his heart finally stops. The movement is slow, strange and dragged, a statue that can only mimic how a living thing would move. The raven wing lashes fly up. The demons eyes are shadowed. Far more deeply shadowed than they should be for the amount of light shining off his skin.

Within those shadows, the place where his eyes must be draw all the light in, refine it, refract it back in the distant twinkling of two dim, hateful, cold stars.

“Yeah. I don't doubt that.” Hob says quietly, and the demons eyes blaze in its beautiful, dead face.

#dreamling #new orb rescue mission au dropped #shit wizard hob #my fic

[froot-batty]

Gods worst friend group !

I'm excited to finally be able to talk about them. Venture down there if you beware

These guys are pretty entwined, so just like in the Twobat backstory, It'll just be one big thing. BIIIIIGGG thing, sorry

Viktor Fries was born in Denmark, an only child to two very loving parents. He'd always had a love for the cold, which grew into a love for winter, which grew into a love for cryogenics. His parents couldn't get him enough books or research papers written about the subject, so his eventual decision to pursue it in higher education came as no surprise. At the time, Gotham University and WayneTech were the leading institutions in cryogenic research, so Viktor packed his bags and ventured off to America.

Kirk Langstrom was born a sickly little baby at Gotham General. He was born with Chediak-Higashi syndrome, which not only caused his albinism, but made Kirk very prone to bacterial infections, especially when he was younger. It would also cause motor issues as Kirk aged, resulting in the need of mobility aids like canes or a wheelchair. As a child, Kirk was teased for his appearance, likened to a vampire - or, on one occasion, an albino bat another kid had found and presented to him. Instead of being offended, this moment was what kickstarted Kirk's love for bats, and eventual pursual of chiropterology.

And for Hugo Strange....well, no one really knows where he came from.

The three met when they were all in college, and they became friends almost instantly. They were three smart outcasts who had little to no real friends before this, so naturally they latched onto one another. Hugo a little more than the other two, but I'll get into that.

For the time they were in college, they were good for each other! But as most things go, they drifted a bit after college ended. Viktor by now had fallen in love with Nora and gotten his job at WayneTech, and Kirk had gotten the opportunity to take a research trip to study Bracken Cave (which is where he'd meet his eventual wife, Francine). This left Hugo mostly to his own devices, which he put towards his career at Arkham Asylum and eventually becoming the head of it.

When Kirk eventually returned from his trip, they reconnected with one another. Now here's where I'm gonna talk individually about what happened to Fuck These Guys Up.

Chronologically, Nora getting sick and Fries' accident is what happens first. When Nora started getting really sick, Viktor and her had no idea what it really was, only that it had the potential to kill her if they didn't find a treatment. Viktor's desperation to find it would eventually lead him to Hugo, who agreed to assist Viktor in his research. When Viktor and Nora mutually decided to freeze her to give Viktor more time, Hugo allowed them to build the machine that would freeze her in an abandoned room in the basement of Arkham (which Hugo was using for his own experiments).

Viktor panicked during the process of Nora freezing, and went to turn the machine off in the middle of it, not fully thinking through what he was doing. It caused the machine to malfunction and the chamber (with Nora in it) to explode outward, releasing everything that had been meant to cryogenically preserve Nora out into the room. The injuries and exposure to chemicals should have killed them both, but the temperatures (and medical assistance) managed to preserve the both of them, though it left Viktor as a living but slowly rotting corpse, who is both being killed by the cold and needs it to keep living in whatever state he's in now.

Hugo was actually the one to find the both of them. Though he had personally never cared for Nora, he followed the plan she and Viktor had laid out, making a new chamber to preserve her while he had a suit specially made for Viktor in order to keep him alive. With a tracker installed inside of it so Hugo could know where he was at any time.

This is probably a good time to cut and explain what's wrong with Hugo. He is...insanely devoted to both Kirk and Viktor. They were both his first friends and he loves them very much and he will Keep Them at Any Cost.

So after Viktor awoke, and realized that Nora had been preserved (even though part of him didn't want that anymore), Hugo instructed him to begin working on a cure for her. Hugo couldn't care less if she died he'd get Viktor to himself then, but Viktor had grown dangerously depressed after the accident and the thought of one day being reunited with a cured Nora was the only thing motivating him to stay alive.

Because Nora's chamber is in the basement of Arkham Asylum, Hugo has control of when and for how long Viktor can visit her. If he doesn't make sufficient progress on her cure, he isn't allowed in.

Now, onto Kirk. He had no idea that was all happening, as their contact with one another had been limited, even after reconnecting. One day, though, Kirk had mentioned his interest in changing his current study to focus on his condition, CHS, instead of his bats. Mostly because he was worried about progressing into the accelerated phase, as most people with CHS do. But Hugo suggested instead that he could figure out some sort of treatment for Kirk - and don't worry, you can just go back to your bats! I promise it'll work; in fact, it'll have you feeling like Batman!

So Kirk, suffering from chronic pain and various disabling motor issues, agreed happily. He visited Hugo's lab when the "treatment" was finished and received two injections in the neck, which turned into those two scars. When it didn't work after a couple of days, Kirk was disappointed, and was ready to tell Hugo that he needed to try something else when something...happened.

Kirk blacked out for a couple of hours and woke up shirtless, covered in blood in an empty alleyway. And, strangest of all, he wasn't in pain.

And this kept happening. Every couple of nights he would black out and return home bloody. He attempted to hide this from his wife, but something like that can't stay under wraps forever, so when she found out she urged him to talk to Hugo and figure out what the hell that "treatment" did.

So he did (rather angrily, of course). Hugo would explain that the treatment was actually an experimental chemical he'd developed to be able to turn humans into animals, specially developed for Kirk to turn "at will" instead of being stuck like that permanently. Because of Hugo choosing a vampire bat as the animal for the specific "treatment" developed for Kirk, he would need to feed on blood while in bat-form, thus the reason he was bloody every time he awoke from his blackouts.

There was only one bonus to the transformation. The concoction was, actually, a sort of cure. The bat form didn't have the same chronic pain or issues that Kirk's normal body did. But it came at the cost of being a mindless, bloodthirsty monster.

All he needed to do, Hugo said, was figure out how to become the bat instead of letting it take over, and then he'd practically be the perfect creature!

He would have to keep coming to Hugo for regular injections, though.

Kirk initially, obviously, refused - he wasn't a monster, and he didn't want to hurt anyone or anything just to help himself. But he kept thinking about it. And thinking about it. Could he really tame the bat, and live as something powerful and strong? Something he'd never been?

It weighed on his mind so much that he inevitably returned to Hugo, just to try it. What he didn't know at the time was that the injections were purposefully addictive, growing worse and worse the more he returns to take them.

Hugo Strange friend of the year everybody

#hugo loves his besties. they want to crush him into a fine paste #frootverse #hugo strange #viktor fries #mr freeze #kirk langstrom #man bat #batman #rogues gallery #my art #rogue design

[yes-divine-ruler]

Doll - Kai Anderson

x bimbo!fem!reader

idea from @demxnicprxncess 🤍

cw: kai receiving oral, vaginal sex, whining, sir

wc: 2.3k

Kai tapped his fingers on the table before him, his jaw locked and his eyes raging with anger. It had been almost a full hour that you had made him and the rest of the cult wait, and everyone was getting increasingly impatient by the second.

"Divine Ruler? Does she have to be here?" Kai didn't know who's voice it was, but it was enough for him to slam down his palm on the table. It was enough of an answer to let everyone know that yes, you did have to be there, and to shut up before anymore dumb questions were asked.

Kai stood as he heard the basement door open, his eyes widening in surprise. You stood at the top of the stairs holding onto the handrail and attempting to climb down the steps on your own.

"Kai sweetheart! Can you give me a hand please?" Your sweet voice rung in his ears, and almost all of his anger faded away.

The rest of the cult watched in awe as he quickly paced over to the stairwell, and locked eyes with you. Fucking holy hell. You had Kai wrapped around your pinky finger and everyone knew you were his weak link.

"What is this Y/N? Is this really necessary?" Kai asked between grit teeth as he ascended the stairs and stood by your side, one hand grabbing your freshly manicured one, the other cupping your ass over your tight bright pink mini skirt. You smelt so sickly sweet, like the brightest flower and the tallest cane of sugar. As soon as it hit Kai's nostrils, he melted. He couldn't get enough of you.

"Baby I told you the meeting started an hour ago," Kai spoke under his breath as he helped you navigate down each step in your 6-inch stilettos.

"And I told you honey, that I had to do my make up first, and you didn't give me enough notice," you grumbled, flipped your curled hair behind your shoulder and facing the group of people who had sat waiting for you for over 45 minutes.

"Hey everyone!" You cheered, not letting go of Kai's hand as you sunk down on his couch beside him. His hand left yours and tucked between your thighs, and finally the long awaited meeting had commenced.

You behaved like a spoiled brat the whole time, Kai had told you this plan in confidence so many times that you already knew it like the back of your hand.

Everyone's gaze would switch been you and Kai, Kai as he passionately spoke about his next move, and you as you took out your glittery nail file and began to buff your nails on your left hand. When Kai finally noticed, his hand tightened on your thigh, causing you to let out a tiny squeak and drop the file.

To everyone else, it just looked like you were being blatantly rude and condescending, and Kai didn't want everyone to think he was a baffling idiot because not even his girlfriend was interested in his plans.

When the meeting was almost at an end, Kai groaned as he noticed you fanning your face with your hands, your French tip nails providing some sort of relief as the heat began to rise in the basement. It was bad enough it was the middle of summer, but the basement being jam packed with people made it unbearable.

"It's sooo hot in here sugarplum, I think I'm going to melt," you'd interrupted Kai as he was speaking, and he turned to you in annoyance.

"Princess, why don't you go upstairs now, hm? I'll be up in a bit," Kai leaned over and whispered in your ear, and you nodded.

"Kai, please help me get back up, I'm so sick of this dingy basement baby, we need to do some renovations," you rambled as Kai excused himself for a moment to help you go back upstairs.

Once again everyone's eyes were trained on Kai as he assisted you like a damn service puppy, clutching you tightly as you both made it back up to the main floor.

"I won't be long sweetheart, just be a good girl and go sit on our bed okay?" You could sense Kai's agitation and it almost made you want to cry; you hated when he was annoyed at you.

So like that you'd stormed off upstairs to sit on the bed and wait patiently for him to return. Kai on the other hand sighed and ran a hand through his hair at the absolute handful of sunshine and rainbows you were, and made it back downstairs to conclude the meeting.

He was met with mumbling, people whispering to one another, talking about his weak link, you, and how bad you were for him. Kai's anger boiled to the surface and he stood in the centre of the room, his eyes like daggers and his fists shaking by his sides.

"If anyone has anything to say about Y/N, say it to my fucking face. I will not have you all speak down on my girlfriend, you hear me? There will be big fucking consequences to pay!" He roared, and everyone went silent.

You'd decided to make it up to your boyfriend for being such a handful, leaving your hair and make up as it was but changing out of your miniskirt and crop top into something a bit more revealing. Kai's favourite set of lingerie, latex and the lightest shade of pink. Your rhinestone-embedded stilettos stayed on your feet, and making final adjustments in the mirror, you were set to make it up to your grumpy man.

Kai comes into your bedroom looking defeated, and anger still glazes over his eyes. You sit timidly on the bed, because you knew he'd take it out on you, and nothing had you shaking more in excited anticipation.

His eyes shot up to lock with yours, and then slowly, they raked down your body, drinking in the sight before him. You wiggled your hips on the bed, a big smile on your face when he let out a low whistle.

“What’s all this for?” Kai asked, pacing towards you, cupping your cheek in one hand and running the pad of his thumb across your cheekbone. You reached forward and laid your palm flat against the zipper of his jeans, already feeling the grow of his bulge.

“I’m sorry for being such a handful, sir, I didn’t mean to ruin your meeting,” you say just above a whisper, pouting your shaded pink lips, looking up at him from under your false eyelashes. You knew Kai liked it when you were extra vulnerable, and especially when you called him sir.

He lets out a soft chuckle, as you move off the bed to sit in front of him on your knees. He doesn’t say anything, just watches with the intensity of a hawk with dark eyes as you unfasten his jeans and tug them down his legs.

“You know, they underestimate you,” Kai blurts, his hand now in your hair, knotting all the hard work you put into it this morning. You don’t mind, humming to encourage him to continue.

“You’re my right hand woman, they don’t see how amazing you are, how much more ruthless you are than me,” you let Kai continue as you place small kisses where his cock strains behind his boxers, your hand cupping his balls and kneading them softly in your palm. He shudders, swallowing thickly as he watches you lick a strip up the length of the fabric.

“I’ll show them,” your eyes sparkle as you smile up at Kai, and he groans just seeing the glint of mischief.

“I’ll show them how great I really am,” he smiles back. He loved the way you did your make up every day, he felt like he had doll at his every beckoning call.

Your fingers creep into the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down so agonisingly slow it made Kai’s cock twitch. His grip in your hair tightens, and you giggle with your lips ghosting the length of his cock.

He growls, but waits patiently while his tip leaks with pearlescent pre cum. It was practically pleading for you to put it in your mouth.

Eventually you cave, and take the base in your hand, your mouth consuming the swollen head with your tongue on the underside.

“Fuck baby,” Kai moans, buckling his hips and driving his cock to the back of your throat. You gag on it, but Kai loves that, and leaves your mouth full of his length as he reaches down to pinch your nose closed.

Your eyes screw shut as you try to concentrate on whatever oxygen you have left, salivating excessively and all down the front of your chin. When it becomes too much, and it feels like you might pass out, you look up at Kai pleadingly, whimpering.

He chuckles, and pulls back, letting your nose go and your lungs fill up with air.

“You’re such a good girl,” Kai moans, as you continue to engulf the entirely of his cock as it throbs and swells closer to his release. Your mouth works feverishly, your head guiding by the push and pull of Kai’s hands wound tightly in your hair, until he pulls you off him, and to stand.

You whine in pain as you’re tugged by your hair towards the bed, and pushed down onto your stomach. Kai comes in behind you, biting down on his bottom lip and moving your latex panties to the side to reveal your glistening heat.

“So wet,” Kai reaches around your waist, tugging your hips so your ass is up on the air. You bite your lip in anticipation, watching behind you with a cheek pressed to the blanket. Kai inserts his long middle finger, curling it as soon as he sinks it in knuckle deep.

You whine some more, your hips rocking back and forth along the length of his finger, trying to gain the friction you so badly needed.

“You wanna tease me sweetheart? Two can play at that game,” he taunts, retracting his finger.

“Kai,” you drag out the end of his name, “please sir, your doll needs you.”

You knew exactly what would push his buttons.

Kai’s eyes turn impossibly darker, and soon he’s spitting directly on your hole, and swiping his tip across your folds.

You moan, reaching behind you and spreading yourself open for him. Kai can’t take it anymore, as much as he believed he had all the power, you know you did.

He finally nudges you open with his tip, the stretch already unbelieving good. He moves slowly, until he’s bottomed out inside you, and letting you adjust to his girth.

“More sir,” you plead, trying to rock back and forth on his cock. He halts you, his fingertips digging into the skin of your hips.

“Where’s your manners angel?” He asks, his voice low and sultry.

“Please, sir. Please fuck me.”

Kai doesn’t wait before he’s rutting his hips so deep and so fast that you can’t help the moans that leave your lips. His fingers dig into your hips harder, as he’s pushing and pulling you off his cock, slick with your juices and shining in the bedroom light overhead.

“You feel so good doll,” he groans, the smack of his hips as they meet the flesh of your ass the only sound ringing in your ears.

Everything is so good and so sensitive that it has a fire erupt in your lower abdomen and tears well in your eyes. Your thighs begin to shake as he fills you again and again to the brink.

“Oh my god, just like that,” you pine, gripping the blanket with your fists to try and alleviate some of the force. Kai grunts and groans behind you, the wet sounds of your cunt as it drips down the insides of your thighs sending him closer to his undoing.

His hands reach towards your own, and he’s tugging them to hold them in a firm grasp behind your back. You have no choice but to let your face fall into the blanket, tears steaming down your face as you choke out sobs.

“Aw is my little girl crying? Is my cock too much?” Kai taunts, not slowing his pace, and only sinking into you deeper, rubbing blissfully up again the spongy part inside you that has goosebumps arise on your skin.

“Yes- yes sir- oh fuck I’m cumming,” you cry, feeling yourself unravel around his cock, gushing from your pulsing walls as your hips buckle.

Kai isn’t far behind, fucking you raw through the entirety of your orgasm, until he pulls out and unloads all over your ass and back.

He leans down from above you, and wipes the tears from your face, peppering kisses across your jaw as you try and even your breathing.

“My little doll,” Kai whispers, before a harsh slap meets your ass cheek and you yelp in surprise as the sting tingles your skin.

He wipes you down before you finally roll over, so fucked out and tired from having your cunt stretched and savagely pounded, your eyes behind to feel heavy.

“I love you my sweet thing,” Kai holds you in his arms and his heart beats insistently against your back.

“I love you too honey bun,” you breathe out, “shower?”

You knew your make up would be in a state by the way it was smudged across the surface of the blanket. Kai nods against your shoulder, leaving a kiss on your skin before he’s out of the bed, and heading towards the bathroom, beckoning you to follow.

#evan peters #evan peters fanfic #evan peters fanfiction #evan peters requests #evan peters smut #evan peters imagine #evan peters x reader #american horror story #2nd person pov #fem!reader #ahs #kai anderson #kai anderson smut #ahs smut #ahs cult #evan peters x fem!reader #evan peters x female reader #kinky kai anderson #kai anderson x reader #ahs kai anderson #kai anderson fanfiction #kai anderson imagine #fem reader #bimbo!reader

[pathetichimbos]

First Meeting - Part Five

((part four here)) ((part six here))

Thomas Hewitt/GN!Reader

tagslist: @goodiesinthecloset21 @shykoolade @strawb3rry-gal @ktssstuff @theclownbaby0 @leah-halliwell92  @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom @aleracrovn

---

You’ve run away from home, hitchhiking around Texas as you come up with your next plan, only to find that life has plans of its own when a simple ride with a group of friends lands you at a lone gas station in Travis County, drawn to a mysterious man most seem to avoid.

---

Luda Mae didn't say much else after your confrontation, only directing you on where they kept the empty egg cartons once you were done drying the eggs and which fridge to put them in.

She tasks you with helping with dinner, leaving you in charge of cutting the vegetables she needs for the beef stew she was planning to make later in the day.

Okra, onions, tomatoes, potatoes, carrots, celery... This stew was packed full of everything, a big and filling meal, a recurring theme you could already see playing out in this house.

The Hewitts clearly didn't lack in food, making enough for everyone and more, their fridges stockpiled with everything any person could need, from fresh fruits and vegetables to drawers full of home packaged meats.

Luda Mae begins preparing lunch as you chop the vegetables, the radio filling the silence between the two of you as you think of something to say, trying to find a way to fix the awkwardness you had created.

Before you get the chance, however, Luda Mae breaks the silence herself, "Go fetch Monty and Thomas for lunch."

"Right." You drop the last of the now chopped vegetables into a large bowl with the rest of them, "...Where are they?"

"Monty'll be on the front porch, with that damn yappin' mutt of his. Tommy'll be in the basement, straight down the hall."

"Ok, where do you want me to put these?" You grab the bowl off the counter.

"Put 'em in the fridge for now."

"Yes ma'am." You do as you're told, going to the front porch first.

You push the screen doors open with a sqeual, the two wooden doors already wide open to help air flow through the house.

You step onto the porch, swinging your head right to the empty swing, then left to see Monty at the other end of the porch, sleeping dog curled up in his lap.

"Hello?" You ask, as he doesn't seem to react to your presence at all.

No response.

You step closer, and the faint sounds of snoring make it apparent he's fallen asleep. You take another step, reaching a hand out to touch the back of his wheelchair in an attempt to wake him.

But, instead of waking him, you wake his dog, who jumps up as soon as your hand touches the chair, barking ferociously at you.

You jump back, pulling your hand away as Monty wakes up with a jolt, looking around confused.

"What the-- Roxanne, shut up!" He hollers at the dog before spotting you, already grumpy at being woken up, "What the hell are you doin' here?"

"I, uh... I'm supposed to tell you lunch's ready?" You take a step back, unsure of what else to tell him.

"Aw, hell." He huffs, turning towards the front door and making his way across the porch, yelling out, "Luda Mae!"

You step out of the way to let him pass before quickly following behind, making sure to reach up and open the screen door for him.

"I don't need your damn help." He mutters, pushing the other screen door open with his cane and making his way inside, "Luda Mae!"

"What the hell are you yellin' about now, Monty!?" She calls back from the kitchen.

"What is this person doin' in my damn house!?"

"Your house!?"

You ignore the rest of the conversation, quickly walking past the kitchen as they argue, following Luda Mae's previous instructions and going straight down the hall.

This end of the hall is dark, a stark contrast to the rest of the house. There's a single step into a small room, and when you try the switch it doesn't work.

The large metal door is daunting, not like any basment door you've seen, towering over you in the dark like a threat.

Just like a horror movie... You can't help but to think, stepping forward and looking for a door handle.

You don't find one, your fingers running across the cold metal in the dark, feeling for a way to open it. Instead, your fingers catch on the side, and with a little more looking, you realize it's a sliding door.

Gripping the edge of the door, you pull as hard as you can, the heavy metal scraping as it slowly pulls open, working against you as if it didn't want you to open it at all.

You give up once you get enough space to squeeze through, leaving it partially closed as you step inside.

You're immediately met with a faint, foul smell, and a wooden staircase going down into a wall before turning into the rest of the basement hidden from your view. You can hear someone moving around down there, a faint light creeping up the stairs.

"Thomas?" You call out from the top platform, shifting in place. The basement was already terrifying you, and you hadn't even taken the first step down, "You down here?"

You hear metal clatter, and something drop before heavy footsteps make their way over to the stairs. Thomas comes up to the second platform, a rag in hand as he wipes off his hands and arms. You can't see what he's wiping off, and you're sure you don't want to.

"Lunch is ready." You tell him, Luda Mae's and Monty's yelling loud enough to echo into the basement as you give an awkward smile, trying to make light of the situation, "...I don't think Monty likes havin' me here much."

Thomas lets out a small amused huff, well aware of his uncle's habit of looking for a reason to have a problem.

"Are you coming up?" You ask, and he nods, tilting his head towards the basement as if to say he'd be up in a minute, "Alright, I'll tell Luda Mae."

You step back out of the basement, barely managing to push the door shut again.

You can hear the arguement finishing up as you head back into the kitchen, managing to catch the end tail of Luda Mae shutting it down, "...Sit down and eat so you can shut the hell up. Ain't no damn reason for you to be mad right now."

Monty grumbles something else too quietly for you to hear as you step back in, already stuffing his mouth full of the lunch Luda Mae prepared.

"Thomas says he'll be up in a minute." You break the silence, tension thick as you take a seat at the kitchen table.

Monty rolls his eyes, smacking around a full mouth, "Oh, what'a big help you are."

Taken aback by the sudden insult, you look between the two of them, beginning to pick at your own plate of food.

"Ignore him. He's just mad at nothin'." Luda Mae sets two more plates down before taking the seat beside him, "Don't talk with your mouth full, you damn fool."

He huffs again, glaring down at the plate of food as if it's responsible for everything wrong in the world, though you had an inkling suspicous he was directing those feelings towards you.

Another minute passes in silence, as the three of you sit and eat, your plate signifigantly less full than theirs, a request you gave Luda Mae earlier as to not waste any food you couldn't eat.

"...This is really good." You finally speak up, the silence driving you mad.

"Thank you. At least someone's appreciative." Luda Mae gives Monty a pointed look.

"Ain't suppos'ta talk wi'f my mou'f full." He makes a point of talking around a large bite of food.

It's her turn to roll her eyes as she turns back to her own plate of food.

"Why are you here anyhow? You get kicked out of your own house for bein' a druggie or somethin'?" Monty abruptly asks.

"Damnit, Monty--!"

"No, it's alright." You shrug, "I don't mind."

The smug look on his face almost makes you want to take it back, but you ignore him as you start explaining, "Mama drinks too much and Dad ain't around. Just seemed easier to go out on my own than to try and fix someone who doesn't wanna change."

"And it's also none of your damn business." Luda Mae points out.

"It's my damn business when it's in my damn house."

She scoffs, about to say something else when Thomas walks in the room, opting instead for saying nothing else, simply giving Monty a silent warning glare not to say another word.

"Hi..." You mutter, looking up at Thomas as he sits down, unbelievably relieved to have him in the room.

He looks around the room, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife between Luda Mae and Monty, creating an awkward environment for everyone in the room.

You stare down at the table, picking at your plate as you steal glances between the two of them before catching a glimpse at Thomas, who was doing the same as you.

You look at him, and then back at the other two. He nods, apparently sharing your thoughts.

You bite your lip, glancing between the two of them and Thomas. Perhaps it was the overly exaggerated look of anger on Monty's face, or the way Luda Mae continues making annoyed facial expressions, as if she was still arguing with him in her head, but suddenly you find yourself struggling not to laugh.

Thomas seems to be thinking the same thing, food untouched in front of him as he tries to fight off a smirk under his mask.

You place your arm on the table, hand coming up to cover your mouth as you look away, almost visible shaking from trying to stifle your laughter. It was like being a kid again, sitting between your parents trying have a serious arguement over the stupidest thing they could possibly think of, completely aware of how much trouble you could get into for laughing but unable to stop yourself from chuckling at their overdramatic antics.

The rest of the meal is spent in silence, you and Thomas stealing glances at each other and stifling your amusement at the two.

After everyone finishes you gather the dishes, helping Luda Mae wash them, the awkwardness long gone since Monty went to his room to take a nap.

You wash the plates and silverware in silence, Luda Mae drying and putting them away.

It's still early in the afternoon, and she's got nothing else to do, giving you plenty of time to grab your book and settle on the living room couch.

Luda Mae sits on a love seat on the other side of the living room, crotcheting something you couldn't quite make out. Perhaps it was too early in her project, or perhaps she was just shit at crotcheting. You don't bother to ask, content with reading over your book as an old song drifts through the air, dripping with static as the old radio pushes it out of it's speakers.

You pull your feet onto the cushion, leaning on the arm of the couch as your eyes read over the familar words for the hundreth time.

It's easy this way.

Easy to not ask questions.

Easy to pretend everything's normal.

Easy to forget what happened yesterday.

At least, it was.

The words are too familar, you know them too well.

They begin to blend together on the page, losing your focus as your mind begins to wander, the words changing and shifting until you're back in the pantry, watching Katie cry and plead for her life, helplessly yanking against her constrains.

You clench your eyes shut, her screams echoing in your mind as you shake your head, pushing the memory to the back of your mind, letting it settle in your chest like a gnawing guilt, reminding you that you could have done something different.

You're caught off guard when Thomas walks in the room, taking a seat on the couch and catching your attention. He's changed out of the grimey clothes he had on before lunch, now adorning a clean, navy blue dress shirt and jeans.

You look back down to your book, trying to refocus on the words and keep your mind away from yesterday, away from the thing that made you scared of him.

It doesn't work, and you close it, setting it down beside you as you sit up, leaning back and letting your head hang back as you stare at the ceiling.

You feel a tap on your hand, and you look over to see a concerned Thomas. He takes your hand, writing out his question, "A-R-E U O-K?"

You stare at your hands for a moment, letting his question roll around in your head for a moment before nodding, "Just tired..."

He nods as well, letting your hand go.

It feels cold for a moment, and you almost miss the heat of his hand against yours.

The rest of the afternoon goes on rather slowly, with not much to do, you're left to distract yourself.

Luda Mae shows you where the washer and dryer are, helping you get a load done so you can finally take a shower and feel clean.

It's a dream, clean clothes on clean skin, finally given the chance to run a brush through your hair, fighting against the tangles that have made their home there over the past several weeks.

You almost don't know where to start, staring back at yourself in the dingy mirror of the downstairs bathroom, wet hair clinging to your skin as you face the daunting task ahead of you.

You try your best to brush through the mess on your own, brush pulling at the knots harshly, leaving your arms tired and wrists hurting as you barely brush a few of them out.

"You alright in there?" A sudden knock makes you jump, grip tightening on the old hairbrush.

"Y-yea," You sigh, opening the door for Luda Mae, "Just havin' some trouble with my hair..."

She looks you over through thick glasses before sighing herself, "Well, come on then."

That's all the warning you get before she's walking down the hall and back towards the front of the house.

"Huh?" You blink in confusion, quickly following behind.

"Sit." She takes a seat on the couch, pointing to the floor in front of her, "Come on, now, I ain't got all day, supper's gotta be made."

It takes you a few seconds to realize what's happening, but none the less you do as you're told.

Luda Mae takes the brush from your hands as you cross your legs, leaning against the front of the couch and giving her access to your hair. Thomas isn't in the living room anymore, but the one sided conversation you can hear Monty having on the front porch gives you an idea of where he may be.

Luda Mae's hands are gentle as she works, slowly but surely brushing through each knot with much more ease than you had yourself. It's obvious she's done this before.

You close your eyes, letting them rest as she combs through your hair, humming a quiet song.

"...It's been a long time since I've brushed anyone's hair," She speaks up, "Thomas won't let me do it no more."

"You used to brush his hair?"

"Mhm. Every mornin', since he was just a little baby. Then Hoyt and Monty started teasin' him for it and now he does it himself..." Her voice is sad as she explains, carefully working through a particularly difficult knot.

"...You're a good mother." You're solemn as you lean your head forward, giving her better access to the back of your head, "He's lucky to have you."

You hear her hum in response, unable to see the small smile gracing her face,

"...There we go." She finally states after a few minutes, pulling the brush away from your hair, "All done."

You sigh in relief, running a hand over your hair just to feel the difference, "Thank you, it feels so much better."

"You can thank me by helpin' with supper." She pats your shoulder, and you take that as your sign to stand, following her into the kitchen to help make dinner.

#first meeting #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt x you #thomas hewitt x y/n #thomas hewitt x s/o #slashers #slasher fandom #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher x y/n #slasher x s/o

[whumpshaped]

tw captivity, interrogation, conditioning, psychological whump

Whumpee hated the way Whumper had conditioned them without even trying. There was a certain unique sound that their cane made on the hardwood floor, and especially on the stairs leading down to the basement where they were kept. It was easily recognisable. Unmistakable. And it was terrifying.

Whenever they heard the rhythmic knocking of it on the floor above them, their stomach sank. Were they about to head towards their cell? Or were they simply walking around, going about their day?

And whenever they heard it on the stairs, they couldn’t stop shaking. It was like the rustling of leaves to a gazelle, the sudden movement to a mouse; it was a predator nearing its prey, and in this case, the prey was already well and utterly trapped.

The basement door opened, and Whumper walked inside with the same solemn expression as always. Whumpee kind of wished they’d look angry or even excited to be torturing them, but there was none of that. They looked exactly like someone who had just walked into the office, mildly annoyed but resigned to their fate of having to get through another eight hours.

Whumper came to a stop before them, nudging their trembling form with the rubber end of their cane. “You seem particularly scared today,” they remarked. “Bad night?”

“All of them are bad,” Whumpee muttered. “I’m being held hostage.”

Whumper hummed. “Same here — well, minus the hostage part. Though, I’d argue this job has been holding me hostage for the past month.”

Whumpee didn’t react. They weren’t going to engage in stupid smalltalk. And they didn’t need to; Whumper went on by themself.

“My back hurts, my knee hurts… I barely slept. But why don’t we make the best of a bad day?” They walked over to their chair and sat down, looking at Whumpee with a little bit more softness in their eyes as usual. “I won’t hurt you today, Whumpee. Let’s just chat. Maybe it’d do you some good to see what life *could* be like for you, if only you told me what I want to know.”

#whump #whump drabble #captivity #interrogation #conditioning #psychological whump

[ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes]

The Phoenix and the Crow

part thirty

pairing: kaz brekker x fem!reader

genre: netural

el's thoughts: i really like this part :) enjoyyy

series masterlist

Kaz sped through the upper cells, sparing brief seconds for a glance through each grate. Bo Yul-Bayur would not be here. And he didn’t have much time.

Part of him felt unhinged. He had no cane. His feet were bare. He was in strange clothes, his hands pale and ungloved. He didn’t feel like himself at all. No, that wasn’t quite true. He felt like the Kaz he’d been in the weeks after Jordie died—before Y/N— like a while animal, fighting to survive.

Kaz spotted a Shu prisoner lurking at the back of one of the cells.

“Sesh-uyeh,” Kaz whispered. But if the man recognized the code word, he didn’t acknowledge it. “Yul-Bayur?” Nothing. The man started shouting at him in Shu, and Kaz hurried away, past the rest of the cells, then slipped out to the landing and charged down to the next level as fast as he could manage. He knew he was being reckless, and selfish, but wasn’t that why they called him Dirtyhands? No job too risky. No deed too low. Dirtyhands would see the rough work done.

He wasn’t sure what was driving him. It was possible Pekka Rollins wasn’t here. It was possible he was dead. But Kaz didn’t believe it. ‘I’d know. Somehow I’d know.’ “Your death belongs to me,” he whispered.

The rows of cells stretched on and on, infinite, impossible. There was no way he would find Rollins in time. But it was only impossible until it wasn’t. Until he sighted that big frame, that florid face through the grate in an iron door. It was only impossible until he was standing in front of Pekka Rollins’ cell.

He was on his side, sleeping. Someone had given him a bad beating. Kaz watched the rise and fall of his chest.

Kaz hung back now, feeling the delicate weight of his lockpicks like an insect cradled in his palm. Wasn’t this what he wanted? To see Pekka brought low, humiliated, miserable, and hopeless, unable to get a hold of his bearings. The best of his crew is already dead on pikes. Maybe this could be enough. Maybe all he needed was to finish him once and for all.

The lock on the door gave up easily to Kaz’s picks.

Pekka’s eyes opened, and he smiled. He hadn’t been sleeping at all.

“Hello, Brekker,” Rollins said. “Come to gloat?”

“Not exactly,” Kaz replied.

He let the door slam shut behind him.

~

‘Where the hell is Kaz?’ Y/N paced in frustration in front of the incinerator, the dim clang of alarm bells filling her ears, rattling her thoughts. Yellow Protocol? Red Protocol? She couldn’t remember which was which at this point and it drove her mad. Their whole plan had been built around never hearing the sound of an alarm.

Inej had secured a rope to the roof and dropped down a line for them to climb. Y/N had sent the rest up with Jesper and Matthias, along with a pair of shears she’d located in the laundry and a crude grappling hook Jesper fashioned from the metal slats of a washboard. Then she’d cleaned the splatter of rain and moisture from the floor of the refuse room and made sure there were no scraps of rope or other signs of their presence. There was nothing left to do but wait—and struggle to get a hold of herself.

She heard people shouting at each other, and a hail of stomping boots through the ceiling above. Any minute, some intuitive guard might venture down to the basement. If they found Y/N by the incinerator, the route to the roof would be obvious. She’d be damning not only herself but the others as well.

‘Come on, Kaz. I’m waiting for you.’ They all were. Nina had come charging into the room only minutes before, gasping for breath.

“Go!” she cried. “What are you waiting for?”

“You!” Jesper shot back. But when they asked her where Kaz was, Nina’s face had crumpled.

“I hoped he was with you.”

She’d vanished up the rope, grunting with effort as Jesper trailed up behind her, leaving Y/N standing below, frozen with indecision. Had the guards captured Kaz? Was he somewhere in the prison fighting for his life?

‘He’s Kaz Brekker.’ Even if they locked him up, Kaz could escape any cell, any pair of shackles. Y/N could leave the rope for him, and pray the rain and cooling incinerator were enough to keep the bottom of it from burning away. But if she kept standing there, waiting like a child, she’d give away their escape route, and they’d all be doomed. She wouldn’t have the blood of her friends on her hands. She carried enough regret on her shoulder already.

She looked back to the door with a small flicker of hope only to be let down. She groaned in vexation, “Screw you, Kaz Brekker.” She felt her heart clench in her chest at the thought of leaving him behind but shook her head quickly. There was nothing to do but climb.

Y/N grabbed the rope just as Kaz hurtled through the door. His shirt was covered in blood, his dark hair a wild mess.

“Hurry,” he said without preamble.

A thousand questions crowded into Y/N’s head, but she only stopped to ask one. “Fine?”

“Fine.”

She nodded, swung out over the coals, and started to climb. Rain was still falling in a light patter from above, and she felt the rope tremble as Kaz took hold beneath her. When Y/N looked down, she saw Kaz bracing himself to sling the incinerator doors closed behind them.

Y/N put a hand over hand, pulling himself up from knot to knot, her arms beginning to ache, the rope cutting into her palms, bracing her feet against the wall of the incinerator when she needed to. She gritted her teeth, her lips sealed shut, as she continued to pull herself up.

High above, the Elderclock’s alarm bells still clanged like a drawer full of angry pots and pans. What had gone wrong? Why had Kaz and Nna been separated? And how were they going to get out of this?

‘Breathe.’ She sucked a sharp breath in through her gritted teeth and tried to blink the rain from her eyes, muscles bunching in her back as she rose higher.

Y/N grunted when Matthias and Wylan grabbed her shoulders and hauled her up the last few feet. “Thanks.” She tumbled over the lip of the chimney and onto the roof, drenched and trembling like a half-drowned kitten. “Kaz,” she gasped. “Kaz is on the rope.”

Mathias and Wylan seized the rope to pull him up. Y/N wasn’t sure how much Wylan was actually helping, but he was certainly working hard. They dragged Kaz out of the shaft. He flopped onto his back, gulping air. “Where’s Inej?” he panted. “Where’s Nina?”

“Already on the embassy roof,” said Matthias.

Y/N heaved as she pushed herself to her feet and placed a hand on her lower abdomen, rubbing quick circles to release the pressure in her muscles.

“Leave this rope and take the rest,” Kaz said. “Let’s move.”

~*~

taglist: @katherinereid @littlecat21 @jahayla-parker @maliciousbrekker @brekkershadowsinger @brekkers-desigirl @clunaes @wonderland2425 @bookloverfilmoholic @karensirkobabes @bookworm-center @el-de-phi @so-get-this-sammy @skittleabyss @crispy-croke @cometsghost @auttumnsayshi

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker x y/n #six of crows #six of crows x reader #six of crows imagines #ellora.writes

[k-marzolf]

Broken Crown

Part two.

Warnings; scars and discussion of scars, angst with a bit of fluff, mentions of Rawlins, kissing, alcohol consumption, neighbor au, neighbors to lovers, reader is disabled, fem!reader.

I was supposed to put this out on New Year’s, but struggled to get it out at the time. I finally finished it this morning. Part one can be found here.

Tagging; @e-dubbc11 @firexfate @aoi-targaryen

Shout out to @marvelmusing for her scarred!Billy edit.

636 words.

You walked down the hall in your pretty purple dress, clutching your bag and cane when Billy peeked out of his apartment, watching as you unlocked your door. You’d come back from the theater. They’d been playing Phantom of the Opera.

“Hi, Billy.” You smiled, still never flinching at his scars, admiring him.

“Have a good New Years?” He asked, partially hiding behind the door. You never pushed him to be social, but always engaged him on his terms.

“I saw Phantom of the Opera.” You paused, playing with your key ring, as though turning the story around in your head. “I was disappointed. I think Christine should have picked the Phantom.” You said, aching to run your fingers through his hair, it had grown back in. You wanted to touch him, but respected his agency.

Billy looked at you, tilting his head curiously. “Yeah?” He asked, coming out a little more, flinching when someone slammed their apartment door.

You edged closer, and he allowed it, his lips turning up at the idea you wanted to be closer; “Raoul was the easy choice. Light is easy to love. It would have been more compelling to choose the Phantom. Darkness is more interesting. Besides, pity is worse than apathy, and Christine pitied him. But mama never understood my love for villains.” You mused softly.

He thought of all the people who pitied him being an orphan, they never truly loved him. The way Rawlins called him a gutter rat, “Must be hard growing up without a father or mother, Lieutenant. Nowhere to belong.” He’d drawled, standing in that basement looking superior as he scarred Billy’s face.

“She said I was too soft. That it was dangerous to love the darkness.” You continued, bringing him back to the conversation. “I like you.” You murmured standing right up against him now.

Billy’s heart raced, as he reached forward, touching your arm, hand sliding down to lace his fingers with yours. He’d only ever been loved by Frank.

Oh, countless women before the accident had said that they loved him, but they had never been genuine.

They loved the money, and his beauty, but never Billy. As evidenced by how they barely looked him in the eyes now, but you did. You held his gaze.

And you were genuine. And it was terrifying and thrilling.

“But he was scarred.” Billy said.

“And? I loved Nobu from Memoirs of a Geisha as well. And he was missing an arm and burn scars covering his face. It’s about who they are.”

Billy stared at you, stunned. “Can I kiss you again, Billy?” You asked, watching as he swallowed, eyes turning dark like pits.

Billy had never particularly wanted anyone as much as he wanted you right now. You looked at him like he was the most desirable man in the hallway.

And to you he was.

“Sure, rose.” He said, unmoving.

You leaned on your tippy toes against his chest, kissing his mouth, tasting beer on his tongue.

You whined when his arms wrapped around you, lifting you up, and pressing you into the wall of his apartment, and he could feel you undulate your hips against his.

“Want you, Billy.” You said breathlessly in between kisses.

“Yeah?” He asked, kissing down your jaw, your fingers pulling on his hair, sighing as he nipped at your neck.

“Yeah, Bill. Want you, thorns and all.” You smiled softly.

Billy grinned lazily, kissing your forehead as he let you go.

“Want some wine over at my apartment? Luna misses you.” You said, sweetly.

Billy hummed, “Yeah? Try not to spill wine on her again.” He teased you, lips turning up.

“Oh, you.” You laughed.

But even as he followed you, thinking you were his, he knew he was more yours than you were his.

#billy russo #billy russo x reader

[cuubism]

I heard that old scars can sometimes re-open and I've no idea how true that is but it is sure does have a great angst potential for our boy Dream and his scars where his wings used to be

i'm so glad we've collectively decided to make dream's wings as a concept as maximally angsty as possible

i have no idea if that's true either, i know scar tissue can hurt sometimes after healing and be weaker than regular skin, and i know it can also be numb i.e. have disrupted nerve endings, no idea if it can properly reopen. however, dream's wing scars are more metaphysical than physical, since he doesn't properly have a physical form at all, the very concept of the wings was torn from his being, so we can absolutely play with this.

(this doesn't quite align with the internal canon of the other ficlet. but ah well)

(content warning again for graphic violence)

--

Dream had not been strictly truthful with Hob when he said that no one in this age, outside of his own family, knew of his wings, or their loss.

It was merely true that he had not chosen to show anyone. But there had been a time recently when Dream did not have much choice in anything at all.

****

It was inevitable that Roderick Burgess would figure out the origins of Dream's scars. The man was a fool, but he was no idiot. He could put together basic evidence in front of him.

“Strange,” he said, a few months in, as Dream still refused to give him anything he asked for or even to speak a word, “for an entity such as yourself to have such a human thing as scars.”

Dream merely glared at him. It was the first time anyone had spoken of, or even seen, the remnants of his wings in hundreds of years. Even Death had given up on mentioning it. Hearing the words spoken aloud made phantom pain arc up his back, but he kept his expression set, not giving Burgess an inch.

“They were wings, weren’t they?” Burgess said, and Dream just barely contained his flinch. “Too conveniently placed not to be. Curious. I’ve never heard of any dream lord having wings. Then again, you aren’t in too many storybooks, are you, Dream of the Endless?”

Dream featured in a few human stories. But none captured the whole of him.

“What happened to them?” Burgess asked, with idle curiosity.

He couldn’t possibly believe Dream would answer. Dream maintained his glare, and Burgess just chuckled.

“Of course, you won’t tell. I wouldn’t reveal a weakness, either. But perhaps I will be able to find out elsewhere.” His cane tapped the floor, considering. “It would be good to know what can carve off a piece of you.”

Dream clenched his jaw, the indignity of it all rushing through him in a flash of heat. The audacity of this human to think he could harm an Endless like so.

Then again, Dream had thought the same during that great battle. And he had learned.

He was still bound, here. Trapped, in this flesh.

Would it be worse, he wondered, to still have wings and be caged? Or to be as he was now, bound and having his injury, his weakness, gawked at?

“We’ll speak again, soon,” Burgess said, and then he was gone.

Dream remained, as he was forced to. Back aching, shoulders throbbing, stiff in the cold basement. He could almost feel the phantom arc of his wings over him. A torturous memory. He could picture them, folded tight in this sphere, unable to stretch out.

No, he thought, that pain would still be preferable to not having them at all.

****

Burgess returned, of course, came every day to stalk around Dream’s cage, demanding things of him. Dream resolutely turned to face him, shielding his wounded back from the man’s eyes. Depriving him of his ability to gloat. It did occasionally mean he had to bare his scars to the guards sitting by the doorway, but they were inconsequential compared to his captor. He would offer Roderick Burgess no satisfaction.

“I confess,” Burgess said, walking slowly, cane tapping, “that even when you are making things unnecessarily difficult, you inspire curiosity. I will get that story out of you, Dream. If you give me nothing else.”

You will not, Dream thought. All he had now was his silence and secrets.

“Perhaps I should drag you out of there and see what I can learn up close,” Burgess mused. The thought made rage curl in Dream’s belly. He thought that Burgess was too frightened of him to dare touch him. But his punishment when Dream got out would be one hundred-fold if he did. And he had already earned himself agony.

“Consider what ending you’d prefer,” Burgess said, and left him again.

****

Nobody had thought of Dream with wings in an age. The Old Gods had stripped them of his mythology when they’d stripped them from his body. Even when Dream occasionally featured in human stories, as a minor god or as the Sandman or some other strange figure, he did not have wings, he did not fly, it was beyond the reach of human imagining.

Except.

In seeing the scars on Dream’s back, in considering, over and over, with such fervor, Dream’s history, the flight he might have once been capable of— Roderick Burgess was imagining.

One dreamer could not change Dream. A thousand dreamers could not bring Dream’s wings back to him, that time was done now, he knew it as deeply as he knew the pain that lived within him.

Except, apparently, when his powers were bound. Except when Burgess held his ruby, the very essence of Dream’s form. Except when the man wished him such ill that no torment was beyond the reach of his imagination.

It happened not gradually, but suddenly. Burgess was speaking to him one day, musing again about what horrible thing might have happened to Dream’s wings, and Dream was tuning him out, staring into space, when a lightning bolt of pained raced up his spine, flared through his shoulders, swirled in spiked agony in his head—

Dream bent double, a cry of anguish torn from his throat. The first sound he had made since his imprisonment. Burgess froze and stared at him, his cane hovering above the cobblestones.

Dream clasped his hands over his ears where a rising whine was reaching a fever pitch, becoming a scream. A matching shriek building in his own throat that he desperately tried to suppress. He’d rather choke than let his captor hear anything else, but his back was in flames, it felt as though it was tearing apart anew, like something was wrenching from within him—

“Well,” said Burgess, and for the first time, the man sounded faint with shock. “Look at that.”

Breathing raggedly, but getting no air for his tight chest in the sealed sphere, limbs trembling, Dream dared a look over his shoulder. Shuddering at what he might find.

Yes, indeed, there were wings again arcing over his shoulders, folded double under the glass. Pulled from Dream, forced on him, by Roderick Burgess’s imaginings. And no, no, these wings were wrong, they were horrible and monstrous, like a demon’s, taloned and webbed and bent at unnatural angles. Dream’s wings had been beautiful, feathers dark and fine as the night sky.

But Burgess saw him as a monster, and a monster’s body was what he gave him.

Blood streamed down Dream’s back from the jagged tears the wings had ripped in his skin. It dripped from every inch of the webbing, splattering the glass sphere, which looked like something horrible had just given birth inside of it. Even moving the wings was agonizing, and Dream stayed hunched over, face pressed to his knees, to avoid knocking them into the glass and sending a spasm of pain through himself that he might not recover from.

“Another trick of yours?” said Burgess, walking around him. Now there was nothing Dream could do to guard his back. “Hiding your powers from me?”

Dream did not look up at him, but he ripped the man cell from cell in his mind. You, he wanted to snarl, you have done this. You and your gross, possessive imaginings, feeling yourself entitled to my history. You will pay.

Under the pain, however, the wings felt insubstantial. Weak, fragile, draining the rest of his strength, unlike the power of Dream’s true wings before they had been so grossly torn from him. These wings could not fly. These wings sustained themselves on the cruel thoughts of one dreamer, and hurt Dream rather than aided him; their connection to his power was flickering, and Dream expected they would not last long.

These wings were a violation and an abomination and still, a wrenching pain went through Dream’s body at the thought of their disappearance.

But he was right. Even as Burgess watched, speaking again though Dream could not hear it over the rushing in his ears, the wings twisted up like gnarled tree branches and vanished, leaving a cold wind in their wake. And blood, and viscera, and two open wounds in Dream’s back. He collapsed forward onto his elbows, head hanging, unable to push himself back up. He had bitten the inside of his mouth hard enough that it was bleeding, and drops fell to join the growing pool at the bottom of the glass. Was it Burgess who dreamed him able to bleed? Or Dream himself?

“No!” Burgess smacked the glass with his cane, and Dream flinched. “Foul creature. You will not keep your powers from me forever.”

Dream did not bother to glare at him. He pressed his forehead to the bloody floor of the cage. His wings. His wings. Wrong though these were, it had been eons since he had even conceived of the feeling of having wings. And now, to have them ripped into existence and then gone again…

With a growl, Burgess stormed from the room, yelling at the guards, “Let me know if he does ANYTHING!”

Dream did not do anything. Dream wished for this form to go the way of his wings. To shred from the inside out and be gone.

****

Prior to his imprisonment, Dream had reached a level of equanimity when it came to other winged creatures. Once, there had been a time when he’d inflicted horrible nightmares of falling on all the dreamers of the world, burning out of control in his rage. Likewise, there had been a time when Dream, guilt-ridden, had tried to soothe that ache by sending gentle dreams of floating lightly on a warm breeze, or of soaring with powerful strokes through the skies.

But eventually, he had gained control over himself, and managed to treat winged dreams the same as any other, with no particular preference or punishment.

That was before.

Now, he was thinking about Gault. And her resplendent joy as she’d first lifted off the ground, wings fluttering with newness and light.

It should not be so. The smile of one of his creations should not make pain spike cold in his chest, make his back ache like the scar tissue was new enough to be just scabbed over. Dream was meant to be listening to his creations’ feelings. But he thought it would be easier to feel nothing at all.

It had all disappeared, when he’d escaped from the Burgess mansion. The new, bloody marks of the wings Burgess forced from his body had gone like they’d never been once Dream’s power returned. The original scars, of course, stayed, they would never go. Dream did not know what to do with this clean slate. He wondered, sometimes, if he had fallen into Delirium’s realm in his isolation, and simply hallucinated every moment of it.

He was sitting on Hob’s couch, now. He wasn’t sure exactly when, lost in his musings, he had moved to Hob’s living room. It hurt more to be in the Dreaming; he had wanted to be away from his own creations. So many years apart, and the pain of their abandonment, and now he wanted to be away from them. Truly, Death had been right. Some Endless was he.

“Dream?” Hob’s hand landed on Dream’s shoulder from behind.

Dream was Endless. Dream did not panic. And yet, he did not even feel himself move until he was already across the living room, back turned to the wall, away from Hob. Even though he knew that Hob would not hurt him. Even though he knew his own power now was such that Hob could not hurt him. Even though.

“Whoa, hey,” Hob said, hands raised in surrender. Eyes wide and startled. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I was not—” Dream started, but trailed off. The rush of instinctive flight was subsiding, and now he merely felt defeated. Pathetic.

Rather than approach him again, Hob sat down in the corner of the couch. Dream had learned, these past months, to read an invitation when Hob was offering it. So he stepped quietly back over and sat beside Hob, their thighs just barely touching.

“Did I come up behind you? Is that what did it?” Hob asked gently.

“I was lost in thought,” Dream explained. “It was not your doing.”

“Hm, but in retrospect…” Halfway through, Hob seemingly decided he didn’t want to finish that particular sentence. “What were you thinking about?”

“It matters not,” said Dream, pushing thoughts of Gault and wings back to the depths of his mind where they belonged.

“Course it matters,” said Hob. And, as if he did know what Dream had been thinking, he rested his hand on Dream’s shoulder again. Slower, this time, though. Telegraphing it.

Dream leaned into his touch. Mired in his memories, he had turned from any who might come at his unprotected back, gawk at his scars, even Hob -- but now he craved something else. Now he wanted to turn in to Hob and let Hob guard him. When Dream had told the story of those wounds, Hob had curled around him as if to shield him from further harm. Dream would seize that feeling again, endlessly, selfishly.

Hob rubbed his back, but barely got through a few motions before he was freezing, hand pressed to Dream’s shoulder blade. “Dream? Do these…” he was speaking very tentatively now. “Do these… reopen a lot?”

Through the thin fabric of Dream’s shirt, blood was weeping. It followed the path of Hob’s hand as if the wound itself was chasing his comfort.

“They never did before,” Dream said. He did not have to specify what he meant by that.

“Can I…?” Hob asked, and tugged on the hem of his shirt.

Dream inclined his head, and Hob pulled his shirt up and off, careful where it brushed the wounds. Hands on his shoulders, he turned Dream’s naked back toward him, then ran his hand down the edges of the scars, studying them silently. Dream could feel the prickle of his daydreams, his imagination, as he thought. Hob, of all people, might have the power to morph Dream’s form through his daydreams; Dream bent to his touch easily enough already.

Imagine me torn open or imagine me healed, Dream thought, only do not imagine me with wings. I do not beg, but I will beg it of you.

He could not bear to suffer that again, the promise of wings restored that were but a broken echo of their rightful magnificence.

“They aren’t actually torn,” Hob mused. “Just bleeding. Huh.” He ran a hand down over one of the scars, and for all that it did not truly hurt, merely felt numb, Dream still sensed the bleeding stop.

Powerful daydreams, indeed.

“How?” Hob said, awed.

Dream did not have the energy to explain everything to do with Roderick Burgess. He merely said, “You have dreamt it.”

“I have?”

Dream just nodded. He could attempt to explain these things properly to Hob another day. For now, Hob had managed to wash away the pain, at least temporarily, and Dream was exhausted past the capacity to deal with these emotions. The memory of his wings hung over his shoulders like a sword in a way it hadn’t since his youth.

He curled in towards Hob, and Hob’s arms went automatically around him with a little stutter of shock. He held Dream’s shoulders, the back of his head, and Dream pressed his nose into the crook of his neck.

Hob pulled Dream in, pulled him down, turned to press him between his own body and the back of the couch, yes, almost exactly as Dream had hoped he would. Too perceptive, Hob, but Dream could only be grateful for it. He let out a long, steadying breath, sinking into the warmth of Hob’s body.

“You sure nothing happened?” Hob asked, a concerned murmur.

Dream said, “Nothing of late.” And Hob held him tighter.

#its hurting dream hours again #thinking also about retired dream and how i'm pretty sure his scars would disappear if he became human (ish) and the mixed feelings #he would have about that #dream's wings #my writing #dreamling #ask #anonymous

[thefiery-phoenix]

YANDERE TODODEKU HEADCANONS

Pic by: Sunny

I know, some of you might be surprised as HELL (like me lol) because candy cane Todoroki doesn't seem like the type to share his darling with ANYONE, let alone Midoriya, but... somehow, he tolerates it and there we go! You are now the darling of 2 famous Pro heroes :) 

When it comes to showing affection, Izuku will SMOTHER you ALL OVER and yes, you'll have to ask him to back up a bit since you won't be able to breathe. He likes hugs and cuddles and all that other shit whereas Shoto... well, we all know that he's a silent boi... and a shy one too. He's a tsundere no doubt about that, but he'll hug you from back and stroke your hair and catch your tiny soft adorable hands in his and spend ALOT of time admiring them (He'll love it when you cook soba for him)

At first when they kidnap you, yeah, you'll be sobbing all over the place and all that. but, they aren't THAT bad to you. They take good care of you and they NEVER force you to do something you DON'T want to do. They won't keep you in a basement with chains, oh nooo. They'll keep you chained on a comfy soft bed because they don't want their darling angel to be uncomfortable, now do they? 

''Oh doll, you look so RAVISIHING when you look at me with those pleading eyes of yours.... I won't be able to control myself any longer''

''Oh our sweet little angel, our baby, you'll certainly enjoy living with us. You don't need any other insignificant people in your life. You have us''

When you act up, they won't punish you THAT hard since they don't like seeing you hurt. However, if it gets drastic, expect waterworks from Deku and a few slappings from Todoroki (P.S: Don't EVER say he's like his dad or you won't be seeing daylight again). If it gets too regular, Deku will let Todoroki handle the punishments since he doesn't like punishing you. He prefers making you feel guilty and most of the time, that actually works. If you try to escape, Todoroki will be amused and Deku will be devastated. Deku thinks that he needs to shower you with MORE and MORE affection and you can kiss your personal space goodbye. Expect a few slappings on the wrist, the usual shoutings and the waterworks and you'll be left all alone in a room feeling isolated as your punishment. They just SIMPLY can't lay a finger on you, you're their PRECIOUSSSS!!!!! (lol, get the reference?)

Recovery period will be like heaven. Todoroki will make your favorite food, Deku will shower you with his love and all that and you'll be watching movies as they cuddle you to sleep and gently rock you back and forth, stroking your hair and making you feel calm and safe. They'll tend to your injuries and get you to laugh more and pamper the HELL out of you 

Now for the million dollar question. Would they kidnap you? ONE THOUSAND percent YESSS!!! As soon as they confess their feelings to you, whether you accept them or reject them, you can kiss your freedom and your old life back sayonanra. They'll pretend to be like your heroes by swooping in, saving you from every bad thing in this world. They just want what's best for you since they care about you ALOT (No to mention OBSESSED ASF) They want to protect their darling angel and the only way they can do that is if you are in their arms

On a scale from one to ten, Izuku loves you 1000000000000%. He keeps telling you that you're the reason for him being alive and not following Kaachan's advice by jumping off a roof in middle school and all that. He loves you so much he might actually cry if you aren't with him. Todoroki, on the other hand, loves you 90% because the other 10% of him doesn't feel like sharing you with Izuku 

If you were planning to become (insert your favorite job here), well say goodbye to that too because the only ''work'' you'll be doing after living with them is just relaxing all day long and doing whatever you want (under their supervision of course). They don't want you to work since you're already living with the 2 most famous pro heroes of Japan and you'll get everything in the blink of an eye, so why work for it? And they don't want you getting tired and stressed out and all that anyway. If you take up something like writing or drawing, they'll praise you for it. However if you ask them if you could publish your works online, don't be surprised if you get a big fat NO in response. They don't want anyone to take you away from them and they'll remind you of all the horrors and dangers of the online world 

Will they kill for you? Absolutely YES! 

Should you resist them or welcome them? Just welcome them. It'll be better for everyone, including you 

If someone has a grudge against them or they have a rival, doesn't matter. They'll be off the face of this planet before you can even call it a day 

Midoriya prefers using knives, guns, and anything sharp and pointy. Todoroki prefers using his quirk and guns

Do they torture their rivals and their victims? HELL YEAH! NO ONE deserves to even LOOK at you and BREATHE the same air as you. So, they'll just get rid of the annoying little pest that's in their way 

#yandere bnha #yandere bnha x reader #poly yanderes #poly yanderes tododeku x reader #yandere shoto todoroki x reader x yandere izuku midoriya #yandere tododeku x reader #yandere tododeku scenarios #yandere tododeku oneshots #yandere tododeku imagines #yandere tododeku headcanons #yandere bnha characters x reader

[spankinganthologies]

Spanking Women - College Justice!

from the discontinued SpankingWomen

CELL BLOCK D

None of the inmates at the Hazelwood Correctional Facility wanted to get transferred to Cell Block D. It was reserved for the women who couldn’t behave themselves once already within the walls of the facility. Smartmouths, liars, women who started fights, women who ducked out on chores, women who gave the guards a hard time, women who didn’t obey. One guard referred to it as "The Home of the Brats." It was a fitting name.

Cell Block D was essentially run and governed by Diana Adams. But the inmates knew her by no such name. To them, she was known only as Madam. She was a strong, no-nonsense woman, 40ish and straightforward. 

The Madam of Cell Block D had a rather simple approach to discipline. She treated her prisoners like bad little girls and spanked their bare butts. There was a room right in the middle of the cells, a room with one door and no windows. However, the walls of this particular room were thin enough that the other prisoners could easily overhear what was happening in there. That was intentional. Madam liked it that way.

Some called it The Punishment Room, some referred to it as The Spanking Room, but most knew it as The Crying Room. Madam and her guards would collect whichever women needed correction, making them strip completely naked before leaving their cells and then walking to The Crying Room with their hands atop their heads. She did this for the walk back more than anything else. She wanted the other prisoners to see the tears and hear their childish boohooing, but she also wanted them to see the glowing red butts as they marched back to their cells.

In the room itself, Madam would take each woman on by one across her knees and spank them with a hairbrush until their bottom was red and purple and the miscreant was bawling. If more than one inmate was to be spanked, the others would line up against the wall and be forced to watch the spankings. Most of the women were crying before they were even taken over the knee and some urinated on the floor in fear. But you did not want to pee while over Madam’s knee. If a young lady was unfortunate enough to have that kind of an accident, then after her walk of shame back to her cell, she would only be allowed to wear a t-shirt for a week. 

So yeah, you could definitely say that none of the gals stuck in Hazelwood wanted to find themselves in Cell Block D. 

Mrs. Duggan was known as the Dean of Discipline. Her actual title was unknown to most at Valley Reformatory but it mattered very little. She carried with her a reputation for being strict and for possessing a certain proclivity towards corporal punishment. If you were unlucky enough to have been sent to Valley, you did not want to end up in her office.

It was a corner office, windowless, tucked in a back hallway on the basement level. At certain times, a passerby might hear loud crying, sobbing, begging and blubbering - not to mention the unmistakable sounds of a spanking in progress - coming from behind Mrs. Duggan's door. From all accounts, she was a helluva spanker and she didn't have any qualms about taking panties down and painting a bare bottom red.

First offenders went over Mrs. Duggan's knee and were spanked with just her hand. Since Valley served as an alternative to prison for young women above the age of 18, their over-the-knee predicament was intended to embarrass as much it hurt. Second time offenders got the OTK hand spankings in addition to a severe paddling. Third time offenders received both plus the cane. There were never any fourth time offenders. Even the toughest of the girls at Valley shaped up real quick after the cane. 

She liked to spank in groups, even if the offenders were all there for different reasons. By the end of an afternoon, there might be 20 red butts lined up along her office wall serving corner time. 

The first week of boot camp was a real eye-opener for Erika and Jennifer. 

It was an alternative to jail, an opportunity to have their little indiscretion removed from their records. They thought they were taking the easier choice. They thought that compared to jail, boot camp would be a breeze.

Just a few hours into that first day was all it took before they both realized how wrong they had been.  Erika had a smart mouth she just couldn't seem to control. Jennifer was flat-out lazy and adverse to any kind of physical exertion.  These shortcomings lost them their clothing privileges. Not complying with their punishments fast enough earned Erika and Jennifer corporal punishment.

Naked and in front of everyone, the two young women were bent over and strapped until their bottoms were bright red and they were howling. For an hour afterward, they stood with their hands atop their heads and stared at the wall. It was going to be a long six weeks.

At this institution for wayward young ladies, they use corporal punishment as needed. Bare bottom, bun-blistering paddlings hard enough to make even the toughest girls cry like babies. And the paddlings are not private. They are done on the spot as needed, no matter who is around to witness. If you happened to walk by the showers on any particular day at this institution, you might see quite a few red butts glowing in the mist of the hot water.

The three perpetrators were identified and separated from the others. They were taken to another room, stripped and then given a healthy dose of the strap across their bared bottoms. Each young woman was left with a nicely reddened backside and the sting of fresh tears. There was also the haunting promise of another spanking for each before bedtime, leaving their bellies tangled with nerves and despair.

Shoplifter.

A spanking before her first night in lock-up.

Spankings hurt.

#spankingwomen #judicial #college

[accio-writersblock]

Remus Lupin headcanons that you can pry out of my cold dead hands

Remus loves music but he can’t sing for the life of him

This does not stop him from trying

He had the fattest crush on Sirius starting in third year but he didn’t say a word

No one realized until fifth year, and they were all sworn into silence

Remus experimented with punk in sixth year and that’s where Sirius got his iconic look

When Sirius ran away from home, James let Remus know immediately

Remus fell through the floo in a state of panic

He refused to leave Sirius’ side for three days, which is how long it took for Sirius to recover enough to tell Remus to fuck off

Remus was heartbroken after The Prank, more sad than angry through the summer and Sirius running away was the last nudge he needed to forgive him

Seeing Sirius pale and injured and so so scared broke any anger that was left

Remus was absolutely amazing at Charms

Despite his passion for DADA, he always got the best marks in Charms

Remus was obsessed with The Sandman comics when they came out

He injured his hip during a moon in fourth year and used a cane from then on (when Sirius could convince him to)

Remus fostered werewolf children while Sirius was in Azkaban

Welsh Remus !! (He once asked Sirius what his favorite color was, and upon hearing that it was red started giggling and only stopped to wheeze out “you love coch!” [the ch is pronounced like English ck])

Remus feathered his hair when it was a popular hairstyle

He hated wizarding robes and opted to wear corduroy trousers with his cozy sweaters

He kept an annotated copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray on his person at all times (and used a different color pen for each reread)

He studied with Regulus in the library even after Regulus stopped following Sirius around the castle

He liked to crochet accessories for the marauders’ animagus forms

He never glamoured his scars away because in second year, while riddled with sleep deprivation, Sirius told him that his scars were so so beautiful

Remus always asked for fun socks as Christmas presents

He kept every pair

He taught Sirius a nightlight spell in his first year after he found out that Sirius had nightmares when he was in a dark room

He knew the spell because his father used it every full moon when he snuck into the basement in between the transformation back and Remus’ return to the waking world

When he asked Lyall about it his father denied doing it but did direct him to a spell book

Hope Lupin taught him everything he knew about cooking

He learned sign language to talk to a younger Deaf student at Hogwarts who he found crying in one of his hiding spots

He gifted Lily and James a cat when they went into hiding so that they would have more company (and because Sirius hated cats)

He regularly checked up on Harry (in secret) while he was still living with the Dursleys

Sirius had to keep him from murdering the whole family

He was inconsolable when he came back from a remote Order mission to the news that three of his best friends were murdered by the love of his life

If anyone had been around during his grieving they would have heard his sobs for Regulus, James, Lily, Peter, and the Sirius that he knew and loved

He knew that his Sirius would never do that to James

#marauders era #wolfstar #remus lupin headcanon #remus x sirius #he’s also autistic bc so am I #I’m so sorry about the last couple bullet points #this is a lie #anyways the cat was Crookshanks #Hagrid saw a cat in the ruins and took it along with Harry

[whump-tr0pes]

Honor Bound 6 - 24

Honor Bound 6 - 24 (Not Used to Freedom) - @badthingshappenbingo

Requested by @who-needs-a-life-anyways

Red X for posted, white X for requested! Send in your requests! If you don’t see a prompt here that you already requested, please send it again!

~

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3, Honor Bound 4, Honor Bound 5, and the prequel Vera.

AO3

Masterlist

Contents: past captivity, themes of self-harm, past hallucinations, angst, recovery, Gavin being a feral Pomeranian with Isaac desperately holding the leash, frank discussion of murder, past child abuse, complicated feelings about abusers, Isaac "it's not my fault my love language is Acts of Service and all I know how to do is kill" Moore, discussion of dead parents

~

For the third time in three days, Gavin woke with no collar around his neck. He woke with a soft mattress beneath him and a thick, warm blanket over him, and the golden late-September sun creeping into the window. The shades were pulled back, so that the sun could come in and so that he could see out, see that he wasn’t in a small windowless basement with stairs up to a single door, a high ceiling, and a gallows against one wall.

Most importantly, he woke next to the warm, strong body of the man who had saved him, and he told himself yet again like a fervent prayer that this wasn’t Schiester’s cruelest hallucination yet.

Gavin rolled closer to Isaac and tucked his head in the hollow of Isaac’s throat. He didn’t know if Isaac was awake, or if it was simple unconscious instinct that had Isaac’s arms drawing around him and holding him close, but he didn’t care. He breathed out a shaky sigh and allowed himself to be held. There was warmth, here, unlike anything he had ever felt in the depths of Schiester’s basement. Even with the blankets he had earned with his desperate, often false confessions, nothing had ever felt even close to this warm. It had only ever been the chill of the air and of Schiester’s gaze, and the fire of the cane, the knife, the beatings. Then the chill, again, of being so completely, utterly alone.

Tears wet the pillow beneath Gavin’s head, and he sniffled. He hadn’t meant to start crying.

A hand cradled his cheek, and he pressed his lips to Isaac’s palm. The tears flowed freely now. His face screwed up and he buried it against Isaac’s chest.

“Gavin?” Isaac’s chest rumbled against Gavin’s ear. Gentle fingers slid through Gavin’s short hair, and he shivered at the soft touch. It had been days of soft touch, of clean clothes, of a warm bed, of hot food… Surely Schiester wouldn’t let him feel this relief for days. The only price had been watching Isaac’s pain as he reeled from his memories of Rosa, watching Isaac as he struggled so, so hard not to punish himself for all the shame that threatened to crush him – and nearly losing his own life again at the hands of another specter with cold blue eyes.

But that was Edrissa, not Schiester. And Sam said they really don’t think she’s going to try again.

“Are you alright?” Isaac rasped, tilting Gavin’s face up so he could get a good look. Isaac’s eyebrows pulled together over dark eyes and darker circles beneath them. The kindness in his eyes, the concern, fully undid him. Gavin’s throat closed around a sob.

“No, look,” Isaac said, his own voice tight. He guided Gavin’s face up, tilted it so he was looking at the room, dimly lit by the sun. “This is real. You’re safe, Gavin, you’re—”

“N-no, I, I know,” Gavin whispered. “I think… I know.” Isaac let out a breath. “I’m just…” Gavin pulled Isaac close again, buried his face in his neck. Tears wet the collar of Isaac’s sleeping shirt. “I was just… so scared. So alone.”

“I know,” Isaac said brokenly.

“I thought was going to die,” Gavin whimpered.

“I kn-know,” came the reply. Isaac’s arms tightened around him.

“I thought… I thought I… I thought I broke you, I thought I made you hate me so much you’d l-leave me there…”

Count yourself lucky.

Ice clutched Gavin’s chest, threatened to drag him away from Isaac’s arms and down, down into the depths of Schiester’s basement again. It was always waiting for him, always there. He simply had to close his eyes and let himself be pulled in.

A hand, gentle as a kiss but strong as iron, slid under Gavin’s jaw and lifted his face until his eyes met Isaac’s again. Isaac’s lips trembled as he said, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry that he… that he ever made you feel that way. That he ever made it possible. But Gavin… no. No. You didn’t break me. And I could…” The hand on Gavin’s jaw began to shake. “I could never… leave you there, Gavin, I’m… sorry it took me so long to—”

“Don’t,” Gavin breathed, and shook his head. “Don’t.” He reached up and twined his fingers through Isaac’s, kissing each scarred knuckle. Gavin’s breaths were shaky and ragged, and Isaac’s matched his.

Gavin forced himself to draw in a slow breath through his nose.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Nothing smelled like Isaac in the basement, but Gavin could smell Isaac all around him now. It calmed him, slowed the stuttering beat of his heart. He scrubbed at the tears with his sleeve and met Isaac’s eyes again.

“I want to go outside again today,” he said with an uncertain smile.

Isaac’s lips curved up. “That sounds nice. Any particular place, or…?”

“Just outside,” Gavin said. “Anywhere. The town again, or…” He trailed off as Isaac’s smile froze. “Or the woods, maybe…”

“We can go into town,” Isaac said thickly. “We can, um…” He swallowed hard. His thumb rubbed along his forearm over his long sleeve, back and forth, and unconscious movement that made Gavin’s own scars itch. “If you want—”

“I don’t want to run into Rosa again,” Gavin said as he gently took Isaac’s wrist in his hand. Isaac went rigid and met Gavin’s eyes with a startled look. “I… that’s the last thing I want.”

Isaac swallowed hard and squeezed his eyes shut. “If we, um, r-run into her while we’re out, then—”

“I don’t want to run into her again if not allowed to kill her, Isaac,” Gavin said, as calmly as he could muster.

Isaac’s eyes flew open. His pulse raced under Gavin’s fingers. “S-sorry?” he mumbled.

“After what she did to you?” Gavin said, feeling rage coiling inside him like an injured predator. He thought his fury had been beaten out of him, cut out of him.

Not when it comes to my family. Not when it comes to Isaac.

He cleared his throat and took a steadying breath. “After what she… did to you,” he murmured, “I don’t want to see her again unless you’ll let me at her next time.”

“You could barely stand,” Isaac huffed, incredulous.

“I could have done damage,” Gavin said. His stomach roiled with bitter hatred for the woman who had looked at Isaac as he fell apart in front of her, because of what she had done to him, and laughed.

Laughed.

“You don’t know her,” Isaac said, shifting his gaze down. “She made me, um, who I am.”

“Bullshit she did, Isaac,” Gavin snapped. “She taught you how to handle a weapon and take inhuman amounts of punishment, and she cheated because you were already ready to do the second thing. And she couldn’t even beat you in a fair fight, so I think I stand a fair chance at half strength.”

“She can… but I…” Isaac shook his head as if dazed. “You’re not at half strength, Gavin.”

Gavin snorted, his eyes still blazing. “Fine. A quarter. My point still stands, she’s a fucking piss-ant weakling that couldn’t beat you with one arm tied behind your back, so you should have let me at least try while I had my shot at her. I don’t know if I’ll get another chance.”

Isaac’s brow furrowed. “Why do you keep… She’s not weak, she used to beat me every fucking night. She used to beat me into the fucking ground. And—”

“First off, that’s fucking horrifying, so I hope you registered what you just said.” Isaac opened his mouth, but Gavin kept going. “Second, how old were you when that was happening?”

Isaac blinked. “Um… I mean, I was… younger, but… even once I got a little older, she could still take me with the others, she could still—”

“So she could beat you as long as there were multiple other people you were fighting? Along with her?” Gavin’s head was beginning to throb.

“I mean… sometimes it was one-on-one with her, at the end of the night, when—”

“When you were tired?”

Isaac looked at Gavin helplessly. “I mean… yes, when I was tired, but sometimes you have to fight when you’re tired—”

“But I’m guessing she was always fresh when this happened.” Gavin’s jaw ached, too. He forced himself to relax it.

“I… I don’t remember, but… yeah, I guess she was fresh more often than not…?”

Gavin was shaking with rage. “Why didn’t you let me fucking kill this woman?” he breathed. “Who hurt you and used you and made you think, after all of this, that she was somehow stronger than you, so you were too scared to fight back against all of it?”

“I wouldn’t have fought back,” Isaac said as he shook his head. “I would have lost the family if I… if I ever…”

Gavin fell silent. He had no answer, no retort for the words that faded between them. Gavin had never fought back, either. He had never even considered it. He had been so young when his parents first made him afraid that he never remembered there being another option.

And, just like Isaac, he had been saved when his family cast him out when he failed to be what they made him.

“S-sorry,” Gavin rasped, and pressed his lips to Isaac’s scarred knuckles again. “I’m… I’m just… angry. At what she did to you.”

“Yeah,” Isaac said softly. “I’m getting that.”

“You’re not angry?” Gavin’s eyes flicked up to Isaac’s.

“Um…” Isaac wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I am. A little. But mostly there’s just… shame.” He seemed to be trying very, very hard not to press on the newest cuts on his forearms – the ones not left by Gavin, but by Isaac himself. “I mean… are you angry at your parents?”

“Yes,” Gavin answered, without hesitation. Then, “But… mostly for… what they did to you. The family.”

Isaac huffed and pressed a kiss to Gavin’s hair. “Feelings about the people who hurt us doesn’t ever seem to make much sense. I wasn’t angry at my mother for… years. I mean… I didn’t realize I felt anything but guilt for her until this year, and even then it’s… hard.”

“Yeah,” Gavin whispered. He drew in a deep breath and let it out.

“For what it’s worth, while we’re on the topic of parents and killing people,” Isaac said, “I know this might be… kind of a weird thing to say.” He gently cradled Gavin’s face and pressed their foreheads together. “But for what your parents did to you… I’m jealous that Vera got to kill both of them. Doesn’t seem fair.”

Grief, familiar and faded, washed through Gavin’s chest. A bitter laugh tightened in his throat. “That’s fair,” he said. “And definitely the most romantic thing you’ve said all morning.”

“I do what I can,” Isaac said with an equally tense laugh, but the arms around Gavin were careful and warm. Gavin fit into them like Isaac’s arms were home – the only home he’d ever known. All his parents’ homes, his warehouse in the east prairie, the Crayton house, the lake house – they had all been places he’d laid his head, but none of them had ever been home. The only place that he had ever rested, the only place he had ever found peace, was in the arms of the man who held him now – the arms of the man he thought he had broken a second time. Tears burned in his eyes again and he blinked them away. He didn’t want to spend the morning crying and angry. He wanted to spend the morning outside with the sun on his face and his hand twined with Isaac’s.

“I want to get up,” Gavin said softly, and pushed himself upright. “We don’t have to go into town, but… please, Isaac, let’s—”

“No, we can go into town,” Isaac said with a shaky smile. “If Rosa lives here, then… I’ll have to find a way to make peace with that. And if you want to go into town, then… for fuck’s sake, we’re going into town, and no one is going to stop us.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips against Gavin’s cheek. Gavin turned his head and caught Isaac’s mouth in a kiss that Isaac broke after only a moment.

Gavin’s smile faltered. “To town it is,” he said softly. “And then it would be good to visit with Vera and Tori?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Isaac said. He groaned as he rolled out of bed and stripped off his shirt. “We have some stuff to catch them up on.”

“Yeah,” Gavin said as he averted his eyes from Isaac’s scars. “Yeah, we do.”

Continued here

@womping-grounds ��, @free-2bmee ​, @quirkykayleetam ​, @walkingchemicalfire ​, @inpainandsuffering ​, @redwingedwhump ​, @burtlederp ​, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog ​ , @whatwhumpcomments ​, @whumpywhumper ​, @stxck-fxck ​, @whumps-the-word ​, @justplainwhump ​, @finder-of-rings ​, @inky-whump ​, @orchidscript ​, @inkyinsanity ​, @this-mightaswell-happen ​, @newandfiguringitout ​, @whumpkitty ​, @pretty-face-breaker ​, @pebbledriscoll ​, @im-just-here-for-the-whump ​, @endless-whump ​, @grizzlie70 ​, @oops-its-whump ​, @kixngiggles​, @1phoenixfeather ​ , @butwhatifyouwrite ​, @carnagecardinal , @whumpifi , @squishablesunbeam

#honor bound 6 #bad things happen bingo #not used to freedom #whump #hurt/comfort #Isaac/Gavin #past captivity #themes of self-harm #past hallucinations #angst #recovery #frank discussion of murder #past child abuse #complicated feelings about abusers #discussion about dead parents

[anamelessfool]

WIP WHENEVER

Thank you @kissingghouls for the tag!!!! I tried to pick something a little unique for this challenge...

VISITATION (From 'Domestics')

(family, humor, self-indulgent fluff, Dad Secondo)

2013: Papa Emeritus Terzo, Copia, and Nihil visit their estranged brother Secondo after the birth of his youngest child.

I have this whole ficlet series similar to Bestiary but based on small domestic moments in the lives of the brothers and the characters in my AU. Why? Because it's fun and ridiculously self-indulgent.

I love me a good flashback....

⛧⛧⛧

“Which way am I turning here?” Copia asked.

“Left,” muttered Terzo.

“Left...”

“Right.”

“Oh, Right then?”

“Yes, left is right!” Terzo paused then groaned. “Left is correct.”

“Marian couldn't come?” Terzo asked Copia idly. He smirked. “Hope your leash is long enough.”

Copia frowned. “At some point I wil fly out of this car, yes, jerked back by the leash, your Unholiness,” he replied flatly. “But ah… I'm into that.” Two hours in the car with Terzo gave one plenty of time to practice talking trash. “We should have arrived twenty minutes ago.”

Terzo shifted in the passenger seat. Car rides made him sick, and therefore extra irritable. He glanced in the rearview mirror at Nihil in the back. Nihil was staring ahead, expressionless, his eyes dull like a mesmerized cow. “We would have made time if we didn't stop back there.”

“Terzo, the old man barely asks for anything these days,” Copia said firmly. “So when he asked to stop and buy a balloon for his new grandson I um…had to indulge him.”

“Isn't this thing just brand new? A little ball that sleeps and cries? Why—why does it need a fucking balloon?”

“That thing… is your nephew,” Copia said, and he squeezed the steering wheel. “Have you ever taken care of anything small and helpless like that? You'd understand.”

Terzo muttered something in Italian and dropped his head against the door, staring out the window. Copia assumed if he wasn't so carsick he would really put on a pissy show for them all.

“We’re nearly there,” Copia said, slowing to an agonizing stop at the intersection, looking carefully right and left, waiting the appropriate three seconds at the stop sign, and then continuing on.

[They pull up to a plain suburban house.]

The door opened, Secundo towered over them all, his dark intense presence unmarred by his years away. The former Papa Emeritus II of the Satanic Church of the Void was now wearing a checkered button-down shirt and dark khakis. His grip on his cane tightened as his shark-like gaze flicked from guest to guest. Four Infernal Eyes regarded each other on the porch. Secundo's pitted face moved slightly. “Shoes. Off.” He shifted back, granting them entry.

They were led inside to a sunken foyer. Beyond a small railing was an ordinary living room with a beige carpet. There were halls nearby leading to kitchen, basement and bedrooms. All with as few stairs as possible made it easier for Secundo to easily walk around in his current state. His time as Channel of the Void left him permanently weak in his left side, but they all knew it could have been much worse.

Copia was struck by how unbelievably ordinary the place was. There was an unusual number of crammed bookshelves and a piano near the window, but other than that there was very little evidence of this being the home of a former leader of The Satanic Church of the Void. A single taxidermied goat head loomed over the television that displayed a muted cartoon program. Two small children sat near it in the center of a pile of wooden blocks.

Copia pulled his own shoes off, then knelt to help Nihil out of his. “It's nice to see you again, Secundo.”

Secundo never dropped his intensity and simply changed the words he spoke. “Yes, it is, Copia. Welcome.”

“Is that…is that little Paul?!” Copia nearly squealed as he pointed towards the little face peering from between the metal railings. The boy Paul had a shock of messy dark hair and a wild look that was all too familiar. “He's a small version of Terzo! Look!”

“That had been my unfortunate impression as well,” Secundo replied flatly.

Terzo gave them all a painfully polite smile, then joked. “Not to worry, I had nothing to do with it.”

Nihil’s head whipped from Paul to Terzo. “Yes, definitely our little scamp! An even smaller Terzo, heh!” Both grandson and son threw him identical scowls.

“Do you remember us?” Copia asked Paul. The boy cocked his head, thinking. He was born at the Ministry but the whole family left by the time he was five. “I remember we took out my old trike and you were pedaling up and down the hallways…”

“I distinctly remember you pedaling up and down the hallways on his tricycle,” Secundo said with an amused smirk.

“Just that once! To teach him!” Copia shot back.

[They settle into the collection of couches and proceed to observe the newborn.]

“Nihil, would you—” Sandra frowned. The old man had fallen asleep in the recliner within the past five minutes. She chuckled. “Well then, we will try later! How about you, Terzo?”

Terzo furrowed his brow. “No, certainly not. No thank you, sorella.”

Secundo looked quietly invested from his place on the opposite couch. “He'll reconsider later.”

My AO3 Series | My FicList

Tagging @katyaoaksdottir @fishwithtitz and @thew0man and you, yes YOU!

#ghost fandom #ghost scenes from the void #ao3 author #ao3 fanfic #WIP whenever project #fluff fic #ghost band headcanons #papa emeritus ii #papa emeritus iii #cardinal copia #dad secondo

[romana-after-dark]

The Wrong Way (Dark Ending): Going Under Part 5 (Finale)

Raider!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Raider!Tommy Miller x Fem!Reader

Spotify Playlist

Summery: After you give birth to Ellie in the cabin, Joel fins you and Tommy, besting Tommy in a fight. What happens to you? What happens to Ellie, Tommy, Lorenzo and the rest of the family Little One has acquired? How does Little One learn to cope with her new reality? Does she fall into the darkness that surrounds Joel and all he touches? Can Joel really change for you and your daughter?

WARNINGS FOR FULL FIC, NOT CHAPTER BY CHAPTER UNLESS SOMETHING NEW IS ADDED AFTER MASTER WARNING LIST: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!!! Fic contains graphic depictions of sexual assault, rape, molestation, dubcon/non con. MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH WARNING, graphic violence, murder, manipulation, the horrors, Joel being Joel, Tommy being kinda pathetic, Joel's weird sexual fantasies, breeding kink, abuse of power. Just.... all the bad.

****************************

Joel watched the man struggle the chair he was tied to from where he stood in the basement of the stairwell waiting for you. The basement was dark, but a single light shined on the man. Alex was his name, a long term member of his group since years before you had come into his life. 

Earlier today, his wife had come to Tommy with a beaten and bloodied face claiming Alex had beaten her. Tommy spoke to neighbors, one of which had relayed she had heard shouting and Mrs. Cane crying from the house that night. This was enough for Tommy; no woman was beating her own face to falsely accuse her own husband. So, Tommy took him to the basement of his little jailhouse, leaving him in the chair for Joel. Tommy was the sheriff, but Joel dealt out justice. 

Not without your approval, of course.

When he heard the door to the basement open, Joel quickly walked up the 4 short steps to help you down. 9 months pregnant, you were ready to pop any day now with your third child. The day in the alley, the day Joel burned your father alive in front of you and you had allowed him to release inside you, you had conceived your son. He was 5 now, little Ellie dragging him and Able on adventure after adventure (mostly trouble). She was a leader, for sure. The name given to the little boy was what Ellie would have been if she was a boy, Caleb Thomas.

Since then, June had given birth to her and Tommy’s second child, Carly Jade, who was 2 months now; you and her had enjoyed a pregnancy together, taken care of by the two brothers. 

Joel aided you down the stairs, not willing to risk harm from even such a short fall. His protective nature never dwindled, even as you came into your own as the town leader. Things were going well, your little town taking on more and more production from farming and recently had been able to work on making textiles. Joel didn’t understand why you had insisted on spending so much time developing the sheep farm, until you had begun trading wool with other towns. In Wyoming, this was valuable.

 After the town’s people had been taken care of, you had begun facilitating trade outside of town. People were hesitant, of course, giving Joel’s reputation but once they met you, things went better. You were demoure, peaceful, empathetic, and your whole life you had to learn to be what people wanted from you. It was the result of unfathomable trauma, but it came in handy. Make no mistake, you were not going to be taken advantage of, not with Joel or one of his men standing by you at all times. Now that the sheep were going well, the next project was to increase the cattle. Calving this season had gone well and several cows would be ready for slaughter this summer and you wanted to put the cow hyde to use to make leather.

Only problem there was no one knew how to turn cow hide into leather. It was frustrating to say the least. Last year you’d been forced to slaughter a cow that had broken its ankle. It was younger, not quite adult yet and you would have liked to have seen it fed more, but there was nothing to be done at that point and you’d have to make use of what you could. One of the men had attempted to make leather, but it hadn’t gone well at all, the leather not strong enough to make jacket’s and shoes and boots like you had wanted. It was turned into a saddle and a few belts and that was that. Zach would have known, but you never learned that much. Tommy told you what you needed. You needed Jackson. Jackson had been blessed with a leather-maker and a cobbler; someone who could turn that leather into reliable boots. Problem was, Jackson didn’t trade with you. You hoped this would change today. You were meeting Maria today; she had agreed to come out to Jackson with the promise of wool just for meeting, seeing as you couldn’t exactly travel an hour out in your condition.

But first, Alex Cane.

“Hi little one, you look beautiful.” Joel greeted you with a kiss.

“Thank you, Joel.” As you take the last step, you turn on the light.

Alex laughs dryly. “Jesus, of course it’s you two.”

You tsk, tsk, tsk. “I’d like to say I thought better of you, Alex, but… I didn’t. I was wondering when you’d slip, honestly.” Alex was one of the men who had been mean to you at the house, and definitely one who had been prepared to rape you if you hadn’t been saved by Tommy. You had wanted him dead for a while now, but refused to abuse your power. Men like this would always out themselves. 

“I didn’t do shit.”

“Well your wife sure didn’t do that to her face herself.”

“She’s clumsy!”

“Sure.”

Alex turned to Joel “You’ve gone fucking soft, Joel! I’ve been with you for a decade, and now you want me dead just because your bitch-”

Joel stabbed him in the leg. “Don’t fucking talk about her like that!”

“Or what, you’ll kill me?” His laugh was dark and sardonic. “I know I’m already dead. It’s kind hypcrital of you, don’t you think? No rape, no beating women. What do you call what you did to her?” Alex nodded over to where you stood. This wasn’t the first accusation of hypocrisy Joel had gotten, and he did not care. He was Joel fucking Miller, and he did what he wanted. “At least Katie was an a grown ass woman, she was a fucking child when you brought her here, now she’s just as psychotic as you!” Another stab.

“Joooooel” You whine. “You keep at that he’s going to die before the fun begins.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” Joel draws you in, taking your mouth in his and wasting no time shoving his tongue down your throat. You can’t help but rub your pelvis against his leg. 

“God I’d suck you off right here if I didn’t have to get to the meeting.”

Joel knew what this did to you. After he killed, he was always rewarded with stellar sex. It turned you on, knowing what’d do for you and your family. Alex continued groaning in pain in th background.

“Mmmmm” he groaned. “C’mon, we don’t need Maria.”

“We do, I can’t keep fixing that hole in your shoe forever.”

Joel grumbled but helped you up the stairs. “So that’s a yes on killing him?”

“That’s a yes, thank you for all you do, baby. I might be a little late tonight. After the meeting I have to make sure Mrs. Cane is settled. Might move her to a different house if she wants, one with fresh memories for her and the kids.”

“Sounds good, I’ll have diner ready. Tommy going with you to see Maria, right?”

He never did trust Maria. Their beef went back further than you, or even Tommy. “Yes, dear. Not in the room, but he’ll be there.”

Joel nodded, giving a deep kiss as he sent you on your way. “I’ll check on the kids after I get cleaned up, don’t worry ‘bout them.” June was in charge of the childcare center. Figuring out a schooling system was proving difficult, but you were working on it. It’s not like the kids really needed to learn about George Washington anymore, but you wanted an educated populace as the town grew. Reading was essential, so you were all starting there, plus numbers. It was better than nothing. 

“Thank you, baby.” 

Joel swatted your butt as you left, and you turn around to see a prominant erection in his pants. Joel always killed more brutally when he was turned on, so you always make sure to work him up nice and good. Joel lets you leave out the door, and you smile at Tommy waiting for you. 

“Ready to see your ex-girlfriend, Tommy?” You tease him.

Tommy groans. “Not really, but if it’ll help Esperanza, I’ll do it.”

Tommy was a key member of keeping this town running. Women and children felt safe with him, his kind eyes easing them they way he always eased you. Tommy was better working with Joel instead of against; they made a good team, and between you and Tommy, you had managed to calm down Joel’s edge. 

Joel hadn’t changed, he’d aged. It had been almost ten years since Joel had taken you; a night that seemed so far away now. In his early 50’s Joel was far from weak. He was brutal, strong, impossing, but his anger had calmed down over the years, especially after Ellie’s birth. There had been a few nights Joel had gotten carried away in bed, days where his anger surged but you refused to allow your life to go back to what it had been. Your knife was on you all day every day; a gift from Joel all those years ago when he swore to you he’d do better. When Joel acted up, you took out your knife and reminded him that you had stabbed him before, way back in the cabin after giving birth to Ellie, and you would stab him again. You reminded him of your children, and now that it wasn’t just your life on the line anymore. You’d fight for your children.

You didn’t want to kill Joel. You could, easily. He slept next you to every night with your knife on the bedside table and it would not be hard to slice his throat… but you didn’t want to. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love him, first and foremost. You did, and you had for a long, long time. You enjoyed his company, he made you laugh, he cared for you when sick or pregnant or tied. You life as a housewife was over; your work was in town, although you certainly still helped run the household. Joel took on more of the childcare and you did more cooking, but that’s beause of your indiviual skills and enjoyments. Joel’s work with Ellie had taken her from a preme to a girl who was reaching physical milestones almost always ahead of time, so you let him take the lead on that. Cooking was your forte and you enjoyed it, so you did the evening cooking. Cleaning and housework was split, although Joel was doing more right now with the pregnancy.

There was also the fact Joel was the father of your children. Ellie and Caleb and now the impending birth of Loretta or Soren (hopfully this week) you wanted them to have a father. Tommy was not an option anymore, and you didn’t want him to be. He and June were very happy together with Able and Carly, and you were happy for them. You loved your niece and nephew very much, and they were under yours and Joel’s protection as much as your children were under theirs.

You knew if something happened to Joel, Tommy would be there for you, but Tommy would never be your husband. Even if Joel and June were out of the picture, you and him had a different bond now. Tommy was your brother, not a lover.

But also, Joel was essential to your town. He still did raiding, but that as slowly fading away in favor of running as a normal town. Of course, the brutal exicutions would never fly in Jackson, but that was the standard that had been set, and you were happy to see the improved enviorment in Esperanza.

Tommy escorted you into the room Maria was in. She was standing, although there were chairs at the table.

Maria greeted you, and then Tommy.

Tommy smiled shyly. “Maria, been a while.” Tommy had not seen Maria since the night he left with you. Being trapped back at the house for months prevented him from going, but he managed to send word out. Tommy was always good at persuading people. 

Maria showed no bitterness. “Sure has, heard you had a few kids of your own now, congratulations.”

“Congratulations on yours too.”

Tommy excused himself and closed the door, although he was behind the two way mirror; Joel’s condition for allowing you to meet alone with Maria.

You spoke first. “Thank you so much for meeting me, Maria.” You attempted to sound as gracious as you could, your social skills having been carefully honed in. Over the years, many people under Joel’s rule hadopted to leave their homes in order to join Esperanza, the community you had built being better than the failing farms. The more people in town the better, and you prided yourself on present a good front in contrast to Joel’s horrors.

“Thank you for having me, but I’m afraid as I’ve said, I have no interest in making deals. It’s not personal, it’s policy. Wool won’t by me out.”

“It’s not to buy you out.” You implure. “It’s for you to hear me out, will you at least do me that?” You implore with her.

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you saying if I don’t agree, you won’t give me the wool?” 

“No.” You were quick to assure. You didn’t not play game, you tried to foster goodwill. “The wool promised should already be loaded on your horse, I won’t take that away. I would like to have a good faith conversation, if possible, but the wool isn’t contingent on that.”

Maria stayed silent for a while, looking at you now and you knew she must be curious to the change that had happened. “Contingent…” she muttered. “Big word.” You are put a little on defense, retorting that you can and do read, but she only watched you before shaking her head. “Jackson doesn’t deal with raiders.”

A little frustrated, placing your hands down on the table and leaning in as you press on. “But I’m trying to move away from that!” Can’t she see your vision? How can you make her understand what you’re trying to do? You had caught her attention.

“What do you mean?”

With vigor, you take the oppritunity to plead your case, to let her in on what you and Tommy had been planning, what everything that had happened since the day Joel promised you a town had been leading to. “I want to end the raiding. It’s slowed significant, you have to have noticed that.”

She had. “You’re telling me that Joel Miller is going to hang up his gang? Not happening.

“Oh god no.” You laughed. “Never. But his focus has shifted. You don’t understand Maria, but he’s my muscle. I’m running the show. This is my town, everything happening here I built. Joel answers to me.”

At the very least, she was listening. That’s what you need, just a window… “And where does Jackson come in?”

“We still have needs. A lot of needs. Things have going well but one harsh winter and everything could fall apart. The more resources we have, the better chance we have of staying standing. I need this leather. I need to be able to use the hydes we have, we need to be able to utalize every single resource we have. We aren’t asking for materials, we’re asking to learn. My hope is within a few years, to pull the last of the focus away from raiding completely and use the man power to our to the ranch. No more raiding.”

Maria watched you. You felt on display but were determined not to crack ands she mauled over her thoughts. “You’ve grown up a lot, you know.”

“I know.” You did. At 28, you were far from the girl you were when Joel took you. 

“It’s impressive, everything you’ve done here. It really is.”

“Thank you. It was all for Ellie.”

“You know… Whenever I hear your name, or get a message from you… I think of that first day…”

You shuffle in your seat a little… you didn’t like thinking about that. “Yeah.”

Maria shook her head. “I didn’t think you’d last a month. You were so young, so fragile…”

“I get it.” 

“Then a year later you show up on my door and you look like you got trampled by a horse.”

“Maria”

“The absolute shit beat out of you and 8 months pregnant and I here you give birth and Joel finds you? I thought there was no way you make it, absolutely no way someone like you-”

“Someone like me?”

“Would make it through someone like Joel.”

“I’m not-”

She leaned in. “What the hell happened?”

You sigh. “Same thing women have done for centuries, Maria. Look, I’m not you. However you got where you are, that’s great, but that has never been my position in life. Joel is crazy, Maria. He still is. I have freedom now but I can’t leave. So I did what women of powerful men have always done. I use sex and charm to manipulate. I had a baby, I gave him his daughter back so I became this saint to him, I brought a miracle, and I still am.” You rub your swollen stomach. “Maybe I’m fragile, maybe I’m weak and I always have been, but I don’t think so. I survived the worst possible things someone can go through, horrible, horrible things that I know damn well you have not experienced, Maria. But I fucking lived. Not just surviving, I lived. I have a good life, I provided a good life for my kids, and I created a world here where women and children do not have to suffer like I have. That’s what I'm trying to do here, and I do not think that is fragile, that’s not weak, and that’s not little.”

Maria just sat there, watching you talk as you asserted yourself. You had a lot of pride for what you’d built here and you did not appreciate her looking at you like a child. “Send word when you’re ready to slaughter, I’ll send out a few men and they’ll teach you” She stood up, making her way to the door. 

You are a little in shock, but scramble to follow after her. “Wait, what do you want in return?”

Tommy catches you as you head towards the stairs, helping you down as Maria get’s to her horse.

Maria climbed on the saddle now loaded with the promised materials. She turned to you. “Just feed the guys, give them lodging. If you wanna give them a thank you that's great but I won't require anything for the town.”

You blink up at her, bewildered. “Wait, really? Why…”

Maria smiled at you. “You’re doing good here. It’s impressive, and I want to see it flourish.” She nodded at Tommy and went on her way.

Tommy put an arm around you and kissed your head as you leaned into him. “Great job, honey. I’m proud.”

“Thank you.” You smiled. You were proud of yourself too.

*

Joel held you in his arms as he always did after a bath. Both of your hands were placed over your stomach as the thunder storm rolled outside. You’d done the unspoken promise, giving him the ride of his life after the kids were put to bed, and it seemed the baby inside you was very active. Joel loved feeling the little kicks, just as he did with Ellie, feeling her very first kick. You and Joel finally had a chance to talk about the day, and you told him that you’d be getting the help from the tradesmen. Joel expressed his pride to you fervently with his mouth, both in words and between your legs.

Joel kissed your neck. “Beautiful mami… can’t believe how much you do while growing another baby.” 

“I couldn’t do it without you, Joel” and you couldn’t. Everything was built with the help of your family, you were just the leader.

An exceptionally loud crack of thunder made you jump, but Joel’s hands steadied you.

 “I got you, little one.”

“You always do.”

You lay your head back on his warm chest, starting to drift off into sleep when the door opens. The door crack revealed Ellie, propositioning Caleb in front of her.

“Caleb’s scared of the thunderstorm.” Another bought of thunder revealed it was Ellie who jumped, not Caleb.

You began to move off Joel’s lap, and he aided you before coaxing the kids over. “Would you guys like to sleep with me and mommy tonight?”

Ellie still tried to put on a brave face. “Um. Maybe for a little bit.” Then quickly added. “Just to make sure Caleb is okay.”

“Sure, baby girl.”

The subsequent lightning saw both children scrambling to their parent’s arms. Ellie situated herself between Joel and you, cuddling up in your arms as Caleb took his place in his fathers arms. 

You think back to all those years ago, those horrible, horrible months after Joel took you back, how you thought Ellie hated you. You were so certain she’d grow up and turn against you, but your daughter adored you. The two of you were very different, that much was obvious. Even in the throws of pregnancy and hard work you preferred to wear dresses. Joel still brought you home nice clothes and still dressed you, although you had to make sure they were practical. Ellie on the other hand was pretty much strictly pants and t-shirts. While Ellie had no interest in cooking, she liked to sit and watch you while the two of you talked. She spent a lot of time with Joel as well. Joel was determined to make sure she could defend herself and taught her how to shoot just as he did with Caleb, but Ellie had more interest. He saw leadership in her he wanted to cultivate. 

Caleb was a lot like Tommy. He was a follower, and would fight for Ellie to the death. He was strong, but was more of a joiner than a leader. That was okay, not everyone could lead, but Caleb was a moral center. He was gentle by nature, and despite being younger than Able he was protective of Able as well. Able often found himself in trouble. Not that he was a bad kid, just adventurous and without Ellie’s forethought. He was a good kid, through and through, and often tried to take the fall for Ellie and Able despite everyone knowing nothing was his idea. He was no coward. You had worried Joel wouldn’t care for son, that he wouldn’t bond, and you were nearly certain if Ellie hadn’t come first, he wouldn’t have felt much of a connection, but because Ellie had fulfilled the role of his lost daughter, there was room now for a son. Joel loved him dearly, even if Caleb didn’t have the same interests Ellie did. Caleb was close with Tommy, and June too, and Tommy often spent time with Caleb when Joel took Ellie and Able to the things they enjoyed. Caleb liked to watch Tommy work, and was June’ biggest helper in school.

As the kids and Joel fell asleep, you stayed up just a little bit longer just to watch them. Years ago, you never thought this life was possible for you. Not even just with Joel, but with long before. Your dads abuse left you feeling like you had little value, like there was little hope for a life outside the abuse. 

But you had found it. You found a family and a community even if it wasn’t exactly Cinderella. Your husband was insane and had done horrible things to you that you could never fully forgive, but really, what did that matter now. He had his outlets now and had provided a life to you that you could not help but be thankful for. You loved him. You couldn’t help it. Not when he was so gentle, so strong, so handsome, so protective…

 You had a strong, powerful daughter that took no shit and was running the world around her. You had a son who was displaying the best and most positive traits of the men in your life. You had a third child on the way that was so far healthy and a niece and nephew you loved so fucking much. You had Tommy, a brother-in-law you could now depend on in a way you hadn’t before. Tommy had been idolized by you, a prince charming that never really delivered. Now, however, Tommy had come into his own. He was no longer under Joel, he prospered as his own husband with his own wife and children. You had June, your lifelong best friend, who was right beside you and was thriving as a teacher and mother.

The only thing missing were your brothers. You missed them, you missed them so fucking much it hurt sometimes and you spent a lot of time at their grave. You hoped every day you made them proud. Zach and Lorenzo’s last words to you had been to take care of Ellie, and god you had tried. You told Maria you had built this town for Ellie, and you had… but always in the back of your mind you had built it for Zach and Lorenzo. It was to honor them. Many times you found yourself at their grave that Joel had moved to Esperanza, you just cried and told them you were sorry. You’d done so much for your family and for your town, but none of it would bring them back.

But there was no time to dwell. Joel and Tommy could not sit and mourn Sarah. Tommy could not sit and mourn Jack and Lorenzo. June could not sit and mourn Zach. You all had a life now, a world, a town, children. Life finds a way. 

So you press on. You cry and then press on. But you never forget any of them. Still, despite all the loss you look at the world in your bed right now, your growing family and your family next door.

Despite the horrors, despite the loss, you had a good life.

Finally, you were happy.

*************************

This really didn't end up as dark an ending as i meant it to be, but i guess it's just the fact joel one. In the canon ending everyone loses, honestly, bt joel reaped the fruits of his bullshit. He lost his wife, child, and brother

plus, zach and lorenzo are ded ;-;

but, honestly, what an improvement for little one and those kids? she's really come into her own and im so proud <3

thank you sooooo much for the support!!! I will be taking quite a break from writing anything in universe, but as always I welcome thoughts in any of the time lines!!!

What am i working on now? My lastest dark joel series is a handmaids tale au, blessed be the fruit.

want dark! reader x dark! joel? try guard dog (more coming soon!)

and a dark!triple frontier fic that may ormay not be gettng a part 2!

@pimosworld @rubyfruitjungle @moriartyyouwhore @k-ra @the-fox-den @jenna-ortega @alwaysmicado @lunar-ghoulie @ladynightingale @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @maura-honey @fandxmslxt69 @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @miraclesabound @koshkaj-blog

#Joel Miller #Joel Miller smut #tw rape #dub con #non con #dark joel miller #romana after dark #dark!Joel #the last of us hbo #joel miller fic #joel miller reader #joel miller reade smut #dark joel miller reader #tommy miller fem reader #tommy miller smut #tommy miller fem!reader #the wrong way fic #the wrong way series #tommy miller