#love me a backlit moment

[lindonwald]

mamma mia

[pheonixgrave]

Safety

I saw a post the other day about Astarion watching Tav get railed by Halsin and this is what happened, I am so sorry :D

Warnings: Blood drinking, big Halsin, threesome, virgin tav is really into pain, service dom Halsin, sub Astarion, sub Tav, Astarion's poor relationship with sex, aftercare, oral, very large Halsin, set near end of act III

“Are you sure about this?” Tav sat on the edge of a private bed in Sharess’ Caress with Astarion sitting in a rather comfortable looking armchair facing her. He was lounging with a glass of wine in his hand. Just as she was clad only in a periwinkle satin robe that clung to her body.

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t, darling. Are you sure about this?” He could tell she was nervous. They had rented this room for one reason only. Privacy. While they had the rooms at the Elfsong, Astarion didn’t want the rest of their party listening in. 

“I want to, I’m just nervous. I’ve never done anything like this before.” She chuckled, he knew. Of course he knew, why did she have to say it? Her nerves were starting to get the better of her. She tried breathing through it but her heart would not stop racing.

He smiled at her before rising to his feet. He walked over to her and cupped her face in his hands, “Nothing is going to happen if you don’t want it to. And you do have me here, I won’t let anything go further than what you want.”

“I trust you,” she placed a soft kiss against his lips before smiling. “But I can’t promise this will go smoothly.”

“My love, nothing goes smoothly when you’re involved.” He kissed her again, “maybe I could help you relax just a little before he gets here.”

“What do you mean?” His hands started to wander down her arms, slowly reaching the tie that kept her robe together. 

Normally, someone of her station would have something longer, a little more regal. But this was not a regal situation. “Perhaps I can make you just a tad more comfortable.” With deft hands, he untied her robe. Gods, her freckled skin always made him catch his breath. But backlit by the sun setting outside, she looked like a goddess reborn. A perfect halo around her newly scarred body.

She only nodded, still embarrassed by the intimacy of it all. Her words may have been caught in her throat but her body obeyed. She spread her legs for him to fit between them. She leaned back on her elbows as he ever so gently pushed her back. “Astarion?”

“Shh, darling, let me.” He dropped to his knees. Holding her thighs open, he licked a long stripe against her cunt. She gasped but tangled her fingers in his hair. He only wanted to bring her to that edge and maybe prep her just a little. He made lazy circles around her clit while she writhed on the bed. It was his favorite dance with her. 

But before he would get too wrapped up in the taste of her, the doors swung open. To say Halsin was a presence was an understatement. And as soon as Astarion went to pull away to make room, the druid held him there. “Do not stop on my account.”

Tav immediately went to cover herself  and they let her, but Astarion’s tongue continued. This time encouraged by an audience, he buried his face in her cunt. Leaving no inch undiscovered, he couldn’t help but fuck her with his tongue. Tav tried to stay quiet, tried to keep her moans to herself. What she did with Astarion was filthy enough and adding the archdruid seemed so strange to her. She turned her face towards him and watched him slowly start to undress. He was so…large. She would be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about being held by him. It was almost enough to distract her from the Rogue between her legs. Almost. 

She felt her orgasm wash over her as he gave her clit a slight nip. "Astarion!" She cried, giving his hair a harsh tug.

He let her ride out her high for a moment before standing before her, her legs still spread and her chest heaving. The golden rays of the sun surrounded her now. Her golden hair fanned out behind her and the flush of her skin was all Astarion wanted to look at. Dazed by her taste and how angelic Tav looked at that moment, he didn't notice Halsin turning him around to face him. 

Halsin wasn't one to waste time, not when it came to this. He held Astarion's face and smashed his lips against the smaller elf's. Tav could do nothing but watch the druid ravage him. It took her breath away to watch him pick Astarion up and drop him in the chair yet again. The two made eye contact for a moment. He looked positively wrecked. His face was far more flushed than usual and she could see how hard he was through his trousers. It made her cunt clench. 

Then he turned to her. "Astarion was right. You taste as sweet as any wine." If it had been possible, the bard would have even blushed even more. Halsin towered over her. She watched as he slowly unbuckled his breeches, her breath catching in her throat. The initial trepidation had been washed away with Astarion. Or so she had thought.

Halsin was big. Astarion was nothing to scoff at but Halsin was another creature entirely. She swallowed hard, "Is that even going to fit?"

He slowly started stroking himself, "It has before in much smaller."

"Gods," she practically whimpered, tossing her head against the pillows.

"Did you prep her?" His voice was so low and hungry. 

"I didn't have enough time, you barged in before I could really commit." Astarion sounded like a different person. He was far more whiny than before. He was feeling just as needy as she was. 

"Sit behind her." Astarion moved before she realized it, sitting against the pillows and resting her head resting on his chest. It dawned on her that he liked following his commands. She could feel how hard he was pressed against her back. "Good boy."

A shiver ran down the rogue's back as a light whimper escaped him.

"Now hold her just like that," he stood between her legs with Astarion propping her up. It took her by surprise when Halsin's thick fingers spread her cunt open. "Such a pretty girl," he murmured to himself before slowly slipping just one finger inside her. Tav writhed against the vampire spawn, silently begging for more. She tried to gain a little friction by grinding her hips against his hand. "Hold her, Astarion." 

It was a quick command but one he followed without thinking. He wrapped his arms around her middle. She looked up at him with pleading eyes, "Are you alright, love?"

She whimpered but nodded. She simply needed more. "Touch her."

His hands were quick to find her breasts. She arched her back into his touch as Halsin added a second finger and started practically pistoning his fingers in and out of her. "Gods!" 

"Good, just let go for me. You will have to cum around my fingers before I give either of you anything else." Halsin watched the two in front of him. Astarion might have needed this more than he had thought. And so did Tav. It was impossible not to find either of them attractive. It had been even more impossible to ignore that attraction. And now that she was laid bare in front of him with him behind her, it was almost too much. He silently prayed to the Oak Father for control.

Tav's moans got louder. Her hands gripped Astarion's shirt as he played with her breasts. She thought the attention Astarion gave her was overwhelming but it was nothing compared to the attention of the two elfs. “Shit,” she gasped as her cunt clenched around Halsin’s fingers. 

He removed his fingers from her, not hesitating to suck them clean. “If I did not want to take you now, I would spend hours just tasting you.”

She only whined in response, still coming down from another high. She never imagined herself as a plaything before. But she could scarcely think of little else than the two men using her body. The thought alone was nearly enough to push her over the edge again. She didn’t have much time to dwell on the thought. Halsin used his other hand to direct her face towards him. “Is this what you want?”

She nodded.

“I need more than that.”

“Yes! Just-”she whined, “please!” 

Halsin smiled to himself. They had jumped into this with little preparation or conversation and a part of him was worried it might be too much. He was already worried that giving Astarion commands would be too much yet he followed them so sweetly. The two of them were so eager to obey him. He held her thighs apart, taking a moment to watch her cunt twitch in anticipation before dragging himself through her folds. He groaned as he slowly pushed his way inside her. 

She cried out at the stretch. Gods, it hurt. Her face twisted from pleasure to pain. Astartion hushed her, gently stroking her cheek. “I know, darling, you have to relax.” She nodded, focusing on her breathing. 

Halsin stopped, gently stroking her thighs. “Are you alright?”

“Gods, don’t you dare stop now,” she nearly cried. Between a shady priest and Astarion, she had learned that pain was merely a motivator. 

It took patience and care, but eventually he found himself completely buried inside of her. She looked so small like this but so tight and hot. He leaned down to press a kiss against her lips. A kiss she eagerly returned, a hand threading itself through his hair. He broke away panting, leaning towards Astarion next. He could feel his fangs nip at his lips. Not intentionally, just silently begging for more. He braced himself standing at the edge of the bed, holding her thighs apart. “Are you ready?”

Another nod. This time, he didn’t make her talk, just gave a couple shallow thrusts. Those shallow thrusts slowly turned harder and harder until he was practically punching the air from her lungs. Without thinking, he grabbed Astarion’s hand and pulled it towards her clit. Normally, he was slow and teasing with his ministrations. But something about watching someone else fuck her into her own oblivion made him wild. Quick and purposeful circles around her clit combined with Halsin’s rough treatment had her back arching in almost no time at all. 

In a daze, Tav grabbed the back of Astarion’s head and brought him down towards her. She wanted to kiss him, to feel him too. Most of all? She wanted him to bite her. Once she broke the kiss, she bared her neck to him in a silent plea. Astarion looked at Halsin through his eyelashes. She wasn’t the only one who looked absolutely wrecked. 

The druid’s eyes were transfixed on her cunt swallowing him whole. His chest was heaving as he held her trembling thighs open. “Hells,” he whispered underneath his breath. He glanced up at the rogue, who was equally transfixed on his cock bullying her. “Say what you need, Astarion.” He growled, closer to his own end than he would like.

Astarion stroked her neck with the hand that wasn’t still circling her clit. "She's asking for a bite," he all but whined and pouted.

"By all means," he had never seen something like that. He couldn't pretend that he wasn't curious and if she was asking in the throes of another orgasm? Who was he to deny her?

Astarion adjusted so he could be closer to her neck, she didn't seem to notice. She could only moan and cry out nonsense. And then he bit her neck, right where her scars were forming at the juncture of her neck. 

Halsin watched her eyes roll back in her head as she scratched at the vampire’s thighs and created a vice grip on his cock. It was too much even for him, he tried to hold back, to let her ride out this high one more time. But he couldn’t. He pulled out right before he finished, coating her body in his seed as Astarion drank from her. He stood there for a moment, trying to collect his own thoughts. Astarion was running his hands up and down her body, making a mess on her stomach, her neck seemingly forgotten.

He dragged his fingers through Halsin’s seed, using the other hand to pry her mouth open. She sucked in his fingers without question. It was salty and earthy, she gagged at first but tried to lick Astarion’s fingers clean. And she swallowed every drop on his hands. If he wasn’t careful, Halsin would need another chance to bury himself inside her. Now that he’s had her, could he ever truly think of anything else?

Without warning, Astarion left her side, positioning himself at the edge of the bed once more. Only a fool would be able to miss the tent in his trousers. Halsin watched him lick every drop of his seed off her stomach while his hand found her clit once more while Tav looked at Halsin with pleading eyes. 

“Good boy,” Halsin’s hands wrapped around his own cock, watching the vampire clean the bard with his tongue. “Do you wish to fuck her too? I would hate for you to be left wanting.”

For once, Astarion had nothing to say. With clumsy hands, he stripped out of his clothes. Tav was far too gone to notice him shaking. But Halsin watched him bury his cock in her cunt and watched her nearly scream. He watched him fuck her with reckless abandon. It didn’t feel like the Astarion he knew. He walked behind him, running his hands down his arms. “She is not going anywhere, sweetling. You are safe,” he whispered into the vampire’s ears. 

His grip on Tav tightened while Halsin kissed his neck and rubbed gentle circles on his thighs as she reached He let him work out whatever he was feeling on her already abused cunt. Astarion came with a strangled cry. He collapsed on Tav, tangling his limbs with hers. The two laid there, completely spent and out of breath with tears pricking his eyes. Halsin felt his heart swell looking at the two. He smiled to himself before walking towards the washroom. Casting a spell to warm the water already sitting in the room’s tub. 

First, he scooped up Tav in his arms. She nuzzled against his chest and welcomed the warmth of the water. Next he swept Astarion in his arms and sat him next to the bard. It was a quick thing getting the two of them scrubbed down. Eventually, Astarion came back into his right mind and started scrubbing Tav’s hair. Tav, who was still in a dazed state, simply leaned against the much larger elf as the vampire helped scrub her body. For a while after, Halsin simply held the two smaller elfs as they curled against him and simply slept. He hadn’t expected to stay but he was more than happy to.

[sordidmusings]

Thirsty Thursday with Mihawk - The Hat Stays ON

Art by koitosoup

A/N: Y'all can blame @fanaticsnail for me posting this 💀 it is very indulgent because I needed desperate and needy Mihawk to exist and this prompt tumbled right on into that to sate me 🤡 (at the airport hoping no one is looking over my shoulder rn too LOL)

Word Count: ~2.5k

Warnings: afab!reader, NSFW, p in v, forceful undertones towards beginning, desk sex, creampie, begging, praise, lots of the pet name "love", Mihawk is like super needy he moans "please" dude, he's also very in love, and trying sUPER hard not to finish first by the end 💀, stress relief before Cross Guild meeting, brief moment shit-talking the other two lol turns real sweet at the end cuz I couldn’t help myself

Please enjoy this man being as close to a mess as I think I can convincingly get him ╰(▔∀▔)╯

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

Mihawk is usually the type of man to fully take his time enjoying every inch of you.

Usually.

“I know, love, I know,” his voice is full of panting desperation, worn to a fluster by his pressing need and his frantic firm thrusts into you. “I’ll make it up to you later, I just -nnhah- just gotta fuck you now -nnnhg fuck- don’t wanna think about anything but how fucking good it feels inside you.”

When Mihawk came to your study not thirty minutes before the next Cross Guild meeting, this was the last thing you were expecting. Though, it did fly right to the top of the list when you saw the intensity of his shining gold eyes on you and the rigidness of his figure, all coiled muscle waiting to pounce and gritted teeth waiting to tear. You’d barely been able to get just his jacket over his shoulders before he was on you, speaking his need and hunger with persistent lips and hands. He was so set on getting his fill that he simply let his prized coat be dragged down his arms and thrown to the floor. Somehow, his hat survived the rush of his motions and the beloved closeness necessary for his demanding kisses.

Though they were rare, you loved the times he was like this, using you for his pleasure, clinging to you and taking you like nothing else in the world would ever suffice in sating him. You got just as much out of these times as he did, but you played it as a favor, partly for the delicious flavor it added to the dynamic to hear him apologize, beg, and thank as much as the stalwart Dracule Mihawk can and partly to earn the long and worshipful treatment he’d reward you with later. You’re not sure how he hasn’t caught onto you yet. Seeing the meticulously controlled man lose himself in his desire for you has you dripping, shown in the wet slap on each strong thrust. It was surely enough to give your abundant eagerness away.

Beyond that, you are just as ravenous for him, thighs clamped around his sides, hands gripping tightly to his tense forearms as he fucks you on your desk. You feel the jump of each muscle from their work sinking a bruising grip into your hips, manhandling them forward and back opposite the motion of his hips to fuck you just like he wants - like you’re a lifeline and if he just digs as deeply as he can into your sweet cunt as quickly as he can then he can finally breathe again.

Your heels pull him in on each quick thrust, the clench of your legs and abs for the motion helping a rhythmic pulse stroke at every inch of your walls and further firm your swollen lips and clit to absorb each delicious impact of Mihawk’s hips. The soft, sweat-damp skin of his back and sides teases your sensitive inner thighs and calves as he fucks you, his obliques dancing especially sinfully against your flesh. You loved admiring the look of his chiseled figure but absolutely nothing compared to the bliss of him using it against you.

The urge Mihawk has to collapse down over you and continuously drag you as close as possible is strong, but it is beat out by the erotic sight of watching the slap of his hips bounce your body. It lets you have a beautiful sight too; Mihawk backlit and looming over you, muscles fully displaying their strength and tone with the lack of his jacket, his curled hair and the feather on his cap swaying in time with him fucking into you. The hat still resting on his head only makes you feel smaller captured under him; he always looks impressive with it on and it makes the shadow he casts over you that much larger.

Mihawk uses an iron grip to throw one of your bare legs to hook over his shoulder. He uses his other hand to grip the inside of the other and shove it to the side, flat on your desk, trapping it down by putting his weight into his hold on your thigh. It forces your hips to turn on their side, giving him a new angle to work you open on his thick cock. The change has each forceful drag of his cock in you feel new again, recharging your nerves in their pleasant screaming. You tell him their call through whiny panting, chants of his name, and streams of “yes! like that, so good, fuck me harder, need it, need you so bad-”

There’s a firm thump and rattle of your desk as his hand plants next to your head to keep from collapsing over you. It leaves him crouching over you like a predator, but the hazy need in his eyes begging you to let him keep feeling this forever betrays the fact that he’s as deeply in your clutches as he tries to snatch you into his. The thickness of your thigh trapped between you helps keep him up as well as his other hand still pressing your leg down. His fingers that are sunk into your thigh dig deeper and tremble with his pleasure and overwhelm.

“Gods, love, you’re perfect, want to live between your thighs,” Mihawk groans, so close you can feel his panting breath cool the sweat on your face. He’s fighting his eyes to stay open, needing to see the pleasure scrunching your brow, loosening your jaw, fogging your eyes. The fluttering of his lids catches your eyes and swells your heart, shooting arousal through you from knowing he’s feeling so desperately good from fucking you. The amber of his eyes is so bright trained on you that it seems to glow through the shadows haunting his face. It makes him look all the more feral as he grips, spreads, bends, and fucks you like he wants to eat you whole. “Just -hahn- need some more from you, can you -nngaaah- do that for me, little love?”

You sob out a moan as you snap your eyes shut against the onslaught of sensation. The soreness his weight is pressing through your thigh and the tender stretch from your other leg being folded to your shoulder add more buzzing chaos to the sensations swirling their way through your body to flood your brain. The way he holds you open lets your clit take a soft impact every time he shoves his whole length into your plush pussy, giving the bud more little teases with how your body reverberates from the impact. 

“Look at me while I fuck you,” Mihawk snarls, but there’s desperation bleeding through the growl in his voice. You want to whine back at his request but you want to please him even more. You blink your eyes open and the raw need in them has Mihawk collapse just a bit more over you, feeling the want you and your pleasures ravage through his body begin to burn him alive. The brim of his hat taps lightly on your forehead from his closeness while he pants and moans to you, “Like that, love, fuck you’re so good for me.”

Meeting your gaze is a double edged sword; his arousal magnifies, his soul lights up, and his cock twitches hard but it also throws him to feeling right on the precipice of cumming and he’s not ready to stop feeling you. The siren song of the wet slapping of your hips, the slick sound of your pussy gushing around him and trying to keep him sucked as deep as he can reach, and your panting breaths carrying high moans and pleads and praises all tempt him to let the torrent of pleasure rush over him, promise him it would feel like endless blissful sin. It is all the harder to resist because he knows exactly how delicious it feels to sheathe himself from root to tip in you and pump stream after stream of hot cum into your welcoming walls while your cunt clings to him almost as tightly and desperately as his hands cling to you.

“Love, need you to cum,” Mihawk rushes out. He palms the hand on your thigh up so he can rub circles over your swollen clit. Your moans gain even more volume, filling the air in your office almost as thickly as the sweet, musky scent of sex.

“Need it, please,” he whispers breathlessly, “Need to feel you -nnnnhhah- love, love, need to feel your cunt sque-heeze me.” 

His vision begins blurring from the strain of staying right on the edge of cumming, barely holding back the powerful orgasm built from the burning in his muscles, the tingling in his fingers, the swirling in his head, and the throbbing of his cock. Giving up on trying to refocus them, he scrunches his eyes shut and lets his forehead fall down to rest on your temple, finally bumping his hat to fall onto the desk next to you. His closed eyes allow him to focus in better on all the other ways you are filling his senses, latching especially to your open mouth serenading him with needy babbling and fucked out moans.

“Can you be -ghahh- good and do that for me?” Mihawk pleads against your cheek. “Can you cum for me?”

“Y-yes, please, wanna be -mmmngh- good for you,” you whine back to him. His hips stutter at the tone and you feel his lips pull up around gritting teeth, an airy “fuck” sneaking past them.

“You are, sweetness, you are sooooo good for me,” Mihawk praises, swirling his thumb more insistently across your slick clit. The increase and pressure and perfect timing with his firm thrusts has your core tightening in threat of bursting. Your thighs had already been shaking in warning of your coming orgasm, but now the trembling is seating itself in every clench of your walls around Mihawk’s thick cock, wringing tighter and longer on each pulse. Your nerves sparkle and buzz more with each clamp down, the blazing rub of his throbbing dick and its bulging veins whiting out your mind. “Now come on, love -nngh- cum on my cock -fuuck please- let me feel you, make me cum -nnnghah- need to fuck you full.”

With a sob of his name, you finally fall over the edge. It feels as overwhelming as you had been expecting since he first stormed in and threw you over the desk. Your hands and cunt cling to him in need of a tether and in need of more; while your body is trembling with the bliss of your orgasm a tiny piece in the back of your mind is waiting for the final thing that will melt your whole body into a honey drip of heaven.

Mihawk doesn’t leave you waiting long; he is only able to feel your pussy milk him a handful of times before he can hold his end off no longer. With slurring groans of endearments and praises, he is overtaken by pleasure and can think of nothing beyond the relief of pumping you full of his cum with his twitching cock and grinding hips. The force of it has his thighs quake and numb out, making his weight crumble over you as he can no longer hold himself up. He nuzzles his face down the side of yours until he’s tucked panting against your neck, forehead pressed snuggly against your racing pulse.

You welcome his weight with open arms, one dragging him ever tighter to your heaving chest and the other winding its hand into his thick dark hair to ensure he never leaves. Both of you are still gasping for breath, your pressed chests rubbing and shaking against each other much like your greedy hips do as they ring out the endless pulsing beats of your orgasms. Your cunt and core continue to massage down on him and wring every bit of tight and bubbling bliss from his still hard and pumping cock that they can get. 

The feeling of being not only filled with his large and achingly hard cock but also the swelling heat of his cum makes your eyes roll back. He’s filled you full to bursting, now leaking out of you on every grind and the warm sticky sensation and sound matched with his pelvis massaging small sweeps across your clit prolongs your peak. You get to spend a long time suspended in the feeling of your body bursting with heat and joy and relief and electricity, all shoving your soul right out of your skin only for Mihawk’s presence to trap you right back into the storm raging in your nerves.

Mihawk begins to feel foggy and a bit delirious as he finally releases his pent up need in you, finally sates his ferocious hunger for your delicious touch, finally finds his comfort and peace stuck as close to you as he can possibly get. He makes a halfhearted attempt to bring his mind back to his body but is happily distracted by the aftershocks that jolt your body and flutter your cunt. They pull extra little spurts and groans from him each time and he’s defenseless to the contentment he feels following their slowing pace into the warm hover of affection that always envelops him after sharing bodies with you.

It takes a long time for either of you to actually come back to yourselves. The whole time you are afloat, you guide each other with trailing touches from limp but loving hands, quick kisses stolen between smoothing out your breath, and gentle squeezes in the embrace you keep on each other, needing those little moments where it's even more of a hug than a hold. Mihawk chases the touches that tease across the dips of his lower back or scratch up the back of his neck and across his scalp just a little bit more than the others. You feel too boneless to lean into almost any touch at the moment, but you do manage to roll your head to the side so you can gaze at your grandfather clock in the corner.

“I don’t think there’s time to make you presentable for them,” you sigh out with no real remorse. Mihawk is of a similar mind.

“Not my fault if those two don’t have anyone to take care of their needs,” Mihawk mumbles dryly. “Also not my problem if they’re mad I’ve had mine met.”

The laugh you give at his attitude earns you one of your favorite prizes: Mihawk’s lips making the slow curl then spread into a real smile. It is only topped when they close again to press a kiss in the shape of that smile on their resting place against your skin with enough love to reach straight through your skin and nurture every beat of your heart.

[cemeterything]

hozier said it better but yeah to me death is a strange and brightly backlit figure catching sight of you in the headlights and slowing to a stop beside you, stepping out of the vehicle and kneeling down to lift and cradle the shattered, gasping animal that is your dying body in warm, gentle arms and dark folds of fabric and moving you out of the road, so that even in your confusion and terror and futile struggle for a few more agonizing moments of survival you're surrounded by love and know that you're held, that you can let go when you're ready

[supernaturalfreewill]

Words: 5,373 Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Warnings: injury, assault (no description of any sexual violence though it is implied this may be the motive for the assault), attempted abduction, angsssst, Protective!Dean Summary: Dean is happy to see he's getting a call from you, but he can tell from the tone of your voice when he answers that something is seriously wrong. Requested by: Anonymous! Thanks for the request! I hope you love it! Hurt/comfort can be just the right thing sometimes, and Winchesters on the war path for someone they love is the icing on the cake.

Dean smiled at the name that lit up his phone screen. “Y/N, hey,” he said. But the smile on his face died when he heard your voice.

“Dean?”

There was a pause as his stomach seemed to drop through the floor. “Yeah, hey… what’s going on? Are you alright?”

Another pause, on your end this time. “I don’t—I don’t know how to—are—are you busy?”

He glanced at the pile of file folders and stacks of books on the table in front of him but only stood up and turned away from it. “No. No, I’m not busy. What do you need? What’s going on?”

Your voice shook when you answered. “Can you get here? Please?”

Something was terrifyingly wrong. Dean’s teeth clenched. “I’m on my way now. Y/N—are you safe?”

He heard only your shaky breath for a moment. “I am now. I’m safe now. I’m safe now…” You were almost chanting it to yourself.

“Where are you? Are you at home?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be there in an hour,” he said into the phone. “Do you want to stay on the line with me?”

There was a long pause as you thought about how to answer that question but you eventually decided. “No. No… just—just drive safely and get here when you can.”

“Okay. I’ll be there as fast as I can. I promise. I’m on my way. Just—stay safe, alright? I’ll be there soon.” His stomach was churning with nerves, rolling with worry and fear. As he hung up the phone, his apprehension and concern only seemed to grow. What the hell was going on?

_ _ _ _ _ _

The tires of the Impala squealed as he yanked the wheel to turn the car into your driveway. It hadn’t even come to a complete stop when he threw it into park, turned the key to off, and bolted out the door. Your house was dark ahead and the curtains were drawn. The whole place looked and felt eerie and unsettling. He took the steps two at a time and stopped on the front mat, rapping his knuckles loudly on the door.

He shifted anxiously and strained his hearing, glancing back over his shoulder and surveying the surroundings as any good hunter does. His jaw clenched as he looked back at the closed front door. He knocked again, more loudly and more sustained. “Y/N?”

The fear in his chest seemed to expand in a bubble that was pushing up on his lungs, thrusting the air out of them more and more with every passing second that you didn’t appear. “Y/N? It’s Dean!” He knocked again one more time and made up his mind that if you didn’t answer this time, he was breaking down the fucking door and—

Inside, you startled in your seat on the edge of your couch. You were surprised to look about yourself and realize that night had fallen. There was an insistent knocking on your front door and then you heard a familiar voice. You gasped and forced yourself onto your feet, clicking on a lamp as you rushed to the entryway. “Dean?” you called out, your hands so shaky that you fumbled with the chain and locks.

“Oh, thank God,” you heard him murmur on the other side of the door. “I was about to bust your door in!”

You pulled it open slightly and peered out at him through the small space, flicking on the porch light as you made sure it was really him. Assured that it was and that he was alone and nothing strange was going on, you stepped back and swung the door open wide. The light from the porch flooded in through the open door and illuminated your figure. You were backlit by only a small lamp inside. Dean’s eyes whirred over you, taking note of the slightly asymmetrical way you were standing and glaring swelling and bruising on your face, along with several small cuts. Even in the dim light, it was apparent that you were a bit battered. He watched as you raised a shaky hand to brush some hair away from your forehead.

“C—come in,” you managed, stepping aside to let him pass.

His eyes stayed fixed on you as long as they could while he slipped in. He rounded immediately on the rug and watched as you hastily shut and relocked the front door. Your hand was shaking so badly you were struggling to put the security chain back on. He stepped forward and his hand gently landed over the back of yours, closing lightly over your fingers. “I’ll get it,” he said, his green eyes wandering over your face, colored more deeply with concern. A deep cavern grew between his eyebrows as he again noted the injuries that seemed stark on your face even in the dim light. “Why don’t you go sit down? I’ll put some water on for tea and then you can tell me what’s—what’s going on.” The slightly gruff edge to his deep voice was more pronounced in his concern, but you found it comforting.

You drew in a shallow breath and nodded. You felt almost in a daze and were struggling not to go to pieces immediately at the sight of him. Dean was there. You were truly safe. Nothing would happen to you while he was around. You were okay… You were okay…

You drifted over to the couch and sat again in the same spot you must have been frozen in for at least an hour and a half after you’d called him. You glanced up to watch him in the new glow of the kitchen, filling your kettle and setting it on the stove. He began opening cabinets, searching for your tea, and finally found it in the pantry. He set out two mugs and a box of tea bags before looking over and catching your eyes.

You were mostly cloaked in shadow now and Dean strode over and clicked on a couple more lights so he could see you properly. You sat rigidly still on the couch and he finally came to sit down on the coffee table across from you. He gulped as he studied you in the full light now and took stock of the extent of your injuries. Your face was bruised in deep reds and purples and swollen over one of your eyes and along your jawline. He could tell that the little nicks and cuts you had scattered over your skin hadn’t been tended to. They were still messy and thickly clotted and your skin was stained with the rusty smears of dried blood. His brow furrowed more deeply over his eyes. “Y/N. Can you tell me what happened?”

A shudder ran through your body involuntarily. You couldn’t seem to find your voice, your words.

“Hey—it’s alright,” Dean said softly. “Just take your time.”

You pressed your hands over your face, squeezing your eyes shut, and trying to steady yourself. Dean had never seen you like this. Never. Not after all the hunts that had gone slightly more than sideways, not after a car accident that put you in the hospital, not after you lost people close to you—he’d never seen you this scared, this shaken. You forced yourself to take a few deep breaths and you finally seemed to dislodge what felt like a hot stone stuck high in your throat. You lowered your hands and nodded, looking up at Dean who was watching you closely with worry you could almost feel radiating from him.

“I—I tracked down this hunt. I was just searching the papers, you know? I found something strange, a pattern, and I decided to go take a look, poke around a little. I was pretty sure it was a vengeful spirit. Should have been an easy case. It was in a small town. I pulled into the—”

At that moment, the tea kettle screamed in the kitchen and you jumped so much you nearly fell off the couch.

“Shit!” Dean exclaimed, jumping up. “Sorry! I’ve got it. Just the kettle. I got it…” He rushed into the kitchen and hastily pushed the kettle off the burner. Your heart was pounding in your throat and you pressed a hand over your chest and tried to slow down your breathing. Dean was glancing between you on the couch and the cups in front of him he was pouring boiling water into them. His stomach had formed a tight knot and he found himself keyed up and ready for a fight despite not even knowing what had happened to you yet. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something deeply wrong and deeply unusual had happened. He couldn’t explain it, didn’t understand it, but he knew it in his gut.

He carefully came back to sit with you, setting the two mugs of steaming tea down on the coffee table and taking a seat beside you on the couch this time. “It’s, uhh—chamomile,” he said. “It’s supposed to be calming, I guess. I don’t know,” he said, forcing a half-smile. “Tea is more Sammy’s thing. They pretty much all seem the same to me.”

You nodded and managed to give him a weak smile, though it was tight and didn’t ease the drawn look around your eyes. “Thanks,” you murmured, reaching for the mug. The fabric of your sweatshirt pulled upwards as you grabbed the handle and Dean’s heart jolted. There were deep bruises on your wrist.

His hand shot out and gently grabbed hold of your arm, just above the marks that clearly looked as if someone had grabbed you. “Y/N—this isn’t from a vengeful spirit,” he said.

You relinquished your hold on the handle of the mug and Dean felt you start trembling beneath his hands again. Your bottom lip was quivering as he searched your face for answers.

Gulping, he pushed up the other sleeve of your sweatshirt to see more bruising on your other wrist. His eyes flew to meet yours and flickered between them. “Who did this to you?”

That was it. You couldn’t hold it in any longer and you absolutely crumbled to pieces, falling into him.

Dean’s chest ached and he wrapped his arms around you and pressed you against him securely, your head falling into the crook of his neck. “Hey—it’s okay. You’re alright. I’ve got you… I’ve got you.” He smoothed a hand over your hair, his heart still aching even while rage boiled in his stomach. He held you until your shuddering breaths slowed and the shaking of your shoulders was almost gone. Still, you clung onto him. “It’s alright. You’re safe.” You could feel the reverberation of his words in his chest and it was grounding. Finally, he gripped your shoulders gently and pulled back to look at you more closely. That’s when he saw the marks on your neck too, hidden previously by the collar and hood of your sweatshirt. His teeth clenched and the muscle in his jaw tensed. “If you can, tell me who did this to you.” His prodding was calm and cautious as you regained your composure.

You nodded and mopped at your face with your sleeve. “I was at the bar to try to talk to some of the locals, get some info on the case. There was this guy there, another patron, and he kept glancing at me. I finally realized he looked familiar and he’d obviously recognized me from somewhere but I couldn’t place him. He eventually came over. He was a hunter. We’d met at that thing after Brett’s wake, you know, in Wyoming?”

Dean nodded. He remembered hearing about it, but he and Sam hadn’t gone.

“Anyway, he was there for the same case. He asked if we could work it together. It seemed easy enough—salt and burn,” you said. You reached for your mug of tea again and this time wrapped your hands around it to soak up the warmth. They felt so cold. In fact, you hadn’t been able to feel warm since the whole thing had happened… You went on, staring down into the amber color of your tea. “The case was simple. We took care of it no problem once we figured out the real identity of the spirit and then he asked if I wanted to go grab a bite to eat and a beer and it sounded good after finishing things up so I agreed... He was just friendly. It seemed fine and…” You trailed off and Dean watched you squeeze your eyes shut again. “So stupid…” you muttered to yourself. “I didn’t even really know him. I shouldn’t have—"

“Whoa, whoa. Hey—none of this is your fault. Okay? Don’t do that. You should be able to be safe just getting a beer out somewhere. Don’t blame yourself. I don’t even know what happened yet but I know that none of it is your fault. Okay?”

And he said it with such forcefulness that you believed him. You met his green eyes again, so concerned and intent on you, and yours filled with tears as you managed to nod. You blinked them away. “We—we had burgers and a couple beers and then we went out to the parking lot and I was getting in my car and he just—suddenly he just attacked me. He was—he—” Your voice broke and Dean pulled you in against him again tightly. You were trembling under his hands.

You tucked yourself against his chest and Dean’s chin came to rest on the top of your head, his arms around you, smoothing over your back comfortingly. Inside, he was burning up with rage. “It’s okay… you’re okay.”

“I fought him,” you managed finally, still not separating from Dean, speaking almost into his chest. “He was trying to get me to his car and I just fought him as much as I could but he was so strong and he was so much bigger than me. He had me down on the ground. I was trying to hit him, push him off, and then he had my wrists, and then next thing I knew his hands were on my neck and I—” You pulled back abruptly and looked up into Dean’s handsome face. “I had my pocket knife. Somehow, I don’t know how, but I got it out and I stabbed him in the fucking groin. That’s how I got him off me.”

Dean’s brow furrowed more deeply, one of his hands was still gently gripping your upper arm. He clasped your face with the other, his eyes whirring over your injuries. His thumb moved tenderly over your cheek, thanking God or whatever fucking entity was listening that you’d escaped when you did. He didn’t have to guess at the guy’s intentions… and it swelled a toxic mire of fury inside him. “You did the right thing. You did exactly what you should have. Hell, you could have killed him and it would have been completely justified. It’s okay.” He gave your arm a gentle squeeze and brushed some of your hair away from your face. “Listen, we’re gonna get you patched up, alright? And then I’m gonna figure out how take care of this. You won’t have to worry about him. What’s this asshole’s name?”

You gulped and your tongue felt suddenly dry, sticking to the roof of your mouth. “Evan Lewis.” Just speaking his name made you feel like you were going to be sick.

Dean nodded. “I’ve heard the name before… can’t say I remember him though.” He sighed heavily. The fact that this pervert, this goddamn douchebag, was a member of the hunting community made things a thousand times worse. He was supposed to be fucking helping people. Instead, he’d used being a hunter to gain your trust and take advantage of it… “Where’s your first aid kit?” Dean asked, pushing down his anger for the moment.

You mopped at a tear that had escaped and run down your cheek. “In the linen closet in the bathroom.”

“Alright. I’ll be right back, okay? We’ll get you fixed up as best we can.”

You didn’t want to break from him completely, but with the reassurance he wouldn’t be gone for more than a minute, you nodded.

Dean got up and disappeared down the hall and into the bathroom. He immediately pulled out his phone and hit Sam’s name. Sam answered on the second ring.

“Dean, hey. Where are you? I’m back at the bunker and the Impala is gone. What’s going on?”

“Sam, Y/N called me. I’m with her now. She—she’s in rough shape. She was attacked,” Dean growled into the phone. Sam could hear his fury in the tension in his voice.

“What? What do you mean attacked? Is she okay? Like, a hunt gone wrong or—”

“You could say that.” Dean’s free hand clenched into a fist involuntarily. “But no, it wasn’t what she was hunting. It was a person.” There was a beat of silence on the other end. “Someone attacked her? What—why? Dean, what the hell is going on?”

“Just listen, Sam, it’s worse, alright? The guy who did this is in our community. He’s a hunter.”

Another long pause as Sam tried to process exactly what his brother was saying. “Is she okay?”

Dean sighed heavily into the phone. “She’s—she’s alright. Or she will be. She’s beat up and obviously traumatized but she saved her own ass. She said she stabbed the guy in the groin.”

Another moment of silence and a heavy sigh from Sam on the other end. Dean could picture him pacing in the bunker. “Good.”

“Listen, have you ever heard of a hunter named Evan Lewis?” Dean asked.

“Uhh,” Sam wracked his brain. “It sounds vaguely familiar… Maybe I’ve met him at some hunter thing? I’m not sure.”

“Well, he’s the lowlife who attacked her. I need you to call Jody, Donna, Garth, whoever and just get the word out that we’re looking for this guy and that he’s bad news. And I need you on this. I don’t care about anything else until this guy is taken care of.” Dean rubbed a hand over the stubble on his face.

“Yeah, agreed,” Sam said hurriedly. “I’m on it. Just make sure she’s okay and—tell her I wish I was there too.”

“Yeah,” Dean nodded, finally turning to open the closet door in the bathroom and grab the first aid kit out. “I will.” He sighed again. “Damn,” he breathed. “We could really use Cas right now to get this guy and—I don’t know, drop him off in North Korea or something.”

Sam let out a wry laugh. “That’d be good. I guess we’ll have to content ourselves with beating the crap out of him and getting him ostracized by the community.”

Dean rubbed a hand over his face. “I hate this… These guys don’t just quit. He’s going to pull this shit again.”

“Yeah, but what are our options here? We can’t kill him. The cops aren’t really a solution… Even if Y/N goes through the trauma of reporting the assault and attempted… uhh—reporting it, say he is charged, he isn’t going to stay locked up for long.”

Dean sighed weightily again. “I know. There’s no good solution here…”

“Hmm,” Sam hummed thoughtfully.

“What?”

“Well… what if we just blast him online?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, send out warnings all over social media, dating sites… Maybe that way we could at least prevent someone from ending up in the same situation. Hell, I could throw together a website in no time.”

Dean’s jaw clenched. “Do it. With creeps like this, once we start putting it out there, other people might come forward too. Look—I gotta go. I need to help get Y/N patched up. I’ll check in with you later.”

“Alright. Give her a hug for me,” Sam said, his voice woven with sadness and anger in the same way Dean’s was.

“Dean?” Your voice echoed down the hall to him.

“Yeah. I will. I gotta go, Sammy.” He hung up and rushed back with the first aid kit in hand, sinking down across from you again on the coffee table, his knees cocked out to fit around yours. Your eyes were searching his face.

“Did I hear you talking to someone?” you asked.

Dean set the kit down and opened it, laying out items he would need to get you taken care of. He nodded. “Yeah. I gave Sam a call…” he said, hazarding a glance at your face to gauge your reaction. “I told him vaguely what was going on.”

“Oh,” you said, nodding, cupping your hands more tightly around your warm mug.

Dean’s green eyes, dark under his heavy brow, flickered between yours. “I hope that’s okay. I—I wanted to get some people on this guy right away.”

You nodded again and nervously chewed on your bottom lip. “Yeah. Yeah…”

“He says he’s sorry. And that he wishes he was here too. But we’re gonna take care of this, okay?” Dean’s deep voice had an extra layer of gravel to it and it seemed to reassure you. He was here, solid in front of you, and you were safe. Nothing bad was going to happen to you with Dean around.

“Thanks,” you managed softly.

Dean pulled in a deep breath and then tore open an alcohol wipe. “I’m just gonna clean up those cuts a bit. You might want to close your eyes so the alcohol doesn’t irritate them.” He scooted forward on the coffee table and your eyes shut, revealing the thick, dark fray of your lashes to him. He dabbed at a cut near your hairline first, as tenderly as he could while still lifting away the smeared, dry blood. “This hurt?” he asked you, pausing for your answer.

“No,” you breathed, your voice a little weak as it caught in your throat.

Dean returned to his ministrations, his fingers so light and gentle you hardly felt it until the alcohol stung. He chased a dried smear of blood down your cheek and over your jaw onto your neck. The coolness of the evaporating alcohol raised goosebumps on your skin and a shiver ran up your back. You huddled more deeply in your sweatshirt.

Dean gulped. “You alright?”

Your eyes opened again and you nodded. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

He nodded and his finger landed lightly under your chin, tipping your face ever so gently this way and that as he looked you over again. He sighed when he realized he’d done all he could, but his hand slid along your jawline and he lightly stroked your cheek, a pained look overtaking his face. “I’m so fucking sorry this happened to you.” You could hear the ache in his voice.

“I know. Thank you, for being here,” you said.

“Is there anything else I can do? Anything. Do you need some ice for anything? I mean—how—how’s the rest of you?” he asked, seized by a sudden worry that you were concealing some injury that was much worse. “Y/N, do you need to go to the hospital for anything?”

You shook your head. “No. No… I’m just bruised up is all. I’m—I’m just tired,” you said, tears filling your eyes suddenly. “Sorry—” you croaked, your throat tightening. You blinked them away, wanting to hide your face behind your hands again. “I’m just so drained…”

“Hey—” Dean took your hand in his and pulled it away from your face. “Don’t apologize. It’s okay. You want to try and get some rest? What can I do? Anything. Just ask.”

You bit your bottom lip as you stared at him. God, you looked so vulnerable. It was making Dean’s heart break. He was used to seeing you as a vibrant, bright light—a stong, badass hunter. This had him completely unbalanced in the worst way.

“Can—would you come lay with me? I just don’t want to be alone,” you asked, feeling your cheeks flush even at the request.

“Of course. Come on,” he said, tilting his head toward the hall which led back to your bedroom.

You stood gingerly, and he helped you to your feet. Dean ghosted behind you as you flipped a small lamp on in your room and climbed under the covers. He settled himself down against the headboard on the other side of your bed.

Tucking a hand in against your neck, you looked up at him. “Can I ask you for one more thing?” you said, your voice coming out in a whisper.

He nodded, meeting your eyes. “Anything.”

“Would you mind—holding me for a while?” Your voice broke in the middle of the sentence and Dean felt the ache in his chest expand. “I just—I can’t shake the feeling that he’s suddenly going to appear out of nowhere. I know it’s stupid…”

“It’s not stupid.” He toed off his boots and threw the covers back, settling himself in the middle of the bed. “Come here.” He nudged his head to tell you to move into him and you did so eagerly. Dean’s arms closed around you as you tucked yourself in against him, your head coming to rest in the crook of his neck. “You’re okay. I’ve got you…” He stroked your hair and relished the feeling of you safe beneath his hands. He kissed the top of your head and you settled in against him more heavily, breathing in a deep breath and letting it out in the first relaxed sigh he’d heard since he’d pounded on your door. “I’ve got you,” he hummed one more time.

“Thank you for being here,” you said.

“You don’t have to thank me for that. This is right where I want to be.”

To the surprise of both of you, you managed to each drift off shortly after and you didn’t wake until morning.

_ _ _ _ _ _

It was an insistent buzzing that roused both of you. You stirred against Dean and he was sorry to have to scoot away from you to grab his phone off the side table.

“Sorry,” he murmured, sleep still coloring the tone of his voice. “I should have turned it off.”

You pushed yourself up on your palm and shook your head. “No. It’s okay. It might be something important.”

Dean sat up and glanced at the name lighting up the screen. “It’s Sam,” he told you. “Hello?”

“Hey. How’s Y/N doing?”

Dean glanced sideways at you. He could still see the bruising but at least the swelling had gone down some. “As good as expected. Managed to get some sleep though, so that’s good. What’s up?”

“Right… Sorry to call so early but I’ve got an update. I had Garth do some calling around. I guess this guy talked to another hunter and told them he got injured in a hunt, had to go to the ER, and is now heading home since he’s benched for a while. He’s in Broken Arrow, Oklahoma. I’m gonna to head there now and track him down and—”

“—beat the ever-loving shit out of him?” Dean finished.

“Something like that,” Sam said. “I got the word out to everyone too, and I put a page up online. If anybody searches this guy’s name, it’ll be the first thing they find.”

“Good,” Dean said, climbing off the bed and pacing the length of the room. Your eyes followed his broad shoulders. “I’ll meet you there.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “…Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Sam asked.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Dean asked a little abruptly.

“Well… shouldn’t you stay with Y/N? And—I’m a little worried you’ll kill the guy,” Sam admitted.

Dean scoffed. “That’d be letting him get off easy. No. Don’t worry about it. And—” he glanced back over at you where you were sitting up in the bed, hair tousled from sleep. “—I’ll have Y/N head to the bunker. She’ll be safe there.”

“Alright. As long as she’s okay with it that’s probably a good idea. And I would be glad for the back-up.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “And I’ll be glad to punch his face in. I’ll call you on the way.” Dean hung up and met your eyes. His heart jumped and then he felt a deep ache between his lungs. He sunk back down on the bed beside you. You looked a little worried but also eager for the update. “Do you think you’d be okay heading to the bunker on your own and waiting for me and Sam there?”

You thought about it for a moment and then nodded. There was no safer place for you to be, unless it was with Sam and Dean beside you. “Yeah. I think so.”

“If you’re not sure, I can come with you. I’m sure Sam can handle this guy on his own if he needs to,” Dean said, his brow furrowing heavily over his green eyes. “Just say the word and I’ll stay with you.”

“Thank you, Dean. But I’ll be okay. Especially knowing the two of you are going after him,” you said. “And—thank you for coming and staying here with me last night. I don’t know—what I would have done without you. Not sleep, that’s for sure,” you said with a wry laugh. “Thanks.”

Dean nodded. “Like I said, no need to thank me.” He gently touched your arm. “This whole thing is gonna be taken care of real soon. I promise.” He gulped, a little nervous suddenly. “And—you should know that nobody deserves this, but especially not you. You’re—you deserve only the best things.” In that moment, he wanted more than anything to kiss the soft pout of your mouth and the bruise on your jawline and the curve of your cheekbone, but the timing was all wrong. Instead, he went about doing his best to make sure you were okay and would stay that way. “I mean, how many times have you been there for me and Sam? Let us take care of this and don’t think about this asshole for another second.”

You managed a smile for him. “If he’s heard that the Winchester brothers are coming after him, he’s probably scared shitless. That’s almost punishment enough.”

Dean stood again, and his grim and furious expression returned. “No. It isn’t.” His fists clenched. “Alright. I’ll let you pack a bag and then we’ll get out of here. You’re sure you’re okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah,” you said with another smile. “I am now. Thanks to you.”

“I’ll call you as soon as it’s over and I’ll be racing the Impala to get back to the bunker. Just stay safe, alright?”

You sighed, a fluttering starting suddenly in your stomach. “I’ll be there.”

Dean gave you a soft, charming half-smile. “That’s all the motivation I need to get home. And—you can stay as long as you want. I'd—uhh... we'd love to have you.”

In the worst moments, the most terrifying, the most awful, the most trying, you could always count on Dean, and he could always count on you. That’s how it had been since you’d met him, and that’s how it would always be. But you also knew, you could count on him in the best times, and you were hoping for many more of those once this was behind you.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Just Like Dad (2 of 4)

Content & Warnings: referenced military career, domestic fluff, some humor, canon-typical swearing, Kyle is a girl dad

Word Count: 935

A/N: Part of the Imagines & What If Series

An evening of peace is interrupted when Kyle has to answer questions about what he does for a living.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // just like dad masterlist

Peace is shattered.

It always is when you have a kid.

It’s not just scraped knees or melted ice cream splattered on the pavement. Sometimes, peace is shattered because your child is a feral goblin who decides disturbing your sleep is the perfectly logical thing to do.

Wearing a pink onesie, standing in the bedroom doorway with her little fist raised and clutching a thin piece of paper, you and Kyle’s six-year-old daughter is ominously backlit by the hallway light. Kyle blinks, a little stunned by the sight before him. You shift beside him, one hand reaching out to him, murmuring his name.

There are a few seconds between her sudden appearance and the leap onto the bed. She spider-crawls like a thing out of a horror movie.

“Bloody hell,” groans Kyle, pinching the bridge of his nose as his daughter perches like a gargoyle next to him.

“Daddy,” she whispers.

You are already awake, turning over onto your back with squinted eyes as you’re blasted by the bright light of the hallway.

Before you can even speak, Kyle is shaking his head, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I’ve got this,” he groans, sitting up to turn on the bedside light. You glance at your daughter before returning to your original position.

Kyle rests his forearms on his bent knees, staring at his daughter who gazes at him with a peppy eagerness like she’s just eaten a cake heavily coated in icing. She shouldn’t have this much energy at this late hour.

“Go to bed,” says Kyle. “It’s past bedtime.”

She clutches the thin piece of paper. “I wanted to show you earlier.”

While Kyle is typically indulgent when it comes to her, he’s not feeling that way at the moment. He only wants to sleep.

“It’s late, bug,” he replies. “Tomorrow.”

She shakes her head, her tight curls bouncing slightly. “I didn’t know what to put here. You don’t talk about your job.” She points to a spot on the paper, and Kyle frowns as he peers closer.

Fuck.

It’s one of those questionaries where the child answers all these questions about themselves, and several pertain to her parents and what they do. She has left that entire section blank. Kyle understands that schools do this so that the students can build identity in their community while also making connections with classmates.

But she’s right. Kyle doesn’t talk about his job. At least not with her. You, his wife, are an entirely different story. You, the one who has been through nearly all of it, is the only person who truly knows everything. His daughter is far too young to know specifics or to fully comprehend the sheer violence of his work.

“You’re right, love. I don’t.”

“Why?” she asks automatically.

This is not a conversation he wants to be having. She needs to be in bed, and Kyle should be asleep and spooning you before he has to take this feral fiend of a daughter to school in the morning.

Kyle sighs and runs his hand over his face. “Where is this coming from?”

Her face falls slightly, and then becomes steel. “I want to be like you,” she says. “I want to grow up and be strong.”

No, babygirl. No. You don’t want to be like me.

You stir beside him, shifting like you’re about to turn and join the conversation. But Kyle knows you need your rest, and this isn’t the sort of conversation he desires to have this late at night.

That hardness melts away, and Kyle’s heart fractures slightly. She’s so small and yet so determined. Her little fist clutching the paper shakes slightly as if asking him is taking all her strength.

“Give me the paper.” Her smile widens as she hands it over. “And go turn off the hall light.” She groans loudly and Kyle shushes her as she throws herself off the bed and drags herself to the hall.

The light flicks off, and then she’s rushing back to him. He pats the side of the bed, and she crawls in, curling up next to him as he grabs the book off his bedside table.

“Pencil?” he asks, and she whips one out, her smile wide.

Kyle snorts and snags it, twirling it end-over-end as he tries to formulate an answer to the questions. Some of that gentle humor slips away, falling into memory, all the lead and blood and carnage comes back, roaring in his ears.

He takes a deep breath, silencing it all.

Graphite touches paper, and Kyle begins jotting down answers to all the things his daughter didn’t answer. She rests her head against his shoulder, watching the pencil scratch across the paper.

When he’s done, he presents the paper, and his daughter takes it reverently, as if all the secrets she doesn’t have are now suddenly before her. She does not take the pencil as she slips off the bed and starts to sprint for the door. She comes to a halt and turns on her heel, running back to him.

“Thanks, Daddy,” she says a little too loud before kissing his cheek and heading out into the hall.

The bed shifts, and Kyle turns to look at you as you twist to face him.

“What did you write?” you murmur.

Kyle sighs and shuts off the bedside light. He snuggles in, and you reach for him in the dark. Wrapping his arms around you, he pulls you close, inhaling your scent, allowing his mind to drift toward dreaming.

“A nice truth,” replies Kyle softly just before he slips into sleep.

[beautifulhigh]

Hi hi!! It's unfair of me to ask you to actually write the full essay on the rwrb red room kiss scene, but I saw your tags and am very interested in at least what the main thesis would be, if you feel like sharing!! No worries if not 😊 Have a good night/day/whatever time it is where you are!

The last few weeks have been, well. They've Been™ and I'm going to use this wonderful ask to dust off my overthinking tag and write a meta post on this movie, these boys, and then hope more than three people care what I have to say.

The Red Room kiss scene is Iconic™ and Important™ and in this essay I (really) will discuss agency, framing, and why it always had to be Alex to be the one to make the move.

While book!Alex takes book!Henry to the Red Room, here he's waiting. Bundle of nervous energy. He doesn't know what to do with himself, how to hold himself, how to present himself when Henry turns up. He's backlit in this (which is a theatre technique, I see you Matthew) but it also adds to the drama and tension of the scene.

The (in)famous painting of Hamilton, about to bear witness to things.

We jump cut between Alex trying to find... something. Here he is realising his shirt has come slightly undone and he wants to try and be somewhat presentable. At least for the moment. But it speaks to Alex's physicality in this scene because he is shifting and moving so much that his clothing is shifting. There's also an interpretation that this suit represents the formality of the situation - the Prime Minister's dinner, at which he (the First Son) and the boy he wants to kiss (the actual Prinec) are supposed to be front and centre and the picture of formality.

He's coming undone in this moment because he's the First Son and he's waiting for the Prince, but he's also Alex and he's waiting for Henry.

Ah, yes. The casual lean against the wall. Fancy seeing you here, your Royal Highness, what do you think of the menu? But there's grounding here too. When you're spiralling focusing on a physical point of contact between you and and something can help ground you.

It's also a defensive stance in a way. You shall not pass, I'm not moving. Alex is claiming space and territory and he's controlling it.

"How dare you fucking kiss me, run away, ghost me, then walk into the White House like nothing changed." This is closed off, defensive, protective - probably why it's the quickest of the poses to be dismissed. He's got his back against the wall like he's scared or ready to come out fighting. And, in a way, both of those are true.

Book!Alex is mid-crisis on his bisexuality and while he logically knows he is very much into Henry, he's not gotten to the point of turning theory into reality.

Movie!Alex is more chill about being into guys, but this attraction to Henry is confusing him. He hates the guy. He wants to punch him in the mouth. With his mouth.

(What? That's literally book canon: and if he weren’t already hell-bent on destroying Henry’s infuriating idiot face with his mouth right now, he would consider doing it with his fist.)

Casual lean against the table, less staged and jarring than the extended arm against the wall.

But then Henry walks in and Alex stands to attention and he is... rapt. He is calm and composed and he is focused. We're back to the back-lit position which helps frame him with a near-halo effect.

And you can see that he is relaxed. There's a slight drop in the jaw, his shoulders are sloped and rounded. Because none on what he was trying to convey before matters. Henry is here.

"Look" he starts with - he's expecting a fight. He's expecting Alex to go off on one for the kiss, for the liberty taken. Even if Alex is willing to forget that it ever happened, take Henry's secret to the grave, Henry gets one thing right in this.

"my behaviour was appalling"

Because it was. Look, Hen, I love you and I'm with Alex in the feeling that I will go to war for you to see you happy and safe. But you did kinda kiss him without consent (harsh reading) and you did ghost him without apology (soft reading) and for a boy raised in the Royal Household that... well... it's pretty much top items on the Very Bad Behaviour list. He did not act with decorum or dignity, he did not act in the way that his status and position demands.

(That's OK, Hen. Because the boy under the linden tree wasn't the Prince. It's OK to not be him, and Alex is going to spend the rest of his life loudly loving the man, not the prince.)

"Shut up, stop talking." // “Shut up, shut all the way up, oh my God,” Alex hisses

Because even though both versions of Alex said he wanted to talk to Henry, in the moment that's the last thing he wants to do. And actions speak louder than words, right?

Why it had to be Alex

Henry needed to make the first move, that New Year's kiss, because there needed to be something to make Alex realise that this thing he's feeling is very much reciprocated, and that Henry wants it too. If Alex had kissed Henry for the first time on New Year's Eve/Day then it would have been too much of a leap. Alex, at whatever stage of his bisexual journey, has no clear idea of Henry's orientation at that party. It's only with retrospective viewing that he realises that Henry was low-key flirting, and that the sharing of these deeply personal moments wasn't just a "two bros in a hot tub" thing.

So Henry had to kiss Alex first but then he had to run because there was no way that the mostly-closeted, private Prince could accept that a) he fucking kissed a boy, b) said boy is the one he's been dreaming of since Rio/Melbourne, and c) the boy kinda?? kissed him back?? Henry will have been having a low-grade anxiety attack all through January (and trying to reclaim some control with the date he went on in the book).

In this moment, Alex knows all the pieces. He's played this logic game to its conclusion and he knows all the facts. 1) Henry is gay. 2) Henry is into him. 3) He's into Henry. That last fact is something Henry isn't fully aware of (or at least can't bring himself to believe it to be true) and so it has to be Alex.

He doesn't want Henry to say something that would get in the way of this, doesn't want to hear any kind of pre-prepared speech of "yeah, we're better off as friends" that always happens when the couple get too close to getting together too early in the run time. Alex is full on shutting that down, shutting Henry up, and he gives as good as he got.

"Wait a minute" // Henry’s too shocked to respond, mouth falling open slackly in a way that’s more surprise than invitation, and for a horrified moment Alex thinks he calculated all wrong, but then Henry’s kissing him back, and it’s everything.

And this time it's both of them. Framed between Hamilton and the books. The American political trailblazer and the literary. In the space between? There's our boys.

Alex's hand is on the wall again and he's controlling the space but Henry is very much in it. He's protective but in a different way.

In one frantic motion, Alex knocks the candelabra off the table next to them and pushes Henry onto it so he’s sitting with his back against—Alex looks up and almost breaks into deranged laughter—a portrait of Alexander Hamilton. Henry’s legs fall open readily and Alex crowds up between them, wrenching Henry’s head back into another searing kiss. They’re really moving now, wrecking each other’s suits, Henry’s lip caught between Alex’s teeth, the portrait’s frame rattling against the wall when Henry’s head drops back and bangs into it. Alex is at his throat, and he’s somewhere between angry and giddy, caught up in the space between years of sworn hate and something else he’s begun to suspect has always been there. It’s white-hot, and he feels crazy with it, lit up from the inside. Henry gives as good as he gets, hooking one knee around the back of Alex’s thigh for leverage, delicate royal sensibilities nowhere in the cut of his teeth. Alex has been learning for a while Henry isn’t what he thought, but it’s something else to feel it this close up, the quiet burn in him, the pent-up person under the perfect veneer who tries and pushes and wants. He drops a hand onto Henry’s thigh, feeling the electrical pulse there, the smooth fabric over hard muscle. He pushes up, up, and Henry’s hand slams down over his, digging his nails in.

The sensibility of the suits is on its way out, they're not the First Son and the Prince. And Alex is taking the lead.

Agency

Henry is somewhat passive in this - although he is fully engaged - but it's Alex who set this in motion. Pun intended. Alex who pushed him against the wall. Alex who pushed him up onto the table and hiked his leg up around his hip, Alex who is driving in. Because Alex needs Henry to know that third fact. The one he's worked out, the one that Henry is just catching up with. This isn't payback, it's not some prank. Alex Wants™.

There's a scene I'm writing in my current FirstPrince WiP in which Alex and Henry have a charged moment. And Henry wants to act on it but those princely sensibilities get in the way and he can't let himself be led into doing something that could be used against him. If Henry made all the moves then the accusation of him taking advantage, of the inherant imbalance that comes with status and titles and positions of power. So in the scene, and here, Alex takes the lead. There's no way anyone could accuse Henry of forcing Alex into doing this.

(Good luck getting Alex to do ANYTHING he doesn't want to.)

So Alex gives and Henry takes and he gets the memo very quickly.

Fact number three. Alex wants this too.

Then Movie!Amy walks in on them (which IMO is way funnier than Book!Amy hissing through a crack in the door) and these idiots try to act like they weren't redefining International Relations a second ago. Alex is by the painting, Henry is by the books. They've gone back to their sides and they're playing at being interested in what they find there. But they're not, it's all for show, someone who gives a passing glance at this point sees this part of them, this side of them The First Son and the Prince: the politician and the literary.

They're both backlit, they're in line even if it doesn't look like it, Alex is no longer on Henry's right, and they're both trying to act like the people that others could see them as.

But we - and they - know better. 1) Henry is gay. 2) Henry is into Alex. 3) Alex is into Henry.

4) Everyone is on the same page now.

(Also I know Casey talked about seeing the Red Room on a White House tour and so that's why they included a scene in that room in their book, but I cannot ignore the fact that red = love and passion and danger and fire [the counter to the water motif] and it's a warm colour designed to excite.)

[coffeeghoulie]

If you're still taking kiss prompts, Dewther with 27. Thanks!

I love writing dewther so much lol. Sorry if the formatting’s scuffed, I wrote this on my phone lol, hope you enjoy!

Prompt from this list

#27: as a suggestion

Aether's not exactly sure what time it is when he looks up from his desk, the fine print on the paperwork in front of him all starting to blur in the blue light from his computer monitor. He pushes his glasses up to rub at his eyes, straightening with a jolt as he sees a figure stepping into the infirmary office, clearing their throat.

"Dew, darling, what's wrong? Are you alright?" He stammers, reaching out with his quintessence to quickly scan over his mate. He knows that Dew has chronic pain that ebbs and flows, aching joints and scars, fears not being there if a flare-up had hit, unable to soothe his mate's pain.

Dew chuckles softly, stepping closer to the desk as the quintessence flows over him. His copper eyes flutter shut at the sensation, like carbonation and ozone. "I'm fine, Aeth, Cold, though. In that big bed of ours, all alone."

Aether sighs, runs a hand through his hair, pushing the dark strands that had fallen into his face back into his mohawk. "'m almost done with this, Dew," he lies, gesturing to the mess of papers on his desk. He winces as Dew raises an eyebrow, both of them knowing that's not the case.

"Aether, starshine," Dew says, voice monotone. "You have never been able to lie to me. Don't bother trying now."

Aether sighs again, meeting his eyes. Dew's right, of course. He's always been able to see right through him. Sometimes it makes him feel like a particularly interesting insect pinned to a board, but others? Its a relief to be known.

"The papers will still be there in the morning, starshine," Dew says, leaning over the cluttered surface of his desk to take his face in his hands. He leans into it, staring up at his mate's face. Backlit by the shitty fluorescents in his office, Aether's own shirt slipping down his shoulder, revealing the long-healed bite that matches his, bare-legged, the hem of his shirt brushing the tops of his narrow thighs, Dew is the closest to angelic a hellbeast like them will ever be.

Dew smooths his thumbs over the stubble on his cheeks, overdue for a shave. Strands of hair frame his face from where it falls out of where it's been braided back. "You haven't been sleeping much, have you? You look like shit."

Aether laughs dryly. He knows it's true. But the paperwork needs to get done, both for the infirmary and for the Abbey's bookwork. He leans into Dew's hands, even as he sets his shoulders despite his exhaustion. "I do have deadlines, you know."

Dew's brow furrows, and Aether knows he's been late to bed for a week now, only collapsing into their nest long after Dew's fallen asleep. "You're killing yourself over this, starshine," he hums sadly, still stroking his cheek. "At least gimme a kiss good night?"

Aether gives him a little smile, bringing his hand up to cover Dew's. "Of course, darling. C'mere."

Dew leans further over Aether's desk, until their lips are so close Aether can feel the warmth radiating off of him. Dew kisses the corner of his lips, pulling away before Aether can give him more.

Aether keens, reaching subconsciously for his mate as the fire ghoul steps backwards from the desk. "Baby, come on, gimme a real kiss."

Dew laughs, a spark of satisfied mischief in his eyes. "Nuh-uh. You can get a real kiss if you come to bed, Aether."

"Oh, you brat," Aether growls playfully, watching Dew's face light up in a grin as he stands. "Tempting me away from my work."

"Your mate," Dew says, still slowly backing towards the door, "Has never been able to tempt you from anything. This is all you, you stubborn ghoul."

They both freeze, locking eyes for a long moment before Dew turns, darting down the hallway back towards the ghoul wing. Aether growls again, the noise broken by laughter, hitting the light switch as he follows.

[promptedwordsmith]

Xavier X Reader Angst

Hi! So I have been getting more and more restless sine I discovered Love and Deepspace and I’ve been enthralled by all the edits going around, especially Xavier’s, this is angst I’ve been thinking about since I saw a specific taylor swift edit of him haha, feel free to inbox me requests and such and I’ll see what I can do if you enjoy this! :D This is - by the way - an AU where I can pretend I know the circumstances of Philos

The wind whips at your hair, forcing you to hold it out of your face as you stare at Xavier. You couldn’t help but admire how adorable he looks when he is trying to figure something out. You couldn’t blame him for being confused, how was he to know you knew everything. Or at least as much as you possibly could. For someone who never gave much away, he talked a lot in his sleep, mumbling your name but in an unfamiliar way. He said it so reverently, with a slight accent you’d never heard him speak with, parts of your name sounding so foreign to how he would usually say it. Not to mention accidentally stumbling across his recordings for his queen. His queen that shared your name. It had taken you quite some time to figure it out, pouring over it in your mind for weeks before you came to the only conclusion that made sense. You didn’t have it all figured out, but you knew Xavier didn’t belong here.

That he longed to go back to her.

For a while you had pretended that this wasn’t the case, but now you had it in your mind it was hard not to notice the wistful way you would catch him staring up at the sky, or the way he would study your features for longer than necessary. You didn’t blame him for looking for her in you, you were clinging to him, not wanting to give him up. But one day when he cried your- her name in his sleep, fitful and scared, you knew it wasn’t right. He wasn’t yours, not really. You had watched him all night when you decided that, stroked his hair hummed to him to soothe him. You got comfort that he calmed down with the attention, that this comfort you could provide before you worked on a way to help him get back. Which is what led you to now, this moment where the swirling portal situated behind Xavier was baffling him.

“What’s going on?” He whispered, barely audible over the wind.

“You can go home now. You can see her again.” You smiled at him, a sad and tired smile from all the late nights you pulled working on his surprise. Xavier’s eyes widen but he doesn’t say anything, mind working a mile a minute.

“I heard you in your sleep. Heard the recordings.” Xavier is rapidly switching between panic and confusion trying to figure out what to feel. “It’s OK, I know what I was. I’m not mad, this is my gift to you for all the time we spent together.” Xavier takes a step towards you hesitantly, looking back at the portal quickly before walking towards you. Confused, you stay where you are. He takes over for you, gently taking your hair and holding it out of the way for you.

“I don’t think I want to go back anymore.” He cradles one side of your face with his free hand, eyes searching yours intently.

Even though you’re offering him something he thought he wanted more than anything, in this moment he can only focus on how pretty you look backlit by the sunset. How your eyes crinkle when you smile, all the little things you did that made you so different to his queen. The little dances you would do in the kitchen when you thought he wasn’t looking, how your face looked when you concentrated on a specific part in a book, one he suggested for you. Even the laugh you hated, he realises for the first time that you weren’t as close as he could get to her, you were who he really wanted. You smile again and lean into his hand before wrapping your arms around him.

“Could you sway with me like we used to?” You ask gently, shivering from the cold. He wraps his arms around you again and his scent overwhelms you, starting to sway to a rhythm only he knows.

After a moment, you pull back slightly, craning your neck to look into Xavier’s eyes, he has a small smile on his face that you start to fixate on. You keep your eyes tracked on his face even as you push him as hard as you can.

Xavier’s eyes go round with shock, confusion and then realisation. The swaying was just to get him closer to the portal. There are tears running down your face as he staggers back, trying to steady himself in a pointless struggle.

“I love you, Xavier.” You send him off with a smile.

“Wait! I-” Xavier’s words are cut off as he slips through the portal. His desperate eyes the last thing you see before he’s gone. The portal collapses shortly after, only able to sustain itself for so long and you feel the same collapsing to your knees, finally letting sobs rack your body.

I would be so down to write a second part about Xavier coming to terms with what just happened :o if anyones interested please let me know!

[cobragardens]

Red & Yellow Can Hurt a Fellow:

Color Symbolism in 1941 (Part 2)

So in Part 1 I held forth about how the use of red in and yellow in this minisode continues its symbolism from elsewhere in the show for romantic love and fear of head offices, respectively. From the moment of Aziraphale's realization that he is in love with Crowley, all the backgrounds become saturated with the vivid passionate red.

Then, in the dressing room, after the Bullet Catch, the walls are slightly more orange in comparison to the true crimson featured in the rest of the show, foreshadowing the intrusion of fear (symbolized throughout the show by the color yellow) into Aziraphale's romantic feelings for Crowley. This yellow becomes discretely visible the moment Furfur enters the dressing room, and it remains visible around Aziraphale and between Aziraphale and Furfur as Furfur menaces Crowley through the rest of the scene.

In the final scene of the "Nazi Zombie Flesheaters" minisode, after Aziraphale reveals (offscreen) that he has stolen the photographic proof of Crowley's fraternization with him from Furfur, Aziraphale and Crowley celebrate, sharing a bottle of wine by candlelight.

Pretty romantic, right?

Hmm.

Aziraphale and Crowley are each sitting on a red velvet chair, sharing red wine from a bottle with red paper at the top. The passionate romantic love is still there. But it's fragmented, isolated in small islands surrounded by yellow. Yellow backgrounds indicating fear are used in "A Companion to Owls" and "I Know Where I'm Going," so we've already been primed for what a yellow background means by the time we hit "Nazi Zombie Flesheaters." After the scare with Furfur, the background of Aziraphale's existence becomes once again saturated with fear.

Remember, this is Aziraphale's memory, so it's his feelings that are coloring these walls. Here's the same room in S1, looking toward where Crowley sits in 1941:

Now look at S2 again.

The walls are yellow in both (which fits the fear Aziraphale feels and must hide in the S1 scene as well), but the clarity and intensity of the yellow--and the fear--has been turned up and illuminated around Crowley.

@vidavalor proposes in "The Blitz, Part 3 Theory: The clues that suggest what it might be about & how it's affected what's come after it" that the story of the husbands in 1941 is likely to be a triptych, given that a literal Chekov's gun has been established (Aziraphale keeps a derringer in a hollowed-out book in the bookshop) and given that Aziraphale clearly references "A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square" in the conversation in the Bentley in 1967 but the song has not been established as one either of the husbands are aware of as significant to them by that year.

I agree with @vidavalor that a third part of the story is likely for two other reasons: firstly, the Nazi zombies are still shambling around London, another Chekov's gun; and secondly, because Aziraphale says, "You go too fast for me, Crowley." 1941 is the last record of a meeting between the husbands we have before Aziraphale says that, but...we haven't seen Crowley go fast with Aziraphale. At all. He's been responding to what Aziraphale wants, what Aziraphale decides to do.

So what happened between

and

? (Notice how this is still backlit in the pink and red or romantic and passionate and/or romantic love.)

How does "A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square" become a song Aziraphale references and Crowley picks up in 1967?

And, most importantly: Why does Aziraphale have to do the apology dance in 1941?

***

A Few More 1941 Observations

Do these curtains in 202? look like this--

(Note the symbolic Metatron head!)

--because Aziraphale wants this to be a romantic night and he's re-creating the most romantic night he's ever experienced?

***

Look who's hanging around next to Crowley even when he doesn't take off his sunglasses.

It's not just a passing shot, either: the dark horse stays in frame and visible the entire scene.

***

There's a post running around on Tumblr somewhere about how contemporary slang would interpret the language of the Bullet Catch (e.g. "never fired a gun at someone before") to mean that Crowley is a virgin (which I absolutely believe to be true) and Aziraphale is not (which I would find pretty surprising). Tumblr's search function being what it is, I have been unable to find it, so if someone would drop a link in the comments if they run across it so I can add it to the information here, I would I appreciate it deeply.

***

And finally, let us take a moment to appreciate Furfur's beautiful hair.

The wigwork in this series makes me sigh with happiness.

I think it's a telling choice that some of the angels have some dreadful visual qualities (Sandalphon's grille, Gabriel's jogging sweats) and some of the demons have beautiful visual qualities (Furfur's hair, Shax' 50s style).

[jzibbles]

reaching for home · 30+ hrs, clip studio paint

totk spoilers below

Obviously, enjoyed TOTK. First time ever finishing a 3rd person POV game. Loved the end scene (who doesn't). IMO the sage storylines weren't as compelling as the champions, but loved seeing Zelda developed more. Wish they dove (hah) into her sacrifice and the depths (HAH) of her chara more, but then it wouldn't be as much a "kid's" game. That was also why it was important to me to render Link's scars.

This piece was really about exploring color, perspective, and CSP's built-in 3D modelling tools. Prolly my best colored piece yet, tho colors are still muddier than I'd like. Calling it done as I'm not interested in continuing to render the waves / clouds / sky islands, and can't quite wrap my brain around any other color changes at the moment. I know they set the last catch sometime midday to get that light blue / gold lighting effect (since purple and red are so Ganon-coded), but I really wanted to try the backlit sunset effect. Maybe we can say this is related to how, yk, ages of sacrifice to fight a demon king Might Actually leave an effect on somebody? Who Knows Ey?

Was careless about accessories / canon details in this piece as it was mostly for study, but: I'm happy about how Zelda's jewelry turned out. Nice and shiny.

Obviously, please don't copy + post elsewhere without attribution please! This took me a long time! Even if it is "just" a study.

(How might one upload in higher quality? This was a much higher res piece before it got compressed.)

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

Hi hello yes for the event jahdjsjd. Jamil with the prompt 6 carnival fun?? Please?? With (🌄🍓☄️)?

Do with this request what you will,, I'll love the writing anyway <33333333333

Carnival Fun; Jamil Viper

Content; Fluff, gender-neutral reader, mutual pining

Word Count; 650+

AN; I hope you enjoy your Jamil and the direction I took this in! Jamil deserves to have some fun, and so do you! As a reminder, do not put my work — or others for that matter — into AI as it steals. Link to Masterlist

To say that you weren’t a bit surprised that Jamil had agreed to join you to the local summer carnival would be a lie. But much to your surprise, and his own, he had agreed to your invitation… well also was basically forced to take a day off work and he had “nothing better to do”, his words, not yours.

Yes, he was clutching onto the railing of every single ride, he protested a little but still went on them. And you could have sworn that besides the hissed curse words and snippets of praying, you could hear the tiniest bit of laughter over the sound of children and adults screaming. He didn’t leave the park even after he was chased around by a hornet that wanted some of his food. Jamil had even won you the 'so ugly it's cute' snake plush from that basketball game. He even reluctantly shared some of that overpriced snow cone with the strawberry syrup; it was a tad too sweet for him, you seemed to enjoy it so he decided to give it a shot.

“I’m surprised that you came,” you hummed, shovelling a spoon of the sweet treat into your mouth. 

Jamil took his spoon and got a small scoop of the shaved ice. “Why wouldn’t I? You invited me.” I like spending time with you. “Today was… enjoyable I guess.”

You rolled your eyes at him, “Aw, come on, Jamil, admit that you had a little bit of fun, it won’t hurt ya.” Even when you were waiting in line for over an hour, he stuck with you. “You deserve to have some fun, to let loose. You work yourself too hard.”

Jamil raised a brow and looked at you. The setting sun cast warm light on your face, and he quickly looked away. “Fine, I had fun today,” he relented. “And thank you for thinking of me. Despite the screaming children, it was fun. And I suppose I will try to let loose.”

“Don’t forget about the hornet that chased you arou-” You stopped talking and stifled a coughed-out laugh at the face he was giving you for bringing up that incident again. He had to rip your phone out of your hands to delete the video you took, he didn’t need Kalim to see that or everyone else working at the Al-Asim estate for that matter. “I mean, I’m glad that you had fun. I like spending time with you.”

Jamil looked back to your face, and he saw the orange sun reflected in your eyes. “I like spending time with you too,” he offered you a small smile.

The way the setting sun backlit Jamil made him look ethereal, glowing even, and you paused and just looked at him in silence for a few moments before snapping out of it. “If you want we can come back another time, maybe I’ll even be able to beat you at that basketball game!”

He let out a single chuckle, he was being a lot more relaxed with you and he couldn’t place when he had started doing so. He felt like he could be himself, and not the Jamil that everyone expected him to be. “I doubt it, you missed every single shot, no wonder you didn’t join the Basketball Club. If you want to come back, there’s a festival happening in August at the estate for the meteor shower if you wanted to go again-”

“Are you asking me on a date?” You asked, looking at him with wonder and teasing.

Jamil hummed, “If I were to do so, would you accept?”

“Yeah, if you were asking, I would always say yes,” you said.

He gave you a smile, a genuine smile, a window into the true Jamil. “Well then, would you like to go on a date… with me?”

You reached your hand across the table, palm facing up, “I’d love to.”

Jamil looked down at your hand and then back up to your face, placing his hand in yours. “Then it’s a date.”

[sneakerdoodle]

the thing that makes Nimona the most vulnerable up until the very ending of the movie is that she is alone, in a way no one else truly is. Ballister ends up ostracized and almost universally hunted - but like in the graphic novel, what leads to the climactic conflict of his and Nimona's joined arc is that very "almost": the fact that despite everything, Ambrosius still cares about him, and he still cares about Ambrosius. even at his lowest, Ballister still comes from the past where he had been loved, and even with the prejudice he faced his entire life, for the largest portion of it, he was lucky enough to have his baseline state of existence be - supported, celebrated, cared for, if only by just two people. having no one in his corner is new to him, is terrifying, is horribly vulnerable and surreal.

but for Nimona that's her entire life, that's where she comes from. and that's what leads to her being rejected and hurt both of the times we see her actually make a meaningful connection. i see people analyzing Gloreth's character and implying that she was more or less oblivious to prejudice up until the very tragic end of things - but i think it's important to notice that when Nimona shapeshifts in front of her for the first time, before accepting her, Gloreth looks over her shoulder. she considers the village. perhaps she checks that no one else saw.

[id: cropped screenshot from the movie, showing Nimona from the back, holding an apple in her hands, and Gloreth looking away from her, at the roofs of the village down the hill. end id]

Gloreth is aware of shapeshifting as something that her community will not favor, whether that awareness is fully concsious or intuitive. Gloreth knows that aligning herself with Nimona is in some way "bad" and "wrong" in others' eyes, and chooses to do so regardless - but in secret.

when the rest of the village finds out about Nimona, Gloreth ends up caught between her parents, calling out to her from beyond the line of fire - and Nimona, on the same side of it as her, reaching out. Gloreth has to make a choice between staying in the light of being known and accepted or lose everything to remain with someone who seemingly has no choice but to resign to the shadows.

[id: a cropped screenshot from the move, showing child Nimona on left side and Gloreth on the right, Nimona in shadows, Gloreth backlit by the fire. end id]

Gloreth might have genuinely started seeing Nimona as a monster in that moment - but it seems much more likely to me that that was simply the story she told herself in the understandable, self-protective childhood need to save herself from the same devastating rejection. Nimona had to be something bad and vile for Gloreth to justify severing herself from her and rejoining her family, the only community she's ever known

the very same thing happens with Ballister - and the reason why it all even can happen is because both Ballister and Gloreth had all these people who knew them and cared about them before Nimona found them, before Nimona made them "worse" in others' eyes. she's a challenge, she's unapologetic, she's a catalyst for authenticity, she exposes the lies and reveals the uncomfortable truth - and for everyone who can no longer recognize a once-beloved person transformed by their bond with her, it is easy to see Nimona as the problem. the person they cared about was good up until now, so they must be good still, just deceived, manipulated. Nimona is the tainting, dangerous influence that can and should be washed off and separated from the uncompromised wholesomeness of the person they love

and for Nimona - no one was there to treat her the same way, however misguided and ultimately unkind this sort of mindset is. she was never precious to someone, never unconditionally good to someone, never a child, never a life-long friend. no one knew her before they saw her as the newcomer, the disrupter, the trouble, the other. no one is in her corner, seeing her as a person and believing her to be fundamentally good and thus deserving of protection. she is always the monster, the corrupting influence, the evil lurking in the shadows. in terms of the metaphor, she is always the obviously queer person "tempting" others into her ways. her loneliness is cyclical, self-sustainig, as if since no one is there to protect her, it just affirms she must not deserve it.

Ballister choosing to trust her even though he has the liberty to adopt any interpretation of her, disregard the little girl as a disguise, the teenager as a mask, him choosing to see her pain instead of shielding himself from his own - that's the weight of him saying "You are not alone". it's been Nimona against the rest of the world for as much of her life as we see it, and the world treated everyone else but her as deserving of protection, sheltering, forgiveness - worst of all, protection from her, sheltering from her, forgiveness for their guillible trust of her. when the movie tells us Nimona is treated as the monster of the story, it's not an exaggeration, not a shallow plot formula: she is, quite literally, the one and only wicked principle of creation everyone else is to be redeemed from.

until someone chooses to take her side. until she's not alone. until she's precious, good, smart, kind, sophisticated, loved, vulnerable, important, deserving of care, protection and life, like everybody else is.

[id: cropped screenshot from the movie, showing Ballister holding the battered Nimona in a hug. end id]

[wroetominter]

Insecurity - Harry Lewis

It sure has been awhile, I don’t even know how to preface an imagine anymore. I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Y/N X Harry

Warnings: slight angst

Smut: none

——————

It was no secret Harry had jumpstarted my career. We started YouTube around the same time, both doing our own things and genuinely having a good time. His channel had started to kick off very quickly, with him beginning to gain subscribers almost immediately. My channel? Not so much. I had a steady ten thousand subscribers well over two years into it. Where as Harry, had over three million - and had joined a YouTube group - "The Sidemen".

I had since that time decided to stream instead. It was my element. I loved it. Still love it. Harry had popped into one of my streams quickly to say hello, and ask for my Nando's order. This grasped the attention of thousands upon thousands of viewers - who were now turning up stream after stream. I thanked him endlessly, finally being able to support myself with my content career, and leaving the stuffy job I had worked to make my money.

Now, I lived in a beautiful two bedroom flat in central London. With floor to ceiling windows, I found myself often just staring out of them and wondering, "is this real life?"

Flash forward to the current moment, I opened my window and the crisp, cool air flooded into the flat. My curtains gently blew next to me as I closed my eyes and took in the smell of autumn air. I stretched and took in my surroundings. The city skyline was backlit by a gorgeous pink and orange sunrise, making it nearly impossible to stop staring.

I was pulled from my daydream by the soft buzzing of my phone on my duvet. I grabbed it to find messages from a few friends, and some twitter notifications. I opened the small blue app to see I had been tagged in tons of videos.

I opened a few, seeing that they were all the same clip from what looked to be a stream. Harry's stream. He was playing some geoguessr, and seemed to be at a lull in the game - answering questions.

"Why don't you stream with Y/n anymore?" He read as the donation popped on the screen. You could almost see the instant regret in his eyes as he read it.

"Oh erm, I guess we just sort of fell out of touch. No hard feelings or anything she's lovely, I'd love to catch up with her" I didn't even know what to think. Fell out of touch? I don't quite remember it that way.

— 10 months prior—

Harry and I had been hanging out nearly every day. We were basically joined at the hip. We were doing everything together.

Streaming, eating, going for walks. We basically merged our lives together.

"What's got you all crabby" Harry asked.

"Nothing nothing, just my silly imagination" I was truthfully imagining what would happen if I grabbed his hand as we walked through the heart of our neighborhood.

Harry and I had, what I considered to be a blossoming relationship. We were keeping it to ourselves, only to make sure this was what we wanted before effectively announcing it to the whole world.

In private, we were all over each other. Cuddling on the couch, sneaking kisses in bed as I forced Harry to watch my favorite shows. Public was an entirely different story. Even in front of his flat mates, we were just mates, even if it hurt in those moments.

It all came down to about four months into our relationship. I felt we had it figured out with us. We were at a point in our relationship where we were probably only days or weeks from the ‘I love you' talk. We had certainly sealed the deal in more ways than one, by this time.

We had many conversations about bringing our relationship to the public, not our viewers, but our close friends and family.

Harry seemed to be skeptical, questioning every word I said.

"What if it gets leaked out. Then what?" He asked. He seemed very stressed about the situation.

"Then we handle it the same way everyone else does? Just set our boundaries with what we want to say to the viewers and keep the rest private." I explained calmly.

"I don't think I can handle that." He stated.

My head turned slightly to the side at that comment. Confused by what he meant, I asked.

"I just mean, what if we break up? How will that look to the fans? Like I'm just a womanizer dropping women left and right?" He was referencing the few girls who in previous points of his career he had been seen snogging in clubs and never bringing them up again.

I felt my breath hitch in my throat, oh. So this was all about him. "That may be the most selfish thing I have ever heard." I said softly. I was heart broken that all he seemed to be thinking about was us breaking up. "I thought we were in a really good spot, Harry." His pacing stopped and he looked over at me, seeing the tears brimming my eyes.

"Y/n, no... no... I don't mean it like that." He tried to back pedal.

I was too upset to hear it at that moment, gathering my bag and standing up, wiping my tears on the hoodie of his I was wearing. "Ill make this easy for both of us. No need to go public with something that doesn't exist anymore." I said, leaving the flat.

I can't even remember if he tried to come after me at this point. All I remember is the hurt that it caused, wondering if I would ever get over it.

—present moment—

I shuddered, partially at the chill enveloping the room and partially at the memory of leaving Harry standing there. I trailed over to my closet, reaching in the back for the all too familiar fabric of Harry's hoodie I left with that day. I hadn't washed it, so it still very faintly smelled of his flat.

I decided to get myself ready for the day, dressing casually and cleaning up so I could stream. I was planning to play some dead by daylight with Talia, and then probably some solo game if I felt up to it.

Mid way through the day, as I was still streaming, a notification appeared on my phone.

Harry: can we talk?

Not wanting to lose my poker face on stream, I sat my phone down, ignoring the message for now.

Harry: I'm watching your stream, I know you're ignoring me. I don't blame you, I just want to talk.

I gave in, typing back a quick '0kay, you know where I am' and went back to my game.

Barely an hour had passed since my stream ended. I had taken a shower and just started to cook myself a meal.

A small knock at my door broke me from my trance that I was in cooking up some dinner. I shuffled to the door, opening it to find Harry standing there in a pair of Sidemen joggers and a Nike crewneck. He seemed older, or perhaps that was a trick of the eye caused by the facial hair he was now sporting.

"Come in," I stepped aside and let him in. He came silently and sat at my island, watching me finish up my food and dishing us both up a plate. It was my worst habit, eating when I was nervous. I had no idea what he was planning to say.

"I'm sorry" he said. Nothing further, just he was sorry.

"I was hurt." I blurted. I couldn't think of anything else to say.

"I know, and I would take it back in a second if I could. I wouldn't have said anything I did, it pained me to see your face when I said that" I tried to speak but nothing came out. "I still care for you. A lot. I have feelings for you, deep feelings that I can't shake. Not that I want to. You didn't deserve what I said to you. You deserve better than me but I selfishly still want you. I'm praying that I'm not making a fool out of myself here." A flush had overcome his face.

"You're not." His eyes lit up, head snapping up to meet my gaze. "I don't blame you for what you said. I know you were only worried what would happen to us. But you can't let that dictate your life. Yes, we could have broken up. But that's something that's always a possibility in a relationship. That doesn't mean you give up on it."

"I know," he started. "I feel like you were too good to be real. I know that sounds cliche, but truthfully you are too good for me, and always have been." I sighed,

"Harry, you know me better than this. I want you. Is that not enough?" I asked.

"Want? As in present tense?" I blushed, turning my head to the side.

"Yeah, I guess I'm not over you, like I tried to convince myself I was." I said.

He pushed his plate up, moving to my side of the table and wrapping his arms around me. I felt like we were transported to almost a year ago, when him and I were inseparable. I wrapped my arms around him and held him tight. Taking in his warmth and comfort.

"I missed my best friend" he whispered in my ear. "And if that's all you want, that's fine. I just need you in my life" my heart fluttered as he said this, holding my face in his large hands.

"Don't be silly Harry," I said, leaning toward him to seal the space between our lips. The kiss was short and sweet. "I missed you too".

[igotanidea]

Lights: Matt Murdock x reader

Christmas bingo day 4: lights

***

Of all the christmas decorations Y/N loved lights the most.

She was one of those people who are more than happy to retreive the light chains In the middle of November, put them around the house (both inside and outside), creating a magical atmosphere and enjoying long, cold autumn/winter evenings while sipping hot chocolate under the weighted blanket with multicolored mini bulbs everywhere.

Maybe it had something to do with her character, after all, there was a reason why Matt used to call her a firefly.

But-

There was one thing that casted a shadow on her little light affection.

Matt couldn’t see them.

So how was she supposed to enjoy it fully when the most important person in her life was stripped of the view of iluminated christmas tree and the multishaped christmas decorations set all over town? Obviously he never seemed to care, rather reconciled with the accident that happened so many years ago leaving him blind, but still - being unable to share the experience to the full extend was like a scar on heart.

It was yearly tradition, that every December Karen, Foggy, Matt and Y/N attended the NY light show to feel the christmas amosphere and be a part of something extraordinary that helped them get away from everyday’s trouble. Obviously, for many, it was also the perfect opportunity to spend time with long-unsee friends and family, cause the event surely attracted people from across the globe. And yet again – it made Y/N question the choice and coming out with multiple, improbable excuses to not go this particular year.

„Don’t be silly Y/N, it’s tradition!” Foggy grabbed his heart feigning heart attack upon hearing another faint argument coming from his friend. „You’re not sick, all your limbs are fully functional, the only part of you that seems to overwire is your brain if you think we’re letting you break the rules. You’re coming.”

Try to argue with a lawyer.

She should have known better.

***

It was amazing.

Every little detail was perfectly perfect, starting from the alley leading to the main showplace, that was festooned with lanters, through the path freshly cleared from snow ending on lit up ice sculptures.

Y/N could barely hide her excitement, squeezing Matt’s hands in her gloved one, turning around and spinning with eyes wide opened, taking in all the attractions of this winder wonderland out of space and time.  Trying her best to ignore amused gazes coming from Karen and Foggy, who, year after year called her a flurried kid.

Matt just kept quiet shaking head a little with his tiny sinature smile that showed his affection to the ball of positive energy that Y/N was.

„Hey Mattie, wait a moment” she grabbed his hand a little tighter making him stop letting Karen and Foggy walk by

„What is it sunshine?” he turned his head towards her, not stopping smiling. Even though he could not possibly see the concerned and a little awkward expression on her face he somehow sensed the change in her attitude and the grin slowly gave way to confused frown „hey, are you all right?” his hand found a way to her cheek rubbing it gently „thought you were enjoying being here?”

„I am! I am, it’s just – „ she insinctively leaned into his touch enjoying the warmth. „we don’t actually have to attend the show if-?”

She didn;t get to finish as Matt dragged her away from the main path, cleatly wanting some privacy to have a word. Once they dived between the trees and no one could hear them he turned to face her again.

„Talk to me. Why the sudden change of mood, Y/N? You love this show. You love the lights and all those backlit reindeer figurines. I already bought you one as a christmas gift. So what is it?”

„I wish I could share the view with you…” she whispered looking at the ground and kicking some snow awkwardly.

„You could descibe it to me…” he smiled, grabbing her shoulders and holding to him.

„I’m not a poet or a writer, I don’t think I can find the right words to do so…..”

„Ok then, I need you to do me a favor, all right?”

„Sure…” she whispered, her voice stuttering a little from everything she was feeling at the moment.

„I need you to take a look around, ok? Nothing more, just take a look around, no words needed. Can you do that?”

„I guess….?”

And once she started taking in all the surroundings, getting lost in them she didn’t notice the wide grin forming on Matt’s face. Not until he grabbed her from behind making her jump a little.

„I love you.” He muttered into her hair kissing her temple.

„I love you too, but what-?” Y/n spun around so that they were facing each other, Matt’s hold on her not faltering in the slightest.

„I can hear your heart beating faster Y/N. I can feel your skin getting warmer. I can almost sense your happiness coming from every pore in your skin, so how can I possibly be upset just because I can’t see the lights? You’re my light Y/N. You’re my light in the darkness….”

„Matt, I -”

„hush, little one. Don’t speak.” He leaned his forehead on hers, brushing her upper lip with his thumb  bringing a shy, loving smile on her face „There it is. The best part of being here with you… Just let me enjoy this…”

„You’re a hopeless romantic, you know that?” she whispered through her emotion-clenched throat

„Mhm… And I know you let Karen and Foggy get Ahead of us for a reason, sweetheart. I think you’ll be missing this year’s show after all, cause I’m keeping you here all to myself. Under those buzzing christmas lights.”

[fkeknife]

wreckage of july

millions knives x reader gender neutral reader 800 words

He recoils. He tries to speak, to curse the stranger for touching him, but the breath comes out wheezing and wet and more through his throat than his lips. “Hey, it’s okay, don’t move,” they say. “Don’t move. You’re okay right here.” Knives realizes his body is dying. The stranger is waiting for his body to die.

this fic is about you finding knives’s horrible corpse in the rubble of july and being like. boy howdy that guy is dead then he moves and you're like. oh sorry that guy isn’t dead YET. better go hold his hand while he dies so he experiences love and humanity in his last moments or whatever (MISTAKE)

read on AO3 if you like or read below if you'd rather, up to you

Night is the worst time for these kinds of things to happen. In the dark, you can’t tell survivors from orphaned limbs, shadows from trip hazards, water from blood and gasoline.

Flame spreads over what is left and casts confusing geometries of light and shadow. Smoke turns the air acrid and unbearable and rich with the smell of burning hair and flesh. The rumble and rend of delayed collapse climbs over the noise of panicked humanity.

The explosion doesn’t kill everyone, and it doesn’t break everything. Maybe that’s the worst part–incompletion. Being among leftovers.

Knives wakes in the wreckage of July, immobilized under rubble. He’s on his side, in the shadow of a wall that’s partially at his back and partially splayed over him, crushing.

He tries to move, to shove a hunk of concrete off his chest, but he finds himself weak. The world shivers. He brings a hand towards his face and struggles to focus his eyes on the bone of his fingers as they drip.

Out of the smoke and sound, something resolves before him; shoes. Then knees, then hands, pulling rubble off him, brushing thick dust from his nose and mouth and turning his face to meet a pair of eyes.

The eyes flash in and out of contact with his—wide and alert and assessing; then tight; then gentle.

He recoils. He tries to speak, to curse the stranger for touching him, but the breath comes out wheezing and wet and more through his throat than his lips.

“Hey, it’s okay, don’t move,” the stranger says. “Don’t move. You’re okay right here.”

Their knees shift before him in the dark rock and gravel. Black liquid climbs the thread of their clothing. It’s his blood.

The hand on his face touches his cheek with a thumb; another hand slides into his slick palm.

Knives realizes his body is dying. The stranger is waiting for his body to die. As he struggles for physical awareness, it slips away. His throat is open, his chest sodden and ripping when he tries to move.

The stranger makes an odd noise when Knives twists. They try to recapture his attention. “Don’t. Don’t. Can you hear me?”

“Just wait it out. Rest.” The reassuring, gentle expression contorts, the voice breaks. “I’m so sorry I don’t have anything for the pain.”

Yeah, the pain. The pain is what makes everything so difficult.

This is stupid.

Knives screws his eyes shut and draws from the gate. He feels it—his chest starts to warm, to knit, then constricts around something and surges with pain again. This time, his voice works better, and he spits out the feeling, liquid and wordless noise.

Somebody starts. The hand around his tightens and releases.

“You-“

Knives remembers he’s with company.

The stranger’s face is blank, backlit with flame and cast with white light from Knives’s skin.

“You’re…” They trail off, eyes flicking across his body.

Knives jerks his hand away from them, trying to focus on the concept of blades and assemble them at his fingers. To strike the stranger down before they can call anyone else over, rat him out.

“…you might actually pull through this.”

The stranger leans back.

“Okay. Okay. We need to get you out of here right now, especially if you’re going to keep looking like that.”

They turn their back to Knives and begin to heave rubble off his legs, levering it sideways. “I’m going to have to lift you off that beam. I’m sorry.”

Yes—that’s what it is, in his chest. Metal and H-shaped and all the way through him.

He starts to push himself up by inches, to prop himself on his arms, but the left, untested, crumples. He slides back to the ground, sweat and wet agony.

When he opens his eyes, the stranger is over him like an animal. He sees the patterns on his skin reflected in the wet dark of their eyes. Knives swipes at their neck, but the blades are gone—or never came together at all—and his fingers rake blood uselessly across their throat. It drips back into his face.

Fingers slip again into his bloodied hand. Squeeze it. They’re warm, warmer than him. He feels the pulse of blood within them. The heat of life.

“Are you ready?”

Yes.

His hand is placed on the back of a neck. The animal leans over him, wraps limbs around him. It cradles him like an awful doll. The movement is in his ribs, in his teeth. Too slowly, not smoothly enough, it pulls him forward and over. His vision slips like a red blanket. He’s clinging to the gate. To consciousness. To power. To the nape of someone’s neck with his fingernails.

At the height of agony, of demand; something shifts.

The gate cracks away from him. And there is only the raw horror and the helplessness of it left. Him, his body, the animal, the dust, his blood, someone else’s.

He loses his grip on awareness, like everything else.