#the hate in dexter's broken voice

[smok3r7]

New Traditions // Valentine’s Day Oneshot

Joel x f!reader

Explicit, 18+

Main Masterlist & My AO3

Summary: The last Valentine’s Day two years ago has shattered your view of the so-called holiday. When Joel brings up the idea, you shut him down immediately, but he doesn’t listen. He hopes he can change your opinion on the holiday of Love.

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: No outbreak AU, no Sarah or Ellie, slight angst, fingered, FLUFF

—

“What woman doesn’t love Valentine’s Day?” Joel questions as he lets your bent knees fall on his lap and lays one of his hands on your bare skin. The question throws you off, it’s a no-brainer; your face furrows instinctively.

“I guess just me,” you shrug your shoulders and laugh, “I just- I don’t have the best memories, is all. Ended up catching my ex of five years cheating on me two years ago with my receptionist. In my own home, might I add. So, safe to say that I despise this bullshit holiday.”

“You’re serious?”

“Yeah…fucking Adrianna, the gremlin lookin’ bitch.”

“Welp, his loss. So fuck ‘em.” Joel winks at you, causing you to chuckle and slightly shake your head.

“Thank you, but don’t think my feelings are gonna change just ‘cause you said that. Gonna take a lot for that to happen - if that’s even possible.”

“Oh baby, I got a week to think of somethin’ to do for you. But if it doesn’t work, I won’t try again okay?”

You give him a glance as your head lays in the palm of your hand, propped up by your elbow on the back of the loveseat. “Don’t go out of your way, baby, okay? I promise, I’m okay with doin’ nothing special or even related to it. Nothings gotta change, alright?” Your tone has more of an edge than before, making sure he understands that you really, really don’t want to do anything.

Joel must’ve heard the tension in your voice because he just nods his head, yes ma’am. He slowly leans closer and lays a soft kiss on your forehead as he cups your face with his large hands. Both of you turn your attention back to the TV that’s playing an old episode of Dexter, with both of you understanding your wishes.

—

The memory of that conversation finally clicks in your brain as you stand by the round kitchen table, with a mixture of fresh fruits and homemade omelets as Joel stands behind the wooden chair he’s waiting for you to sit in; you’re baffled.

“Joel, I told yo-“

“Don’t, I don’t want to hear it from you.” He interrupts your strong protest, before it can even begin. “Now, here’s the plan for toda-“

“But I said-“ you glare at his face when you cut him off, starting to become irritated because you really did want today to be the same. You just wanted to enjoy the day with Joel with no special treatment, but the fact that he didn’t listen to your wishes from a week ago kills you on the inside.

Why didn’t you just listen to me?

Joel interrupts your sentence by barking your name loud, this is when your body language shifts. Your arms quickly fold in front of your chest, your weight shifts to your left hip, and you just stare into his face with tears starting to blur your vision.

You hate to be yelled at, hell, scolded would be a better word for it. This has always been an issue for you; the minute you feel like a man goes against your wishes and then scolds you for arguing about it - you shut down and start to crack.

An eerie silence coats the walls of the kitchen that surrounds you and Joel. It feels like time has stopped, he stands in front of you with both hands wrapped around the rectangular dark wood chair and his face sharp. Although you’re about eye level to Joel, you somehow still feel small and broken as he looks into your eyes; you’re not quite sure what to do or think.

You look up slightly and start to rapidly blink so you can try to stop the tears from rolling, so you don’t seem like this weak little girl, but this just happens to cause the salty drops to fall. With a fifteen year age gap between you and Joel, there are times you do feel like a child and it twists your stomach into knots.

Your lips quiver from a smile, to biting your bottom lip, to being slightly pursed, all because you’re trying not to lose it completely.

“You went a-against my wishes, Joel,” you barely whisper, lowering your sight back to him in front of you.

“Just-“ he removes his fingers from the chair and turns his body to face you, now only about three feet apart from you.

“Please sit down n’ eat this breakfast, okay, baby?” He questions quietly, which causes his southern accent to vibrate through your ears.

Still with your arms crossed and body weight on your left side of your body, your eyes shift from his face to the delicious food on the table - that he clearly got up early and prepared for you. You don’t say anything when you look back at him, all you do is nod and wipe the tears from your face.

“Thank you,” Joel sighs, he then stands back and lets you sit down as he pushes the chair in behind you, and he kisses the top of your head, then walks to his seat across the small table from you and sits down.

Breakfast is eaten in silence, but a different one than before. This time, the silence feels comfortable and calm, no tension or eeriness in the walls. It’s just the scrapes of the knives and forks on the glass plates, mixed with the chewing from the two ends of the table, that fill your ears.

So delicious, my god.

By the time you clear your plate Joel is already standing up and reaches for your dishes. Instinctively, you move to stop him, but your brain stops your body from rejecting and you decide to sit back in the chair instead.

“Thank you,” you whisper as you scan your eyes up the large body only inches away from you.

“No need, darlin’,” he responds, staring down at you, he then turns and walks towards the sink and sets down the dishes with a soft, clink. “Now, I want you to head upstairs n’ wait in the bathroom for me. I’ll be right up.”

Your brain still isn’t functioning how it should be, and a large part of you wants to scream at him about how you don’t need to be treated with special treatment. But then the other part of you wants to accept this for what it is, that this man is madly in love with you and desires to treat you to special things.

An even smaller piece of yourself really does want to enjoy Valentine’s Day, it’s always sounded like a sweet thing; maybe this is the time.

So you know this isn’t a time to argue; instead, you smile when you stand up, and you don’t say anything when you walk in the direction of the landing that leads to the staircase. As you hesitantly step onto the dark carpeted landing, you hear the faint sound of the faucet turn on and the clinks of dishes in the kitchen.

The corners of your lips softly curl, and you continue up the staircase. The dishes are a part of the cleaning you did around the house - you and Joel split the chores around the large home, it was something that seemed fair for the both of you so no one got overwhelmed or felt taken advantage of.

So, the fact that he is taking the time to do something off of your list causes your heart to flutter. You reach the top of the stairs and head in the direction of Joel’s, and now your, bedroom. When you gently push the door open, your nose is filled with the scent of Joel, the musky scent of his cologne and his shirts lingering in an intoxicating way; this warm tender feeling forms in your belly, you feel so loved.

You just have to accept that Joel wants to do this, it’s not a chore for him, it’s a desperate need that he has.

Swiftly, you walk through the bedroom to reach the master bathroom that’s connected, and you slide the large barn style door open to the sight of tall candles lit and spaced out on the white tile floor and the outer edge of the porcelain tub, a small chair with bottles that read “Shampoo, Conditioner, Butter Cream Bubble Bath” next to the tub, and two white towels on the back of the chair.

When did he have time to do this? You whisper to yourself as you set your bare feet onto the cool tile, sliding the door closed behind you to keep the warm air from the heater confined to the bathroom. Your mind is trying to jumble ideas together, but comes up completely blank.

You still hear the sounds of dishes and water running downstairs, n’ wait for me. A smile grows on your lips, your cheeks warm up, and your belly spins and spins from anticipation. You spot your plush gray robe hanging on the hooks next to Joel’s black one, that’s hung up besides the glass standing shower.

So you decide to strip your pajamas off, the black tank top and sleep shorts dropping them in a small pile on the tile floor beneath your feet. Your right hand grabs the robe off the wall and swings it around your bare body so you can slip your arms through, and wrap the soft fabric around the front of yourself, as you do a little tie to keep it loosely together.

When you spin around to observe the bathroom from this side of the room, the soft glow from the candles is still just as breathtaking and beautiful. You catch the spot on the counter between the two sinks is empty like normal, at least something is the same. It’s the spot you sit whenever Joel shaves, brushes his teeth, showers - honestly, whenever he’s in here.

To keep some kind of routine and normalcy, you stride over to the counter and turn around so you can push your body up and set your ass onto the white and gray marble counter. Why does he insist on doing this? I’m not deserving of this kinda love and affection, it just doesn't seem real.

Your legs dangle off of the edge as you wait to hear the thumps from his feet on the stairs and the creak from sliding the door that separates you from the rest of the house. By now, the noises from downstairs have stopped and it’s only a matter of time until he’s in front of you.

The same time that you lean back onto the large mirror behind you, the barn door to your right gently slides open. The biggest smile appears on your face when you see him standing there, holding a long tray that’s filled with some more fruits cut up, but this time they’re covered in a white chocolate.

“Baby,” you purr as you sit up straight and he closes the door, then walks towards you on the counter and sets down the tray on the other side of the sink. Without saying anything, he turns around and turns the tub faucet on and to the hottest setting, and steam slowly rises from the water. Then he turns and brings his large body between your dangling legs, his hands placed on your hips, and he lowers his head to kiss you.

Your eyes start to well with tears as you kiss him back, but these are happy tears. You’ve never been treated with such care and tenderness, it’s very refreshing to know that a man is still capable of doing simple and effective gestures. Naturally, your arms hook around the back of his neck, which pulls your body right up to his; the smell of sweat, dish soap, and spices from breakfast overpower your nose.

God, he’s perfect.

“Okay, darlin’,” Joel sighs between the last couple kisses before he hesitates to pull away from you. “I want you to know that today is meant for you n’ that I want you to learn to love today. Cause’ you’re meant to, alright?”

With your hands playing with the curls that lay on the nape of his neck, you smile and nod as you stare into his soul-catching whiskey eyes, yes sir.

The smirk that appears on his face has your stomach doing flips, your hips instinctively grinding on his lower abdomen. His fingers dig deeper into your hips that’s covered by your robe as he groans under his breath, his eyes staring daggers into yours, trying so hard to not give in on his desires.

“Stop tryna’ distract me,” he tells you as he smiles and backs away from your jello-like body. Your arms drop in your lap as you watch him spin around and turn the tub faucet off, grab the bottle that reads “Butter Cream Bubble Bath” and squeeze a good amount into the water, and he swirls the steaming hot liquid. Bubbles start to appear just above the rim of the white bathtub, you can’t help but smile like a child waiting to be put in the bath after a long day.

Joel then brings his attention back to you, and the butterflies begin to appear like they did the first time you laid eyes on him at the bar where you met. The way his head cocks to the side to try to analyze you and your reactions tells you that he’s really trying to understand you fully, which you absolutely love.

He steps between your legs again, but this time his hands find a place underneath your ass and your arms hook around his neck once again. Joel then pulls you up, your legs latch around his waist, and your face rests in the crook of his neck, now lined with droplets of sweat from the warmth and humidity of the bathroom. You inhale once again, you can’t help it - you’re just so intoxicated by the smell of him, it’s almost an addiction.

But, just as soon as he lifts you up, he’s kneeling down and sitting you on the edge of the bathtub. You pout your lip at the loss of the body contact, your arms still around his neck as he kneels in front of you, his face now parallel to your chest.

“Don’t wanna’ get this wet, do ya?” His voice is deep and low as his hand reaches for the tie at your waist, his fingers slowly pulling the string keeping the piece of clothing together. You chuckle at his sudden confidence change, and you love when he does this, it somehow makes you fall even more in love with him.

His hands rise up to your shoulders and he gently pulls the fabric off of your body, letting the soft robe pile around your ass and thighs. His eyes gaze up and down your bare body, lingering on every inch of your skin like he’s eyeing his food, about to devour.

You slightly shiver from the warm air that hits your bare skin, Joel’s eyes move to your tits and he watches how your nipples perk from the humid air that circulates around the room. He licks his lips and mumbles something to himself, between the heater on the floor and the thumping of your heart in your ears you can’t make out what he’s said.

Both of his hands are placed on the top of your thigh and his thumbs start to do small up and down sort of motions. Your cunt beats at the same rhythm as your heart, a swirling feeling growing stronger in your belly, and you try to move your hips for some sort of friction. But your body is stuck from the grip Joel has on your thighs. You slightly whine and he smiles at seeing you losing your control.

“Now, spin your little self around n’ sink in.”

You do as he says with no hesitation, no questions, and no arguing. When you spin around and sink your feet into the bubbly steaming water, you’re immediately wrapped in warmth. Hhmm, you moan as you shut your eyes and fully submerge your body into the tub, laying your back on the porcelain behind you.

The water is almost at a scalding temperature, but it feels amazing on your skin, immediately relaxing the tension in your limbs that you didn’t even notice before.

“There you go, babygirl’, just relax n’ I’ll be downstairs, yell for me if ya’ need me.”

“Wait-“ you quickly say as your eyes shoot open and you lift your body up, causing your tits to surface from the water with clouds of soapy bubbles over them. Joel stops his movements and looks at you in the bathtub, waiting to hear what you have to say.

“You’re not gonna come in with me?”

Joel’s jaw clenches at your soft voice and the question, “Only if ya’ want me to,” he smirks back at you. All you do is nod and move your body closer to the faucet so he can slide in behind you. He watches the way the water moves with your body, and he starts to strip himself of the basketball shorts and his dark gray t-shirt, dropping them in the pile of your clothes.

Your cunt clenches at the sight of Joel naked in front of you. His chest and belly full of dark hair, his tan skin underneath, his cock hard up against his lower abdomen, and his thick legs beneath - he’s the perfect man, physically and emotionally.

He steps over the ledge and sinks into the same water you’re in, the bubbles and water now only an inch away from spilling over the edge of the tub. He slowly maneuvers your body so your back is against his chest, and you feel his cock lay against your lower back. Your head falls to his shoulder and leans into the crook of his neck, and your hands rest on his thighs that bend on the outside of yours.

Joel’s strong arms hook around your waist, one hand spreads against your lower belly and his right hand lightly grabs your inner thigh and raises it out of the water to hook your calf on the outer edge of the tub. The drastic temperature change between the water and the air causes goosebumps to rise on your skin, and Joel chuckles. You feel the rumble at your back as he does.

“Now, I want you to listen,” he whispers in your ear as he drags his fingers down your thigh and submerges back into the bubbles and water, stopping right at the crease before your mound.

“My moon n’ stars, you’re beautiful inside n’ out.” He bends his face and you feel his stubble tickle your neck as he starts to leave soft kisses between his words. His hands are still on your lower belly and thigh, giving soft squeezes to your skin; the mixture of it all causes soft moans to escape your lips, but you want more.

“You deserve nothin’ but the best things in life,” the hand on your thigh lowers and hovers over your aching cunt; your hips rise to try to feel him, causing the water to spill a little bit.

“My baby’s needy, huh?”

Mhmm, is all you can force yourself to do as you dig your fingers into his thick thighs and bite your bottom lip as you let him continue to leave sloppy kisses on your neck. Your stomach feels like it has dropped into a sinkhole, you’re just waiting for his touch so you can relax that overwhelming feeling. And just like that, his middle and ring finger swipe from your slick hole to your clit, your back arches and a broken moan leaves your throat from the sensation.

“Love when you finally give in, the noises you make,” his two fingers softly circle your clit and your right hand comes up to hook around the back of his head as you turn your face to meet him.

“N’ the way your body moves,” he whispers into your mouth as he kisses you with moans between each one. His fingers swirl slow circles on your clit for a moment before he lowers them and slowly inserts them in your small hole. The moan that leaves your lips is swallowed by Joel’s kisses as he pumps his fingers in and out, “So tight baby, relax,”

You try but you can’t. You’re so overstimulated from his fingers, his palm hitting your clit with each thrust, his cock throbbing behind you, and his other hand now pinching your left nipple.

I love you, my sweet girl, you look so damn pretty when you’re full of my fingers, your cheeks get so flushed and the way you can’t form words, just drunk off of the love.

You’ve never felt so loved before, this was all about you and Joel being able to do things for you - you’re finally starting to understand the appeal of Valentine’s Day. Pure love.

“That’s it darlin’, just like that. I’m right here.”

You break the kiss and lean your face into his neck, arm still wrapped around his head behind you, and you finally let that coil snap. With the last pump of his fingers, your back arches and you feel this tension release in your hips. Joel, fuck, you repeat into his neck as you calm down from the orgasm he just ripped from you, as he continues to slowly thrust his fingers in and out of you.

Shhh, pretty girl, I gotchu, he purrs as his left arm lowers around your waist so you don’t slide down too far into the water.

By now the water has cooled down, and it’s still warm but any longer and the two of you will be laying in a cool bath, which is fun for no one. Joel waits until your breathing has calmed down, and when it does, he taps your thigh that’s still hooked onto the outside of the tub. It jumps a little before you submerge it back into the bath water.

You and Joel chuckle at your body’s response, “You ready, dear?” You lift your face to look into his and you nod with a fucked-out look on yours. “You gotta carry me though,” you laugh as you say it, causing Joel to smile ear-to-ear and a deep laugh leaves his chest, “Was already plannin’ on it baby.”

Joel taps you once again to tell you to lean forward for him to get out, which you do. You watch him grab his black robe off the wall and slip it on as he ties it loosely in front of him. He then goes to grab yours and throws it over his shoulder, his hands then reach for yours to grab onto. You smile as you lift your hands into his and with the help of him pulling, you’re able to stand up and step out of the white tub. Water and suds drip down your body as Joel brings your rope around your body and lets you slide your arms into the soft material, then he ties the string to keep it together.

The smile has not dropped from your face, and you don’t think it will any time soon. Joel now has a softer smile over his, like he sees your opinion changing of valentine's right in front of him.

Joel takes your hand and leads you to the barn door once more as he opens it and tells you to lay down on the king size mattress you two share. Your brain is too foggy to try to refuse, so you climb on the navy comforter that smells of Joel. When you reach the pillows and turn around to lean against the headboard, you notice Joel holding the tray that’s full of the chocolate covered fruits that you forgot about.

Your face lights up as the sight of the chocolate strawberries, pineapples, and melons. So much so that Joel chuckles, I knew you forgot about these. He walks over to the side of the bed and sets the tray on your lap, he then grabs the TV remote that’s on your nightstand and he turns it to the station that plays movies that you always seem to love.

As you shove your face with the fruit, you also watch the guide on the TV as Joel scrolls and you look in the top left corner which reads, “2:48PM”. You almost choke when you realize that you two spent over an hour and a half in the bath, it definitely did not seem that long.

“There it is,” Joel says out loud as he clicks on the 234 channel, “Look at that, Good Will Hunting,” he turns his body to gauge your reaction, which is amazing nonetheless.

“How did-“

“Don’t. A magician never reveals his secrets. Now, I’m gonna’ go start dinner-“

“You’re not gonna watch with me?” You pout, setting down the small strawberry you were about to pop into your mouth.

“I mean, I had a couple more things planned, darlin’.” He replies but he watches your posture and how your eyes lower with sadness, it’s like a gut punch to him to see you like this.

“But if you’d rather sit up here n’ watch this, I’d be more than happy to do that with you.”

Your face brightens when you hear his voice tell you that with pure sincerity. You nod your head quickly, yes, please, baby, spills out of your mouth and you scoot over for him to sit next to you. He chuckles and climbs into the spot you cleared for him. “Wanna’ share?” he asks with a smirk on his face.

The laugh that leaves your chest causes Joel to blush and smile like an idiot. “My bad baby, of course.” You grab the tray and lay half of it on your lap and the other half on Joel’s. You lean into Joel’s side, he lifts his arm and rests it over your opposite shoulder as the two of you watch Matt Damon solve a ridiculous math question.

“So did I change your mind?” Joel’s question vibrates your body against his.

You take a second to answer him, you raise your eyes off of the TV and to Joel’s face where he’s already looking at yours below him.

“Order some Chinese takeout, and you sure did.”

Joel’s laughs and shakes his head, deal, darlin’. The same smile you had from the bath, takes over your face again as you push yourself up to kiss his soft lips.

“I love you, thank you.”

“Anything for you pretty girl, I love you more than the moon n’ stars combined.”

He kisses you one more time before he grabs his phone from his nightstand and goes to the menu for your favorite Chinese restaurant down the street. You bury your body more into Joel’s black robe, and you lower your eyes back to the movie.

Matt Damon bangs on the restaurant window, “You like apples?” The other dude nods his head, and Matt slams the napkin with the girl's number on it on the window, “How do you like them apples?” All his friends laugh as they walk into the street.

#joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #joel miller one shot #valentines day #joel miller fic #joel miller imagine #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction

[klbwriting]

Broken Prism

Chapter 21

Fandom: Red Hood

Pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader

Warnings: o this chapter has some fucked up stuff in it, mentions of body mutilation, child death

Summary: Batman and Red Hood go to the scene of the crime, then find out about another murder

Taglist: @amberpanda99 if you would like added to the taglist let me know!

The GCPD didn’t trust Red Hood, so Batman was the only one allowed at the crime scene. Jason waited across the street, not sure what to do honestly. Who killed a family like this? What kind of absolute monster? It made him sick. He paced, watching the cops, who were watching him back. He saw a mix pride and anger depending on the face. He figured they either loved that he had taken out Joker, saving them some work later, or hated him, wanting to get the big score themselves. He wanted to walk over, get as close a look at the scene as possible, but he didn’t want someone to get trigger happy and try shooting him. Finally, after what seemed like eternity, Batman walked over to him.

“Gordon is willing to let you walk the scene with me,” he said. Jason nodded and followed him, the cops parting enough so they could get through.

“Since when is Batman friendly with murderers?” “Who does this idiot think he is? A Nightwing ripoff?” “He killed Joker, we should be groveling at his feet right now.” He wanted to scream at them, tell them what had happened, why he had become this person. He shook himself, they wouldn’t understand, ever, and he had made his bed, now he had to lie in it. He followed Batman into the dining room and stared. The family was seated for dinner, the food still on their plates. The parents were eating meatloaf, looks like the kids were having chicken nuggets. Their throats had been slit, which was the only decent thing this monster did. The rest of the scene was haunting.

“Emily Dervish, Dexter Dervish, their children, 7-year-old Amelia, and 4-year-old Tyson,” Gordon explained, voice coming out staggered at the sight. “We will have to wait for the coroner to be sure.”

“Sure of what?” Jason asked, unable to take his eyes off the children.

“To be sure if they were alive or dead when the killer cut off their faces.”

After another hour scouring for evidence and finding nothing Jason and Batman were about to head back to the cave, see if they could find anything there, when another officer came over to Gordon, whispering to him. They watched his face grow ashen and he nodded solemnly.

“There’s been another murder…not completely the same, but they left a note,” he said. “You two better come with me.”

Across town at the McCreary’s Pub there were cops keeping curious onlookers away. Despite it being early morning at this point people were still curious when they saw police tape and a medical examiner’s van. They brought out phones and started taking pictures when Batman and Red Hood arrived. Jason was really glad he hadn’t done the whole social media thing now, he couldn’t imagine what Twitter looked like, him and Batman working together. All those concerns left his mind when he entered the bar. There were at least a dozen bodies, all seated like they had been enjoying a night out, lifeless eyes staring up the ceiling, posed as if gazing towards Heaven.

“What the fuck,” Jason muttered. Batman wandered the room slowly, looking at different angles. Jason started, but then his eyes were drawn to the mirror behind the bar. Once again, a message in blood, the shaping of the letters completely different from the last crime scene.

DID YOU SEE HIM YET RED HOOD?

Batman stared at the message also and then looked at Gordon, nodding his head for the room to be cleared. The commissioner sighed and called for his guys to vacate for a few minutes, letting the vigilantes have the room. Jason started looking at the faces of the patrons, wondering who he was looking for. While Jason looked at faces, Batman looked at him. He could feel the man’s eyes, probably trying to read his body language, see how his mind was at the moment. He wouldn’t lie, his mind was fuzzy, the sight of all this death was almost too much for him to handle and he had been an assassin once. He was trying to avoid staring at the gaping holes in the victims’ chests.

“Why do you think they took the faces and the hearts?” Jason asked, trying to focus in on the case, ignore the dread rising in his chest.

“I am not sure, but we are most definitely dealing with at least two people who are very annoyed at you,” Batman said. Jason didn’t like that, that Batman was already blaming these deaths on him. ‘If you hadn’t killed Joker all these people might be alive’ he could Bruce’s voice in his head, the accusations stinging. “Do you know someone here?” Jason shook his head as he rounded to the back of the bar and stared.

“Ya, I do,” he said, eyes falling on Auggie Valentine. “This guy, um, he was my best, well my only friend in Crime Alley, before you took me in.” He looked at Batman and Batman stormed out of the bar. This was bad. Very bad. If this person had killed one of Jason’s friends that meant they knew who Red Hood was. They knew where he lived. He took off running, climbing on his bike and driving like the devil possessed him back to the cave. He had to know if YN was safe.

You were watching the monitor with Alfred, Dick, Barbara, and Tim, listening to Bruce and Jason talk about the murders. You were horrified by the family, and the bar just made things worse. Then Jason mentioned knowing the bartender and your blood ran cold. Someone knew. Someone knew Jason was Red Hood. The others noticed also, and they started looking around, maybe for listening devices, cameras, maybe for a person hiding in the shadows ready to attack. You sat the computer, staring at the live feed video from Batman’s cowl. You looked at the body of the bartender, noticing that you knew him too. He had been a loyal informant against Black Mask back when you were looking into him. Did the bartender know more than he said? Bartenders knew a lot of things that most people didn’t realize, and he had been willing to talk for no money, just the idea that Gotham would be safer if he helped. Auggie was a great person, you could see how Jason would have been friends with him as a kid. He was a good person; he didn’t deserve to be murdered and have his heart ripped anymore than those children deserved their deaths. It made you sick and you could only imagine what Jason was thinking.

The familiar sound of the Batmobile and Jason’s bike came from the ramp into the cave, and you went with the others to meet them. Jason was off his bike, helmet tossed aside and running towards you, taking your face in his hands, looking frantic.

“Are you alright?” he asked. You nodded, reaching up and taking his hands, holding them in yours. “I thought…they know who I am…”

“Shhh, I’m here, we’re all safe,” you whispered, hugging him tight. He gripped you like he used to after a nightmare, like you were going to vanish if he didn’t hold you tight enough. The others went to the Batcomputer to start discussing the samples Bruce had brought back and the other clues from the crime scenes.

“You’re not safe, please take some time off, please stay here,” Jason begged. You nodded, anything to calm him down. His breathing was hitching, and he was going pale. You guided him to sit on the floor, sitting next to him.

“I won’t go anywhere, I’ll stay here, take deep breaths,” you said, rubbing the back of his head gently, petting his hair, catching the white streak and massaging the spot it sat on. He leaned his head into the touch, matching your deep breaths with his own.

“It was awful,” he said, finally calm again. “It’s my fault.”

“It is not your fault. You are not responsible for these monsters. You are a hero,” you said. He shook his head.

“I killed Joker, they saw it as a challenge. I thought it would end with him, but instead I just created a new threat. One head is cut, two more grow back,” he said. You leaned to his shoulder, arms around him.

“Jason, you killing Joker didn’t bring this about, this city is rotten, we all know it. Something in the air here breeds horrible criminals. No matter what happened they would be here, they just picked you because you are doing the most good right now. Just like they went after Batman,” you said, desperate to stop him from spiraling down into self-loathing again. You could see the signs, his eyes distant, his body fatigued from worry and despair.

“I need to go to the others, find out if they have any idea who did this,” Jason said softly, getting up. He walked away, leaving you there.

#jasontodd #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #redhood #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #brokenprism

[theghostbunnie]

Don’t know if you’ve done this already but do you have any Max and Neil headcannons? separately I mean

I gotchu fam

Let's kick this off with a big one: I think Neil has a secret laboratory at one of his parents houses. Think Dexter's lab from CN or even Moon girl from Disney. I'd think he would wanna put it in his dad's place bc his mom would find it faster but I always imagined his dad had an apartment. Neil makes it work somehow. It's where he goes to have ultimate me time and just get to work on stuff. He's created an area where he feels so comfortable/safe he really lets loose in there. His friends do NOT get to know about it !!!!! They end up stumbling across it by mistake and he'll let them in there occasionally as a treat. Nothing more!!! That's his area.

Neil secretly likes bee gees. He grew up with Carl playing it all the time and regrettably it gets stuck in his head sometimes. He more openly likes lyricless techno. Something to just zone out to. A little bit back to the lab hc: he dances while he works sometimes.

This next one is cannon to me: he likes bedazzled/studded(?) lab coats and leather jackets. He probably doesn't think he can pull leather jackets off normally or will get made fun of if he tries but like every time throughout the show his confidence hits a certain high that's what he puts on. Ered gets her cool back, and in the Hanukkah episode too. In Cameron Campbell can't handle the truth he winks/walks in slow motion wearing his bedazzled studded lab coat again. I'm so certain he made it himself.

Funny/joke HC: as he gets older he starts having a gun on stand by if what he's working on becomes too sentient

Okay before this gets too long I'll move on to the Max ones

Marina fan!!!!! I take no criticisms on this!!/j I have broken down my reasons in detail why multiple of her songs fit in my interpretation of him multiple times and I would gladly do it again.

I think Max has this version of himself in his mind he's always trying to achieve and convey to others. For the most part it works, and that's what he is, but he's still human and it falters and it pisses him off when it does.

I think in the parents day episode, he wasn't just crying bc his parents didn't care to show up. (and it had nothing to do with the fact David raised his voice at him imo, David had done that before) it was the fact his parents didn't show up/give him an activity and he was trying to play it off and hide it all day and when David found out this man's face dropped in front of him. It embarrassed Max bc he was actively trying to hide that and instead it came out. It was a mix of the situation itself and the embarrassment he didn't want anyone to know that's what was happening or that it affected him.

Y'all are gonna hate me for this one/j: those piercings I cover my older Max design with? Fake. He's afraid of needles but can't let that interfere with the drip. They're faux. Kept on with an eyelash glue equivalent.

He pulls his hair and kicks his legs to stim. He does It all the time throughout the show. The hair pulling when he gets too happy or angry or stressed for him to handle and the leg kicking when bored or scared in different degrees. When he's standing up he tries to mask it more but sometimes it comes out of him as a stomp.

He will literally be stomping and pulling his hair and some people don't take him seriously when it gets to that point.

He's undiagnosed too.💪

His friends rub off on him over time and he's alot more evilly goofy/mischievous instead of just "over it" all the time. He's still plenty over it, just not as much.

I feel like I should add at least one joke I've written onto Max's portion just to even It out

I feel like I have loads more I just can't remember them all rn aaaaaa

#fandom headcanons #fictional characters #character headcanons #headcannons #head canon #camp camp hcs #my hcs #camp camp #campcamp #camp campbell #max cc #cc max #neil cc #cc neil #camp camp max #max camp camp #neil camp camp #camp camp neil

[electrificata]

I noticed that you reblogged the "salt your stink, miss?" post 37 times.

Are you okay?

A SERMON ON ETHICS AND LOVE

One day Mal-2 asked the messenger spirit Saint Gulik to approach the Goddess and request Her presence for some desperate advice. Shortly afterwards the radio came on by itself, and an ethereal female Voice said YES?

"O! Eris! Blessed Mother of Man! Queen of Chaos! Daughter of Discord! Concubine of Confusion! O! Exquisite Lady, I beseech You to lift a heavy burden from my heart!"

WHAT BOTHERS YOU, MAL? YOU DON'T SOUND WELL.

"I am filled with fear and tormented with terrible visions of pain. Everywhere people are hurting one another, the planet is rampant with injustices, whole societies plunder groups of their own people, mothers imprison sons, children perish while brothers war. O, woe."

WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH THAT, IF IT IS WHAT YOU WANT TO DO?

"But nobody Wants it! Everybody hates it."

OH. WELL, THEN STOP.

At which moment She turned herself into an aspirin commercial and left The Polyfather stranded alone with his species.

SINISTER DEXTER HAS A BROKEN SPIROMETER.

[korereapers]

I'm curious what you'd come up with for "don’t worry, i’m staying right here." for Adajima 👀

Trauma conga? Good

He has been doing his own little investigation for months. It's not hard to see what makes Dojima tick, but Adachi still doesn't know what makes him break.

It's a fun thing, breaking someone strong. He tiptoes the line, getting his coffee wrong, making each and every single case more difficult to deal with. Unbearable, useless. Paperwork getting lost, dirty, not presented before the deadline. He smiles a little, because he knows. Dojima must hate him, right?

Strangely enough, it's not Adachi who makes him snap.

It seems like a relatively straightforward case. A hit and run, a dead woman, no witnesses. Their boss mentions it in a low voice, almost as if he were... scared? and the office goes dead silent.

The silence is broken when Dojima grabs his glass of coffee a little bit too hard, and it spills basically... well, everywhere. Especially on his hand. Adachi very much knows that it is boiling and that it has to hurt, but Dojima doesn't make a noise about it.

Dark grey eyes are somewhere else, lost in a place where he doesn't seem to register anything else, not until he seems to react, moving like an automaton, until he reaches his office, gets in, and closes the door abruptly.

"What the fuck," he mutters to himself, and his boss puts his hand on Adachi's shoulder. He tries not to grimace, he really hates it when people touch him like that.

"It's... an issue of his."

That's not a fucking explanation, but Adachi shouldn't have expected any better. He sighs, his joints cracking when he moves. He hasn't been sleeping properly lately, but can you really blame him? Nothing interesting to do in this shithole of a town.

Still, he does approach Dojima's office. His reasons? Unknown. He is trying not to think very hard about it. He has always been very good at that.

He knocks once, twice. No answer.

He should have left it at that. He usually does. Still, the door is unlocked, and he tells himself he has nothing better to do.

Yeah, that has to be it.

He freezes at the doorframe, because Dojima is definitely... well, not looking well.

For starters, he is sitting on the floor. He is not looking at Adachi, even if he really should have realised that he is not alone anymore. He is not talking, or yelling, or anything at all. In fact, Adachi swears he is hearing a little whimper, and fuck, it should be funny but it isn't.

Strangely enough, it really isn't.

He closes the door, a hollow feeling inside of his chest. He has a voice in his head, telling him to beware, beware, that he is dealing with a cornered animal, that he is going to get his head bitten off. He thinks about going back to his own business, but he realises, Dojima's eyes are on him. Reddened, bloodshot, shining with tears and panic.

There is shame in Dojima's expression, and Adachi raises an eyebrow. Not mocking, not judging. Just... curious.

He sits by Dojima's side, getting the lighter out of his jacket. He doesn't really know if he should be offering him a smoke, given that, well, he is having a fucking panic attack and shit. Still, Adachi has never been too good at taking care of himself, or others.

He still finds himself resting his hand, slender and dexterous, close to Dojima's. It's really not an invitation (or that's what he tells himself), but Dojima takes it as such. Rough fingers gently caress him, trembling, looking for something, anything, to keep him grounded. Adachi finds himself almost enjoying the contact, his thumb rubbing against a calloused palm.

"Don’t worry, I’m staying right here," he murmurs, and Dojima's grip gets a little tighter.

He knows how this shit goes. They will get close, way too close for it to be proper anymore, and then they will not take about it ever again. There is a dull ache in his chest, and Adachi sighs, his little smile insincere.

"Thank... Thanks," it's the only thing Dojima manages to say, his voice rough. So, so fragile. Broken.

Adachi finds, against his better judgement and his previous desire to hurt him, that he doesn't like the way it sounds at all.

#adajima #my stuff #answered #persona series #persona 4 #p4 #tohru adachi #ryotaro dojima

[howhow326]

I wanna draw my CtL character concept that I made but college is beating my behind so have his character sheet

Name: Timothy Whistle

Concept: Night-time sound & silence

Virtue: Prudence

Vice: Sloth

Seeming: Darkling

Kith: Nightsinger

Court: Winter

Backstory: Timothy is 18 year old highschool student that plays the Flute but is unsure of his actual skill. His Parents and band mates think he's fine, but he is thinking of quiting before college so he can major in science. A few months before graduation, maybe the night before a concert, Timothy decides to practice his Flute outside during the night. Worst mistake of his life. He dosen't know what rule he broke. Maybe he was playing too loud, or maybe he shouldn't have been playing on the night of the full moon. But one way or another, Timothy was taken by a Kindly One that fiercely punishes rule-breakers. For the crime of whatever, Timothy was to live in a land of Nightmares and play the music of the night. He dosen't know how long he was sitting on a tree branch playing wind howls and screams on his flute, or who heard him. But he does know that he plaued so long that his actual flute broke. He knew that not playing more night-time sounds would be another rule broken, another punishment, another place to be spirited away too that would scare him witless. But he could not, would not, do that again... So Timothy screamed at the top of his longs, creating the same horrifying sounds that his keeper obeyed him to. Timothy could have been stuck there forever, but a single flicker of light made him wake up: a vision of him playing a song of hope and joy made him remeber who he used to be. As strangely as he arrived, Timothy snuck his way out of that land of Nightmares and into the Hedge. But as his hope grew, so did his despair. Timothy's body had long ago merged with the shadows of the night, turning him from Tan to VantaBlack. Even worst, Timothy's mouth had disappeared, as if all the singing and screeching had allowed the darkness to convert it to nothingness. Timothy wanted to scream... and he did. Just as the darkness had followed him, so too did the music of the night. Timothy was forever silent, and silence was loud enough to be his new voice. Eventually, Timothy finnaly made his way back home, but home had changed. As if he couldn't be punished enough, a copy had taken his place during his months long durance. His only imperfection was that he was too perfect: a perfect student, a perfect friend, and a perfect musician. Timothy's parents believed that he had overcome his self-doubt and realized his inner talent, while the real Timothy stared at them through a window. The copy was so perfect that not even Timothy could bring himself to hate him, because Timothy could feel everything he felt and learned that he was pure. Before he could fall into a pit and never return, the Winter Court found him. Now a member, Timothy must somehow reclaim his old life without hurting his innocent fetch, despite the Court wanting him dead.

                                  Attributes

Intelligence●●●●○ Strength●○○○○

Wits●●●○○ Dexterity●●●○○

Resolve●○○○○ Stamina●●○○○

Presence●○○○○

Manipulation●●○○○

Composure●●●●○

Size: 5

Health: 7

Speed: 9

Willpower: 5

Max Clarity: 7

Glamour: 10

Wyrd: 1

Initiative: 7

Defense: 3

                                    Skills

Academics●●○○○

Computer ●○○○○

Crafts ●○○○○

Investigation ●○○○○

Occult ●●○○○

Science ●●●●○

Stealth ●●●●○

Animal kin ●○○○○

Empathy ●●○○○

Expression ●○○○○

Subterfuge ●●●○○

                                  Merits

Mantle (Winter)

Harvest●(Emotions)●(Dreaming)

Hedge Gate Sense●

Hollow●

Perfect Stillness●

Siren Song●●●

Soul Sense●●

                                  Flaws

Coward

Nightmares

                              Contracts

Contract of Elements(Air)●●●

Contracts of Darkness●●●

Contracts of Eternal Winter●

#changeling the lost oc #ctl #changeling the lost #wod #cod #world of darkness #chronicles of darkness

[cyberneticlagomorph]

In all your life, very few people have ever seen you angry. 

They've seen you hurt, scared, annoyed and upset but never ever angry.

Until now. 

Standing hurts, breathing hurts, but that's fine.

You can handle hurt, you've handled it all your fucking life and today won't be any different.

"What do you think you're doing?" Says the hole where your hearts should be.

You stumble to the bathroom, leaning on your IV pole for support as you do. Null is there in an instant, holding you steady.

"That pole isn't going to do much for you, my dear. Let me help."

You smile at them, your wound shrieks.

"Get. Away. From. Me." Your open chest hisses dangerously, each word punctuated by a spray of ink.

"Shut up." Your tone is... alien to say the least, devoid of love or light. Even Null stiffens, eyes flickering between curiosity and discomfort.

But it seems like your smile is enough to assure them the harsh words are directed at the mouth, "Pay it no mind, old friend. I think it's afraid of me! Ha! What a silly thing to be. I'm perfectly harmless."

You practically throw yourself at the bathroom sink, gripping the porcelain hard enough to leave deep scratches in it. Your reflection in the bathroom mirror stares back at you with eyes full of a deep cold rage that seeps into your own bones and makes you grit your teeth.

You look disgusting.

Eyes bruised and blackened, face crusted with tear-salt and dried snot. Your hair is a mess, your lips are dry and cracked, ink has settled beneath your fingernails and made them filthy.

Your chest looks worse though.

A vertical slit full of pulsating meat, ringed with human teeth that wiggle and squirm with all the dexterity of fingers. Beyond the initial stab wound is Nothing, a warm wet void right above your hearts.

It looks like a nightmare rendition of a vag, and under normal circumstances that might be funny but after all the hell this thing has put you through you just want it GONE.

You retch, bringing up a pile of soggy paper balls that scuttle helplessly in the slippery sink. The wound laughs and laughs and laughs.

You grab one ragged edge and dig your nails into it.

It hurts.

And that's OK.

The wound screams, trying to bite you but you grab the other side and force it open. Ink and blood and worse forces its way up your throat and out of the hole. You cling to your own meat and struggle to stay upright.

"What do you think you're doing Jack? You're just hurting yourself, you're just making everyone worry. But you like that, don't you you little attention whore?" The mouth's words sound distorted and desperate as it struggles to speak around your probing fingers.

Don't acknowledge it, don't give it anymore ammunition.

"Even if you shut me up, I'll always be apart of you, some dark and slimy part of your missing soul that you hate."

You shove your hands in, both of them at once. "There's a lot about me that I hate so please get in line."

The mouth snaps shut around your wrists, teeth sinking through flesh until they meet metal. You bite your tongue to keep from crying out, tears rolling fresh down your cheeks.

Be angry, be sad, be upset, it's ok but don't just sit there and let that THING speak for you.

Not now not ever.

Crunch!

Teeth meet metal.

Crack!

Metal meet teeth.

Teeth break, blood floods the maw your hands are trapped in. Thick and slick, you pull your hands free.

Mangled, trailing broken bits and wires.

But free.

The hole hisses in rage, spitting bloody broken teeth like bullets and curses.

"You HURT me! You hurt YOURSELF you FREAK!!"

"Yeah, I do that a lot." You chuckle, slightly manic. The voice sounds... quieter now?

Weaker?

It starts to say something else but you grab a dangling tooth and pull it out.

The wound screams and screams but softer than before.

You drop the tooth in the sink, the expression on your face is wrong and strange but that's OK.

"You break everything you touch like some kind of badly behaved CHILD... that's all you are aren't you? Just some overgrown fucking child running from one replacement mommy to another like the next one is going to fix you." The hole is writhing less now, the squirming movements of its teeth seem labored almost like they hurt to do. "Nothing can fix you."

"Well... you're right about one thing." You meet eyes with Null, your Nothing, as deep and endless and beautiful as the crushing void of space. The horrible creature that smells like Home in the Worst Way. "Nothing CAN fix me."

#ic #action post #gore #body horror #tooth horror

[sparklemotiongalaxy]

Fan fusions for No Gem Roads Part 2/?

Full credit goes to @vinylroadsjunction as always!

What do you get if you combine a hot headed guitarist with a soldier who likes to party? Answer: a dance rockstar with trauma and anxiety issues covered up with flamboyance and “confidence”.

Chrysoprase is the fusion of Zincite(Mayday) and Pariba Tourmaline (Neon J).

They are very flirty, clingy towards Zuke and DJ Subatomic(those two do not complain), and protective of everyone. They love the stage and adore every moment of their gig. They definitely do not have years of unsolved trauma or anxiety issues. “Trauma time oooh yeah!” *intense bass riffs* *sick dance moves* *trying to flirt* all at once.

“Chrysoprase is one of the birthstones for May and has traditionally symbolized happiness, enterprise and prudence. It is a powerful stone that brings good fortune and prosperity. It instills you with poise, grace and helps you to recognize the gentle beauty within yourself so you can enjoy self-expression and courage through fluent speech and mental dexterity. Mentally, chrysoprase encourages non-judgmental attitudes, can reduce superiority and inferiority complexes and help you avoid speaking out unthinkingly in anger. It bolsters clarity of thought and creativity by attracting abundance and success in new ventures and promotes fidelity within business. Emotionally, chrysoprase is said to help heal a broken heart by providing a gentle boost to your self-esteem, equalizing emotional balance and fostering acceptance of change and tolerance for others.” 

Pretty fitting.

Next, Angel Silica is the fusion of Akoya Pearl(Sayu) and Bicolor Sapphire(Eve). Did anyone think that Sayu and Eve are emotional? Boy you are in for a ride. Although Sayu and Eve do not hate each other, Angel has mood swings that change her from joyous and peppy to sad and mopey in mere moments. Fortunately, those are mainly harmless. But you definitely do not want to get caught up in her labyrinths of sand, because you will probably never be able to leave. Also it does not help that she views herself as an actual angel.

Therefore, the beautiful purple of "Angel Silica" has "healing" power and "purification" functions to control emotion and stabilize the mental aspect. First of all, the effect of "healing" removes all the negative power surrounding the owner and brings you positive energy. And we work to be able to respond flexibly to the circumstances and environment around you that are constantly changing, and support you to calmly accept changes and such.

Ah the irony.

Voice canon(Lizzie Freeman) and music genre (Weirdcore with vocals) are heavily inspired by the character ENA and YouTube series of the same name. If you want to see how Angel acts, just watch this.  “Why does nothing make SeNSe!” Watch it on 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xUwJWv38FpY

#gem au #no gem roads #nsr #steven unvierse au #steven universe

[gotnofucks]

The Unreformed Rake

Pairing: soft!dark Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Summary: Ransom Drysdale is a notorious rake, but he seems to have taken a shine to you. When he plans to make you his, nothing would stand in his way. No is not a word he understands.

Words: 3k

Warnings: Slightly dubcon touching, fingering, semi-public touching, forced marriage hinted, 18 + Only

A/N: This is my submission to Siri’s 5k Softdark challenge. Congratulations love @stargazingfangirl18​ , you do us hoes so proud and keep our punanis so happy! I chose the prompt “Come on, just a little taste”. It’s highlighted in the text.

If your corset was a millimeter more tighter, you’d be dead. The mammas cared more about getting their daughters married off than about them making it alive through the ball. You were glad that as a second daughter you didn’t have too many eyes on you. All you had to do was let three to four men twirl you around the dancefloor to appease your mother, and then you could sit back and enjoy watching your older sister Anika try to catch a husband.

Mostly, the balls weren’t too bad. You got to meet with your friends and eat some delicious food without the constant supervision of your mother, sometimes you’d even find a decent dance partner who wouldn’t step on your toes or whose hands wouldn’t wander south of your back. You could have made it through the evening unscathed had one handsome rake not made an appearance.

The moment Lord Huge Ransom Drysdale stepped into the hall, all eyes were on him. And his were on you. He made a spectacular vision, donning the bright colours that most gentlemen stayed away from, and yet he looked more masculine than any of them. The eyes of every unwed lady followed his movements, their mothers urging them to approach him despite his reputation.

Everyone knew Huge Ransom Drysdale was a notorious rake; his stories were told at tea parties in hushed tones and often accompanied by giggles. He was proficient in the art of leaving a trail of broken hearts and stuttering men, but more than that, he was a master at getting under your skin. His eyes hadn’t left you for a moment, fixating on you and your current dance partner who was glued to your side like lichens to rock.

“You dance most marvelously Miss Y/N, would you do me the honour of the next one too?” He asked, looking smitten at you.

“Now now Allen, you wouldn’t hog Miss Y/N’s attention all for yourself, would you?” Lord Drysdale’s mocking voice carried over to you, the man walking languidly until he stood before you. “There are a number of other ladies in want of a partner, if you’d be kind enough to relent Miss Y/N’s hand to me.”

Allen bowed to him, recognizing the superior title and the man who held it. Placing a small kiss on the back of your hand, he beat a hasty retreat from you side like the coward you knew him to be. Lord Drysdale chuckled, raising a brow at you before offering you his arm. You had half a mind to turn your nose at him and storm away, but your mother would have conniptions if she learnt you said no to a Lord.

“You have a lot of nerve and no tact Your Lordship” You said in a whisper, allowing him to grip your hand and bring you closer. The music began and he spun you out gracefully before bringing you back into his body, much closer than was socially acceptable. His fingers were firm around yours, the hand on your waist tight, singeing the flesh underneath with his touch.

“You know I am a tactless bastard, that shouldn’t be news to you.” He said with a charming smile that could fool anybody but you. He put a façade better than any theater artist you knew. He led you around the other dancing bodies dexterously, not looking away from your face. After a moment, he abruptly asked, “Who were those three morons you danced with earlier? Didn’t I sent word that you must keep your dance card empty but for me?”

An appalled gasp escaped you and it was with restraint you kept yourself from bolting away from him. “Are you having me watched?”, You hissed in anger, wrinkling your forehead. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Of course I have people keeping an eye on you. Can’t let anything happen to my future wife.”

Because you couldn’t leave, you did the next best thing. You stepped on his toe with all your might, digging your hell into his feet until he groaned in pain. He retaliated by moving his hand from your waist to your backside, giving a firm squeeze to your ass that had you choking on a scandalized scream.

“Hugh!” You chided through gritted teeth, looking around quickly to see if someone had noticed. Amidst the sea of dancers, nobody focused on you alone, but it would be enough to ruin a lady’s reputation.

“You know that’s not what you call me.”

His blue eyes turned darker, more challenging and predatory as he leaned closer until his chest brushed against you. You struggled, trying to put distance between you as discreetly as possible but he wouldn’t give.

“Let go!” You said, digging your nails into his shoulder to no avail. The thick padding of his clothes prevented any harm.

“Say my name.”

It was an order, one that if not met would hold consequences. People thought they knew the philandering Lord Drysdale, but they had little inkling to the danger that resided just beneath the surface. You knew. Your gaze dropped away from his, head a little bowed in defeat.

“Ransom.” You whispered, and he let out a shuddering breath as if his name on your lips had taken away more from himself than from you. He wouldn’t let you address him as anything else, not you who he claimed would be wearing his ring soon.

The dance slowed to a stop, people clapping, and you pushed away from him, halfheartedly joining in the applause. Ransom stood too close, his hand on your waist still fast and you slapped it away in irritation.

“Look, just stay away from me. I don’t want mamma to see us together.” You said, weaving through the throngs of people and trying to escape him. He followed, keeping at your heels with no problem, playfully pulling at your sleeve.

“Stay away?” He scoffed, almost as if in wonder of your audacity to even demand that. “You’re gonna be Lady Drysdale soon, you need to get used to my presence. I will always be close. Very close.”

You turned on him, raising a finger and wagging it in his face. Heat was settling over your face and neck, seeping beneath your neckline and into your chest that was heaving. Ransom’s eyes trained on the rise and fall of your breast, a wolfish grin on his face as he licked his lips in appreciation and anticipation.  

“I am not going to marry you Ransom!” You yelled in a whisper, amazed at his arrogance. “You keep away from me.”

In a second his fingers encircled your wrist, pulling you away from the floor into the shadowy corners as you protested. Sweeping aside the curtains, he pushed you into an alcove, pressing you in deeper with his body as the curtains fell again to shield you from curious eyes.

“We’ll have to do something about that mouth of yours.” He hissed cruelly, caging you between his massive arms. “You can’t go around speaking to me like this.”

His face neared yours, eyes dark and dangerous as they glared into you, his mouth opening slowly. You knew what was going to happen and you turned your face at the last second, his lips finding your cheek instead. Warm breath fanned your already heated skin, a flutter of butterflies setting your nerves astray.

“Stop! This isn’t proper.” You said, squirming as Ransom refused to back away. He chuckled in derision, forcefully turning your face to his. You hated how he still looked so beautiful, despite the sneer and arrogance.

“Wouldn’t be the first time we did it. Or did you forget about those stolen moments after the lakeside picnics? What about those walks in the park where I’d press you into a bark of tree and ravish this sinful mouth? We’re long past proper my darling, and the only reason your virtue is intact is because I am affording you the dignity to keep it until our wedding night.”

Your gaze lowered in mortification, those shameful moments coming back to you as flashes behind your eyelids. He had been far too powerful, too intense to refuse. In your weakness, you’d allowed him liberties that made guilt settle like weight on your chest every time your mother bragged about your modesty to other mammas.

“That was my mistake, Ransom. I’m supposed to marry a man of impeccable standing, someone who holds everyone’s good opinion. After Anika gets herself a man, it’ll be me, and my mother would never marry me off to a rake like you.”

His chest expanded in indignation under your hands, and he held you steady as he ground himself against you. Anger, jealousy, and sheer disbelief at your words was evident in his glare, and you shivered in fear as his lips skimmed over your jaw.

“You will marry me, mamma or no mamma. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to make you mine.” He promised, eyes glinting in warning. “What’s that saying? A reformed rake makes the best husband, ain’t it?”

“You’re not reformed.” You countered, captive in his hold. A part of you that you refused to acknowledge didn’t want to leave at all.

“That’s true.” Ransom said, smirking. “I am a rake, its time I play to my reputation.”

He kissed you hard, his tongue pushing past your lips without preamble. You couldn’t help moaning into his mouth, your fingers clutching his collar for dear life, knees threatening to collapse as he kissed you like a man starved. You knew he had a talented tongue by his charming words, but there was more to it than merely speaking. He discovered you, explored you like an untouched cave and brought you back to life.

Nobody could make you feel like he did. You had no patience for conceited, blustering men, but Ransom was more than that. He was a force that overpowered your life like winds did to fallen leaves. He carried you with himself, unrelenting, persistent. He was passionate and hungry, he was obsessed. After the first time he had kissed you in the park, he promised he wouldn’t kiss anyone again. He promised he’d make you his, and that if any man tried to claim what belonged to him, it would end in a duel.

In his kiss, you felt his possessiveness. You felt his raw power and lust that had led you to sin on more than one occasion. Saying no to him was difficult, mainly because you were most yourself when with him. He gave you wings unknowingly. He gave you the freedom to rebel unknowingly. To him, it was your claiming. But hadn’t you claimed him too in one kiss? Hadn’t you transformed the rake into a marriageable sort in one kiss?

“Ransom, we can’t.” You breathed against his lips, both your mouths swollen and glistening.

“Yes we can. We will.”

His hand ventured south of your neck, dipping into your neckline and brushing against the plump swell of your breast. You sputtered, not knowing if you were urging him or objecting. He pressed you hard into the wall, trailing his lips from your neck to your chest, sucking and nibbling with utmost patience and care. You whimpered at his assault, soft mewls spilling from your mouth and you rested your head back, unable to control the heat that simmered in your core.

“There is no power in the world that can stop me from making you my wife.” He said, looking right into your eyes as he sharply pulled and tore a rip into your bodice. You screeched, thumping your fists against his chest before he gathered them in one arm and held them above your head. “This is just a preview of what will happen between us when you take my ring and name.”

Pushing away the limp fabric from your breast, his mouth enveloped your nipple in one fell swoop. You cried out in pleasure, his warmth spreading into your own body and you feared you’d burn. A fire was simmering between your legs, wet and wanting, chanting his name. His teeth gently grazed your nipple, causing you to whimper, a sound he captured in his mouth.

“Look at me.” He ordered, and you opened your eyes without having realized they were closed. The blue in his had never been darker, almost black like the night sky that swallowed down everything in its path.

“Please don’t.” You begged. “I have sisters whose reputation are tied with mine. You’ll ruin us all.”

Ransom smiled, and you gulped because he looked almost tender. As his fingers trailed down your front to gather the layers of skirt above your knees, he bumped his nose in yours. “Never. I am a Thrombey-Drysdale. I’ll take you, and I’ll save your family. Everything I own is yours.”

The look in his eyes was such that you didn’t protest as he traced your thighs, approaching the apex. He didn’t look away as he reached your moist core, nor when he found your sensitive nub and ran circles around it with his fingers. You moaned, biting your lip to stifle your voice as his breathing picked up. Your scent filled the small niche you were in, his chest digging into yours, hand buried between your legs.

A strangled cry did escape when you felt him at your weeping entrance, threatening to breach the untouched walls of your virtue. You shook your head, asking him not to cross the boundary that will change everything between you.

“Come on, just a little taste.” He urged, pressing inside with one finger. He delved in slowly, his intrusion felt against the spongy walls of your sex and you trembled. You were panting you realized, hips gyrating almost subconsciously to mirror his movements.

“Ransom” You moaned, pushing forward. You had to do something, anything. You felt about ready to combust.

“I know. I know. Look at me and remember the pleasure I can give you. Remember the love I will shower on you.”

Another finger joined the first, stretching you until it burnt. You held onto his arms, breath coming in sharp intervals as he moved in and out, the obscene sounds of your essence mixing in with your laboured breathing.

“Do you feel the fire my darling?” Ransom asked, and you nodded. He rested his forehead on yours, forcing you to meet his eyes as he sped up, the heel of his hand digging into your nub. “Look into my eyes and let go. Come, now.”

Your back arched and your pressed forward into his body, quacking in pleasure as sensations that had no name wrecked your whole body. Your teeth sank into his neck to hold in your scream, whole body vibrating and undulating in ecstasy. You remained like this until you caught your breath, sweat gathering above your lips and brow. He looked ravenously at you. He looked in awe too.

Raising his hand, he showed you his fingers soaked in your wetness and slowly he brought them to his mouth and sucked. You gulped, suddenly feeling empty as Ransom closed his eyes in the relish of your taste. When he finally looked at you again, you knew you were lost. The wolf had had his taste of blood. There was no escaping.

He kissed you slow and soft, sharing your taste with you and pulling you closer into him. It didn’t seem like he would part. For all you knew, the world had burnt away leaving only this niche in the wall intact, two people who were just learning to explore each other the only ones alive.

“Do you know, or should I say?” He asked, and you sucked in a breath. Who would have thought this day would come?

“Say it.” You answered. You knew, oh yes. But you needed to hear. You needed to watch those beautiful lips curve around words that bound you to him in something far more potent than marriage.

“I love you.” He said, sincerely, truly and with no hesitation. He loved you. Lord Hugh Ransom Drysdale loved you. Your eyes glistened with unshed tears and you stood on your toes to brush a kiss against his lips.

“I love you, Your Lordship.”

His arms came around you so strong that they felt like chains. You stayed in his embrace, disheveled and disoriented. You never expected your evening would have ended like this.

“Remember my love, then. And forgive me.” Ransom said. Before you could ask him what he meant, he threw apart the curtains that contained your sin and bared you to the world. The first person gasped aloud, and then ten more. You stood paralyzed, holding a hand against your chest to conceal the peeking flesh behind.

Ransom stood before you, nonchalant. Whispers flew around, taking the form of a vicious wind that swept across the ballroom until your mother was running towards you, scandalized. She took one look at you and staggered back, falling behind on the people who rushed forward to help.

“You – no. It couldn’t be.” She sobbed, holding a hand to her heart as if asking it to stay inside. You couldn’t say anything, shame written on every part of you. Ransom cleared his throat before looking at you softly, uncaring of others who gossiped when his lips pressed on your forehead.

“I plan to do right by Miss Y/N.” He announced, removing his coat and draping it around you. Pulling you out from the alcove, he put an arm around you and tugged you at his side. He glanced at you mother who was on the verge of fainting, a small tilt to his lips. “Madam, with your blessings, I would like to wed your daughter and make her an honest woman.”

You hid your face into his chest, not bothering to see your mother’s response. He had compromised you. He had ruined you. Ransom Drysdale didn’t take a no, and he fought hard for what he wanted.

“I hate you.” You whispered, heartbroken. Had he waited, you’d have said yes yourself. Ransom read the question in your gaze and stroked the curve of your cheek.

“I have done my waiting. No more of it. You’re mine now.”

#siris5ksoftdarkchallenge #soft!dark ransom drysdale x reader #dark!ransom x reader #ransom drysdale x reader #soft!dark ransom drysdale #ransom x reader #ransom thrombey x reader #ransom drysdale

[ironstarker]

Tony gets injured during a mission, and his Omega, peter is not happy about it.

Notes: It’s pretty angsty at first but I tried to give it a little extra fluff and warmth at the end for you. Sorry this took me over a year to finish 😅Here’s to hoping this means I finish the other drafts of prompts I got ages ago.

Warning(s): ABO Dynamics, Light Angst, Peter Cries ______________________________________________________________

It wasn’t coming together right.

Peter stared at his sad attempt at a nest with tears swimming in his eyes. After Tony had been called away on a mission, the omega was left to his own devices. The rest of the Avengers wouldn’t let him do a thing in his “condition” (even saying the word made him want to roll his eyes), least of all his alpha. Tony had taken his possessive jealousy to a new level the minute he’d found out Peter was carrying. So, while he went out and risked his neck, Peter was stuck at home, staring at the pathetic lump of pillows and balls of Tony’s shirts that he’d tried to make into a nest in the closet.

Why the closet?

It smelled the most of his alpha, and was small (well, smaller than the bedroom) enough that he felt safe. He missed his alpha, much as Peter didn’t want to admit it, and kept asking FRIDAY for updates on the man. She’d tell him things like, “He’s fine, Peter. The boss asks you to please not worry so much about him.” It didn’t help. Nothing helped, because his alpha was off risking his neck while Peter was left fidgeting over blankets and fussing about his broken nest.

He wanted to cry.

It was frustrating, the hormones that his bump was making him go through. The omega had never thought he’d be this kind of omega. Sure, Peter preened under his alpha’s eyes and he got a little too snippy and possessive when other omegas were around his mate, but the raging hormones were something else. Peter had bawled over a Dodo video of a baby bird being returned to its mama the other day. He’d cried so hard that he’d hyperventilated, and spurred FRIDAY into sending an emergency alert to Tony. When the alpha came home and found his omega in such a state, the man had all but lost his mind.

Needless to say, Peter loved being pregnant. He loved his bump and couldn’t wait to meet his baby and have her in his arms, but for the moment, he felt like a burden.

A burden who couldn’t even make a proper nest.

Before he knew it, Peter was crying again. He curled in on himself (as best he could, given he was approaching seven months along and the swell of his tummy got in the way every time he tried) and sat there near his nest, silent tears rolling down his cheeks. He wanted his alpha. Peter sniffled, reaching for one of the shirts he’d strewn across the nest. It was an old Black Sabbath shirt of Tony’s, one that had seen plenty love itself and came with a smattering of tiny holes near the neck. The omega pushed his nose against the fabric and nuzzled it, stifling the sounds of his sobs in an effort to make sure FRIDAY wouldn’t alert Tony to his distress.

His senses and his hormones were supercharged. It had been hours since Tony (and a few of the others) had rushed off to fight some super powered sea monster. Truth be told, the reason that Peter was crying in the closet was because his alpha was gone, not because of his nest. He bit back a wail as he thought of his alpha, hating how Tony was so quick to rush into danger. Peter had tried to convince him.

“If I’m not allowed to go on missions, you shouldn’t be, either!”

“Baby, that’s ridiculous. I’m not pregnant.”

Peter had stared up at his alpha. They were tucked away together on the couch, Tony with one arm draped around him, his attention on a hologram that FRIDAY was projecting. Peter was nestled into his alpha’s side, desperate (he hated it, how needy the pregnancy was making him) for attention after his alpha had been away all day. The words stung. Peter bit his lip and looked down. It was archaic, the way that Tony treated him now that he was pregnant, and it made him want to scream about how unfair it was.

He hadn’t felt like such a child since before the whole Adrian Toomes incident.

“But alpha, you could get hurt,” Peter tried, and he gave a hopeful glance to Tony’s hand, hoping his fingers would stop moving where they hovered near the hologram.

Instead, Tony sighed. “Peter, this isn’t a discussion.”

“It should be! You’re just as important as I am — ”

“I’m going, Peter. End of discussion.”

In his mess of a nest, Peter whimpered as he remembered how his alpha used that tone on him. It wasn’t often Tony used the deep, alpha baritone to give him commands or bark at him. The thought of it now was enough to bring the boy to near tears. His bottom lip wobbled, and he sniffled and another wave of hiccuped sobs came over him. 

“Peter?”

The sound of a warm voice made his breath hitch in his throat. Boggled as his mind was, his first thought went to his alpha — to Tony. But the person standing in the doorway, disheveled and exhausted, was a different alpha. Steve Rogers must have come straight from the battlefield. He had flecks of shrapnel on his uniform, which looked tattered and soaked. His hair was wet, matted down onto his forehead, giving it a dirty blond look. Steve hesitated, and Peter knew it was because of the waves of distress he was letting loose, flooding the air of the bedroom.  “Where’s Tony?” Peter whispered.

Steve’s hesitation was all he needed to see to know something was wrong. “Don’t panic,” he started, looking like he wanted to step further into the room and then thinking better of it. “He’s in the med-bay right now, but was knocked unconscious by — ”

Peter did sit around and wait for Steve to tell him the rest. He was on his feet surprisingly fast (at least he had his spider dexterity when it counted), brushing past the alpha. He heard Steve calling after him, but Peter shook his head and didn’t wait around. If FRIDAY had granted Steve access to the private room he shared with Tony simply to relay the message in person, it had to be bad. All the way down to the med-bay, Peter thought about the breathing exercises he’d learned for delivery and practiced them in real time, one hand resting against the side of his belly. The elevator took him down without waiting around for Steve, and Peter’s toes wiggled impatiently against the floor as he waited for the doors to open. He looked down, realizing he’d forgotten to put on shoes.

When the elevator slid open and left him free to rush down the hall (he didn’t waddle, dammit), his feet sounded noisy to his own ears, like the slapping sound was echoing and bouncing all over the place. He was on hyper alert, his senses going haywire. But everything stopped when he saw his alpha through the glass, attached to all sorts of wires and machines. Dr. Cho was hovering over him, using a penlight to check the dilation of his pupils. Peter rushed into the room. She looked up at him, offering him a sympathetic smile. “Peter, there’s nothing to — ”

But he cut her off, letting out a noise that was somewhere between a wail and a croak as he said, “Alpha.”

Tony’s eyes flickered open. He offered Peter a lazy smile. “Hey there, omega-mine,” he said, holding his hand out for Peter to clutch as he neared the bed. “The doc here’s got me on the good stuff. Says I took a pretty serious knock to the head.” 

Peter’s attention was diverted briefly to the bandage wrapped around his alpha’s forehead. He pressed his lips together. He knew his alpha could sense the emotions rolling through him. Peter hadn’t even noticed Dr. Cho excuse herself. “You can’t keep doing this to us,” Peter whispered, letting go of Tony’s hand to cradle his bump. There were tears in his eyes again. They clung to his lashes, and his bottom lip quivered. Standing up to his alpha wasn’t something that came naturally to him, but this time it was too much. “I — I can’t stay here all the time, worried about you. You’re going to be the father to my pup Tony. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

The alpha blinked, looking caught off guard by the sudden emotion flitting across his mate’s face. “Of course it does,” he said, his voice quiet. “But you know the responsibility I have as Iron Man.”

Peter shook his head, squaring himself up a little, stubborn in his concern and hurt. He reeked of it, he knew. “Alpha, you’re hurt. You keep getting hurt. You have a responsibility to us. To our pup.” The tears that had built up spilled over his cheeks, creating fresh tracks. “Please,” he whimpered, his shoulders slumping under the weight of the alpha’s stare. Peter knew Tony was hurt. As an omega, he knew it was his job to care for his alpha. 

“Okay, okay,” Tony said, the tips of his fingers twitching, coaxing Peter towards him. “Come here. Omega-mine, look at me.” Once Peter did, the alpha met him with a tender expression. “Alpha’s sorry. Come lay with me?” Again, he wiggled his fingers.

Unable to resist, Peter scooted closer to the bed, until he could crawl into it with his alpha. He curled up against Tony’s side, his bump forcing the alpha to scoot over some so they both had enough room. His alpha kissed the crown of his head, where he knew Tony could breathe in the scent of his shampoo. His alpha always said it comforted him, and knowing that brought Peter peace. He settled down, soothed by his alpha’s presence and his warmth. “I built a nest,” Peter said after a few moments of silent cuddling. 

“Did you?” Tony sounded vaguely amused, like he already knew where this conversation was going. “How did it turn out this time?”

A long pause. “It — it went okay,” Peter said.

His alpha’s chest rumbled with a quiet laugh. “I’ll donate a few more pillows to the cause.” 

Peter smiled, giggling and nosing at his alpha’s jaw. “Thank you for the generosity, Mr. Stark.” He rubbed his hand over his belly, thoughtful. “I love you, alpha.”

“I love you, too.”

#starker #tony stark x peter parker #starker fic #tony x peter #ironspider #my fic #prompts #prompt fic #tony stark #peter parker #abo dynamics

[rhysiana]

Organizing various unfinished cdrama writings this morning and found this in my drafts, which I like a lot more as a standalone snippet than I thought:

Wangji comes to sit with him sometimes. Wangji is very good at silence; always has been, better than Xichen, though his silence never felt particularly serene. Xichen thinks he understands now. He has gotten much better at silence, and he is not serene.

He is still the one to break it, though. It’s been long enough since he last spoke aloud that his voice scrapes out of his throat, rough and ugly and broken. It seems fitting. “You must have hated me so much. All those years when he was dead, and I had them. For me to be happy while you were buried under so much grief.”

Wangji’s spine stiffens in surprise next to him, something that would have been a flinch in anyone else. He continues to stare out into the garden, but his fingers disappear into his sleeves like they have since he was a child, clenching where no one can see.

“No,” he says, firm, definite. “I did not begrudge xiongzhang his happiness.” He pauses to take a breath, slow and measured. “I was angry with the world, though. That it continued when he did not. As if he never mattered.”

Xichen should say that he is happy Wei Wuxian has been returned to his brother, against all odds. He doesn’t.

Silence descends again. Eventually, Wangji leaves.

***

At first, Xichen thinks the man on the path at the edge of his garden must be Wen Qionglin, but on second glance, he is too tall, too slender, too… elegant. Still a fierce corpse, though.

The man bows in apology and turns to head back down the path. Xichen racks his brain for who this might be, a fierce corpse incongruously dressed as a priest, and memory snags on a pile of confused night hunt reports from the juniors in the days before everything fell apart.

“Song Zichen?” he tries. It comes out dry and quiet. It’s been too long since he spoke, again. A bad habit.

The other man turns back, bows in acknowledgement this time.

“Would you like some tea?” Xichen asks, surprising himself.

Song Zichen quirks half a wry smile.

Xichen curses his uncharacteristic lapse in tact. Truly, he must have been away from people for too long now. He’s not wholly sure he regrets it.

He tries again. “Ah… or just to sit?” He gestures out at the garden, where a few fireflies have started to blink in and out over the flowers.

Song Zichen considers him for a moment, then inclines his head and comes to sit on the edge of the porch. He arranges himself with care, a perfect straight-backed meditation posture Xichen has seen in other temple-raised visitors who have come to consult the Gusu Lan libraries. Then he reaches into his sleeve and draws forth a spirit pouch, very white against the black and gray of his robes, and places it reverently in his lap. He looks at Xichen to see if he understands.

Xichen feels tears well in his eyes and blinks them away as he resettles himself on the other side of the porch. They sit there in twin silence, two men in love with ghosts, watching the fireflies long into the night.

***

I think our founder was wrong, he writes. He has to keep butterfly messages short, but he finds he doesn’t have much to say these days anyway. We should not have turned to cultivation in the world. Staying apart is better.

Song Zichen’s reply is over a week in coming, a letter written in excruciatingly careful calligraphy. Xichen remembers long, almost delicate fingers handling the spirit pouch and wonders how difficult such dexterity is for a fierce corpse.

Not better, just easier, he has written.

The blunt brevity startles Xichen into a laugh.

***

Doesn’t withdrawal from the world help us on the path toward immortality? Xichen returns, days or possibly weeks later, he no longer keeps track.

It can. Song Zichen had, of course, spent years traveling with a disciple of Baoshan Sanren. He should know. But should immortality really be considered an end goal? What will you do after achieving it, if you have no more attachment to the world?

Xichen can think of no reply to this startling question.

[Now also on AO3]

#lan xichen #song lan #lanlan #post-canon #the untamed #I just think they'd have a lot of thoughts about this #does it become a slow epistolary romance? #or just an epistolary friendship? #the lans only love once after all #but lxc seems like he understands many different types of love #rhys's stuff

[tetsuuji]

December 15th: Snow Storm

Pairing: Diluc x gn!Reader

Style: Scenario; Angst to Comfort

Word Count: 645

Warnings: Shouting, Mature language

Notes: I have been neglecting Diluc so much, even though I love that red hair guy so much. Almost half way there throughout the month! (Why no one told me writing for 30 days straight will be hard?) Please ignore the fact this is posted after midnight; my disorientated self forgot about the time.

  A sharp blizzard started to rise around Mondstadt, keeping everyone locked inside their houses. The icy wind was breaking tree branches, snow freezing the ground while piling up. Diluc let out an irritated sigh, knowing well the weather would take his winery business a few days back. He already needed to cancel shipments and deliveries that were scheduled upfront, but the blizzard made it even worse. Leaning back in his chair, Diluc covered his face, hissing inside his hand. He hated this feeling; not because he could not make money, but because he would not be able to do his job in time. 

The soft creak came of his office doors that disrupted his thoughts, making him turn his head to its way. Name peeped their head to check on Diluc, spotting resentment in his crimson eyes right away. They tried to smile at him as they stepped inside the room, closing the door behind them. Name felt negative tensions that were forming around his figure, almost making them the question was it right to visit him in the first place. Diluc noticed small signs of insecurity in their walk as Name moved closer to him. Although glad they wanted to comfort him at that time, he really wished they waited a bit longer. Messed up thoughts in his head did not feel right to share with Name, they did not deserve their mood ending up spoiled. 

“Now it is not the time, Name”, he lowered his voice, looking back at the papers at his desk. They decided to ignore him, moving dexterously under his arm to sit at Diluc’s lap. A quiet sigh left his mouth, ignoring the action itself. Why are they so stubborn, Diluc thought reading through a paper in front of him.

“You seem off, so I thought you need company. I’ll be quiet, I promise”, Name said looking at Diluc’s profile. His eyes narrowed a bit, while his iris shrank down. If there was not for all those problems occupying his mind, Diluc would appreciate this moment more, but he genuinely could not. A strange sort of rage filled inside of him, causing the pen between his fingers to break. 

“My business is suffering because of this damn blizzard outside and I cannot do anything about it! It is infuriating me!” Red vision lying on his hip started to shine as his voice rose up. Nervous tingles rushed through Name’s spine, making her swallow the lump inside their throat. They never saw this fiery side of Diluc, at least not to that extent. He kept shouting curses, not lifting his eyes off the desk, as his hand started to shake squeezing the broken pen. Name pushed their lips together, taking a small breath beforehand. A little bit of courage made them cup his cheeks, turning Diluc’s head towards them, connecting the eyes of two together. 

“This is not you, dear. This is fuming rage inside you and I do not like it.” A serious tone darted Diluc’s stomach. “You cannot run your business properly, yes, but for archon's sake, Diluc! Weather like this cannot be helped.” Sparks inside Diluc’s eyes started to die out, along with the grip he was holding the pen. Little scars formed on the inner side of his palm

“I am really sorry you had to witness this, Name. I did not mean to scare you.” His words sounded, and were, sincere. Name felt proud of themselves to have enough influence to calm Diluc down. Part of them grinned inside winningly, as Diluc looked down at Name’s hands, feeling a bit ashamed. At least he felt more at peace than he was that afternoon.

“I hate snow”, Diluc murmured at his chin, making Name giggle innocently, as they closed their eyes and wrapped hands around his neck. 

“That is why you do not have cryo powers.”

#genshin impact #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact diluc #genshin impact angst #genshin impact comfort #genshin x reader #character x reader #genshin scenarios #genshin angst #genshin comfort #diluc x reader #genshin diluc #diluc #diluc ragnvindr #december fics #oli scribbles #tw shouting

[ask-fantasy-sanders-sides]

So given the lightning effects Vee gives off, does this mean he's likely descended from a blue or bronze shadow-dragon?

(( This is the “part two” I was talking about~!)) 

~~

      Well, if Virgil is descended from a Drow Dragon-shifter, he would have a 'tell' specific to his type!

      Dragon-shifter descendants can either manifest their parent's Mana or their Might, which changes the way their heritage manifests.

      Those who manifest Mana are born as spellcasters (sorcerer or wizard) who specialize in the elemental magic of their parent, either dark magic from the shadow dragon mutation or the element of the base dragon type (fire, ice, lightning, etc). Those who manifest Might have physical mutations to match the distinctive traits of their parent dragon type, and are incredibly stealthy (more so than drow usually are lol) and naturally give off an intimidating aura.

~~~

The tells are as follows: (Keep in mind, these are specific to the non-shifter children of Drow Shadow-Dragon-Shifters.)

~

Black Dragons

Mana: A natural talent for necromancy, fear spells, and acid magic.

Might: Thick black hair, unnaturally pale skin on the face and hands, a foul smell. Difficult to grow muscle mass or gain weight. Have either black wings or black fins. Higher tolerance to acid.

Personality (both mana and might): Tend to be more unfazed by death and suffering, and have a high pain tolerance. Enjoy playing with or fixing broken things, exploring ruins, and learning history. Tend to be sorcerers, warlocks, rogues, or artificers.

~

Blue Dragons

Mana: A natural talent for evocation, teleportation/movement spells, and lightning magic.

Might: Rhino-like horns growing up from their noses. Large, powerful blue-and-black wings and barrel-chests. The smell of sand. Dark-colored hair and at least one dark blue or black eye. The fastest fliers.

Personality: Tend to be vain and talkative, like to show off their skills and looks at any possible opportunity. Adore jewelry, piercings, and tattoos. Drawn to the sound of rolling thunder. Tend to be bards, rogues, or warlocks.

~

Brass Dragons

Mana: A natural talent for enchantment, communication spells, and fire magic.

Might: “V”-shaped, brass-and-black glider-like wings. Extremely pronounced cheekbones, and owl-like feathers growing from their necks, shoulders, and backs. Radiate heat like nobody’s business. Red irises. Better tolerance for hot temperatures and lightning/thunder damage.

Personality: Extremely, extremely talkative. Get annoyed when they are not the center of attention. Make sure everyone around them is healthy and well-rested, and will incessantly bother them into taking care of themselves if they aren't. Can’t stand to be alone. Don’t blink very often. Tend to be bards or rogues.

~

Bronze Dragons

Mana: A natural talent for weather/water-controlling magic and lightning magic.

Might: Black claws and jagged teeth. Teal tiger stripes on their skin. Bronze-and-black wings and/or eel-like fins along their torso and limbs. Smell of the ocean. The ability to swim in running water.

Personality: Preference for martial combat. Drawn to the sea. Curious and inquisitive, also very stubborn. Love to organize things and collect old coins. Tend to be bards, rogues, or fighters.

~

Copper Dragons

Mana: A natural talent for illusions and enchantment, defensive magic, and earth-molding spells.

Might: Flatter, less pronounced noses. Thick skin and copper-and-black,  “U”-shaped, glider-like wings. A proportionate version of the copper dragon’s prehensile armored tail. If older, turquiose-green tinted pupils. Better tolerance for hot temperatures.

Personality: Sociable and humorous; love riddles, jokes, and people who make them often. Enjoy entering in battles of wits just to amuse themselves or others, even purposefully taking faulty stances to make the debate more fun. Don’t like violence, or people they can’t read. Adore any and all gifts from friends, and the taste of poisonous prey. Tend to be sorcerers, rogues, or bards.

~

Gold Dragons

Mana: A natural talent for evocation, battlefield manipulation spells, and fire magic.

Might: Golden or black eyes with no pupil or iris. Golden antler-like horns, claws, and whiskers, all tipped with black. The ability to fly through magic. Their hair reflects golden in sunlight.  Better tolerance for extreme temperatures.

Personality: Single-minded and determined, and tend to be solitary. Have a passion for elegant combat. Tend to be paladins, rangers, or rogues.

~

Green Dragons

Mana: A natural talent for illusion and enchantment, mind-manipulation spells, and poison magic.

Might: Forked tongues and smatterings of green snake-like scales. At least one yellow eye. Green-and-black wings. Better tolerance for poison damage.

Personality: Duplicitous and talkative. Despise being left in the dark about anything, and having secrets kept from them, but keep most of their own personal information close to the chest. Fear violence, and enjoy being the smartest person in the room. Delight in being able to talk their way into and out of things. Value trust over everything else. Tend to be bards, rogues, or spellcastors.

~

Red Dragons

Mana: A natural talent for evocation, destructive spells, and fire magic.

Might: Red-and-black slightly-frayed wings, and proportionate versions of the red dragon’s horns. Glowing eyes. Smell of smoke. Better tolerance for extreme heat.

Personality: Prideful, greedy, and glutenous. Delight in having power and exercising it over others. Very, very quick to anger. Tend to be barbarians, rogues, or sorcerers.

~

Silver Dragons

Mana: A natural talent for support and defensive spells, and ice magic.

Might: Silver hair, and pupil-less eyes with silver or black sclera and silvery-purple irises. Silver antler-like horns, that turn purple towards the middle and black at the tips. Soft-furred, weasel-like tails, that fade from white to dark purple to black. The ability to fly through magic. Better tolerance for extreme temperatures.

Personality: Soft-spoken deep thinkers. Adore socializing, but usually prefer to absorb whatever’s going on around them rather than be the loudest voice. Enjoy keepsakes and friendship bracelets. Incredibly glutinous. Tend to be bards, clerics, monks, or rogues.

~

White Dragons

Mana: A natural talent for necromancy and/or ice magic.

Might: White-and-black wings. Unusually tall and well-muscled; More strong, durable, and dexterous than their peers. At least one eye that is some shade of purple or ice-blue. Able to swim in running water, and better tolerance for cold.

Personality: Prefer to avoid social situations, and tend to hate talking, going days or even years avoiding it. Extremely good hunters, and don’t trust food they haven’t hunted themselves, preferring the taste of fresh meat to anything else. Extremely loyal to those who win their trust, though this trust is not easily or quickly won. Tend to be rangers, fighters, barbarians, or rogues.

~

!! Note !! : As part shadow-dragon, ALL of them have natural skill in shadow-manipulation magic, Mana AND Might-focused!

#long post #Game Lore #long answer #lets roll #not as long as the last one tho #this story is VERY dragon-centric #I got a LOT of the changes to the dragon’s designs from tumblr user filibusterfrog! Go check out their blog!

[holylulusworld]

Give a little bit of your heart to me

Summary: Dean wanted a bit of your heart; you gave him it all only to feel it breaking.

Pairing: Mobster!Dean x Reader, Mobster!John x Reader (platonic)

Character: Ellen Harvelle, Ruby, Sam Winchester

Warning: arranged marriage, angst, mentions of divorce, pregnant reader, comforting, remorse, fluff, misunderstandings

‘Give a little bit, give a little bit of your heart to me,’ back then you smiled at Dean’s words, knowing he got forced into this marriage too. Your father and John Winchester wanted to form a strong bond between the two mightiest empires, so you and John’s eldest had to marry.

You had not seen Dean for a lifetime, but you still remembered the funny, cocky, and green-eyed boy with so many freckles you could never count them.

A tiny piece of your heart always beat for him, so it was easy for you to give Dean not only a little bit of your heart but the whole damn beating thing. Now it is a broken mess, a bleeding pulp that will never heal.

“I’ll pack as fast as possible, John,” your voice broken, defeated you place the golden band, and your engagement ring into his hand. “I know it was an arranged marriage, but I thought after five years I know your son.”

“Y/N,” murmuring your name John watches you subconsciously rub your belly. “Do you have to tell me anything, doll?”

“Your son is a lying son of bitch who just left me,” you huff, walking toward the house you shared with Dean. 

“I will go and tell my father the arrangement is over, John. You will have to clarify the details as daddy will get mad,” you flinch at the thought of facing your father. “You don’t want to see him mad, John.”

“Doll, wait,” sighing John grasps your wrist. “I know about the baby and can’t let you leave. It’s my grandchild, my heir.” Your stomach tightens looking up at John. “Your life, it never was yours in the first place, Y/N. I’ll give you all you need, but you have to stay and raise your child as a Winchester.”

“I can’t,” voice cracking you blink the tears away. “I should leave before Dean returns.”

You would run away, hide somewhere but honestly, you have got nowhere to go. Not with John Winchester wanting your child and your father insisting on a bond with Dean.

“This is my house, my manor, not Dean’s. You will move into my part of the house and Dean will shut his mouth. When he comes back, I will set him straight,” John slings his arm around your shoulders, not missing the hopelessness in your eyes when you agree to follow him.

“It’s not as if I got anywhere to go, John. At least you will get what you always wanted, an heir for your empire,” you whisper bitterly, missing John’s pained expression when tears roll down your cheeks. “As you said, my life never was mine.”

“You said I can divorce her after five years! I want to be free again, Sir,” Dean yells. “I was the perfect husband and partner. I played my part, now play yours,” his words make your legs wobble and fresh tears run down your cheeks.

Dean lied. This whole time he made you believe he loves you too. Façade. Charade. A foul play, that is what you are to him. He made a deal and now he wants out.

“John, let him out,” your voice meek, thin, and all the fight gone from your eyes you rub your arms nervously. “If he wants out, let him out.”

“See, she doesn’t want to stay married either,” Dean wants to touch your arm to thank you for your words, but you flinch away, jerking your arm out of his grip.

“Don’t touch me,” your voice cracks now but you fight the tears. “You want to be free, be free. Lucky you, Dean. I never had a chance and are stuck here as…,” you run away before you tell Dean about the baby, his baby.

“What’s wrong with her?” John shakes his head at his son’s behavior. “Father, why did Y/N look as if she’s hurt? I thought she didn’t want this marriage.”

“You really are a blind, my son. I suggest you’ll leave her alone and turn your attention toward the girl you want to leave Y/N for,” walking away John leaves his son alone with his thoughts.

“I thought she wanted to divorce too, Sir. Wait, hey, wait up,” Dean jogs after his father grasping for John’s wrist. “Talk to me.”

“I want you to take care of Crowley, Dean. You’ll be out of town for a month or two and can rethink your decision,” John sighs deeply. “If you still want to divorce Y/N I will not stop you. I’ll take care of the mess you left, as always.”

Dean did not say goodbye before he left to deal with Crowley. To be honest, it would have been too hard to see rejection, maybe even triumph in his eyes.

“He’ll be back in a month or two, Y/N. Enough time for him to come to his mind and realize what he’s about to lose,” you nod, what else can you do when the most powerful and dangerous mobster tells you his opinion.

“I will go to my room, goodnight John,” watching you leave John hates he has to force you to stay but with your father insisting on not breaking the bond he’s got no other choice than to protect his heir, the future of his empire.

Three weeks passed without a word from Dean, not that you believed he would at least call to tell you he’s alright. While you lie on the bed in the room John offered to you, the door opens once again.

Over the last weeks, John took care of you, watched over you like a mother hen, not that you would ever dare to call the mobster like that.

“You need to eat something, doll. Ellen made chicken, peas, carrots, and mashed potatoes.”

“I am not hungry, or rather the moment I eat anything I have to run to the bathroom. Breakfast ended up in the toilette, just like the apple I ate,” you do not turn around, not wanting John to stay longer than needed.

“Listen, I know this is a fucked-up situation, but you’ll get up, have a shower, and come to join me in my living room. We can watch one of those movies Dean hates so much,” John sits onto your bed, gently patting your hand. “Mary, she had problems with Dean too. I made her fennel tea.”

You would laugh about John acting like a nurse, but you know he means well, tries to make the best out of a bad situation. “Okay, I’ll be there after a shower.”

“If you need anything else, tell me or Ellen so,” you nod, glancing at John who places your wedding band and engagement ring onto the nightstand. “I am sure, when Dean comes back he’ll apologize, Y/N.”

You nod silently, knowing John is wrong about Dean. Your husband does not give a shit on you, to be honest…

“Better,” while you sip on the fennel tea John insisted to make you nod, faking it did make you feel better. “Just relax and watch, uh-erm,” glancing at the movie John rubs his scruffy chin. “What are we watching?”

“I don’t know,” mumbling the words you look at the huge TV, not following the story at all. “I just zapped around and ended up watching that movie. She looked pretty in her wedding dress, though.”

“Y/N, you need to stop acting as if you are a prisoner or worse. I know you believe I want you to stay because of the baby inside your belly, and I want you to but,” John wraps one arm around your shoulders, letting you rest your head against his shoulder, “I want to keep you safe.”

“Dad would get mad when he gets to know I made Dean leave. He would believe I manipulated our marriage to get out or something similar, John. My family is not used to give comfort. They are all hard, calculated, and power-hungry,” you glance at your belly, slowly rubbing it. 

“You’re showing,” John covers your hand, squeezing it tightly. “Just a little but I see the difference.”

“You mean I got fat,” giggling you blink the tears away. “There is no reason for Dean to like me, you know. I guess, he had to imagine someone else to get intimate with me. I am such a fool…”

“Doll, get down here and join us for dinner,” John grumbles when you refuse to come down to eat with Sam, Ruby, Ellen, and John.

“No! Nothing fits any longer, John. I look like a wale!” You yell back. “I will not go downstairs wearing a too-tight dress or crap!”

“Jesus, Y/N. You are three months pregnant, not a wale. Come downstairs or I’ll send Sam to drag you down or Ruby,” Ruby glares at John, pointing her knife at the mobster. 

“I am not a threat,” she grunts, watching you slowly pat down the stairs. “There she is! A pretty mama!”

“A wale,” grumbling you walk toward the table in a too-tight shirt and shorts which do not cover your belly. You baby bump peeks out of the shirt and John smirks, holding back a chuckle as you glare at him.

“You look beautiful, doll. Now sit, eat and we can talk about baby names,” John pulls your chair, smirking as you wiggle on the seat to get comfortable.

“How about Dexter,” Ruby smirks watching you narrow your eyes.

“Samuel?” Sam tries and you toss a napkin at the tall mobster who grins at you.

“John Winchester Jr.,” John exclaims, and you groan, hiding your face in the palms of your hands. “J. Jr.,” he tries again, and you shake your head silently.

“John Henry Winchester,” not giving in John tries to convince you but you stay adamant. “It’s a great name for your baby.”

“Not for a girl, John!” You grunt and everyone cheers at the table as you finally told them the gender. “You son of a bitch!” Head snapping upward you purse your lips when John gives you a grin. 

“That’s my line, sweetheart,” Dean snickers, waltzing into the room. If it’s possible for him to look even better after three months he does look better. His hair longer, chin scruffy and his eyes sparkling he looks around the room. “What? No welcome back?”

“Welcome back, son. How were the deal, Mexico, and the weather?” John clears his throat when you silently get up to leave the room. “Y/N, you didn’t eat anything. Stay.”

“I lost my appetite, John. I’ll sleep a bit or whatever,” voice trembling you rush out of the room, not caring John calls your name repeatedly.

“Did I just kill the mood,” Dean blinks a few times, glancing at his family. “What did I do?”

“Uh-let’s start with you leaving your wife. You not calling for over three months or the fact you want to divorce her,” Ruby deadpans. “Maybe her current state makes her even more vulnerable.”

“Current state? Is she sick?” Dean gasps, glancing at the untouched food. “Why did she ran upstairs? Our bedroom is opposite.”

“She lives in John’s guest wing as you wanted her to leave, dude,” Sam grits out. “What did you believe would happen? That Y/N would wait for you to kick her out.”

“I just,” sighing Dean drops his bags before he walks toward the stairs. “I got to talk to her. I mean, she’s my wife, right?”

John rolls his eyes, close to saying something he will regret. “Not for much longer. You are back, you still want to divorce her so I can marry her,” John lies, a dirty grin on his lips. “I’d like to have a younger wife.”

“You, what?” Choking on his words Dean balls his hands into fists. “You said I shall think about divorce, not that you would ram your teeth into my wife!”

“Ex-wife, Dean. If you want out of this marriage, I will not stop you but,” John smirks devilish, “someone has to take care of Y/N and her needs.”

“If you touched my wife I’ll castrate you,” Dean threatens, bumping his chest against John’s. “I thought she wants out of the marriage. I never said I will let you touch my girl, you vulture. Go and get a random girl. This one is mine.”

Dean storms off, still cursing when the door slams shut behind him with a loud bang. “I should’ve said something sooner,” John snickers. “I woke the alpha. Imagine what he’ll do hearing she’s having his baby.”

“You’re the devil, John Winchester,” Ellen laughs at Ruby’s words, nodding eagerly. “I like your style, sometimes.”

“Son of a bitch, Y/N! Did he touch you? Did my fath…,” Dean’s eyes widen, his jaw goes slack, and you can see the color drain from his face when you step into the bedroom, showing off your baby bump. “Y/N,…sweetheart?”

“What brought you here, Dean? Do I have to sign the papers,” you sigh, sitting onto the bed, not meeting Dean’s gaze. “I think John prepared everything. We only have to sign the papers and you can go to that girl you want.”

“There is no girl, Y/N,” mumbling the words Dean kneels in front of the bed, not taking his eyes from your swollen belly. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He looks up at you, searching your face.

“You wanted out of this marriage. It thought you wouldn’t care or worse,” you huff, grabbing the blanket to cover your body. “Doesn’t matter anymore. I am trapped to stay here. John’s order. You can go and party or whatever you planned to do without me dragging you down.”

“Sweetheart,” his hand trembles when he moves it under the blanket to touch your bump. “My baby is inside your belly. I never thought I’ll be a father one day.”

“Dean, you are free to go and leave this to me,” not wanting to see him pity you, you scramble away, crawling toward the pillow to sleep the hurting off. “Leave me alone and got to that girl.”

“I told you, there is no other girl, Y/N,” Dean sounds angry when he kicks his shoes off, crawling onto the bed to lie next to you. He’s burying his face into your neck, inhaling your scent. “You smell like vanilla and lilac. I’ve missed your scent, your soft skin, your lips on mine.”

“Sure,” you grunt, angrily clenching your fists. “That’s the reason you did not call and gave a shit on me for three months, Dean.”

“Y/N, I was kinda undercover to find out what’s Crowley planning. I could not call my wife or crap. I had to be as invisible as possible,” he’s moving closer to wrap his arms around your waist. “I swear, I wanted freedom for you, nothing else.”

“You wanted my heart, and I gave it to you only to get hurt,” Dean listens to your words, hating he made you feel that way. “I never wanted to hurt you, Y/N. Let me make it right.”

“How? By pretending you love me too,” you huff, turning in his embrace to slap his face. “I am done listening to your lies.”

“Love? You love me,” Dean scoots closer to cup your face, ignoring your angry look. “Fuck me,” his lips press against yours and you must use all your strength to break free.

“What the fuck Dean!”

“My wife loves me,” he smirks, glancing at your belly, “and I knocked her up. Now back to my father touching you.”

“Gosh, John would never touch me, not that this is any of your business, Winchester.” You glare at Dean when he tries to touch your belly. 

“I am sorry, Y/N. I promise to be the husband you deserve if you give me the chance to. I know asking for divorce without talking to you was stupid, but I thought you want out,” Dean pecks your lips, rubbing your belly slowly. “I heard you talking to Ruby and wanted to let you go.”

“I don’t understand, Dean. I never said I want out of our marriage. I said I want to get out of this house,” you groan, frustrated.

“Exactly!”

“I didn’t want to live with your father, brother, and their girlfriends. I wanted a place of our own, Dean.” Dean starts laughing, even throws his head back.

“I guess next time I should listen closely,” he is rubbing your belly, smiling as you cover his hand with yours. “I don’t want out of this marriage, Y/N.”

“Is that a lie again or can I have a little bit of your heart too?” Dean pecks your lips, gently stroking your cheek. “Sweetheart, you can have the whole damn thing…”

Part 2

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A/N: If your name is crossed out Tumblr won’t let me tag you.

#Give a little bit of your heart to me #MOBSTER!AU #mobster au #mobsterdean #mobsterjohn #mobster!dean x reader #mobster!dean #mobster!dean x you #mobster!dean winchester x reader #mobster!john winchester #angst #pregnant reader #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester SPN #spn au fanfic #spn au fanfiction

[lady-wallace]

Whumptober Day 2: JJBA

Some Part 2 Caesar whump today!

Also Find me on: Instagram or Ko-fi

~~~~~~~

Day 2: Talking is Overrated

Prompts Used: garrotte | choking

Fandom: JJBA Part 2

Character: Caesar

~~~~~~~

Read on Ao3

Read on FF.net

~~~~~

Caesar checked his watch as he walked along a back street from the shop he had been at previously. It was almost time to meet up with Joseph to head back to Air Supplena but he was sure the insufferable Brit would be late.

He shifted the bags of supplies he was carrying and glanced up at the sky. It was already getting close to sundown and he had hoped to be back on the island by then. But here he was, at the agreed upon spot, and Joseph was nowhere to be seen.

That was why, when he heard footsteps behind him, he didn't think anything of it. He was getting ready to chew Joseph out.

Until he caught something glint in the darkness out of the corner of his eye and slide around his neck.

With the instincts of a warrior and those honed from a life on the streets, Caesar instantly dropped the bags and was able to get his hand up between the thin wire and the soft flesh of his throat before the garotte tightened. It cut through his glove and into the flesh of his palm instead, but Caesar was quick to form a layer of Hamon between the two, putting a buffer around the wire.

His assailant chuckled as he yanked Caesar backwards, further into the alley.

The Hamon user wasn't going to go that easily though. He gritted his teeth and used the garrote wire as a conductor to send Hamon surging back toward the man who held it.

A sharp cry sounded out and the wire was dropped, allowing Caesar to spin around and fall into a fighting position.

Seeing a familiar face.

His attacker glanced up, obviously recognizing him as well.

"Well, well, if it isn't Caesar Zeppeli," he said.

"Marzio," Caesar spat.

"Haven't seen you around for a while now," Marzio said. "Heard you had left the streets. Got yourself a fancy life."

Caesar straightened up. "I did. I'm not that man anymore."

"Oh yeah?" Marzio spat. "You think you're better than us then? After all the men you beat to death with your favorite wrench?"

"What do you want?" Caesar huffed, getting annoyed, hating to have to face unpleasant memories of a past life he had wanted to forget.

"I want recompense!" Marzio growled. "You were always one step ahead of me, got all the goods. Forced me to scrape my way to the top with a feeble crew. I'd be way better off now if you hadn't ruined my chances back in the day."

"Take what you want, I'm not stopping you now," Caesar said, turning to grab his bags again. "I left that life a long time ago."

As he turned, he realized that several rough-looking men had crept up behind him and more were appearing in the other end of the alley, making their way toward Marzio, closing Caesar in on both sides.

Caesar quickly calculated. There were a lot of them. Even with all his training, it would be hard for him to take them all out, and Marzio was not a man to be messed with.

Joseph really had chosen a fine day to be late.

Caesar knew he wasn't getting out of here without a fight, so he decided to make the first move. He threw the bags at one of the men and summoned his Hamon bubbles, throwing them out.

Confused, the men allowed the bubbles to hit them, shocked cries sounding out as they were thrown backwards. Caesar turned around as several of the other thugs rushed him, kicking out at one and throwing a Hamon-filled punch toward another.

A punishing kick slammed into Caesar's knee, staggering him, and a punch caught him in the jaw as he faltered. He managed to make several more Hamon bubbles, but another blow to the ribs threw his breathing off for a vital second.

This time, Caesar wasn't fast enough to get his hand up to make a barrier between his neck and the wire Marzio hurriedly wrapped around his neck again.

"Look at you," the thug sneered as Caesar clawed at the wire, desperately trying to keep it from cutting into his skin. "The great Caesar Zeppeli. Not so great now, are you? I'd be willing to say you've gone soft."

Caesar struggled for breath, trying to use his Hamon to fight back, but someone kicked him in the ribs again and Marzio hauled him back against his chest so he could get a better grip on the garrote.

Caesar gasped, clawing at the wire. He could feel darkness encroaching on his vision; his legs weakening. And as hard as he tried, he couldn't use Hamon because he couldn't get a breath in!

He slumped, a dead weight against Marzio, eyes rolling up into his head and fluttering closed. He couldn't believe, after everything, it was going to end like this.

"Hey!"

Something slammed into Marzio from the side, and the man cried out, dropping Caesar who collapsed to the ground, choking as he weakly reached up to grasp at the constricting wire around his throat.

He could hear shouts, muffled through his ringing ears, before feet pounded down the alley away from him.

"Caesar!"

Boots appeared in front of his blurry vision and he was rolled onto his back, his hands pushed away from his neck before more dexterous fingers pulled the wire from around his throat.

Caesar coughed and choked as his airway was finally free, wetness pricking his eyes from the pain.

"Easy, just breathe slowly."

Caesar finally recognized Joseph's voice.

"Who the hell were those guys, anyway? Friends of yours?"

Caesar groaned. "Sh-shut up…JoJo."

"Well that's not a very nice thing to say to the guy who saved you from getting your head cut off with piano wire."

Caesar pried his eyes open, glancing up to see Joseph's slightly indignant expression. Caesar weakly punched him in the knee. "You were late."

Joseph's indignation continued for only a fraction of a second before it changed to something more somber. "Sorry."

Caesar pushed himself upright, a hand around his throat. It would be bruised for a while, but thankfully it didn't seem like the wire had broken the skin.

"No…I should thank you," he croaked. "He would have killed me."

Joseph's face softened before he smirked. "Well, a thank you is good enough for me. Let's get going then, huh? Who was that guy anyway?"

Caesar groaned as Joseph helped him to his feet, offering him a shoulder to lean on.

"Just…someone from a past I would rather forget," Caesar said.

Joseph nodded as if he understood. "It's best to leave the past in the past, Ceasarino. It's better to look to the future."

Caesar glanced up at him from the corner of his eye. "What's this? Something that could actually be mistaken as wise coming from your mouth?"

"Shut up," Joseph said, elbowing him in the ribs, hitting a bruise. Caesar grunted and punched him back, harder. Joseph yelped indignantly.

Caesar smiled to himself. As much as he pretended to be annoyed by Joseph—and sometimes genuinely was—he was still glad to have him as a friend.

#whumptober2021 #no.2 #talking is overrated #garrotte #choking #jojo's bizarre adventure #jjba #fanfiction #jjba part 2 #battle tendency #caesar zeppeli #joseph joestar #caesar whump #Joseph to the rescue

[plummyplums]

Just for @zizzyhopps​, here’s my current assortment of Wick headcanons

General

There was never a demon.  No changelings, no fae, no nothing.  Everything was caused by Mary’s abuse and inability to accept her mistakes.

The twins’ masks are both worn to cover scars from the same incident.  They were walking back from the wood shed and were attacked by a bear/coyotes/some wild animal.  With both of them being unable to run (Tom’s leg, Tim’s asthma), they were kinda screwed.  Thankfully, Tim always carries his knife, so they had a bit of defense.  It didn’t take too long for John to show up and shoot the attacer, but both of the twins were quite hurt.  They both have scars on their faces.  Tom was very self-conscious about it and seeing the scars tended to make him upset, so Tim made them matching masks to make him more comfortable.

In short: Tim is smart, creative, and very protective; Tom is shy, creative, and emotional; Benny is kind, humble, and protective; Caleb is active, kind, and stubborn; Lillian is lively, mature, and sweet.

Both Twins

12-13

Were born premature and very small, no one was sure they’d survive

Quite sickly

They always react the same way; the one who��s healthy will be all worried and fussy, the one who’s sick will be grouchy about being sick.

Both artists; Tim likes to sculpt and carve, Tom likes writing and drawing.

Tim

Name is Timas Weaver

Reversal of Thomas

Asthmatic

Extremely protective of Tom

Like, “stabbing people with his whittling knife for bothering Tom” sort of protective

Left-handed

Aggressive and cold with most people, soft with Tom and Lilly

Smartest of the kids

Autistic

Low empathy

Special interest in whittling/woodwork

Despises messy spaces

Easily attached to objects (his mask, his knife, John’s gas mask)

Hates eye contact

Hates loud noise

Shutdowns, he’ll find a place to sit and quietly explode

Also got polio when Tom did, but was asymptomatic

Likes climbing trees, running, doing physical stuff

Carves things for his sibs; mostly bunnies and other toys for Lilly.  His favorite things that he’s ever made will always be the masks, just due to how much work he put into them and how it helped him and Tom.

Death: Asthma attack

As a ghost

Constantly wheezing, as if he can’t catch his breath

Skin is distinctly cold

Tom

Name is Tomothy Weaver

Reversal of Timothy

Had spinal polio as a baby, leading to weak muscles and limited mobility

His left leg is weak, and he has less dexterity in his fingers, leading to his poor handwriting

Wears a brace on his left leg, can’t balance very well or can’t stand for long without it

Always worried about Tim

“No!  You can’t run!  But if you do, wait for me, if you have trouble breathing I need to be there to help you”

Claustrophobic

Shy and sad

Almost never approaches people on his own

Soft and emotional

Prone to crying when he’s upset

Autistic

Low empathy

Likes scratchy, sharp sounds

Easily attached to objects (his mask, his rattle)

Hates eye contact

Meltdowns, he cries really hard and only Tim’s allowed to touch him

Loves reading and writing stories, but is self-conscious about it

Death: Fell from the bridge

As a ghost

Can talk, but usually doesn’t.  On rare occasions he can be found talking to Tim or Lilly in a quiet, painful-sounding voice.

Skin is distinctly cold

Constantly cracking and popping from his broken bones moving

Lillian

5

Her bros are allowed to call her Lilly

Iconic sweet baby

Loves teasing and playing pranks

Caleb is her fav sibling, being the closest to her in age and really the only one she can relate to, with Benny being so religious and the twins being hidden away

Enjoys singing and wanted to learn to cook

Death: Dropped Honey Bunny in the well, drowned trying to get it back

As a ghost

Constantly floating through the air, it looks like she’s swimming

Her voice is echo-y

When upset, she may be dripping wet

Benny

14

Humble, incredibly kind

A bit reserved, though not nearly as much as Tom

Tries to mimic Mary, though a bit nicer.  He’s stern but gentle with Lilly and Caleb, but is wary of the twins

Mary told him they were demons

Dyslexic

Total Mama’s boy

Very responsible; never breaks rules, always does his chores, does his best to be a good big brother

Death: Undetermined, died in his sleep

As a ghost

The most “alive-passing” out of the kids

Can’t help but fall asleep often

Very conflicted that none of them went to heaven or hell

Caleb

9

Track star

Loves to be outside

Kind, outgoing

Extroverted as heck, he hates being stuck alone/inside

A bit self-centered

A bit feisty, kinda stubborn

Death: Buried alive by Mary, reasoning undetermined

As a ghost

Brags about being the coolest ghost

Can still see, despite not having eyes, but not as good as in life.  Mostly relies on hearing and feeling the player through the ground.

Voice is crackly and dry

Feel free to send me DMs or asks about Wick, I’m always excited to talk about my kiddos and the lore!

#wick (2015) #wick hellbent games #wick game #tim weaver #tom weaver #benny weaver #lillian weaver #caleb weaver #long post #tw child death #tw murder #tw religion