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specialagentlokitty · 4 months

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Rick grimes x teen!reader - welcome home

Second I saw you wanted requests from TWD so I thought why not (don’t know if you’ve gotten a request like this before or not but I’ll send it anyway) and I know there’s a lot of these fics out there but as Rick is my favorite character and I love all your fics that I’ve written that I have read I would love to see your take on Rick finding a child or teen and taking said child in - @panic-in-the-multiverse 💜

Resting your arms on the metal pipe that was behind your neck, you glanced around the street briefly, looking for anything worth looking through.

There wasn’t much in this area, and going by all the broken doors and dead laying on the ground with busted heads you would say somebody had been here.

Crouched next to one of them, you grabbed a stick from your pocket, poking it into the blood to see that it was still pretty fresh.

Tossing the stick aside, you stood up, glancing around and you heard the sound of somebody nearby.

Rushing away, you jumped up on a dumpster, using it to climb on the roof of a building and you pushed it away with the pole, making it creak.

“Shit…”

You moved back from the ledge, quietly laying down, keeping as still and quiet as possible.

You couldn’t hear anything at first, no walkers, no growling, snarling, banging, but you did hear steps coming closer.

There was movement where you had gotten up on the building, but there was no attempt to get up there, so, you weren’t sure if it were dead or human.

Either way you weren’t risking your own life, both you needed to stay away from.

You waited for a few minutes, trying to see what was going to happen, then you heard a clattering sound and you jumped up, grabbing your weapon you aimed at at the ledge you had used to get up.

A man jumped up, and he aimed his gun at you.

You made no attempt to attack him, you didn’t have that kind of firepower, he would win in a heartbeat because you never bring a knife to a gunfight, and you didn’t even have a knife, you had a metal pole.

You stared at him, and he stared back.

“Who are you?” He asked.

You refused to speak.

“Are you alone?”

You didn’t reply, you weren’t a fool, you weren’t going to tell him you were alone.

You took a step back before turning around, breaking out into a sprint you ran to the edge of the building and jumped.

Tossing your weapon, you rolled onto the next roof, picking it back up and the man ran over to the ledge of the building he was on.

He looked over at you and you looked back at him, sitting down as you just watched.

He did the same thing, both of you having a silent stare down, neither of you really speaking.

“I’m Rick.”

Rick studied you, clearly you had been out here for a long time, you clothes were torn slightly, bloodied, dirtied, there wasn’t an inch if you that wasn’t covered in dirt or blood.

He recognised the look on your face, he’d seen it before, the state you were in, he had been in it before.

You couldn’t have been much older than Carl was, you were teenager, maybe 15 or 16 if his guess was right, but nobody knew how old they really were anymore.

You seemed to debate something before you finally spoke.

“(Y/N).” You replied quietly.

Rick smiled a little, raising his hands to show you that he was putting his gun away, and you reached to the side, setting your own weapon down.

“Are you hungry?”

Rick dug through his bag, pulling out an apple and you narrowed your eyes in suspicion.

“It’s alright, it’s safe.”

“You first.”

“You don’t trust me, I respect that. I understand. I don’t have a clean knife on me.”

You scoffed a little.

“I don’t give a fuck, bite it then, I ain’t taking shit until you’ve had it first.”

“Alright.”

Rick bite into it, showing you it was safe to eat and he held it out.

You nodded, getting up, Rick tossed it over and you caught it, sitting back down.

You knew it would be safe, he didn’t even hesitate to eat some of it, if it wasn’t in any way he would have, even just a slight hesitation.

You hadn’t had food for over a day, so you quickly devoured the apple, spitting the seeds to put them in your pocket.

You glanced at Rick, looking away with a small huff.

“You got anymore…?”

He chuckled a little, nodding.

“Yes. Here.”

He tossed you another one, and you took your time eating this one.

“Do you have a community or anything like that? Any people?” Rick asked.

You shook your head.

“Do you?”

“Before I tell you anything I’ve gotta ask you a few questions, that okay?”

You nodded your head, understanding his hesitation.

It gave you an indication he did have something, and he wanted to protect whatever it was, make sure it was safe.

“How many walkers have you killed?”

You furrowed your brows a little in confusion.

“I.. I don’t know what walkers are.”

“The dead.” He said.

“Oh, I don’t know, a lot I guess. I try to just avoid them I’m only one person.”

He nodded.

“How many people have you killed?”

“None, I avoid them too.”

“Why?”

You looked at Rick before turning away, looking at the metal pipe you had, then your hands.

“Because both the dead and people are dangerous, the dead just kill you, but people? People betray you. They’ll turn you over, turn their backs on you just to save their own asses.”

“Yeah, some people will.”

You turned your attention back to the man on the other roof.

“You didn’t answer my question, do you have a community?”

Rick smiled a little.

He had decided that you weren’t a bad person, you were scared, yes. You were unsure, you didn’t trust him, and he understood that.

“Yeah, yeah I do. I was with a few of them, we got separated. You seem pretty aware of your surroundings, have you seen any go by?”

“No, this place as been empty for a few days maybe, aside from you. There were a few of the dead, or walkers. That’s it.”

Rick sighed, nodding his head slightly.

He looked up at the sun, figuring he only had maybe an hour or so left of daylight, and that wouldn’t be enough time to find anybody.

He stood up, and you watched him.

“Come with me, it’s not safe out here and it’s going to get dark. We’ll find a place, just for the night.”

Rick went to leave but when you didn’t move he hesitated, looking between you and the way back down.

“(Y/N)?”

“There’s nowhere safe.”

“My community is, but we can’t make it in time before nightfall.”

“You won’t make it you know. They always come here at night, they pass through.”

Rick furrowed his brows a little bit and you gestured to the left side of the roof he was on.

“I hid some firewood.”

Rick looked to where you pointed, and he moved a bunch of leaves to see that you had hidden wood, a box of matches as well.

He grabbed them, putting them in a scorch mark that was already made on the roof.

As nightfall, he lit the fire and you stayed over where you were, not trusting him enough ti get any closer and that’s what worried him.

“(Y/N) please, it’s cold, you’ll freeze over there.”

“Nah, you stay there, I stay here.”

“Fine, what if we swap? You hear and me there?”

You shook your head.

“Nah, you’re too old to make that jump anyways.”

He chuckled a little, resting his arm in the edge of the roof as he looked over.

“You reckon?”

“Yeah, you’re old as shit.”

“Ouch, okay. I’m here trying to make friends and you’re just throwing insults at me.”

You grinned a little at him, leaning back on your hands.

“Rick?”

He hummed a little, looking over at you.

“What did you do before all of this?”

“I was a sheriff’s deputy. What about you? Were you in school?”

“Yeah, I wasn’t much good at it though.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“I dunno, it was just hard I guess.”

Rick smiled a little.

“It’s not for everybody.”

He got up to add some more wood to the fire, and he heard you jump back over, sitting near it.

He smiled a little, sitting on the other side so you felt safer.

There were walkers down below, but they didn’t seem to care about the fire or see it, and it made sense to Rick why you were camping up there.

You saw his bag and you reached over, and he turned away so he could pretend he didn’t see you sneaking food from it.

You were hungry, and he wasn’t going to stop you from taking what you needed.

He had a whole community of food, and you had barely anything.

“What’s your community like?” You asked.

Rick looked at you, shuffling a little to the side so he was able to see you a little better.

“Well, there’s people, houses, electricity, clean, running water. Food, walls and gates. It’s safe.”

You frowned.

“Walls fall, crumble. Gates break. Food and water runs out. Just because something seems safe doesn’t mean it is…”

“Maybe, but we’ll fight to keep it safe.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s home, a place for us to stay, a place to build and grow.”

You reached into your pocket, and you pulled out some paper, unfolding it and you handed it over to him.

“We had a home like that. But my mom and dad didn’t think it was safe, so they left.”

Rick took it, looking at the drawing.

He could tell it was drawn by a younger child, by you from the way you had hastily scribbled your name in the top corner of the page.

He recognised the place, by the walls surrounding it, and the very badly spelt name.

“You’re from Alexandria?”

You nodded.

“We were, but when things got worse my parents didn’t want to be sitting like prey. They couldn’t pretend everything was fine, so we all left. They died, leaving me alone out here. Been like that for a while now.”

“Do you want to go back?”

You thought for a moment, from what you could remember Alexandria had food, it sounded like what Rick had described.

But you didn’t trust people anymore.

You weren’t used to people anymore.

“I came from Alexandria (Y/N). It’s changed, I won’t lie to you some people have died, but it till standing.”

“It is?”

“Yeah, so just think about. Our gates are always open to you. But right now you need some rest, okay? I’ll keep watch.”

You didn’t say anything, and you laid down, hands on your stomach as you stared at the sky trying to keep awake.

But you were exhausted, you’d been awake for days, and Rick posed no threat, so you fell asleep.

Rick noticed this and he covered you up with his jacket, sitting nearby to keep an eye on you.

When the sun began to rise you woke up, finding Rick standing on the edge of the building, talking to somebody down below.

You sat up, his jacket falling and you stood up, grabbing his jacket and your weapon, making your way over.

You set his jacket down and you stood on the edge beside him, looking down at the man who was on the ground.

He aimed his crossbow at you, and Rick quickly put an arm in front of you.

“Daryl no. (Y/N) is from Alexandria. Before we got there.”

“You ask the questions?”

“Yeah. Passed.”

Daryl lowered his weapon, and Rick turned to you.

“He’s a friend..” he whispered.

“Come on, we need to go. There’s more walkers comin’!” Daryl called up.

He ran to the side of the building and Rick picked his jacket up, pulling it back on and grabbed his bag, making his way over.

He jumped down, and you looked down at him.

Rick smiled, holding out his hand to you.

“It’s alright.” He said gently.

You sat down, and turned around, lowering yourself towards the dumpster, as Rick helped you down, then helped you down from there.

He and Daryl stood on either side of you, and while Daryl was wary of you, Rick would offer you a reassuring smile if you looked at him.

You saw the gates of Alexandria drawing closer, and they were open, and you slowly stopped.

You hadn’t been here for years, you hadn’t been anywhere safe for years.

Rick stopped short of the gates and he turned around, giving you a gentle smile and he walked back over.

“Hey, hey it’s okay…” he whispered.

“What if it isn’t..?”

“It will be, you’ll be safe.”

He glanced back at Daryl and a few others who were waiting nervously, looking around with their weapons raised.

You glanced past him and he stood in front of you.

“Hey, don’t worry about them. Just focus on me, yeah? You don’t have to interact with anybody else until you’re ready, just focus on me, I’ll look after you.”

You moved your eyes to his, they reminded you of your dads.

The way you dad would look at you so gently, so caring.

Rick held out his hand, and you reached up, hand shaking and you pulled away.

“I can’t do it… I.. I can’t…”

“I know you’re scared, that’s okay. It’s okay to be scared (Y/N), but we’re not going to let anything happen to you.”

He glanced back, giving a look to the others who began to clear people away from the gates.

“Welcome home.” He smiled.

You reached up, taking his hand, letting him walk you into the place you once called home, the place you would call your home once more.

But times had changed, you had changed, and you didn’t know how to live among people anymore, or even if you wanted to.

Rick could see that by the way you kept your the outside of the place, you turned the underground of Alexandria into your home to stay away from everybody.

Rick made his way down, a bag on his back, and he walked over to your cot, sitting next to you.

“Here, some water, food, and some books.”

He set the bag down and you handed him back to the books you were finished with.

He didn’t want to leave you down there, but if it’s where you felt safe, where you would be semi comfortable until you trusted him, felt comfortable with people he would.

But he would always remind you that you come join the rest of Alexandra whenever you were ready

#the walking dead imagine #the walking dead #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead x you #the walking dead x y/n #twd #twd x reader #twd x you #twd x y/n #twd imagine #Rick grimes #Rick grimes x reader #Rick grimes x you #rick grimes x y/n #rick grimes imagine

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emeritusemeritus · 9 months

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Fred Weasley headcanons

Just a few personal headcanons for our man, NSFW under the cut 🌹

SFW ✨

Still considers you his best friend even though you’re together now (you and George being tied in first place).

Calls you princess and sweetheart (both of which started as sarcastic remarks that stuck around and are now used as endearments).

Always ready to kiss you. Doesn’t care who’s around, once he can be open about your relationship he’ll kiss you anywhere, and passionately - except for in front of his mother.

Actual menace at school. You’re walking to your next class and you pass him in the halls? He lifts you up and spins you, shouts out your name across crowded, echoing corridors to embarrass you. One time he lifted you up onto the stone pillars outside charms and left you there. You had to wait to be rescued by Ron who was luckily passing by.

You tease each other constantly, bantering back and forth. He’s heard more ginger jokes from you than anyone else in his life, but he knows just how much you love him and his red hair so there is never any malice behind it, the same with his teasing of you. It all comes from a place of love and familiarity.

He’s a natural prankster and takes great pride in it but he knows your limits and would never intentionally cross them. One time he did inadvertently go too far and he’s apologised profusely and had been torn up about it, trying to win back your trust in anyway he could. George still says that it’s the only time he’d seen Fred be actually remorseful in his life.

Throws notes to you in study hall, usually by scrunching up large balls of parchment and throwing them directly at you, bonus points if he manages to bounce them off of your head. Always followed by a sickly sweet smile or a wink.

As much as he teases you, he’s the only one truly allowed to (even George is warned sometimes).

LOVES seeing you wear his clothes, specifically his jumpers or his old quidditch T-shirt’s that you sleep in. It makes his little possessive brain twitch seeing you wear his clothes so openly in front of the whole school, declaring that you’re his.

Looks for you at every one of his Quidditch games- it gives him a boost of confidence to know that you’re cheering for him. Wanting to impress you, he always plays harder and better, putting on a show.

The first time you’d attended a quidditch game as his official girlfriend, you had worn his green ‘F’ jumper and he nearly fell off his broom once he’d realised.

He’s incredibly supportive as a friend and boyfriend. Even though he knows that he is seen as the ‘meaner’ twin, he has a true sweetness to him that most people overlook but he’d do anything for you and his friends, even at great personal risk. He supports you in everything you want to do and always looks after you if you get stressed or disheartened whilst chasing your dreams.

He’s especially protective of Ginny, taking his role of older brother very seriously. He still says that he fell truly in love with you the moment he saw you running up and confronting Malfoy, who had been teasing Ginny after the whole Chamber of Secrets event. Upon seeing the commotion, Fred had run to help her, followed closely by George, but you had gotten there first and had verbally berated the bully before punching him square in the nose. You then pulled Ginny away, cast your arm around her protectively and had begun escorting her back to the common room even though you were originally going the other way. Only when you had met up with Fred and George did you eventually leave her and go to your destination, making sure that she was comfortable and safe with her brothers before leaving. You’d received a letter home and detention for three weeks for punching Malfoy and another late night detention for being late to class but you still maintained that it was worth it.

Will throw hands without a second thought at anyone who disrespects you. He’s incredibly protective and won’t hesitate to throw a punch at anyone who violates your boundaries. Minimal offences still demand punishment and it’s common for anyone who crosses you to suspiciously find themselves with boils, purple hair or spontaneously vomiting the next day.

He’s surprisingly needy in private and loves to cuddle. Loves having his hair stroked and played with. Always has to be touching you in some way, even just your feet touching in bed or a hand absently placed on your hip.

Cannot cook to save his life, even with the assistance of magic.

He LOVES being a twin but he’s actually terrified of having twins once you start trying for a baby.

NSFW🌹

Will try anything once. Fact.

He’s a master with his fingers. He knew how much you loved his hands even before you were together, having caught you staring at them multiple times. They’re long, thin and incredibly skilled.

Makes it his personal mission in life to learn every single one of your pleasure points and can anticipate your every reaction just by the sounds you make, having learnt each and every one.

Had a definite breeding kink but doesn’t actually want kids yet. The idea of knocking you up and seeing you pregnant makes him harder than he ever thought possible. It’s his dirty little secret.

Dirty talk champ- he knows how much you love his voice and how much it gets you off when he whispers absolute filth to you in the middle of sex but it absolutely riles him up too. It’s less of a calculated dialogue and more of a dirty, running commentary on how well he’s fucking you.

Big fan of quickies. He’ll literally fuck you anywhere if the mood arises, which is always. As much as he loves to tease you and make you wait, savouring your body, there’s nothing like a quick, hard fuck in his book.

Definite size kink. He’s 6ft 3 and you are definitely not. Along with this comes a specific show of dominance, his height making him tower over you which makes him feel powerful and in control.

Although it depends on the overall mood, he’s mostly still playful and teasing even during sex, as are you. Occasionally you will try and throw each other off their game. One time you purposefully moaned out Snape’s name to throw him off and it caused a three minute intermission as you both had to stop and laugh. He then swiftly pulled out of you, spanked you and then proceeded to fuck you harder as ‘punishment’ for moaning another man’s name.

He’s absolutely feral for you wearing skirts.

He likes the idea of public sex but after you were both once accidentally caught by George, he decided that he hated the thought of anyone but him seeing you like that and put an end to your more risky escapades. Semi-public is still fine, of course.

#emeritusemeritus #harry potter #fred weasley #fred weasley x you #emeritusemerituswrites #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley masterlist #Fred Weasley headcanons #headcanon

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sunnnfish · 1 year

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Due to the mental anguish I am rambling about tbhk. I WAS going to put this under a readmore but that keeps breaking the post on mobile so. Im sorry. Tons of spoilers for chapter 99. And like the whole series. You know how it is.

I feel like I need to make an itemized list because there’s so fucking much I need to talk about right now

The violence and parallels to tsukasa. I mean who can forget tsukasa prying mitsubas mouth open to feed him number 3s heart. Who knows what tsukasa’s intentions were but they weren’t necessarily bad— as we know now mitsuba needs to eat to survive plus number 3 was like a pretty big power boost that would keep him together for a longer time. So he likely just wanted mitsuba to live comfortably. BUT ALSO there’s the beginning of the chapter where tsukasa tells mitsuba to dig the heart out himself vs kou who gets it for him. Anyways. With kou here it clearly came from a similar place of wanting mitsuba to not disappear. There’s a desperation to it and fear and it’s one I personally actually know quite well. I’ve dealt with friends refusing to eat and take care of themselves and it is a violent frustrating feeling that just ends with crying after the anger fades. There’s a lot of confusion like. Why do you not care about yourself as much as I care about you. Anyways. His actions make a lot of sense to me bc I have felt and done the exact same things.

Me core ^

and THEN there’s mitsubas feelings of wanting to be fucking exorcised and going to the fucking minamoto household to do it there’s so much here hang on. Like. I think he went to the minamoto house for some sliver of hope. If he wanted to for sure disappear he probably could’ve waited it out or something better but he went to the place where, depending on who answered the door, he’d either die or be faced with fucking. Kou minamoto. And the fact the he chose to reveal himself to kou it’s like. Did you really want to disappear. Did you really. And then taking him out on a fucking date basically like. You don’t want to disappear do you. You just don’t want to be. This. He wants to be human. He wants someone who will understand him and. And. Kou so readily accepts and understands him. Even the parts he thinks are ugly or unworthy. Fuck.

AND THEN. Kous feeling of inadequacy and fearing that mitsuba trusts tsukasa more than him and connecting to the vision he saw in the red house. Whether he accepts it or not he wants mitsuba to need him. The red house showed him a mitsuba who told him that he needs kou that he wants kou to be a supernatural with him and he brushes it away knowing mitsuba would never say that to him. He tells himself that mitsuba would never trust him or want him like that but he wants it to be real and he’s still hurt when the real mitsuba won’t open up to him. And it all comes back to his overall self worth issues of wanting to be strong and dependable and worthy.

AND this is all under the context of Teru finally letting kou have some responsibility and telling him to go exorcise the low level spirit that came near their home and AaaaaAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUU. KOU MINAMOTO……..

God its just. Kou minamoto cares about mitsuba so so so much and neither of them completely understand the gravity of it all. Also at this point hes said like 3 times that mitsuba is the root of all his worries. ALSO dont even get me started on the art and expressions this chapter. It’s so gorgeous like as always but. God. Also the keychains. Im gonna[blaring truck horn]

ALSO the way mitsuba says at the end like ‘you’d be lonely without me’ or whatever and kou almost looks shocked for a second like. Oh. And its like he thinks about it more and cries more because yeah, he would be lonely. He’s been lonely. Mitsuba somehow inexplicably became like his closest friend that knows everything about him and god he was lonely when mitsuba disappeared. The first time and the second. And he’s barely had time to process any of it because to everyone else around him mitsuba doesnt really. Matter. And because kou is so kind he is always putting everyone else’s problems in front of his own. The severance happens and it becomes a journey to help nene bring hanako and aoi back—next to no mention mitsuba aside from the leads to the red house, much less trying to find and save him too. The whole time theyre in the boundary to the far shore its all about hanako and nene and number 6. And there’s STILL the conversation about how to become a supernatural that he brought up with nene but noooooo we cant ever know anything about what kou wants. And like. It all comes back around this chapter because he so so selfishly wants mitsuba to live. One of the only things he lets himself want. And it aches. God. I wish i was any good or natural at prose writing because god the things i would write about minamoto kou. AND TO TOP IT OFF HES LIKE FUCKING 14 YEARS OLD…. Okay. Okay im done.

#the power kou minamoto has over me to make me want to chop all my hair off. i WONT. but.#god. kou minamoto and mitsuba sousuke you guys make me feel undocumented emotions #anyways #tbhk #jshk #toilet bound hanako kun #jibaku shounen hanako kun #kou minamoto #minamoto kou #mitsuba sousuke #sousuke mitsuba #sunnfish.tbhk #sunnfish.jshk #sunnfish.txt #why cant i write this much on like. academic papers #sigh #I’ve been writing this for like an hour btw #long post

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ciaotoska · 5 months

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Anyway, following up on my previous post about noir Bret and the aggravating blond man getting in his way:

(also on AO3)

a/n: This turned out longer than I expected lol so splitting into two parts

Bret got a lot of calls to catch cheating spouses — he always saw himself doing more noble work once he set up as a private investigator — but this one struck him as a little different. For one thing, the alleged divorce lawyer hadn’t given him a name and, truthfully, Bret didn’t care so much when the check slid through his mail slot from the “Greenwich Trust” cleared. All he said was that the spouse, something of a wildcat, had been blackmailed before and the attorney figured that was worth following up on.

They’d never met, but Bret knew plenty about the guy he was supposed to be following. Shawn Michaels, the younger son of a Texas oil family who’d used his family’s name to get engaged to another billionaire and move off the oil fields and into a Mission-revival mansion and make trouble.

He was an easy enough kind of guy to take pictures of, and not just because he seemed like he didn’t have anything to hide. Bret spent most of the couple of days he’d been following him watching the man in stores Bret couldn’t even stand near without getting a sideways look.

On the second day — the last of his contracted nothing burger of an assignment — Bret was about to call it a day when he followed the man to his house and parked a little ways down the street. The night before all he’d done was watch him make several animated phone calls by his bedroom window. He was too far back for Bret to hear him even with the window open, but he had a close call when he was sure the blond was looking right at him.

The second night, however, was far different. He ended up at home much earlier than the day before, after a hard day of a late breakfast and browsing the farmer’s market. The mansion was fully staffed, so Bret was surprised to see the housekeeper and butler sent away in the early afternoon on a Thursday.

Then he saw the reason.

Not long after the two left, a Mercedes entered the driveway driven by a man Bret recognized; he knew him as one of Hunter’s business associates, the one that Bret guessed was put in charge of bribes specifically, considering how often he’d seen him around during his time at LAPD.

A huge man — he must’ve been near seven feet tall, from Bret’s vantage point in the bushes — was met at the door by his target, who greeted him in a silk robe with a lingering kiss. Maybe the divorce lawyer had been onto something.

Bret snapped a photo and then followed them through the wall with his camera lens, waiting for them to reappear in the upstairs bedroom. Without bothering to shut the window — maybe he hadn’t expected an audience, or didn’t mind one — he made quick work of the larger man’s clothes and was tossed onto the bed. The blond quickly changed their positions to straddle the other man, and Bret snapped several photos of the blond in the throes of passion. Just doing a thorough job for the client of course.

Bret returned to his office the next morning, developing what he had in the makeshift red room he’d made from the space a secretary would normally occupy. He had a large office, mostly because no one wanted to be in this part of town, spreading out in the top floor of a pre-war art deco building that had seen better days — and worse ones — than a B-movie starlet.

Photos developed, Bret went back to work on his usual batch of background investigations, tailings, and surveillance, with radio silence from the divorce lawyer who’d hired him as he waited in his office.

Bret could hear someone opening the door in his front office developing room. The creak from a door off its hinges thanks to more slammed fists and hurried exits than Bret could remember added a layer of security.

He saw a shadow sidle up to the door and watched it click open before he had time to reach the handle of the gun he kept on the underside of his desk — just in case.

The person who opened the door wasn’t a gangster or wronged client out for blood. It was someone altogether more dangerous, Bret could already tell: the good-looking blond he’d been hired to photograph.

Before stepping fully inside, the man ran a finger over the Hart & Associates label on the door and made a show of glancing around the office.

“And where are your associates?”

Bret hadn’t talked to him, just taken pictures of him, so he wasn’t expecting the low, raspy voice that came out of the blond — not the type of voice for a society boy to have. In fact, it was one that spoke more to long days of hard work, Bret decided.

“Out in the world when I choose to associate with them, Mister…” Bret said, offering an opening for an introduction.

Not finding a seat, the blond perched himself on the corner of Bret’s desk, where he immediately noticed the stack of photos Bret had developed.

He lifted his sunglasses to look at them and then back at Bret. “I know you know who I am.”

There was a flash of something dangerous there; a challenge.

“Right. Anyway, I prefer a solo operation.” Bret leaned back in his chair.

“Do you prefer it, or does your bank account?”

Bret cleared his throat, watching the other man push through the stack of photos for a moment before reaching out a hand to stop him. Bret had gotten rid of the more personal ones. Well, he’d locked them away in his desk drawer.

The man paused on the one of himself in his bedroom, talking on the phone.

”This is a good picture of me, don’t you think, detective?” He showed it to Bret. “Did you forget your job was to make me look bad?”

He pocketed the photo and put the stack back down. “And since you know who I am, I’m sure you know why I’m here.”

Bret wasn’t sure why, not entirely. He’d been sure he’d be served or had at the very least expected a second lawyer in tow with a legal threat, but instead the blond had shown up here alone in a long black coat and sunglasses, looking exactly like the dangerous type of character the detective always ruins his life for in a Marlowe story.

“Well, I heard about the blackmail. If you’re here to sue, I wasn’t going to publish these.” Bret gathered up the rest of the photos and put them in his desk drawer — a different one.

“It’s not to sue; it’s about my missing husband,” the blond said. “Although, my lawyer is the one who suggested I contact you.”

“Oh?” Bret hoped he sounded less surprised than he was.

“I’m not sure which part of that you were surprised by, but I don’t think it was the last part.” He turned his head to look at the Times in the bin by his desk, then gave Bret a pointed look. “Don’t you read these papers before you throw them in the garbage?”

“Well,” Bret bent to pick up the paper. “Maybe I need a refresher.” And there it was on the front page: Billionaire Helmsley Missing — Tycoon Last Seen Tuesday.

Good riddance, Bret thought. He’d never cared much for Helmsley anyway.

The blond watched him read and must’ve been twigged by the face Bret’d made.

“His parents called to talk to him and he wasn’t home, so they get the reporters involved.”

He reached inside his coat pocket for a pearl cigarette case and put a Marlboro to his lips. Bret was used to clients reaching for a smoke, but it was normally with shaky hands and fingers that couldn’t quite get the flint to light. This man was all ease.

He pointed back at the story’s placement on the front page, some of the ash burning a hole through the photo of his husband. “Slow news day.”

He held out the case in Bret’s direction and put it away when Bret declined.

Something about the other man set Bret off course; not quite making him uneasy — he was still interested in the case. Even moral men had bills to pay, after all.

“So what can I do for you?” Bret asked.

“The LAPD have been in Hunter’s pocket since we lived here — you know that better than anyone,” he met Bret’s eyes meaningfully, “so of course they suspected me as soon as they got a chance to.”

“You want me to help clear your name?” It was less a question than one of the services on Bret’s menu board.

The blond was already pulling out a checkbook. “I’ll pay you double whatever that idiot was paying you to follow me.”

Bret huffed out a laugh. “’That idiot?’ Your missing husband?”

It was the other man’s turn to laugh. “My husband is not the one who contacted you.”

And Bret knew that was true. While the “lawyer” on the phone hadn’t left a name, Bret had had to speak to Helmsley enough to decide he didn’t like him, after all. He’d certainly recognize his voice.

“Mr. Michaels —”

“My husband’s missing, not dead.”

“Mr. Helmsley?”

“Shawn.” Shawn gave him a wry smile. Now he was just being difficult.

“Shawn, I’m not sure —”

“Whatever you’re about to say, scrap it, and say you’ll take the case.”

Even if Bret had on objection, he wouldn’t have had time to voice it before Shawn was off his desk and at the door.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, detective.” Shawn held up the photo of himself in his room he’d swiped from Bret’s desk. “I know you know the place.”

When Bret pulled up, the driveway was full of more LAPD cars than the lot at the station during shift change.

It was the maid who answered, but Shawn was right behind her, a catlike smile as soon as the door swung open to reveal him. Not that he needed much more revealing, considering the shoddy job he’d done closing his robe — the same one he’d been wearing the other day.

“Detective.”

Bret paused to wipe his shoes at the doormat.

“Don’t bother, I was hoping to add a few more muddy boot prints to my collection,” Shawn said, loud enough for the patrolmen passing them from outside to hear.

Bret followed Shawn into the sitting room, where he noticed that Shawn had already had the surveillance photo of himself framed. He sank down next to it in an overstuffed armchair.

Shawn produced another cigarette from the case in his pocket.

“They’ve been in and out of here all day.” Shawn tracked the boys in blue with his cigarette before putting it up to his mouth. He searched for his light, but Bret beat him to it, offering it to his mouth.

He looked surprised. “I thought you didn’t smoke.”

“Never know when you need a light.” Bret pocketed the lighter and pulled out his notebook. “Makes sense they’re being so thorough. They thought of your husband like one of their own, right?” It came out more bitterly than Bret had meant it to, but the sentiment was there.

“If that’s the case, I wish they’d treat that rug the same way. They’ve been tracking mud all over it all day.” Shawn rolled his eyes. “It only got here last week. Christmas gift from Hunter or something, I guess. He never let me buy this one.”

Bret looked around while Shawn reached down to pick at an imaginary stain on the white fur. He was loved, clearly. Plenty of pictures of him and Helmsley from expensive-looking vacations and some just of Shawn.

“What’d you do before this, if you don’t mind my asking?” Bret was going to guess model, the past time of rich younger children who weren’t born ugly.

“Nothing. Now I do nothing with more jewelry.” Bret looked at the ring on his finger. Yes, he was loved.

Bret glanced around and met eyes with a group of cops the next room over. It’d been an uncharacteristically rainy day in LA, and Bret knew he’d need to move quickly if there was anything to find. The cops must have known the same thing and sent out half the force.

Bret recognized most of them, still working for the LAPD even after everything that had happened — it seemed not many other cops had had the same distaste for bribery that Bret did. But, true to Shawn’s word, they did seem to have a distaste for him — something Bret and Shawn had in common — and talked loudly in every room they occupied.

Bret leaned toward Shawn, elbows on knees. “Do you have somewhere quieter we could talk?”

Shawn laughed a little, bitter. “A bar.” Then he grinned. It was decided. “I’ll get ready.”

He shimmied out of the room, clearly expecting Bret to watch him leave — and he did, but only for a second.

Bret dropped his eyes to Shawn’s black book next to the phone as soon as the other man was out of view. He glanced around for his potential audience and moved to Shawn’s unoccupied chair to look at the open pages. Normal enough — certainly not quite as many numbers as Bret had expected a society swan to have — but there was one without a name attached.

The line picked up on the first ring.

“Shawn?” A drowsy voice answered, and Bret could hear an accent even on just one word.

It sounded familiar to Bret, but he couldn’t quite place it. He stayed silent on the line, hoping the man would continue.

“Shawnie, if you’re calling back about Hunter, like I said, I’d let you know when —”

Bret rubbed his thumb along the receiver, hoping it sounded like a bad connection, and placed the receiver down. He definitely recognized the voice, but he still wasn’t entirely sure from where. But the accent and the local area code certainly narrowed it down.

The outfit Shawn Michaels wore to a bar before noon on a Sunday wasn’t much more conservative than the robe he’d been wearing at home.

Instead of one of the dives Bret was used to — or one of the high-end places he expected society people to go — Shawn had dragged him to a hole-in-the-wall Mexican joint.

Shawn gave up on translating the menu to him — “there’s nothing to translate, detective, all of the drinks are what they say they are” — and ordered him the same thing he was having — and continued speaking to the bartender in Spanish for longer than Bret thought necessary, both looking over at Bret a few different times.

They took their drinks to the small patio in the courtyard of the complex, string lanterns offering a little light from the rain still drizzling around their table umbrella. Bret wiped down his chair with a discarded table cloth; Shawn stood to the side, expecting Bret to do the same for him and rolling his eyes when he didn’t, pulling his coat off to drape over the seat instead.

Bret was used to the relative cold outside, but maybe Shawn had already had something that was warming him up.

Bret inspected both of his drinks, one a shot of something clear and the other what Bret guessed was a margarita. Dark liquors and beers were more his speed. He opted for the shot first and had to wince back when it burned his throat. He coughed.

“I have to say, Shawn, not many of my clients looking for a missing person wait until the next day to start looking.”

Shawn threw back his own shot and met Bret’s eyes dead on. No wincing. “I’m not looking. I’m sure I know where he is.”

Bret couldn’t help the head shake and little smile he could feel forming on his face. So far, nothing about this case had been typical.

“And where is that?” He asked.

“I think,” Shawn started, turning the margarita tumbler in his hands with a smile of his own. “He decided he was having a little too much after-Christmas fun with his little friends and I’ll see him next week. Probably went down to Mexico.”

Bret reached for his notebook, thinking more of taking notes on his client than on the missing husband. “An after-Christmas cruise? Do you not normally tag along?”

“And watch my husband flirt with some whore on a boat? I don’t care for it. Unless I get to be the whore, that is.” There was that smile again.

Bret flipped to a new page in his notebook. “He much of a partier?”

“No, that’s me.” To illustrate, Shawn toasted his near-empty margarita to him. “He doesn’t like the drinks, but he likes the ladies who bring them.”

“You don’t seem terribly concerned.”

“About what?”

“About… anything.”

“I’m not concerned — and I just told you why I wasn’t. But I’m sure you know how it would look for me to be unconcerned.”

Bret knew how people like Shawn came off. Bret had been thinking of him the same way. The clothes, the jewelry, the flirty touches, and the easy smile that didn’t reach his cloudy eyes. Of course a guy like that would make his husband disappear, and of course everyone would think that.

“Well, if you say he’s on boat to Mexico, then what should we be working on?”

“He normally leaves out of Long Beach.” He leaned forward to finger Bret’s sleeve. “I guess you could poke around there if you’re already sick of me.”

Bret pocketed his notebook and stood from the table. “I’m starting to think you hired me to be your friend.”

“I have friends.”

“Not in LA.”

On a good day, you could be in Long Beach in under two hours. On a day like this one, where the port was blocked off by yet another set of cops and what felt like miles of crime scene tape, it took longer.

Bret was less than pleased when he pulled off the side of the road and was greeted by a familiar face strolling up to his car. Jannetty, a late night partier playing dress up in a trench coat and badge, leaned his arm on the roof of the driver’s side as Bret made to open his door.

“Doing an investigation, Hart.”

“Explains all the tape.” Bret moved his eyes away from the scene in front of him to meet Jannetty’s. “Doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

“Case I’ve been working on. New developments, so I followed them down to Long Beach.”

Bret made to open his door again but was blocked by Jannetty’s knee nudging it closed.

“What I meant was I don’t normally see you around the scenes of investigations — doesn’t matter where they are.”

Bret would have written this off as a bust. Talking to Jannetty was never much use to him — but it did give him some important information this time: the identity of the man on the phone. Shawn had been calling Jannetty’s number and seemed to have a direct line.

Since it didn’t seem like he’d be doing much here — not with Jannetty breathing down his neck, anyhow — he’d do some other investigating. Shawn was covering the gas.

They’d worked together for a few years back when Bret was a detective and Jannetty was wearing a detective’s uniform, but Bret had never known much about the other man other than that he clearly wasn’t an LA native. Not too strange: LA was always a city of new residents. Bret had moved there himself after the war.

They’d started off on the wrong foot — Bret turning down Jannetty’s offer to go to a club after work one day — and ended on another wrong foot — Jannetty’s mysterious lack of punishment for a flub that saw an innocent officer punished instead. Well, it had served as a wrong foot for both Jannetty and Helmsley, in Bret’s book. The two had always been buddy-buddy and it didn’t take genius to figure out how Jannetty got off scot-free. Bret left the force soon after.

He wanted to know just what Shawn would’ve been calling a man like Jannetty about. Knowing he wouldn’t get access to Jannetty’s files, Bret decided to try his luck with a newspaper search. Jannetty was an uncommon enough last name, and if he’d done anything noteworthy, he’d show up. The library staff was used to Bret enough by this point that he had his own login to the microfiche and records. Doing a word search of Jannetty’s name proved easy enough, and he was able to find a few records in Georgia and Texas. Finding nothing in Georgia other than a few reports about Jannetty’s apparent amateur wrestling skill, he moved onto the results in Texas.

They weren’t long afterward, and Bret had guessed Marty moved west looking for work and wound up in central Texas. Not interesting on its own, but what was was the engagement announcement from several years back: one Martin Jannetty and a Shawn Michaels. Bret didn’t think he had a very common name either — certainly not common enough to overlook this coincidence.

Bret couldn’t find a photo of either of them in this paper, but he did find a photo of someone else in another newspaper for another town in Texas, near Dallas. A tragic accident — a young heir falling off a boat. A young heir who happened to be named Shawn Michaels. There was a photo of the family in the newspaper, taken in some opulent living room on some sprawling estate, Bret was sure. It was helpfully labeled for his convenience.

He turned the dial to look closer at the picture. The young man in the photo didn’t look a thing like the Shawn he knew — even in the grainy newsprint, he could tell he had dark hair. More importantly, he was dead — and had been for about five years.

#bretshawn #hartbreak #shawn michaels #bret hart #triple h #marty jannetty #unnamed appearance from #kevin nash #i apologize for the barebones mobile formatting #but helpful scene dividers courtesy of @saradika

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gracemyface · 2 years

Text

Daryl: The Professional (Daryl Dixon x Young! Reader)

Chapter Six

Key:

Y/n - Your Name

Y/l/n - Your Last Name

Y/e/c - Your Eye Color

Y/h/c - Your Hair Color

Series Masterlist | Previous Part | Next Part

Summary: Things are unsettled at camp after the fight and Jim's breakdown, and the Reader finds themselves too worried about Daryl to really enjoy any of the festivities. Meanwhile, Daryl finds himself struggling in the city, wanting to return to camp but not wanting to face the wrath that would come from leaving Glenn behind. They're finally reunited when, in a turn for the worse, the camp is attacked by a wandering herd of walkers...

Warnings: Major Character Death, Canon Typical Violence/Gore, Some Angst.

A/n: I will have no real Lori slander. She did some shitty things, yes, but she loved her kids and the other women’s kids. Anyway, how do we like Daryl’s pov? I really, really struggled with it bc he’s such an asshole (I mean that affectionately.)

Shit really goes down this chapter. You guys have a slight breakdown, but it's been a long time coming. Character development ig?

also, do we want more stories from when the Reader, Daryl, and Merle were together?

Word Count: 4.8k

The first time Daryl ever saw you, the blood-soaked orphan with a far-off stare who’d barricaded themself into the corner of his father’s cabin, he felt a prickle of annoyance travel up his spine.

He didn’t know why you were out in the woods, or what had happened to result in you being covered in the crimson liquid (though, if his father hadn’t just been eaten in front of him, he would’ve assumed it was a pig slaughtering gone awry), or how you got into the cabin. He, especially at that moment, hadn’t even cared. He knew immediately that Jess wouldn’t have left you behind, cursed his father’s half-brother and his bleeding heart, and reduced you to nothing in his mind but another mouth to feed — a weak, sniveling mouth at that. He wasn’t ever keen on being around kids, smart-mouthed teenagers even less, and he didn’t really want to have to handle the collapse of society with anybody who couldn’t fend for themselves.

You showed him, though. You really did.

In those few days when it was just you and him after Jess took that fall off the truck when you officially became his responsibility, you proved you weren’t weak. You adapted to the end of the world quickly — learned to be quiet when you needed to be, to be useful most of the time, and to just eat whatever he managed to catch. And then you took on Merle in a way that nobody really dared to, most nights ending with you sending his older brother a heated gaze over the fire, the flames reflecting in your y/e/c eyes. Now, he still wouldn’t leave his life in your hands if he had the choice, even after you shot that man clear in the head back in Fontana and walked it off, but he knows for sure that he can trust you to handle your own — and, even if he doesn’t really appreciate being wrong, he can’t help but admire you for it… though, he’d never admit it aloud.

Standing in a long-abandoned lab building in an overrun Atlanta, the redneck stares down at the whimpering kid they picked up with pure disdain. His lips are curled back over his teeth in a sneer and his eyes are slanted as he stares down, internally picking apart every little thing the teenager does. That is what he expected from you.

What a shit show this little expedition-slash-rescue mission has turned out to be.

Not only was Merle not where they left him — currently down one hand and on the run through the sweltering pit of hell that has become of the once lively city — but now they’ve lost Glenn, too. If Daryl’d known that the younger man was going to get taken hostage by a bunch of wannabe gangsters and hold them up like this, he’d have left before these assholes could’ve even thought about getting into the truck with him.

He wanted to be the hell out of dodge three hours ago. “Them guns are worth more than gold. Gold won’t protect your family or put food on the table— you’re gonna give that up for that kid?”

Both of them give him a stern look, and he resists the urge to roll his eyes. Sure, the kid is nice and all, and half the camp (including you) would be really pissed off if they came back without him, but they can’t give up half of these guns. It’s either Glenn or a better chance at survival and he picks survival.

“If I knew we’d get Glenn back, I might agree. But, you think that Vato across the way is just gonna hand him over?”

Daryl nods in agreement. There’s that, too. They have no idea for certain if giving up the guns will even get them what they want. It might just be a trap that gets them all killed.

“You calling G a liar?” Their hostage— Miguel, was it?— inserts himself into the equation.

His mind once again drifts to you. If you were kidnapped, you wouldn’t be this stupid. You’d be smart enough to not mouth off to the people who held you captive, smart enough to figure out how to get yourself free, and smart enough not to make promises on his behalf that he might not be able to keep. You’d be mute, sitting there and watching your captors with those dangerous little eyes of yours.

This kid, though? Christ.

“Are you a part of this?” He crosses the room and leans down over the kid, slapping him lightly. “You wanna hold onto your teeth?”

T-Dog continues on, ignoring the violence. “Question is, do you trust that man’s word?”

“No, question is what are you willing to bet on it? Could be more than them guns. Could be your life. Glenn worth that to you?” He holds Rick’s gaze.

Truth be told, Daryl doesn’t quite get risking why anybody would risk their life for someone who wasn’t their blood. Glenn wasn’t any of their brother, son, or cousin — he was just some (former) pizza running kid that was on the highway, in the right place and at the right time when Shane spearheaded the group and lead them off the highway. Merle is probably the only person in the world that the redneck would even think to sacrifice anything for.

(Except maybe…)

“What life I have I owe to him. I was nobody to Glenn, just some idiot stuck in a tank. He could have walked away, but he didn't.” Rick loads his revolver and sticks it in his pocket. “Neither will I.”

Daryl scoffs in his soul. “So you’re gonna hand the guns over?”

“I didn't say that.”

The sheriff's voice has now taken a quality that has his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline.

“There's nothing keeping you two here. You should get out, head back to camp.”

T-Dog winces from his injuries, rubbing his head with his hand. “And tell your family what?”

Daryl and Rick stare at each other for a beat, a silent conversation happening between them, before he sighs shortly and reaches for a weapon. You’d probably be really pissed at him if he didn’t try, and he doesn’t want to deal with an emotional teenager right about now.

“Come on, this is nuts.” The boy sits back down when Daryl holds a hand out to him. “Just do like G says.”

The redneck ignores the whining boy and starts loading a shotgun. He needs this to be over as quickly as possible, and he needs the gangster assholes to go down without a fight.

He made a promise to come back alive, after all.

──────────────────

Jim has a heatstroke. Or, at least, that’s what Shane keeps dismissing it as. With the current state of the world, it could’ve very well been post-bite fever or a psychotic break.

He’d been digging for reasons unknown and unintentionally ruined the good news of the incredible amount of food they were going to have tonight in the process. Shane went all cop on him, which didn’t really surprise you after what happened with Ed, and the whole ordeal ended with Jim being tied to a tree after ranting and raving about how he left his family for dead. Everyone seemed to move on after that, the mothers dragged their children off to do schoolwork and a few of the other adults started setting up for the fish fry, but you found yourself a little nauseous.

It looked like he was digging graves, and why did he go into such intense detail?

Hiding away in your tent, you lay down on top of your sleeping bag and throw a ball of socks up just to catch it as it comes down. You hoped the action would be therapeutic — something to take your mind off the image of Jim’s poor family and how it bleeds into the image of your own — but the socks lack the weight of a real ball, and you can’t get out of your head.

Had washing your parents’ blood off your skin absolved you of any responsibility in their deaths? Were you doomed to end up like Jim?

Would you also, someday soon, have a psychotic break?

“Hey, Y/n?” Lori’s soft voice drifts through the thin fabric of your tent as he speaks timidly.

For a beat, you decide if you want to be silent and let her think you’re asleep. “Uh, yeah. What’s up?”

“Shane’s gonna teach Carl and Sophia to clean fish. He wanted to know if you’d join.”

You already know how to gut an animal. Squirrels, rabbits, and even a deer, once — Daryl had always been very big on you learning how to survive in the time you spent together, and that learning involved getting over the grossness of animal entrails very, very quickly. You were living through the end of the world, he’d reasoned, you don’t have time to be weak-stomached.

And you don’t want to spend time with Shane. That’s at the top of the list of things you don’t want.

But you’re not going to tell the woman that you dislike the man she was sleeping with, so you say, “I already know how to.”

There’s another beat of silence, and you can see the shadow of her willowy figure shift through the wall of the tent.

“Can I come in?”

You, certainly not expecting that, pause.

“Uh, sure.”

You sit up and push yourself to the back of the tent, watching as Lori unzips the door and ducks down inside. She’s got sincere eyes. So sincere that when she crouches down in front of you and meets your gaze, your skin starts to crawl.

“You feelin’ okay?”

You hate that question. Something burns behind your nose and you snuggle, shrugging pitifully. “Dunno. Pretty shit — what happened to Jim, I mean.”

Lori nods thoughtfully. “Yeah… it is.”

She looks a little pale. Surely, the death of children doesn’t sit well with a mother, even if they aren’t her own.

“I, uh, I understand that you’ve had a rough time.” The brunette doesn’t seem to know what to say to you, and you almost feel bad. “I mean, I don’t. Not really. And you don’t have to tell me anything.” She stresses that point with a sweep of her hand. “But I know something must’ve happened because everyone has something happen.”

You nod along, fiddling with a loose string on your jeans.

“I— Daryl and Merle don’t exactly seem like the easiest people to talk to, so if you ever need anything, me and Carol are right here, okay?”

“…okay.”

She smiles softly at you, and you spare one back. Lori and Carol are perfectly nice women, but you almost prefer Daryl, who has put a ban on personal questions and mostly ignores the emotional side of everything. You know you aren’t going to go to Lori and tell her things.

You wouldn’t even know where to start.

“Y’know, Carl likes you? Like, a lot.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. Sophia, too.”

Deep down, you know this is her trying to coax you out of the tent, but you let it boost your ego anyway. There’s something so incredibly normal (and endearing) about being looked up to — even if, sometimes, it gets a little annoying.

“And I’m guessing they would really, really like it if I went out there and helped Shane gut fish with ‘em?”

“Yeah. They would.”

Pursing your lips, you stare at the woman through slightly narrowed eyes before sighing and giving in.

“Alright…”

She grins widely and it kind of makes up for it.

Shane seems to be getting frustrated with the ordeal when you arrive, correcting Sophia’s stance with a tightness pulling at his smile as Lori gently nudges you along. You take the seat next to him without a word, pretending you don’t notice how he and the woman exchange a look, or how Carl shifts toward you on the log. It’s a hundred degrees out and he’s attached to your hip already, watching with those big blue eyes of his as you silently grab a fish off the pile and get to gutting it.

You can remember the steps well: descale, cut a slit in the belly, remove the guts and fins and head, and rinse.

“Look at you.” Shane compliments in a drawl, finally getting Sophia to do what he needed her to. “Like a swan to water.”

With a wrinkled nose, you drop fish innards into a bucket and turn to look at him as you shake the blood off your hands.

“Yeah, well, you spend enough time with the Dixons and you’ll learn how to gut anything.”

Something dark flashes across his face but you don’t care. You turn back to the fish, making a little joke to Carl about fish eyes that makes his entire face scrunch up and draws a long ‘Ewww’ from his lips. The laugh that bursts from you rattles in your bones.

──────────────────

“Hey, Dale, you got a?—“ The question dies on your lips as, upon stepping over the threshold of the RV, you stumble upon Andrea.

Every cabinet in the mobile home’s little kitchenette is open and she appears to be rooting through them desperately. At the sound of your voice, she pauses, looking up at you like she’s an animal and you just caught her looking through your garbage cans.

“Hi.”

“Hi?” You retort, shifting your weight. “Do you know where Dale is?”

“No, but I wish I did.” She heaves a sigh and runs her hand through her hair.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen the woman quite so frantic. Somewhere down the line, Andrea Harrison was a lawyer, and it’s hard to imagine her standing in the front of a courtroom, prim and proper and ready to kick some ass, with her standing in front of you like this.

“Can I help you any?” You ask just as Dale finally responds to his summons, stepping over the threshold with a quiet, “Did I hear my name?“

“Yeah.” Both you and Andrea answer at once, but you step back and gesture to her. “I think she needs help first.”

The blonde spares you a nervous smile.

“Alright. What do you need?”

“Wrapping paper, color tissue, anything?”

(Okay, maybe you regret letting her go first. At this rate, you’ll never get that bandaid.)

You stare at her with furrowed brows and a scrunched-up face.

“Seriously?” Dale shares in your confusion, glancing warily between the two of you. You offer him a shrug.

“How could you not have any?”

“Had I been informed of the impending apocalypse I'd have stocked up.”

Your snort at the old man’s dry words earns you a particularly derisive look from Andrea. “What? It’s the end of the world and you need wrapping paper. Shoot me for finding that amusing.”

“It’s Amy’s birthday tomorrow.” She says it like you should know that (probably because you should.) “I've been marking days on the calendar just to make sure.”

Your eyes wander over to the calendar on the wall of the RV as she lifts the necklace that she stole for a gift to her sister. Surely enough, Andrea has been crossing out the days on it.

Despite what you expected, there is no big circle over Amy’s birthday or anything, but you then figure that would probably ruin the surprise. Your older (in age and not maturity) blonde friend had come to you earlier in the week and lamented to you about the situation. While you’d always known that Andrea was the older of the pair, you didn’t know just how much until Amy filled you in on the ghosts of birthday past; she told you all about the older blonde’s broken promises to return to the nest for her little sister’s birthday, about how, more often than not, college and other things got in the way. She must’ve seen the calendar, too, and been disappointed by the apparent lack of acknowledgment that it was growing closer and closer to her favorite holiday.

“You can’t leave a gift unwrapped.”

“Oh, it’s good that you got something. I think she thinks you forgot.” That was told to you in confidence, but you stretched the truth a bit, so it isn’t that bad, right?

Dale and Andrea both look at you for a moment before he nods his head slowly. “Alright. Deep breath. I’m sure we’ll find something.” He turns back to face you. “What did you need?”

As if a lightbulb turned on over your head, you lift up your hand and the handkerchief that’s been wrapped around your minor flesh wound. “Carl cut me while I was demonstrating. I just need a bandaid.”

The old man shakes his head at you and steps around Andrea to go get the first aid kit, muttering to himself about the youth of today and how you��re going to lose your limb if you aren’t more careful.

──────────────────

As the grating summer sunlight fades into the darkness of dusk, taking the heat with it, the whole group (excluding the men in Atlanta and Ed, who refused to show his face around camp) sits down for the biggest meal most of them have had since the end of the world.

Cold beer and water are handed out as serving trays full of fried fish get passed around between the clusters of people who gather around their fires, the murmur of their happy chatter and soft laughter cutting through the blanketing sounds of the night. After the big fight and Jim’s foreboding breakdown, it’s nice to see everyone smiling and knowing that nobody’s going to ruin it this time — even if you can’t really find yourself joining in on the festivity.

“Pass the fish, please?”

“Here you go.”

“Man, I missed this.”

Sitting down on the end of one of the logs and feeling a little removed from everyone else, you wrap your coat tighter around your frame and let yourself worry about the group of men who went into the city. You don’t know Rick Grimes too well — he didn’t exactly give you the chance to get to know him, did he? — but you do know Glenn, T-Dog, and Daryl. You know that they’re very capable men and that, in certain circumstances, most of them have more experience with geeks than you do, but you can’t help but worry. The sun has long since set, meaning that the men, wherever they are, are stranded out in the dark. You don’t really remember the nights from when it was just you and Daryl (a combination of many sleepless nights and too-high adrenaline made the memories blur together), but you know enough to know that things do get worse when the sun goes down; geeks aren’t exactly quiet, but they can really sneak up on you when there’s no light and your body wants to sleep.

Experienced or not, they're going to be tired eventually, and, if Merle doesn’t try to kill them, something else will.

“Hey, Nervous Nellie.” Shane draws your attention to him by nudging your leg with his boot, “Yeah, you— how's the fish?”

Your eyes flit down to the bottle in his hand. Beer surely makes him a little looser.

“It’s alright.”

The ex-cop cocks a brow and echoes your response. “Alright?”

You really wish he’d just leave you alone.

Truth be told, you don’t really like the food. It’s bland and it tastes fishy in the worst way, and (even if you’ll admit that you’ve been eating it like a death row inmate getting their last meal as if indigestion isn’t a thing), chasing it down with water isn’t helping. Sure, it’s better than the food you’ve been eating for weeks — better than measly mushrooms, canned rations, and whatever game the Dixon brothers could hunt up — but it’s not great.

“It’s no cheeseburger.” You shrug, stabbing some more of the pale flesh with your fork. “But beggars and choosers, and all that.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Morales interjects lightheartedly, tipping the head of his beer in your direction. You smile a thin-lipped smile.

The arrival of his long-lost best friend has made Shane rather… unsettling. Whether it’s because of how cold Lori has been acting toward him or his superiority complex, you’re not sure. You just know that you want Daryl to come back, even if that means putting up with Merle for the rest of his life.

“I’ll be right back.” You dismiss yourself quietly to Jacqui when the temperature changes and your discomfort proves to be too much. She nods absentmindedly, too engrossed with whatever Dale is saying to really respond, and takes the plate from you when you hand it over.

You slip away into the darkness pretty easily, retreating to your tent in search of a sweatshirt, a breather, and maybe some reassurance that the redneck you’ve grown to like could survive whatever came at him.

With a press of your hand, the nylon flap of your tent opens and you step in. Pausing briefly to turn on the little electric lantern on the floor, you then scan the small space with your eyes, looking for anything that might pass as something with long sleeves. There’s already a pile of dirty clothes forming in the corner and most of your stuff is strewn about, but you ignore that and grab for your bag— an old duffel that belonged to Daryl’s deceased father. Curling your fingers around one of the fraying straps, you pull it up and toward you, rooting through the stuff in there until you find it. A red and black flannel.

Somewhere down the line — just like most of your stuff did — the flannel belonged to one of the Dixons. It hangs loose on your frame, the sleeves too long for your arms and the length stopping mid-thigh.

Buttoning it up, you cuff the sleeves and fiddle with the ends for a few minutes until they sit in a way you like.

Just as you’re able to breathe a deep breath and feel remotely at peace, a blood-curdling scream, followed by many more, cuts through the quiet dark of the night. Adrenaline is the first thing you feel, your heart beating in your ears and your lungs squeezed of air, and worry is the second, fear for your friends forcing your legs to move and push out of your tent again. Though, before you can do that, you’re greeted by two rotting hands shoving their way through the opening and grabbing at your shoulders in a surprisingly iron grip. The shock of seeing a geek so up-close causes you to stumble back, but your ankle twists harshly — sending you sprawling to the ground with the monster right on top of you.

“Oh, god!” The cracked scream leaves your lips, the now-shattered glass from the lantern digging into the skin of your leg.

The walker is — or, was — a man. It gnashes its teeth and pushes toward you, the sound of the bones clacking together making you whimper. Is this what your parents felt in their last moments? Jim’s wife and kids? Very quickly, your arms start to tremble under the weight of the much larger body, and you decide to not resign yourself to the same fate. Craning your head, you search for a weapon.

There’s no way for you to reach your gun right about now, which you can’t really shoot with one hand anyway, but there has to be something else — anything you can use.

As the walker claws desperately at your shirt and groans miserably, you have to make the rash decision to remove one hand from its chest and give yourself less leverage to reach blindly behind you. Panicked breaths puff past your lips and your head starts to feel light as you grab at your stuff. Your fingers tightening around your sleeping bag, you give a harsh tug and hear the faintest sound of objects clattering around. The walker pushes down on your forearm as your fingers touch what feels like the hilt of a knife. Daryl must’ve thrown it in with your belongings a while back.

Letting out a strangled and panicked sound, you take the weapon and stab the walker with all your might.

The steel of the blade pops the walker’s eye upon entry and slides right through to its brain. Closing your eyes and mouth, you whip your head to the side as a mixture of ink-like blood and gel-like eye fluids drip down the hilt of the knife and onto your face. Its body, now eerily still and limp, falls on top of yours, making it hard to fully inhale as stuttered, panicked breaths rack your chest. As the sounds of gunshots and screams continue from outside the tent, you roll the body off you and force yourself up on your knees, gasping breaths through frightened sobs as you try to tug the knife out of the dead head.

As you pull it free, another walker stumbles into your tent and tries to pounce on you. Before it can bite a chunk out of your body, the tent door is being pushed open and a bullet is shattering its skull.

“Y/n!?” Glenn’s voice is just audible over the deadly mixture of your heartbeat and painful ringing in your ears, his eyes wide as he hopes what he just shot was actually dead before he shot it. “Y/n?!”

“Glenn.” You whimper, kicking the other dead body away from you. Your alleviation that the men from Atlanta are alive is short-lived.

“Oh.” He breathes in relief and slings the gun over his shoulder, reaching out to hold your forearms. “Oh. You’re okay. Oh, god. That’s good.”

“Daryl— is— is Daryl?” You can barely form words, your fingernails digging into his skin.

“Daryl’s fine. C’mon. We have to get out of here!”

He ushers you to your feet. The pain in your calf worsens as you stand up on shaky legs, every movement causing the glass to shift in your skin, and you stumble forward into his chest.

“I can’t— I hurt my leg.” You hiccup and Glenn sighs softly, wrapping one of your arms around his shoulders so he can half carry you.

“I have you.”

Glenn leads you out into the chaos. What’s left of camp isn’t very different from what Sedalia was like all those weeks ago — bodies, both rotting and fresh, littering the floor and the once-contained fires roaring loudly against the stones. Howls of anguish and sobs fill the air.

“Y/n! Y/n!” Daryl’s southern drawl echoes through the remains of the camp, worry, fear, and anger lacing his words. “Where the hell is the kid?!”

The survivors are all gathered around the RV, and you watch as he shoves Shane lightly for getting in his way.

“Where are they? Did you leave them alone?” Rick tacks on as T-Dog tries to get in between them, his son in his arms. “Has anyone seen Y/n?”

As the moonlight casts a blue shadow on your blood and grime covered skin, you let go of Glenn and find it within yourself to shout. “I’m right here!”

The redneck’s head snaps over to you and he abandons his antagonism against the ex-cop in favor of running over to you. Daryl grabs your face in both of his hands and starts scanning over your features.

“You alright? Any of this blood yours?” He whispers gruffly.

“I’m… I mean I hurt my leg but otherwise I’m fine. No bites.” Your hollow voice cracks slightly as you speak, and your gaze flits away from him as he bends down to check your leg. “Is that?…”

Andrea sits, crumpled at the foot of the door into the RV. In her lap is Amy. Sweet Amy. Amy, who missed texting more than most and still had this beautiful ability to wonder in her twenties. Amy, whose birthday is tomorrow.

Amy, Amy, Amy.

Your blood runs cold and your stomach drops so fast you might fall over as the older blonde’s bloody hands brush across your dead friend’s pale skin.

“Don’t look.” Your guardian orders once he’s followed your gaze, but it’s too late.

Tears, burning hot and long coming, spill out of your eyes and down your cheeks. Daryl sighs and, because the attention isn’t on either of you, lets you curl into his chest, his hand rubbing down your back in an attempt at comforting you.

It’s useless, though.

Andrea’s sobs filter through the air as a heavy silence overcomes the rest of the group, each and every one of them consumed with the weight of what they’ve lost.

──────────────────

tag list (lmk if you want to be added/ if you're not actually being tagged you might have to check the settings on your page):

@stawvberrymilktae / @vilaneiie / @letxhyng / @fnicolpcab / @redneckstrash / @dixonarchives / @howlerwolfmax / @spenciepoo338 / @luvelyxp / @quietly-scrolling-through / @btsiguess-kpop / @littledxve / @mich1551-blog / @anunstablefangirl / @furiousfandomenthusiast / @ineedmorefanfics2 / @justababygaysworld /

#daryl:the professional #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #the walking dead #the walking dead imagine #the walking dead x reader #gender neutral reader #young reader #carl grimes #glenn rhee #lori grimes #tdog #dale horvath #carol peletier #sophia peletier #zombie apocalypse #platonic fic

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albertbutyoucancallmebert · 25 days

Text

@stuckinuniformdevelopment

(prev) Teddy allowed himself to decompress as Bert’s gentle pats and soft words brought him back from the verge of tears. Nothing had changed. Yet he allowed himself to enjoy the illusion of safety for a moment. “This helps,” It still bothered him how Bert’s comfort came at the cost of distressing him but… What could he do? He knew for a fact that he hated being kept in the dark more. Answering his questions— including those which remained unasked— was the least he could do. He shook his head as he answered the easiest of all with, “Probably not.” It took a bit for Teddy to compile his thoughts. Eventually he hesitantly said, “…There’s this one Glornist named Thomas I’ve been worried about. He’s just too…” Teddy paused to sigh. “…Nice. Nice enough that there was only one reason to keep him alive…” Then he kept his eye shut as he rested his head against his good arm. “Somehow I was still arrogant enough to think that I could save him… Except I put it off because its hard to approach a guy you usually avoid to go,” He scowled and swapped to a sarcastic tone as he grew more agitated. “Hello! If you don’t either dirty up your act or fake your death you’ll be ritually murdered! Here’s how I, known natural shady creep, can help!” Teddy glowered at a stray beaker left on the desk. “So I tried to earn his trust first, but that..,” He sighed as he closed his eye. “…only made it worse…” The air became dead as he recalled how even Thomas, one of the most naïve people he knew, couldn’t believe that he had good intentions. “Eventually I just cut to the chase and it, well…” His voice quickened and he started to idly rub his finger against the counter. “I heard him pray to Grop after I made him cry so I tried to give him contact info for them and urged him to leave but then he showed up Slornday anyways and I didn’t know that Sam and Cyrus were already investigating him for being a Gropist and for a bit I thought they heard everything and Sam was gonna accuse me of being one too and-” Teddy was forced to stop working himself into a panic just long enough to take a breath and pressed his fist against his forehead to ward off an oncoming headache. “It was just Thomas but I still had to use my backup plan before our meeting came out under torture and they sacrificed me too so I told everyone that I was working with them and claimed that I was trying to set him up so he’d find other Gropists on the ship but I told him about Eve because I found out she became a Gropist after what happened to Dawn when I was in the medbay and I may have sealed her fate too and-” Another sharp inhale. “But I didn’t know that Sam was trying to frame Thomas as an infiltrator taking down the Glornch becausethat'slikewanderbeingaslysndcraftygenius so they got mad that they couldn’t use the dramatic presentation they prepared but… I think Thomas bolted before they could start because… he thought I was the evil… mastermind anyways and-” That was as far as he got before he lost the wind for a long-winded rant. While he was recovering he searched the room as well as he could without lifting his heavy head. Where was Sherri Jr? Because he could really use the big lug right about now…

Bert patiently listened to what Teddy had to say without a moment of interruption. He followed along at first, nodding his head. Alright, so there’s a Glornist named Thomas who Teddy deemed worth saving. But trying to talk to him didn’t go so well. Okay.

Bert frowned when Teddy mocked himself, but kept quiet in favor of letting him express his thoughts however he saw fit. But when Teddy’s pace quickened as he started to get more and more panicked, that’s when Bert started to lose track a bit. Sam? Cyrus? Eve? Dawn? Gropism? ...Wander? There were a lot of things being said in rapid succession that Bert was struggling to parse in his head.

At the end of it, Bert gathered that ultimately Teddy was probably in cahoots with the Sam character over the Thomas character.

“I see,” Bert softly said despite his struggle to fully understand. He gave Teddy’s head a few more pats. He jumped down from his seat and made his way over to a refrigerator while Teddy caught his breath.

While Bert was gone, something hit Teddy’s helmet with a light thunk and bounced off, clattering to a stop on the table in front of him. It was a cashew…

Bert returned with a water bottle. He cracked the cap open and slid it over to Teddy.

#stuckinuniformdevelopment #thanks sam #long post

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astroaries98 · 9 months

Text

The Rosier Summer of 75'...

TW: Violence from a parent, blood, references to dark magic and the war.

Pandora looked at herself in the mirror, she looked dreadful, dark circles surrounded her haunted eyes, and her face hollowed at her cheekbones. She traced a thin sliver scar under her eye with her finger. She was going back to school tomorrow, she should be happy, but she just felt numb.

“Dora, have you got any spare….” Evan burst through the door, stopping when he saw his sister looking mournfully in the mirror.

“Oh Dora” He sighed coming up behind her and resting his chin on her head, wrapping his arms around her.

Pandora carried on staring ahead. “It’s not going to disappear, Mother tried everything” She choked on her words, trying to hold back tears.

Evan kissed the top of her head, unsure of how to respond.

“I overheard her say to the house elves that because the knife was enchanted it will stay this way, healing into a magical scar, unable to vanish.” She swallowed and wiped away a stray tear from her cheek.

Evan moved to kneel down beside her and ran his thumb along the scar, Pandora flinched and turned her head away.

“It’s not too notable, maybe it will go eventually, it’s not like the knife itself was magical” He tried to reassure.

Pandora didn’t look back at him, they had both seen enough magical scars to know that was not true.

She got up and walked over to her bed, folding the last of her clothes into her trunk.

“I was so scared…” the words slipped out her mouth.

Evan stayed knelt on the floor across the room.

Memories of last night ran through both of their heads. A normal family dinner, a quiet sarcastic comment in her twin's ear, a sudden flash of light as their father launched Pandora bound on her chair to the back wall, a knife hitting the wall beside her, commands that she needed to be truly and completely committed to this family, a knife getting closer and closer to her face as she refused to surrender, her scream as it finally sliced her cheek, the defeat in her eyes as the knife dropped to her lap when she recited her loyalty, tears and blood streaming down her face.

A slam of a door as her father left, and hours in the kitchen as her mother tried every spell and potion she knew to vanish the wound.

“I should have done something” Evan finally replied, getting up to sit next to Pandora on her bed.

She shook her head, “it would have been worse for you.”

Evan swallowed, “I just…I never imagined he’d hurt you”

Tensions at the Roaiser’s had been growing all summer, new rules and demands had been put in place, they had been allowed very little contact with anyone outside of the household, any questions had been dismissed harshly and quickly, their mother’s sorrowful eyes as she told them ‘soon, soon you will understand and you’ll see it was all worth it, trust me.’

And they did, they had no reason not to, their parents had never led them astray before had they? But recently Pandora felt a pit in her stomach every time her parents came back late from a ‘gathering with friends, every time her father lectured them about family and loyalty or made a snide comment about muggle-born wizards. It was making her question her blind trust in him.

The twins sat on the bed in silence for a while.

“So what did you need anyway?” Pandora finally asked.

“Oh, urm…right yes, I just needed some extra quill nibs.” He replied.

“On top of the chest of draws, there’s a box with some in” Pandora pointed backwards with her hand but didn’t move her head.

“Right, thanks” Evan walked over and took the quill nibs. He looked at Pandora on the bed gazing forward, her mind not in the room.

“It’s going to be okay Dora, they love us so much, they know what’s best for us and for the family, we have to trust them.” He said a bit too quickly.

Pandora stiffened, her back still towards Evan. “Well there’s no other option is there?” She replied dryly.

Pandora fiddled with a ring on her fingers, closed her eyes and wished with her whole body that Evan was right, but she couldn't shake the nagging feeling that this was only the beginning of a very dark time ahead.

#oneshot #fanfic #marauders #marauders headcanon #writing #pandora rosier #microfiction #pandora and evan #evan rosier #young rosiers #rosier twins #wizarding families #first wizarding war #foreboding feelings

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numeralis-xcvi · 1 year

Text

This whole thing was pathetic. Stupid, all of it. All of them. Next time they even think of trifling with him, they'll be picking up their teeth with broken fingers. If there was a next time, that is. For all he’s worth, he still hasn’t quite collected himself from his… less than stellar experiences at the hands of Vector and Don Thousand. Bastards. Dragged him through the mud. Built him up and broke him down. Took his pieces to build an effigy to manipulate and break for their own amusement. And where did that leave him? At square one. Alone. Well, perhaps it would be unfair to say entirely alone. He’s always somehow managing to find the company of someone else, whether that be through boredom or circumstance. But this time, he would liken it more to fate.

“Astral.” The greeting was brief, distant, and angry. Dark Mist wasn’t even trying to cordial. He’s had enough. Be upfront? Attacked. Get malicious? Attacked. Levy with them? Attacked. Was there any winning here? Sure, he could’ve just left by now. Didn’t have to stick around for this. If he hates the guy so much, why not just leave? For all the smack he talked, he sure wasn’t putting much bark in his bite.

Not yet, anyway.

“Come to finish what you’ve started?” His left hand drifted down to his right, picking it up to place on his left forearm before assuming the crossed-arm position. The defensive stance he knew quite well. “You’ve got quite the nerve.” Needlessly aggressive, making assumptions. Can’t trust a soul as far as you can throw them. If there’s one thing he’s learned from Astral, it was how untrustworthy the world was. All anyone is out there for is self-preservation. Step on others to place yourself at the top.

Though, he had to admit. It was… surprising, seeing Astral again. Things had been… a blur after their last encounter. He didn’t even believe he’d get a next time after that. Yet, here they were, face to face. Was he still collecting numbers? Here to drag him back to that damned spacecraft and stripped of his chaos, his being, as Vector had done to him? Revenge, perhaps, for stringing Yuma up from their first meeting? The envoy was hard to read, always had been. He’d been careless before, assuming and reckless. But now? He knew better. Now he saw the world for what it truly was: cold and unforgiving. There is no room for the weak. Bend him as he may, but Mist will never break.

No one will break him again.

@forhope

#forhope #(( if i need to edit anything lmk!! ))#✩ || The Hunted Became the Hunter (Closed Starter)#✧ || Don’t Call Me / I’ll Call You (Threads)

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awkwardgtace · 2 years

Text

Stolen Snacks

Day 8 snacks some more streamer au with how the family was in the past.

Stolen Snacks

“Come on Ash, if we don’t hurry they’ll catch us,” Rhys said. He was dragging his sibling up the ladder the giants installed. Apparently they wanted the two humans to get around easily, he’d make use of that.

“They’ll probably catch us either way,” they sighed. He knew Ash had believed all the warnings the other kids said. He did too. That’s why he was doing this. Piss off the giants enough they get sent back to wait for new foster parents. Best part of the system was they actually tried to keep Rhys and Ash together.

He climbed onto the counter and smiled at the cookies that were left out to cool. Dabria left so it was just their foster dad and he barely looked at them. It should be easy to steal one of these things and get away. He grabbed Ash’s hands and pulled them up to stand next to him. If they were lucky she’d get mad and demand they leave. If they were unlucky, well Rhys chose not to think about that.

“See told you it would be worth it,” he grinned. Dabria made chocolate chip and sugar cookies. It was weird that she just happened to make the kinds they both loved.

“I’m still not sure this is a good idea, what if they get mad,” Ash shivered. Rhys grabbed the taller human’s arm and started dragging them towards their goal. “They could make it so we can only get around if they let us.”

“Then we tell the people who put us here and they take us away again. Simple.”

“And what if they don’t take us away Rhys. They left us with those last ones for a while.” Rhys flinched, the pain of his punishments still fresh. They were right it took forever and it was all the more reason to do something to start it now.

“Just trust me Ash, when have I steered you wrong?” The groan from his sibling made him smile.

“You mean just today?” They laughed and Rhys smiled back at them. It would be fine.

“We’ll be fine. The guy doesn’t even seem to look at us anyway. Probably just agreed to take in humans to make his wife happy.”

A shadow fell over them and Rhys immediately regretted his words. He looked up and the man he just spoke about was looking down at them with a frown. Ash pulled him behind them, the older one always tried to protect him. Half the time they got in trouble was his fault. Another one to join that list. The giant sighed and the two flinched.

Painfully slowly the man crouched down to be at their level. Green eyes stared at them and Rhys almost wanted to poke them so they could run. One of the massive arms lifted and he felt Ash’s grip tightened. Rhys stared at the pale fingers, expecting them to go straight for him. Instead the hand kept moving over them. Rhys buried his face in Ash’s back, they were probably getting put under a cup or something.

Instead of his fears being realized the smell of the giant cookies came to rest in front of them. Rhys peeked around Ash and saw one of the huge sugar cookies placed on the counter in front of them. A chocolate chip cookie came to rest next to it. He looked up at the giant and caught the faintest hint of a smile. He had to be imagining it.

“A snack isn’t a bad idea,” Vitus said. The voice was still loud, but had a hint of kindness. Rhys gave him a suspicious look, he didn’t trust this. They’d take a piece of the cookies and then get punished for it. “You two take what you want and I’ll eat the rest so Dabria can’t tell.”

“Why?” Rhys asked. Ash’s grip on his arm tightened. That would be how they get punished. It was too late to stop it though. “Aren’t you mad that we were trying to steal cookies?”

The chuckle from Vitus made Rhys shiver. It had to be a bad sign that he was laughing. Ash stepped back a bit. They didn’t have escapes from here that didn’t put them closer to Vitus. The two were trapped and it was Rhys’s fault. He pressed his face into Ash’s back again to try and hide the tears that were starting from his stupid plans.

“I don’t think I can blame you for stealing some of these. They smell good,” Vitus smiled. Rhys froze, that didn’t make sense. He heard another sigh and the shifting of fabric. He didn’t know how Ash was standing so firm against this. It had to be because they were taller, if Rhys were taller he could do a lot more. “You happen to be wrong. We both wanted to take in kids, human or giant, that needed a good home. We’re not going to make it impossible to get around because you did something that upset us. We want you to feel safe here.”

Rhys poked his head out again. The giant had moved his arms to rest against the counter. His head was resting on top of them, furrowed brows making him look angry. Ash seemed to relax so Rhys got a bit of his confidence back. He stepped out from behind his sibling staring up into the emeralds watching them. He stepped forward to be standing next to them.

“Then why do you always glare at us or avoid us?” he asked. Ash squeezed his arm, it seems like they wanted to ask that too. Vitus had a bitter smile take over his face.

“I know I can be scary. I didn’t want to make adjusting for either of you worse,” he said. Rhys started laughing, it just seemed funny. A giant that was bigger than any he’d seen had been worried about scaring them. Ash slapped his arm but he couldn’t stop laughing. He almost screamed when a huge finger touched his head, but the ruffling of his hair made him calm a bit. “Well I guess making you laugh is good.”

“...You were watching us climb up here weren’t you?” Ash asked. Rhys gasped he hadn’t considered that. The finger on his head disappeared. He looked at the giant’s face, almost shocked to find a smile on it.

“I guess I was pretty obvious.” Another chuckle escaped the giant, this time it wasn’t as terrifying. It almost felt nice to hear. “I didn’t want either of you to get hurt.”

“Thank you. For the cookies too.” Ash smiled and took some of the sugar cookie placed near them. The smile on Vitus’s face made Rhys start to consider him in a different light. He grabbed some of the chocolate chip cookie placed by him and smiled at the taste.

“Dabria makes good cookies…”

Another laugh from the giant in front of them. He stood up to his full height. The way his shadow cast over them felt a bit less scary now. Vitus placed a hand next to the two of them. They stared at it unsure what he wanted from them.

“Why don’t I get you away from the scene of the crime? We can watch a movie while you have your snack if you want,” he offered.

Rhys thought it over for about one second before grabbing Ash’s arm. He walked towards the hand dragging them along. He climbed on and pulled them up with them, settling on the strange leather surface. Dabria had held them before, but her hands were softer than Vitus’s. He curled his fingers over them before picking up the two cookies and walking away. Ash leaned closer to him.

“Fine, this time you didn’t steer us wrong. Maybe these two won’t be so bad,” they whispered. Rhys smiled, he agreed. The last time they stole cookies had been a lot less nice.

“You may just be right. Guess that means you’ll have to listen to me next time too,” he laughed. Ash pushed him a bit. He almost missed the smile that seemed to get even bigger on Vitus’s face.

When Dabria got home she was happy to find Vitus holding the two sleeping humans. He’d been so nervous around them. She walked into the kitchen to put away the cookies, holding back a laugh at the two missing. It seemed obvious the nap for the two humans was more than just being comfortable. She decided not to point out the missing snacks, happy they were finally adjusting.

#gt #giant/tiny #g/t #giant tiny #g/t writing #gt writing #gianttiny #g/t community #gt community #gtjuly #GTJuly2022 #day 8 snacks #OC:Vitus #OC:Ash #OC:Rhys #OC:Dabria #sortofstreamerau

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ramblingsofafanatic · 1 year

Text

I Know You - Chapter 1

Please see the series Masterlist for more details!

Chapter Word Count: 2147

"I've commanded star destroyers before"

"Yea, you just answered your own question" Rex says with a smirk. Kallus pauses a second before conceding and moving to the co-pilot seat. That's the second time in the last 20 minutes that he's been reminded of his past. The quiet that follows lets Kallus get into his own head. Why is he here? What is he doing? He quietly contemplates Sabine and Rex's comments, he was getting too comfy with the Ghost crew. He scolds himself for ever thinking they'd trust him, let alone enough to leave him in charge of anything so important.

He barely belongs in the rebellion, let alone on the ship he used to hunt down. His thoughts continue to spiral, but you wouldn't see the rising panic by looking at him. His brain eventually makes its way back to where it has been the last few weeks, Zeb. Specifically their last interaction.

"Something about my face scares them," Zeb said.

"At least yours is unique" Rex said as he moved to climb up the ladder.

"Is that some kind of clone humor?!" Zeb yelled after him.

"If it's any consolation I don't think your face is scary" Kallus said with a smirk as he leaned against the wall beside Zeb.

"I don' know, if ya don think it's scary what do ya think it is?" Zeb said with his own smirk. This flirting bantering back and forth has become a familiar habit between the two, Kallus treasures every second of it.

"Zeb! Let's go!"

"Ask me again when you're not wearing that hat," Kallus says with a chuckle.

"Hey that's not-" Zeb started, but was cut off.

"ZEB!"

"Yea yea, I heard you!!" Zeb yelled, taking one last look at Kallus before turning to face the rest of them. Kallus didn't know what to think when Zeb gave him that look before turning away. But he does know the look Hera has and Kallus refuses to meet her gaze. He doesn't know that Zeb was also refusing to meet the same knowing look.

How could he have been so blind? He thought he knew what Hera's look was when he first saw it, but now he's rethinking. Maybe the knowing look was mixed with pity instead of the amusement he thought it was. It would make more sense, no matter how good and welcoming these people have been, it's ridiculous to think they'd ever let him near Zeb in any way more than a friend, not that Zeb would want that anyways. Even if Zeb were to ever want that (the doubt of that is growing back rapidly), he doesnt deserve it. Kallus is barely worth the friendship he currently has, and here he is selfishly thinking about taking more.

No more being stupid, he needs to wake up and stop living in this dream he's built himself. Zeb doesn't want him that way, there is no reason to ruin what they have by pushing like he has been. Zeb is friendly, it makes sense that he'd banter like they have been. Flirting, Kallus scoffs as he thinks back on it. It's definitely no more than banter on Zeb's side.

His brain helpfully supplies the conversation he heard between some of the other rebels on Yavin a couple days ago. He doesnt think he was meant to hear it, but he heard it all the same.

'I don't know why they put up with him, especially after everything he did to them.’

'I'm shocked Zeb can even look at him, after hearing that he was on Lasan during the massacre'

'He was on Lasan?'

'Yup'

'Wow, and we just let him walk around here unwatched'

And that was when Kallus turned right around to go back to his bunk and bury himself in work until his brain couldn't think anymore.

But now there's no work to bury himself in, no distraction to save him from his own thoughts. If he gets up and leaves Rex will know what's happening. He can't have that, the clone has already stated his views on Kallus, he's not ready to make it worse by being a baby about things.

He's an adult, he was alone in the empire, he can be alone in the rebellion too. He mentally steels himself as he makes a decision. If he's going to be alone again he's going to do it on his terms. He'll distance himself and Zeb won't even notice. The lasat has so many other friends to keep his attention. He won't even miss Kallus. The thought stings but he forcefully repeats it a few more times. He won't be missed, so the only one being hurt would be Kallus. So if Kallus does it to himself now, it will save him from the mess of someone having to hurt him later. Good, yes, this makes perfect sense.

He relaxes just that slight bit as he comes to terms with the situation and starts making plans of how he will execute his decision. He's always felt better with a plan and focusing on this plan will both help him from dwelling on the problem and fix the problem itself all in one.

"So, you and Kallus huh?" Sabine says as she sidles up to Zeb a couple minutes later.

"Shut up." Zeb replies.

"He didn't deny it!" Ezra says and opens his mouth to start an onslaught of teasing before Hera's sharp voice redirects their attention. Zeb silently thanks her and wishes for the other two to forget about this entire thing.

Him and Kallus are nothing more than friends. There's no reason to entertain thoughts of something more when he knows Kallus doesn't feel the same.

He was right. After the liberation of Lothal, Kallus put his distancing plan into action and it went off without a hitch. A bittersweet victory but between Ezra’s disappearance and later his return on top of all the other missions he’s had since, Zeb hasn’t seemed to notice Kallus’ absence. They haven’t talked much outside of a passing greeting for the last three months.

Kallus has settled back into loneliness. It was easy really, he doesn't have any roommates, no one would bunk with him when he first came and no one's volunteered since either. So this means he has somewhere to hide when he's not officially working in the intelligence office to continue working more, but without the weird glances from his desk neighbours at his long hours.

A couple of others have mentioned that he didn’t need to work himself to death, especially with the Rebellion’s fastly growing numbers and the New Republic building it’s foundations, but Kallus waves them off because if he isn’t working he has nothing else. His plan came with him losing the little social life Zeb and the ghost crew gave him. But he's not here to be social anyways, he's here to help until he's no longer useful so he may as well ensure he continues to be useful.

There are still a few who remind him of his past, whether it’s with malicious intent or just passing banter about the Empire’s fall, it still reminds him that he made the right choice. Zeb and the rest of the spectres are happy. If the gossip mills are telling the truth, Hera and Kanan are even expecting a little one in another month or two.

He made the right choice. He is willing to swallow his loneliness and keep working if it means that Zeb and his family are happy.

And if some of his working alone time was taken up by some depressed spiralling followed by crying himself to an exhausted sleep, then that was between him and his bunk. It would be far too embarrassing for anyone else to know about these breakdowns. He’s embarrassed with just himself knowing.

Zeb is looking for Kallus. He hasn’t really seen him since they got back from liberating Lothal. He thought, he hoped, that it was because Kallus was just busy with the aftermath, but after a couple months he started to worry. He was technically right, Kallus was busy but something still felt off about it.

“Hey, Kal you in there?” He says as he knocks on the door to Kallus’ room.

“Zeb, what can I do for you?” Kallus asks as he opens the door. He would look completely fine to anyone else passing by but Zeb can tell something’s definitely off. He could smell the lonely sadness radiating out of Kallus’ room.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Zeb says bluntly.

“I haven’t been avoiding you, I’ve just been busy with work.” Kallus replies.

“You’ve always been busy with work, never stopped ya from hanging out before”

“This time is different”

“How is it different?” Zeb asks, taking a step forward and ignoring the small bit of panic he can smell coming from Kallus.

Kallus opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He's thinking fast, running through all the different possible outcomes and how to reach the desired one. He needs Zeb to leave, he needs him to understand he's better with Kallus gone. He needs to understand that Kallus should remain the outsider that he is.

Kallus doesn't notice that he's taking steps back as Zeb moves forward until the back of his legs hit his bunk. He collapses onto it, sitting and folding into himself to bury his head in his hands. He feels the wetness coming from his eyes before he realizes he's crying. He starts to panic. No no not when Zeb is here. Breaking down alone has been bad enough there is no need to start showing that weakness in front of people. In front of Zeb.

Zeb carefully crouches down in front of him, "What's gotten into ya?" He asks softly.

"Go away," Kallus asks. He refuses to look at him, he can't face him. Not now, not ever.

"I'm not gonna le-" Zeb is cut off by his comm. He ignores it. "Not gonna leave you like this" Zeb finishes, but his comm pings a few more times before Hera's voice comes through.

"Zeb we have a mission, it's urgent, get back to the Ghost now" She says and Kallus silently thanks the force for the timing.

"Go." Kallus says, still not looking up. Kallus curls in on himself further.

"We're talking when I get back" Zeb says as he stands once again. Kallus doesn't answer, just stays where he is as Zeb gets up and leaves. As soon as the door closes Kallus falls to his side, curling up on his bunk and letting the tears fall. Breaking news ex-imperial agent crying again over his own decision, tune in for more at 9. He thinks before sleep takes over.

Zeb makes it back to the Ghost, he helps load the last bit of supplies onto the ship and they’re off the ground and into hyperspace within the hour. When there’s nothing left to do Zeb resigns himself to sitting and thinking about what could have caused Kallus’ recent behaviour. He’s never seen the man so out of it.

“You’re thinking again, that can’t be good,” Kanan jokes as he slides onto the bench next to him.

“Shut up.” Zeb says, smiling slightly and bumping his shoulder against Kanan’s as the other gets close.

“What’s got you thinking? It can’t be the mission, this is a simple supply drop compared to the other stuff we’ve done before” Kanan says. Delivering medical supplies to a small rebel base on an Imperial occupied planet isn’t easy, but after liberating Lothal dealing with the empire has only gotten easier.

“Kal’s been avoiding me.” Zeb says.

“Since when?”

“After we got back from Lothal, something must have happened before we left the Ghost, I just can’t figure out what.” Zeb says.

“I think I may be able to help with that.” Rex says. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, he was coming to hang out in the common area for the next couple hours they’re in hyperspace and just happened to hear the last bit of the conversation.

“Why, what happened?” Zeb asks, Kanan is visibly intrigued as well.

“Had a little back and forth over who Hera actually left in charge. He said that he was more qualified because he commanded star destroyers, I said that’s exactly why he wouldn’t have been left in charge. I thought it was just banter at the time, but now that I’m thinking of it he did get real quiet after that.” Rex explains.

“Karabast!” Zeb groans.

“I didn't mean t-” Rex starts.

“Not your fault. Kal’s just an idiot.” Zeb reassures. He spends the rest of their time in hyperspace to the rendezvous point making a plan, and the entire ride home convincing the others to help (which actually doesn't take much of the trip back).

#kalluzeb #i know you 'verse

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daydreamalley · 1 year

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Chuuya Birthday ficlet feat. baseless headcanons about his mom and family life

This was not meant to be my first original post on here, but it’s Chuuya’s birthday so fuck it. I offer angst as my first contribution to this fandom.

If you'd prefer to read on AO3 then you can find it here

A weird little thing I wrote from Chuuya’s mom’s perspective. We don’t know anything about her, but I feel like Chuuya was def a mommy’s boy. Also assume his dad caused a lot of the issues in his life. Like, his dad had the military doctor connections. Also look at the father figures Chuuya’s had. Mori? N? that is some unhealed daddy issues right there. Though Adam and Murase are great (but they chose him more than he chose them, and they were right for it). Weirdly enough feel like Dazai had serious issues with his mom and that’s where a lot of problems stem from. Don’t know why. Does he give off mommy issue vibes to anyone else? Anyway… back to Chuuya.

Mrs. Nakahara always had a sad look on her face. She hadn’t used to. It’d been that way for more than a decade now, ever since her son disappeared. Sure, he’d lashed out a lot, but really he was a sweet boy, one she couldn’t save from the wrath of his father and his coworker friends. She didn’t know which was her biggest regret, not stopping things before they got to such a bad point or not finally saving her son when it would’ve been most important. Her thoughts still often drifted to him, his wavy auburn hair, his passionate, caring eyes that were too often ignited with anger or dead with dejection.

What could she have done? They’d told her he was dangerous, and she’d seen it, but Chuuya had always tried protecting her. The one time he’d thrown something out of anger and accidentally hit her she’d seen how he froze with the instant regret of what had just happened, she’d seen the tears. The reaction hadn’t been from fear of consequence, it was because he’d realized what he’d done and that he never wanted to hurt her again. And she was certain he wouldn’t have, even without the scolding he’d gotten from his father. One she’d just stood there through, not protecting him from his father’s wrath at all. These types of memories played in her head so often still, she’d long lost hope they’d ever stop.

She hoped if her son was still alive, he still had some of those same qualities he’d had as a kid, that he hadn’t lost his caring, his passion for life, his laughter, the storm in his eyes whenever anyone tried to tell him what to do. Though she knew it was unlikely. Despite that, she hoped he had at least one person he cared for, that he wanted to protect, and that that person was worth it. Perhaps more than anything, she hoped he had someone who cared about him. Who understood him, would be there for him through thick and thin, who cares for him just as she was sure her son cares for them. A person he could trust, because god knows not even she was a person he could really trust, even though he had trusted her wholeheartedly, and she hadn’t deserved it. She realized that much. And yet the boy had put his trust in her. He’d deemed her worthy, and he’d suffered the consequences.

This was usually when her tears came, when she thought of that. That was something she’d hoped he’d lost in his interactions in the world. That ability to trust beyond reason. Though she’d always gotten the feeling that even as a young boy he had always had reason. He was clever after all, maybe he simply saw things that she could not that justified his trust.

None of her thoughts would ever find answer. No matter what the reality, one thing was true: she would never see, much less know, her son ever again. Her small, angry, sweet boy. Oh, he’d always been so small for his age and yet so eager to be a protector, to defend what he cared about, to help in any way he could. And he’d just been so young.

She blew out the candle. The secret ceremony she kept for herself every year on April 29th. She wouldn’t forget her son, even though she’d failed him so fundamentally. He had a strong heart, one all his own as he certainly hadn’t gotten it from her or his father. And that strong heart wouldn’t be an easy one to break, she knew that much, and it gave her a glimmer of hope. She wafted the smoke away from the flame that had just been extinguished, leaving the room in an absence of light. “Happy birthday, Chuuya. I’m sorry I couldn’t love you enough to save you.”

Meanwhile, in Yokohama…

Chuuya opened a bottle of wine for himself, alone in his apartment. Birthdays weren’t exactly big celebrations in the Port Mafia. And when he was in the Sheep he hadn’t even known his own birthday, something he felt was fitting for someone who wasn’t human. He’d only figured it out from the files the Flags had gotten for him. In fact, the last time he’d been celebrated was when the Flags tried to throw him a 1-year anniversary of when he joined the mafia. And what a brat he’d been about it all. He tried not to remember that day too often, royal clusterfuck it had ended up being. He can’t ever remember anyone celebrating him without there being some achievement connected to it, without him having done something. Maybe as a kid, before he could remember, someone had celebrated him for him, for simply existing, but if that had ever happened the memory was long gone. He thought back to what he’d read in Rimbaud’s journal (that Dazai had eventually allowed him to read), about how he explained birthdays to Verlaine. “Celebrating birthdays is a simple gesture that suggests one thing: Your birth is something worth celebrating. No matter what anyone says, you deserve to be here.” Chuuya snorted to himself. Much like Verlaine, if someone tried to celebrate him like that he’d be more suspicious than grateful. Isn’t that exactly how he’d reacted to the Flags? He’d realized far too late how much they genuinely cared about him and not just his place in the mafia. Just as soon as they were gone, and of course that’s when it hit him.

Chuuya thought through the mundane line of birthdays he could remember. The Sheep had tried to celebrate a kind of birthday for him once, when he was 10. He’d been too worried about their resources to enjoy any of it, instead scolding everyone for trying something like this. They never tried again after that, just used his battle wins as excuses to splurge.

His 16th hadn’t been so bad actually. He had been new to the mafia still. It was his first run-in with Murase as a mafioso. Though they had run into each other when Chuuya was still in the Sheep nothing had ever come of it.

He couldn’t even remember what Murase had tried to bring him in for that birthday, not realizing Chuuya was part of a much harder organization to catch, but he did remember the moment in the interrogation room when Murase was looking through Chuuya’s files, eyes flaring as he ran over the file, and abruptly got up, saying he’d be back soon. It shouldn’t have been that abnormal, maybe he’d thought of something he had to do or realized something he needed to address immediately, not in Chuuya presence. And technically those things were true, Chuuya just couldn’t figure out why that thing was apparently bringing him some shitty-ass cupcake from the breakroom. When Chuuya demanded what the hell it was, Murase replied “it’s your birthday kid. The least you deserve is some cake.” Chuuya had let out a small “oh” in response, the look in Murase’s eye turning soft and almost sad. Chuuya was about to blow up at him, he didn’t need anyone’s pity, but then Murase got back to business, and Chuuya settled a little. Eventually he did bite into the cupcake, realizing he was hungry and it was sugar after all, and he pretended not to hear Murase’s murmured “happy birthday kid” as he finished the cupcake.

A couple more fairly forgettable birthdays, or ones he tried to forget, brought him here. He cheers-d the city lights outside his window. Once again as alone as ever.

Anyway, Happy Birthday Chuuya!

This won't be a normal type of post for me, and I guess it's just a mess of headcanons, but I quite liked it so felt like sharing. Hopefully it isn't too weird or disparate.

#Don't worry about putting me in a corner for the Chuuya birthday angst I'm already there crying #bsd chuuya #chuuya #bungo stray dogs #bsd #bsd fic #bsd spoilers #I guess #my ramblings

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fantastic-wiles · 2 years

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Incomplete Drafts I’m Never Posting

Damian thought it was a ridiculous sentiment.

Yet, he’d reached out for the conch shell anyways, and now he was waiting in the check-out line. Maps was somewhere behind him, ogling at all the souvenirs she couldn’t have, but Damian was didn’t pay her any mind. His fingers were digging into the ridges of his item, and his mind was drifting off into different places.

Damian knew that he wasn’t the most adept at communication. Yes, he could deliver his thoughts well, and yes, Damian knew how to negotiate, but that didn’t mean he knew how to maintain his sibling relationships. Damian wasn’t the best at reading in-between the lines. He knew that his siblings all wanted different things from him, but Damian just couldn’t wrap his hand around what it was they wanted. It was always left unsaid. So, once he saw the conch shell, he thought it might be worth a try. Damian wasn’t particularly superstitious and, quite frankly, he was aware the shell might be a scam. Yet, he’d swiped it off the shelf anyways, carrying a tinge of hope that the sticker laid across the surface held some truth.

Strength your relationships, the sticker claimed, put me up to your ear after talking to a loved one.

“Is that something you really want to spend your money on?”

Maps peeks over his shoulder with a nosy demeanor that he wished she had left at home.

“It is my allowance,” Damian sniffs, straightening his posture, “I can do what I want with it.”

“Yeah, but it’s a shell, Damian.”

“I am aware.”

Maps takes a step back out of his space to stare at the back of his head. Damian wasn’t in the mood to continue a conversation. He is grateful for the distraction of the cashier, a tall woman with youth in her face, brown hair, and gentle brown eyes. Damian puts his conch shell on the counter before whipping out his wallet. The woman grabs the shell, swipes it over the barcode scanner, and then taps away at the touch screen. Damian watches her grab brown paper to wrap the shell up in a protective layer. After she’s done, she deposits it carefully in a plastic bag, and then pulls it off the rack for his safekeeping.

“$15.89,” she says.

Damian gives her a twenty-dollar bill.

“That’s expensive,” Maps says.

Damian opens his mouth to make a dry comment, but the cashier speaks before he can form any words.

“Actually, it’s pretty cheap, considering the fact that it’s the real deal,” she hums, shifting through her cash drawer for the proper change. “It’s a steal.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s just a fake shell that was made in a factory,” Maps says.

“Nope, it’s one-of-a-kind,” the cashier corrects. “It tells you think you wouldn’t hear anywhere else.”

“It tells you things?” Maps asks, skeptical.

“I guess you didn’t see the sticker?”

Maps looks curious. “Damian?”

“I’m not unwrapping it until I get home,” is his answer.

“You don’t have to unwrap it to tell me what it said,” she insists. “Is there something different about the shell that you bought?”

Damian collects his change. Once he’s finished, he turns, and gives Maps a look.

“I won’t tell you because you’ll make fun of me for it,” he explains.

Maps looks dumb struck because, quite frankly, that wasn’t within her character to make fun of people. Damian might understand that to some extent, but he didn’t trust others enough to give them ammo for potential mocking. Damian wouldn’t be degraded for his decisions. It was bad enough that someone was always questioning him at home. Damian didn’t want to hear it from his friends.

“I’m going to join the class outside,” Damian says.

Maps barely gets a word in as he brushes past her, making a path straight for the push-doors ahead.

Damian joins the line with the rest of the students in his class. Their teacher, Mr. Spencer, gives them constant lookovers since he was responsible of keeping all students accounted for. It wasn’t often that they went on fieldtrips. Gotham Academy was not hands-on when it came to learning. Its primary focus laid in academics. History, which was Mr. Spencer’s subject, did not seem quite as important as math. It was a miracle that Mr. Spencer managed to convince the academy to go on the field trip to begin with. Though they might be loaded with money, mostly due to the generous donations of bribing parents, they weren’t willing to part with it. Damian suspected there was some money-laundering going on.

“I’m going to buy my own pirate ship one day,” a boy claims to his friend.

Damian’s eyes drift back to the Gotham harbor where a historical vessel was docked. It was akin to a floating museum. At some point, it must’ve transported hundreds of people across the sea, but now it was simply a sign of what used to be.

Damian tears his gaze away just in time to move in line.

It was time to put his shell to the test.

Damian’s first test subject is his oldest brother, Dick Grayson.

It’s easy to find him lounging around at home. After being picked up from school, Damian hunts his brother down, and then locates him in the living room. However, once Damian realizes that Dick is not alone, he begins to doubt his own intentions. It seemed that everyone had something to say. It was why they were all yelling at the television set.

“Oh, come on, Tim! I almost had it,” Jason complains.

Damian’s presence is hardly noticeable when everyone’s intense concertation belonged to Mario Kart. Jason was dead set on beating Tim’s first place, and Tim seemed just as focused on keeping it. Cass was also surprisingly competitive, even showing frustration on her face, but Dick?

Dick was leisurely driving along the screen as if it were a relaxing mid-day stroll.

“Jason, you better not,” Tim warns as Jason tries to pin him down on the screen.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Jason grits out.

Damian ignores all of them in order to come up with some sort of plan. If he wanted to figure out what Dick wanted from him – then he needed to somehow single him out – lest someone else decided to join their conversation. Damian just didn’t know how to go about it. It seemed counter-productive to remove Dick from the living room. He’d probably end up asking Damian if something was wrong, and Damian wouldn’t be able to tell him anything of value. Damian didn’t want to waste his time when he had an item to test.

Damian makes the decision that the best way to get Dick’s talking was to surprise him.

So, with silent footsteps, he quietly creeps towards the couch.

When Damian’s close enough, he throws his arms open, and then hugs his brother’s neck without warning.

Dick’s vehicle stutters and falls off the map. Dick asks, with a confused tone, “Damian?”

Damian understands his shock. It was not usual for him to hug Dick. It was an atypical experience that was only reserved for private moments.

Regardless, figuring that one word was enough, Damian draws his hands away to make a swift escape.

Dick props himself up on the couch, twists, and calls out again.

“Damian, hey, hold on, kiddo! Is everything alright?”

“Everything is fine, Grayson,” Damian says before slipping out into the hallway.

Eager to test his conch shell out, Damian runs for his room. Once he’s inside, he locks the door, and then crosses the room to grab the shell of his desk. With a skipping heart, Damian pulls the shell up to his ear, and then-

Nothing.

Damian keeps the shell pressed to his ear in hopes for a reaction. Yet, the longer it’s held against his ear, the more ridiculous he feels. Damian’s heart drops sadly when he realizes that he’d been acting like a foolish child who didn’t know how the world worked. Of course, the shell wasn’t real, of course it was a scam, and of course it wouldn’t work. It was just an ordinary souvenir made to attract a tourist’s hand. Damian had fallen for the oldest trick in the book.

Disappointed, Damian lowers the shell, but his hand falters when he hears a whisper.

“I don’t want to have to worry about Damian,” it says.

Damian draws back in shock.

Not only had the shell just whispered to him, but it had whispered to him in Dick’s voice.

Damian pulls the shell back to his ear for more, but nothing else slips after the surprising confession. Lost in thought, Damian lowers the shell back onto the table, and then stares at the soft pink color painted on the inside.

Grayson doesn’t want to have to worry about me?

Damian wasn’t sure how he was supposed to interpret that. If Dick didn’t want to worry about him then how was he supposed to help him fulfill that desire? It wasn’t as if he could control what Dick was feeling. Besides, he didn’t know why Dick would worry over him in the first place, especially since Damian thought he was well off.

Damian struggles to come up with any ideas to solve this problem.

I guess I just have to-?

Damian hears a knock on the door.

“Damian, you okay?”

Damian turns to look towards the only exit in his room.

“I’m fine, Grayson.”

Damian would have to find a way to stop Grayson from worrying about him.

Dick would like to take Damian’s word for it, assume that he really is fine, but this was Damian he’s thinking about here, and Damian happened to have a record for burying his problems. Dick knew something was off the moment Damian wrapped his arms around his neck. Damian didn’t hug him out of the blue, ever. Not in the public. Dick couldn’t help but think that something distressing must have happened to him. Damian was not the type to seek out comfort even when things got bad, so if he came to Dick out of his own volition to give him a public display of affection? Well, Dick wasn’t going to lie, he believed it meant that Damian had gotten himself into some deep trouble. It might as well be a silent cry for help.

Dick finds an abundance of worry after the next few weeks pass. He tries to approach Damian, multiple times, but the kid starts avoiding him like the plague. Starts saying things like: “It’s fine, Grayson, don’t worry about me” and “I don’t need your concern” and “I’m not looking for your help.”

When Damian starts disappearing altogether, Dick resorts to technology by calling him over the phone.

Damian never answers a single call.

Dick has enough of the ignoring by trying to pin Damian down on patrols, but Damian had a knack for slipping out of Dick’s fingers. The only time he manages to see Damian for more than a few minutes, it’s in the cave, and his behavior disturbs nearly everyone within their company.

“Damian. I need you to file your report after I’m finished writing up the timeline,” Tim says after a long night of patrolling.

“Yes sir,” Damian returns.

Tim freezes, his fingers stop typing, and after a moment of shock, he slowly turns to face Damian with wide eyes.

“Uh, hold on, did you just call me sir?”

Damian nods.

Tim stares at him as if he’d grown a second head. Bruce looks up from the lab table, Jason stops cleaning his pistols, and Dick holds himself still for a singular moment. Alfred decides to break the silence by dropping his platter altogether. It echoes through the cave, disturbs the sleeping bats, and has Dick moving forward. Dick reaches out with the intention to check Damian’s temperature, but Damian expertly dodges him by making a wide side-step. It was as if he was anticipating him.

“Okay, brat, fess up,” Jason sounds from the sidelines. “Is someone threatening you?”

Damian ignores Jason entirely and bows in Tim’s direction.

“I apologize if I have offended you. I will dismiss myself as to avoid further displeasure.”

Bruce’s tools fall out of his hands.

Damian turns sharply to escape the cave. Dick isn’t going to let him go easy. He tries to reach out again, tries to grab Damian’s arm, but Damian quickens his pace to avoid being pulled back. Dick is left stumbling after him like a clumsy child.

Dick watches as Damian heads up the stairs. Dumbstruck.

Bruce’s lips fall into a serious line of concern.

Tim leans back in his chair with his breath stolen out of him.

“I didn’t make him do that, I swear,” he says.

“I think he might just be playing a prank,” Jason suggests.

Dick would like to think that was the case. Tim seemed relieved at the prospect, but Dick wasn’t going to jump to conclusions. Not when Damian had been avoiding him all week. “No, he’s been acting weird this whole week,” he speaks out, crossing his arms against his chest. “I don’t know why, but he’s been avoiding me. It’s like he’s trying to put some distance between us.”

“Well, damn, Dick. I thought he was just ignoring me, but I’m glad that I’m not the only one,” Jason says.

“Huh?”

“Every time I ask him a question, make a joke, or some sort of quip, he doesn’t say anything. I thought I did something to piss him off.”

Dick pales. The idea of Damian, the king of bickering, keeping quiet when Jason was making a quip, made him feel sick to his stomach.

Bruce surprises everyone with his own input. “Damian has been giving me daily hugs.” He looks down at the lab table, frowning. “I thought he was opening up - acting his age - but I should have known better.”

Dick feels sympathy pull at his heart. Bruce should’ve been the first person to realize something was wrong, but he must have craved a close relationship with Damian enough to disregard it. “It wasn’t wrong to have been optimistic about it, Bruce,” Dick reassures. “I wish we didn’t have to suspect him for acting out of his comfort zone. However, knowing our line of work, it’s hard to take things for face value.”

Bruce doesn’t give him any sort of response, withdrawn.

“I suppose we’ll have to open a file for him,” Tim announces, dread dripped in his voice. “I’m worried.”

“I’m worried, too,” Dick admits. “I hope Jason is wrong. I hope no one is threatening him.”

Tim frowns in thought. “I don’t know what someone threatening him would call me sir. I think something paranormal must be involved.”

“Possession,” Bruce agrees.

“Okay now, I think that’s jumping the gun,” Dick says.

“No, it makes sense,” Jason says. “It would explain why he’s acting so out-of-character.”

“We might have to call in an expert,” Tim hums in thought.

“Okay, hold on, before we go around calling any ‘experts,’ let me talk to him,” Dick mediates. “I’m sure this isn’t what everyone’s thinking. Damian might be acting off, but I don’t think he’s being possessed.”

Jason looks skeptical, Tim looks unsure, and Bruce?

“Tell us what you learn,” is Bruce’s answer.

Dick feels the tension leave his shoulders. It was nice to have Bruce’s trust.

“I’ll get on it,” he promises.

Damian thought he was doing a pretty good job of avoiding Dick. In theory, it should help him stop worrying because, with time, Dick would find other priorities to care about. Once he realized Damian wasn’t interested in being around him, he’d eventually give up, and voila, Damian’s plan would have been executed with perfection.

Now, with Tim, Damian would like to think he’d gotten a good start. After speaking to Tim in passing, Damian had listened to the conch shell, and found out that Tim wanted to be respected. Specifically, the conch shell whispered, “I wish Damian would just treat me with some respect.” After hearing Tim’s secret, Damian decided to do some research via internet, and lo and behold, the internet was wise with her advice. To show respect, Damian had read, address everyone as sir and ma’am. Apologize if you bring them discomfort, keep true to your word, and show your admiration through compliments.

Jason’s secret was not nearly as difficult to fulfill. When Damian had found him in the kitchen, a place that Alfred had forbidden him from entering for the week, the two spent about five minutes of bickering before Damian ran off to his room. After putting the conch shell up to his ear, Damian learned that Jason wanted him to shut up, and, well, Damian was no stranger to keeping his mouth closed. It was like Grandfather all over again. Damian could accomplish this most basic task.

Damian rolls his shoulders as he walks down the hallway. It was a Saturday evening and, after giving his father another daily hug (which was strangely received with less eagerness than usual), Damian had yet to run into his siblings. It was truly strange that he’d yet to hear anything of Dick hunting him down. Damian feels a spark of hope at the prospect. Maybe, he thinks, he’s finally given up.

Damian would soon learn otherwise when he steps foot in his room.

“Jason,” Dick’s voice sounds from where he sits, atop Damian’s desk.

“Yep,” Jason says, grabbing Damian’s shoulder, and then throwing him onto his mattress.

Damian opens his mouth to say something, but then remembers that Jason wanted him to be quiet. So, instead, he keeps his mouth firmly shut. Jason gives him a look of concern before leaving the room. He closes the door, leaving Damian alone with his eldest brother.

“Don’t think about escaping,” Dick says. “Jason’s keeping the door barricaded and Tim is protecting the windows.”

Damian furrows his brows.

“Oh, and, in the case that you decide to knock me out, Cass is guarding the vent system. It’s time for a talk.”

Damian sits up into a cross-legged pose. Stubbornly, he frowns.

“Damian, something’s up with you, and I’m not leaving until I figure out what’s going on.”

Dick leans back on a hand as he gives Damian a calculative gaze.

“First, you’ve been avoiding me like I’ve got cooties or something, second, you’ve been ignoring Jason, and third, you’ve been calling Tim, sir? I don’t get it. Is everything okay?”

“Everything is fine,” Damian responds stiffly. “I don’t think you should concern yourself over such trivial matters.”

“It’s not trivial.”

“It is,” Damian argues. “It’s below your radar.”

“Damian, everything that involves you will always be on my radar,” Dick puts out flatly.

Damian did not want to hear that.

“It doesn’t have to be that way. You could be free,” Damian says.

“Free?” Dick repeats with confusion.

“Free from worry, free from concern,” Damian insists.

Dick’s brows screw together with deeper confusion after Damian’s confession. He leans off his hand, lifts it up, and then moves to put it into his lap. Damian watches Dick’s hand skim over his conch shell. Dick feels the ridges, looks down, and eyes the shell in distracted thought.

“Damian, have you been avoiding me because you want to, what, stop me from worrying?”

Damian nods. It was best to be honest. Maybe, since his other plan didn’t work, Dick could be convinced through an explanation.

“Is that why you’re ignoring Jason?”

“I don’t want to annoy him,” Damian corrects.

Dick lifts his gaze looking as if someone had just pinched him.

“Okay, so, let me get this straight. You’re avoiding me because you don’t want me to worry, you’re ignoring Jason because you don’t want to annoy him, and you’re calling Tim sir because…?”

“He deserves respect,” Damian says.

Dick searches Damian’s face as if he was trying to understand a complicated puzzle. After he searches long enough, his shoulders slump, and then he releases a huge sigh. “Thank goodness,” he exhales. “I thought you were being black-mailed or something.”

Damian’s offense is obvious in his stiffened posture. What? Why would Dick ever assume Damian would fall for such a thing?

Dick lifts himself off the desk, approaches the bed frame, and then kneels.

“Damian, I’m glad that you’re thinking of others, but you don’t have to change your whole personality just to make people happy. I’m always going to worry about you, kiddo, because you’re my little brother. I love you. I wouldn’t ever ask you to pull yourself out of my life.”

Damian’s face twist.

“I… don’t understand,” he admits. “I thought you would enjoy being separated from me.”

Dick grabs Damian’s hands in his own. “No, buddy, it’s the opposite.”

Jason apparently has enough of standing guard outside in the hallway because he swings the door open.

“Okay, listen up, brat,” he demands, stomping over to the bed. “I might think you’re annoying sometimes, but that’s normal between brothers. I’d rather be annoyed that get the silent treatment.”

Damian turns to look at him. “But Todd-“

“Nope,” Jason denies. “I’m not listening to whatever excuse you’ve got. I’m not looking to being ignored. Not now, not in the future, not ever. Got it? How’s a big brother supposed to know what’s wrong if you don’t even say anything? Huh? What if something happened to you? How’d I know who to shoot if you refused to speak to me?”

Damian looks confused. “I thought this is what you wanted.”

“It’s not,” Jason grounds out. “Also, since Tim isn’t here, I might as well speak on his behalf. Don’t talk to him like he’s some sort of authority figure, it disturbs him.”

“I thought he’d appreciate being my superior,” Damian says.

“Wrong, he just wants to be your brother,” Jason returns.

#incomplete draft #draft #fanfiction #damian wayne #incomplete #unfinished #unfinished draft

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hoardcloneheadcanons · 1 year

Text

Misread Fates Chapter 6: The Honest Words of a Heartless Man

You know I don't have to die to fulfill my fate, right? I just have to fail. You don’t have to kill me for this to work.”

“Oh, is that what this is- a plea for your life?” Phillip shrugged, “It’s better to be on the safe side of destiny, besides you know too much.”

A skip happened in Bruin’s brain.

“I wouldn’t have known so much if you hadn’t blabbed to me the moment I woke up, “he thought “ You could have lied. You’ve lied to everyone why didn’t you lie to me?”

The days passed by surreally as Bruin healed slowly from his wounds. So many questions stayed stuck on Bruin's tongue, lost to sleep, and a lack of focus. So many times passed when he built up the courage to ask the Prince more questions before someone new burst into the room: either Mordecai or one of Phillip’s private guards coming to change shifts with him.

Bruin tried to ask them for answers but they remained silent as stone.

Then the day of the feast came.

Bruin finally, finally got to a point where he could stay awake for an entire day without his eyes crossing, or nearly faceplanting into his soup. And apparently, the townspeople were chomping at the bit to meet him and thank him, because the moment they trusted him to hold up a spoon and eat on his own there was a feast held in his honor.

He was still half covered in bandages, and his skin, while no longer in pain, was discolored, and he was unsure if his eyebrows would ever come back, but they seemed happy to meet him anyway.

Men came up to him with choked voices, and either shook his hand or gave him a (gentle, very gentle) grasp of the shoulder. Women put soups and casseroles in front of him, much of which was dragon meat, and he got a nice leather coat from the tailor, made of the leftover supplies of cowhide.

“I would have made it of dragon leather, but I’m still figuring out its properties and how to work with it. I could only added a little of it in the details of the collar and the hem.”

The worst were the children, they almost broke Bruin.

A little girl showed him the new coat her parents had bought her. She did a little spin so he could see it all. Her dress had holes, but she had a brand-new coat and boots for the winter. She gave him her favorite rocks from her collection, including one that she found on the first night she was allowed to go outside after dark. She said it was blessed by the moon.

Then a little boy came up to him and said he wanted to be as strong and as brave as Bruin one day. Bruin nearly broke down crying in front of him,

Luckily the boy’s mother saw the glossiness in his eyes and quickly distracted the boy, pulling him away to greet their neighbors.

His face would never be the same, his family was in danger, and he’d broken his promise to his father to try and stay alive- but this. This was worth it.

He could breathe and tell himself it had to happen.

……

Bruin was flanked the entire night by Mordecai and Phillip. Mordecai gave him helpful tips about who everyone was while Phillip watched.

It was constant notable surveillance. To the passive onlooker, Phillip looked like the ever-cheerful and proud prince tending to his fighter. To the crowd, he might have looked like a little bit of a glory hog, remaining untouched and squeaky clean, while Bruin was toasted, but he seemed harmless and friendly enough.

Only Bruin felt the hand on the small of his back, ready to press in if he said something slightly out of turn. The Prince’s private guard around the room also remained ever-present. They were at ease, but none of the drinking, all were watching, and quiet, standing out from the revelry in their uniform greys and blues.

Bruin stayed at the party as long as he could. Not speaking as much, but watching, being on the sides, and distracting himself from his impending second death.

But he steeled himself, there was much to discuss and he needed a moment alone with Phillip.

Bruin attempted to fake a yawn and put a hand on Mordecai’s shoulder. He didn’t have to do much to fake it, he was already halfway gone.

“I think I’m getting worn out for the night. Thank you, for bringing me to this, for everything, but I should go back to my room and rest. You stay and enjoy the time with your friends, I’ll have Prince Phillip take me up.”

Mordecai looked stunned and… concerned? Was he over-acting? Did he seem too tired for his state of healing?

“Are you sure- I’m not sure that’s a good idea- It’s still a process bringing you to your bed, you should have someone of medicine around to make sure you can get in bed without putting undo pressure on your wounds.”

“I’ll be fine.”

In Bruin’s peripheral, he could see Phillip give him a side eye. He was ignoring it.

Mordecai looked hesitant”

“I still don’t think- it’s a two-person job really and-“

CRACK

Mordecai’s attention was drawn to Viesel the Tailor, who’d just fallen off a table he’d been dancing on, and was slowly getting to his feet woozy with blood already dripping down his temple.

“Oh, spirits Smith in his cups again. Between you and me, he shouldn’t be dancing sober. I need to tend to this. Phillip can bring you to rooms, but I’ll be up to check on you as soon as I can, this shouldn’t take more than an hour or two

Bruin turned to the Prince,

“Sire, can you bring me up to my room?

His smile was a perfectly arranged decoration.

“Why certainly- I can call over one of my guards-“

“Pleas,- I’d like to talk about the consequences of me- leaving my post while going on ahead.”

The prince looked ready to refuse him, and so Bruin said under his breath,

“Or should I tell them there was never a post, to begin with.”

The prince narrowed his eyes before his placating smile crawled back onto his face,

“Of course, I can understand wanting privacy, for such a delicate issue,” and then a bit louder, “Anything for our nation’s finest soldier.”

Phillip and one of his guards left the party with Bruin. The wheels of his transport crunched in the gravel as the prince pushed him forward towards the inn.

The town didn’t have a ready invalid’s chair, so Bruin was in a wheelbarrow.

“So,” said the prince, his voice creating warm clouds in the cold evening air, “What did you actually want to talk about?”

You know I don't have to die to fulfill my fate, right? I just have to fail. You don’t have to kill me for this to work.”

“Oh, is that what this is- a plea for your life?” Phillip shrugged, “It’s better to be on the safe side of destiny, besides you know too much.”

A skip happened in Bruin’s brain.

“I wouldn’t have known so much if you hadn’t blabbed to me the moment I woke up, “he thought “ You could have lied. You’ve lied to everyone why didn’t you lie to me?” he thought. But he persisted

“I’m fairly good at keeping my mouth shut. I don’t talk a lot.”

“Excuse me if I don’t take your word on that.”

Bruin shook the failure off and continued forward, desperate to get any information he could

“Where are my parents?”

Phillip gave out a half-bark of a laugh

“I don’t really have a good reason to tell you that,”

“I could run. I could just tell them you’re lying and then run.”

“That’s what the guards are for,” said Phillip, the boredom towards the questions seeping into his voice

“I could kill myself before we ever get there, make you unable to use my fate.”

“Then I have no reason to keep your family alive. Would I? Maybe I have them, maybe I don’t. Are you willing to take that chance? You don’t seem like a gambling man to me.”

He wasn’t. He’d had a plan, for so long he’d had a plan and now he had nothing. His body was broken and all he had to use was his unpracticed words.

“I-“

Bruin gave a grunt, a half-aborted scream.

“Can you tell me where we’re going next, at least”?

“We’re staying here for a while you heal. Then we’re going to take you somewhere where people can just slowly forget about you until we can find a monster stronger than a dragon.”

“There aren’t any.”

“I’ll let our experts at the castle be the judge of that, besides, it doesn’t need to be more threatening than a dragon it just needs to seem like it is.”

Bruin tried to calm his rage- he couldn’t be threatening in this state, the best he could hope for was calm- and he was barely managing it.

“Do you know how long that will be?”

“No.” He said. “I don’t.” Bruin hear spittle and gritted teeth behind his head” Certain current circumstances make the particular task difficult. My mother has a few contacts she’ll be pulling, but Spirits know if they’ll find anything.”

There was a rage in his voice but for once it didn’t feel directed at Bruin. It was that small moment of weakness that made Bruin want to jab at him a little.

Bruin craned his neck around to look at the prince and the guard behind him.

“So you know your mother paid off the dragon to eat everything.”

The wheelbarrow stopped. The prince’s eyes shot daggers, while the guard beside him looked startled, and he looked back and forth between the faces of Bruin and the prince.

Before he could say much Phillip had him in a headlock,

“You’ve just disproven that you can keep your mouth shut. I’ll ask you kindly to keep that information to yourself.”

“Or what? You’ll kill me?”

“You know exactly who I’ll kill. That’s the fun part about multiple hostages. You don’t have to keep all of them alive.”

“So much about your mother- Does your father do anything?,” Choked out Bruin.

Something about being near royalty made Bruin want to be an asshole. He expected to be choked out for that one, but Phillip loosened his grip and started chuckling, slapping Bruin’s shoulder as one would a knee. It stung.

“Have you just figured out my father is useless? Funny, I’ve known for so long. Though I suppose it is impressive. You learned from a distance. You haven’t even met the man.” His bitter chuckle got lower in pitch.

Bruin could feel Phillip’s breath on his shoulder, as he talked quietly, just to him.

“Do you know- It’s his fault this is happening to you. We wouldn’t have needed you if not for him. My siblings and I should have been able to go out slaying together with the knowledge that at least one of us could kill the beasts. We should have been certain at least one of us had the fate. And it would have been that way if my father had not slept with the entire countryside. My mother has been cleaning up his mess ever since. She shouldn’t have had to. Our fate should have been guaranteed. Instead, we had to use you, and you might be one of his bastards for all we know. ”

Bruin clenched the word pathetic in between his teeth. He wanted to scream, “YOU STILL HAVE ALL THE RESOURCES! YOU STILL HAVE ALL THE GUARDS! PEOPLE ARE DEPENDING ON YOU FOR NO REASON, YOU ARE ON THE THRONE FOR A LIE.” And even more, “HOW DARE YOU EVER IMPLY MY MOTHER WOULD TOUCH YOUR FATHER.” But all the thousands of words choked up in his throat and made him frozen and shaking and rage.

Phillip stood up and started pushing the wheelbarrow again.

“You know it’s relaxing being around you, Slater. I don’t have to lie to you. I’ve never had that with anyone. It’s nice.”

…………………………………………

Bruin stewed his head as the weeks went by and he was slowly divested of his bandages.

He was going to die again. Phillip was determined to have it happen.

And his thoughts drifted to his mother’s words to him.

“You are not dying for nothing.”

Well, he tried, hadn’t he? He tried to stay alive for his father and now he could only keep his word to one of his parents. And his thoughts rolled toward how… similar Phillip was to the dragon.

He was sentient. He had wants and desires, and he also gave every indication that he would continue to destroy lives easily and swiftly for as long as he lived.

So there was a very simple and brutal way to make his second death count, and it was one Bruin was hesitating to do.

It was a line he’d never thought of crossing before. It would risk his family, though he suspected their lives were forfeit regardless of what he did

His mind drifted to the time at the party and the relief on everyone’s faces.

He wanted to be the source of it again. He didn’t want them under Phillip’s thumb.

………………

Bruin spent the next few weeks waiting. Waiting, to be strong enough. Waiting for his arms to be strong enough to hold a knife and move it in a swift motion, or to knock off some of his medications in the wrong place, when there was no one else around.

Waiting o feel certain he was making the right choice.

He found himself living Phillip’s lifestyle, smiling and trying to keep a face in public while dark thoughts swirled in his head.

He may have done it, if the innkeeper’s wife, Margret didn’t intercede.

Margret had taken on the task of feeding him. She wasn’t the only one, many people had shown their gratitude in the form of soup, but she was the main one.

He liked Margret. She’d talk for a very long time about the going-ons of her family while he ate. He liked her stories. And he didn’t have to talk while she did. She was a stout woman, solidly built, but she probably came up to his collar when he stood at full height. It meant having to crane his neck when she sat next to his bed.

He felt awkward about not doing anything in return for her, so at one point he tried to hobble himself outside to help weed her garden before she dragged him upstairs and reminded that he killed a dragon, they were still paying him back, and he was still healing. She was strong despite her size.

If the prince was around when she visited Bruin, she’d feed him too. She called him such a charming handsome young man and said she wanted to thank him for taking such good care of her homeland. She joked about wanting to get into his good graces.

It made Bruin want to scream. She didn’t know, he wanted to tell her but he couldn’t. He couldn’t even find the privacy to write “Don’t trust him” on a slip of paper and slide it to her.

So it wasn’t a surprise when Margret came up with two large bowls of steaming squash soup and a cask of nice ale.

It was a little surprising when the prince began to gently snore in his chair. But Bruin assumed he’d done it to avoid talking to Margret as he had done several times, by excusing himself from the room or switching duties at the right time.

He was surprised when Margret bunched up her skirt slightly and gave a swift kick to Phillip's shins.

That was when Bruin’s world turned sideways.

The prince didn’t wake up. Margret gave him another sharp kick just to be sure, then dropped her skirts and smoothed them out.

She turned her sunny face towards Bruin. “Ah good, it's working!- now I’m sure you have plenty of questions and I’ll answer them in just a second.”

She bustled her way over to the door, her shoulders tight with visible excitement.

“Johanson, you can come inside! The man is out cold.”

A large man with a coal-black beard came to the doorway. He filled the entire frame. He came into the room tip-toeing.

Margret gestured towards the giant, “This is my brother, Johanson, have you met him yet?”

Bruin’s eyes widened, “Yes, I have- you were the one who told me about the most fire-resistant materials- I bought arrows and a crossbow from you.’

“Glad to be remembered! My sister and I were worried about you.”

“Sister-“ Bruin’s eyes flicked back and forth between them. Where Margret was a head shorter than him, Johanson was a head taller. But on closer look, they had the same apple cheeks and when they smiled and the same hair bordering on frizzy and large biceps. They were definitely related.

There were chairs to the side of Bruin’s room that were used for visitors. The two siblings pulled them out and sat them close to Bruin.

Margret steepled her hands, “A few years ago our sister got married. You might have seen her, she runs the butcher shop- she’s tall, with dark hair, and big arms. He was a poncy fellow and we didn’t like him. We never got to see her when he wasn’t there; he never let her leave the house alone. And she was always quieter around him and didn’t smile as much as she did when we grew up with her. The man never let her leave the house alone, and she was too polite to say anything in front of him. We did this same thing to him.”

Johnson nodded sagely at his sister, “ I started to get worried. You didn’t talk like you did in my shop the first time we met. I thought it was just healing- but he never left you alone, and you don’t act like one of those guards of his. And I asked So-“

“-So he told me I made some of my special drink and here we are. He should just think the drink was stronger than he expected and the meal too heavy.”

Johnson nodded his head towards a large hammer he’d left as a doorstop, “ I also brought my Bessie just in case. I’m hoping we don’t have to use her. She leaves marks and it’s a bit riskier.”

“So first things first,” Said Johonason, “Are you in any danger?”

Bruin had a thousand things to say. – an emphatic yes- and explanation that he’d been in danger since he was born- the fact the prince was a heartless bastard.

He looked back and forth quickly between the siblings and the sleeping Prince.

He stuck with, “He has my family-or, he says he does. And my mentor”

Margret and Johonason had mirroring looks of sympathy and surprise.

“Shit- Is that why you fought the dragon?”

“No- that was mostly my decision. The royal family did ask me, and I did suspect my family might be in danger if I didn’t. But they weren’t taken hostage until after I defeated it.”

“Why did they ask you?” said Margret “You’re so young- and you didn’t have anything when you came here. Are you actually one of his guards?”

“No. That was a lie. They asked me because if I fail they win. My family's fate is… interesting. Supposedly I’m supposed to fail to defeat a large monster and the person who fights after I fight is supposed to win.”

“Oh, that’s a bad one. We just have one of us works in the mines and whistle some every generation.”

A light rapping on the door interrupted their conversation.

“Margret, I’ve brought medicine, why is the door locked?”

“Oh that’ll be the doctor; I should probably let him in.

It was fairly common for Mordecai to step away while Margret was in the room, taking his necessary breaks and tending to patients outside of Bruin. It never occurred to Bruin until now that two seemed to be on shifts around him, never leaving him alone with the Prince or the guards.

Mordecai was greeted with the tableau of an unconscious prince and Johanson sitting close to Bruin with Margret’s empty chair right next to his.”

“What have you two done?”

Margret was the wave her hands in a ‘relax, shushing motion’

“I just slipped him a little of the herbs you gave my husband for his insomnia. He’ll be fine.”

Her voice went a little high on the fine.

“You’ve drugged a member of the royal family. Margret, you could be arrested or executed for this.”

“Mordecai,” Interrupted Johan, “He’s not a soldier.”

Mordecai squinted at Bruin, “Then why in the hell were you fighting a Dragon?”

Bruin caught him up to where he’d led the siblings. Mordecai had a few more specific educations in relation to his actual education and training and he filled him in as best as he could, leading right back into his new deal with the prince.

“He wants me to fight something stronger than the dragon and fail so that he can defeat it and look stronger and needed. He’s hoping- I think he's going to arrange it so that I die.”

The wind whistled through Johanson’s teeth.

“I thought it might be something nasty. That man washes his hands when he has to touch us. And nothing he’s said has quite added up.”

“I’ve been thinking about killing him.”

He said it quietly but it resulted in the two gentlemen beside him exploding.

“WOOAH WOAH WOAH. You could be- you will be executed for that. How old are you?”

“19”

“That’s too young to throw your life away,” Sputtered Mordecai, “You just survived a life-threatening situation. Don’t be so eager to dive head first into another one.”

“He’s going to kill me anyway.”

“There are a few more solutions. We can smuggle you out of here. Fake your death, there are options,” Johan looked exhausted.

“But my family-“

“We’ll check on your family. I have family in the capital, and we’ll send someone to your hometown. Let’s see if there’s some way we can get them safe before you do something drastic.” Mordecai let

While the two gentlemen looked frantic Margret looked considering, “It’s not the worst idea though. If he’s as bad as you say he is. We just need you to not get caught. Maybe frame bandits on the road, fake a disease. Something that doesn’t get back to us.”

“Margret stop talking about assassination attempts in front of the young man.”

Margret waved him off, “He was already considering it. And 19 is plenty old enough to kill a man. He just shouldn’t do it alone. The poor thing is till invalid.”

And just like that. The world was lighter; Bruin had a possible future again.

He really needed to get better at talking to people.

………………….

After that, he felt like he was lying less, and his smiles were more easier and more honest. He’d gotten a small talent for reading the Prince’s smallest expression and now he’d needle at him and wait for irritation, while he watched people exchange items and necessary information.

They helped him, because he mattered to them.

He liked that.

#Misread Fates #writeblr #fiction #eat the rich #original work #fantasy #Margret and Johanson's sister is named Iris #Her ex-husband is no longer with us #he made a lovely pie #Bruin Slater

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peachesandmilktea · 3 years

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I actually think I already previously sent in an ask similar to this but just to be sure I’m requesting it again (so if you see something similar, just ignore - also, I’m so sorry for spamming..) 😊

Squid game au idea:

-Player Dabi x Reader - where Dabi is secretly a VIP participating in the game „just for fun“ (like the old man in the show). He grows a softspot for the reader and keeps her alive until the end where he planned on killing her lastly (ya know bc he’s a sadist and shit and doesn’t expect to develop feelings for her) but surprise he does (develop feelings that is) and as the final test he offers himself up to see if the reader would kill him willingly just to win the money/the game but she can’t bring herself to - she’s really distressed and has a mental breakdown and you know she’s just really not feeling very well at this point but Dabi ends the game by letting her live and comforts her (I know this is all very soft but we haven’t seen too much soft!Dabi yet and also, feel free to add your details to it) This can go a lot of ways but the main plotting would be VIP!Dabi disguised as a Player x Reader.

Squid Game AU - Infiltrated VIP Guest!Dabi x Player!Reader

Squid Game AU Masterlist.

Tw : Soft Yandere Dabi, Mentions of Violence and Murder (in the context of the game), Dabi is a VIP Guest who disguises himself as a Player and takes part in the game just for fun.

She was sweet. Kind. A little ray of sunshine, even when the blood of her friends coated her clothes, hands, face.

She'd wash the scarlet stains off with a sad smile on her lips, unshed tears gleaming in her pretty eyes after every single game, every single death. Their names would roll on her tongue in low murmurs, last tribute that she could pay them as their corpses were taken away to be burned or defiled in those pretty present boxes, and Dabi often wondered if she believed that soon she would join them.

Maybe, maybe not. It's not like he would allow it anyways.

No, Dabi had a plan for her. For the girl who’d insisted on sharing her tiny little sandwich when she saw him eye it hungrily. For the girl that took his hand before each game and promised they’d get out of this nightmare together, unsure of who she was trying to convince. For the girl that whispered good night in his ear each night before she’d curl up in fear in her own bed, not knowing that the man she naïvely decided to trust was putting her through hell for his own amusement.

It had been entertaining. She'd been entertaining.

Which was why her death was to be saved for last.

He'd rigged the game all along. Stolen a few marbles from her adversary to slip them into her pocket, pushed her towards that last number right before the glass bridge game, taken her on his team for the tug of war even though she was weak and frail next to him. All because he knew there was no way he could lose, not when he was a VIP, the very person to protect at all costs for the organizers of this deadly competition.

He was a King of this world, rich and powerful. A person that had everything except the excitement he desperately craved, that bathed himself in blood and gore with the hope that he’d find a sliver of amusement in the pain of others.

He wondered if he'd find such a thing in her suffering.

It’s just us two for the last game then,” she said, hands trembling as she took hold of the knife that had been presented to her during dinner. It looked too big for her clumsy hands, a deadly weapon not meant to be held by such gentle fingers.

“Are you scared?” He asked, voice low and deep. She glanced up at him and nodded slowly.

“I’m scared that only one of us will make it out of this. I’m scared that this wasn’t worth it after all.”

Her voice got softer with each word, tone regretful and pretty eyes now teary with guilt, with sorrow, with pain.

And then, quietly, almost a whisper.

"But I'm not scared of you," she said.

She should be, Dabi thought.

He was the monster from her worst nightmares, the wolf waiting for her to step outside the sheepfold. The man that would laugh as she fell, never to rise again. Never to watch him as she often did; as if she wondered how a man like him, made of sharp edges and cruel smiles, could end up holding the hand of the weakest little mouse before each bloodbath as if the contact could bring him comfort.

But there it was, the final game.

She would die, because he couldn’t lose, and there would be no winner. It wouldn’t be the first time for the violent competition and the ending didn’t matter. He’d had his fun, as had the other VIPs.

After all, what was she but another number in a crowd of nameless players, an unlucky girl who had led an unlucky life? Everything about her was pitiful, from her fearful nature to how she trusted so easily despite a lifetime of hurt at the hands of others. She’d told him about her past one night, spilling sad little tales with a gentle smile that never wavered, as if to tell him life is hard, but I’m okay.

She wouldn’t be kind in the end, he was sure. When presented with the chance to kill him and leave victorious, she’d choose the money. And if that was the last performance she gave before her hopes were destroyed with the reveal of his true identity, of how she’d been the pathetic victim of a deadly scam, then it was sure to be a great one. Maybe even the best prank he’d ever pulled on those dumbass players.

So, he’d play to the end. Pretend to lose hold of his knife so she could turn hers on him. Stumble and fall at her feet, make it so easy to slit his throat, despite knowing that she’d never be allowed to pierce his skin. He’d smirk at her, call her a dumb whore for thinking that she, a poor little girl that never has anything in life, could ever kill him when he held the world in the palm of his blood-soaked hands.

He’d have his entertainment then. In her pain, in her fear, in the betrayal of it all.

Except she gave up the game. At the very last second.

“Dabi, Dabi, get up,” she yelled, screamed, cried as he pretended to stumble, knife forgotten on the floor as she dropped to her knees beside him. She was cradling him with trembling fingers, holding him against her as if afraid he’d be lost forever otherwise.

She was so damn stupid.

“If you kill me, you win,” he reminded her. She wasn’t supposed to try and save him; she’d abandoned the lines he chose for her in this little play he’d crafted, the one where she’d try to attack him and he’d crush her heart under the sole of his boot. “I won’t call off the game, you have to do it.”

And then, there was the rage she hid inside her all long, coating her words in venom, burning through her veins as she grabbed his shirt, grip so tight it was turning her knuckles white.

“Are you stupid?” She screamed. “I won’t, I can’t, I’d never…”

She broke.

And as she held him in her arms, he felt her tears hit his face, drowning every cruel murderous thought that had been swirling through his mind since the game began.

“I’d rather die myself,” she breathed between two hurt, pained hiccups, and that was it.

He raised a hand to her cheek, wiping away the tears that trailed down the soft, flushed skin. Cradled her face in his palms, gentle despite the blood that often coated them.

“Hush, Princess, don’t cry. It’s over, you win.”

Because it was what she deserved, after all, and who was he to take it from her? Who was he to tear the sunshine from her heart, to kill the sparkles of kindness in her oh so beautiful eyes?

And who would he be if she couldn’t be his?

“No, I can’t win, you don’t understand, I can’t win,” she kept blabbering in panic, words falling from her lips fast and hard like raindrops in a storm. “You have to kill me, you have to, you have to!”

She didn’t even seem to notice that he sat up, that all of his injuries were fake, that he pulled her into his arms until she wailed into his chest. Dabi had never been kind, Dabi had never been gentle, but he tried his hardest as he softly stroked the shape of her spine in comforting movements, letting her wet the fabric of his shirt with her tears as long as she needed to.

“I’m not a player,” he whispered, lean fingers passing through her hair as her sobs died down. “You’re the last one alive. You win.”

And somehow, she froze at the reveal, as if the simple words I’m not a player were even scarier than the whole ordeal she’d been through, all because they bore a weight heavier even than the blood and gore he’d almost drowned her in.

They bore the weight of betrayal.

He kissed her forehead, softly, gently, uncharacteristic gestures for the monster of a man that he was, a single promise now rolling on his tongue.

“Don’t worry, Princess. I’ll take real good care of you from now on.”

———

Join my taglist?

Sorry I still made him a bit yandere, I was too into the dark squid game vibes 😭 I really liked exploring his POV though!!! The prompt was *chef’s kiss*, thank you so much!

And thank you @blueberrysam for the beta reading, you’re amazing!! ✨

Please tell me if you liked it ❤️

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huge-enthusiast · 3 years

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Miraculous fic recomendations!!

This is just an excuse to show all my bookmarks? Yes. Yes, it is. I'm pretty sure most of this fics are really popular, but try see if you find something you didn't knew about!

All of the fics will be rated Teen and up audiences or lower. Also if I don't put the author's tumblr is because they didn't put it in the fic or/and I couldn't find it.

Pairing: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug

knowing you by emsylcatac (they are not really the author of the fic but that's the account that says in the fic, the actual author doesn't have an account).

After dropping their transformations months ago, Marinette and Adrien see each other for the first time after being apart. They've both left too much unsaid and have to work to pick up the pieces of their confused hearts.

Chapters: 1/1

Post-reveal but mostly ladynoir, light angst with happy ending.

the last day on earth by Reiaji

The first time Marinette sees Chat Blanc, she's fourteen years old. The second time, fifteen—the third time, seventeen.

The closer she grows to Adrien, the harder it is to save him.

Chapters: 1/1

Post-reveal lovesquare, kinda heavy angst, hopeful ending.

tell me something i don't know by carpisuns (@carpisuns here on tumblr)

Do you think it still means something? To love someone, even if the universe said you had to?

The odds of having a soulmate are about negative one billion (or something like that). But somehow, like they always have, Marinette and Chat Noir find themselves together. They’re ready to finally tell each other everything, but it turns out that even soulmates have to keep secrets, and while their bond draws them together, duty forces them apart.

Chapters: currently 17/28 (WIPs can be exhausting but this one is 100% worth the wait!)

Mostly marichat but almost all of the lovesquare sides make an appearance, soulmates au, mostly fluff but it can get angsty if it wants to.

One Thing After Another by SKayLanphear

Marinette notices that, sometimes, Adrien acts a little out of the ordinary--like the time he stood in a cardboard box for no reason, or when he actually hissed at Nino. It's only when she starts to notice the similarities between Adrien and a certain feline that she begins to get suspicious.

Basically, Adrien acts like a cat when he probably shouldn't.

Chapters: 15/15

Mostly adrienette with one sided reveal by Marinette's side, miraculous side effects (by both sides wich is really cool!), it's fluff with a lil tiny angst for drama.

This would take some getting used to by Codango (@codango here on tumblr!)

Adrien peeked out from behind the chimney even as the magic of his own Chat Noir mask fell away.

She was still visible, her dark hair bobbing under the street lamps a couple blocks away.

“Marinette.”

Adrien blew out a confused breath. His fiery Ladybug… was the quiet little mouse who sat behind him in class?

“What. The.”

This… would take some getting used to.

Chapters: 8/8

Adrienette with one sided reveal by Adrien's part, awkward flirting, just fluff, nothing to worry about.

comfort food also by Reiaji!

In Marinette's house, cooking is a language of love, and Marinette loves Adrien more than most.

Chapters: 1/1

Adrienette with a little of ladynoir, super super fluff, a lot of insight into Marinette's chinese heritage.

The right side of his face by walkingonthestars (@hamsternamedmarinette here on tumblr!)

Marinette and Adrien are able to remain in their new seats in the back of the room at the end of Chameleon.

Chapters: 1/1

Adrienette, fluff with light angst.

it's a long way forward so trust in me by aloneintherain (@captainkirkk here on tumblr!)

“You’re not the only strong one around here, Chat,” Marinette said. She looked a little winded, but she wasn’t struggling to hold him up.

This close up, he could see the freckles on the bridge of her nose. He could see how that smug smile lit up her eyes. He could feel the strain of her arms—and wow, okay, he really wasn’t the only person around here with muscles.

Six times Marinette carried Adrien (plus one time he carried her).

Chapters: 1/1

All the sides of the lovesquare! Fluff with LOTS of mutual pining.

a fight that you were born to lose also by aloneintherain

When the prosecution starts throwing around the word victim in reference to Adrien, he has to stuff his hands under his thighs to keep himself from bolting out of the courtroom.

Adrien had felt unsafe during those last few weeks, but, until he had woken up and seen Father silhouetted in his bedroom doorway, that had only been paranoia. Father was controlling and cold, but he wasn’t hateful. Adrien was isolated. He was often hungry. And some weeks ago, when he had snuck out to visit Nino, sitting thigh-to-thigh on his bed while Adrien cried in that silent, crumbling way of his, he hadn’t argued when Nino put a hand on his shoulder and said, tentatively, That’s abuse.

But Adrien remembers being small and Father touching his hair after he’d aced another test; Father holding his scribbled drawings like they were something precious, and framing them around his office; Father, dressed as Hawkmoth, his eyes wild behind the mask, lashing his sword against Adrien’s baton; Father, collapsed against Mum, crying into her ashy hair.

Adrien finds out Gabriel is Hawkmoth, and Gabriel gets to bring his long-waited plan into action.

Chapters: 1/1

This one doesn't really focus in the ship that much as is an Adrien character study and an exploration of his relationship with his father, but they're still there so I put them here. Really heavy angst (this is one of this fics that haunt me in the middle of the night) with a happy ending. ❗TW: parental abuse, eating disorders❗

Supercut by LNC

Marinette loves her friends and Adrien can't deal.

Chapters: 1/1

Post-reveal lovesquare, again light angst, an exploration of Adrien's insecurities, Marinette Dupain-Cheng deserves the world, happy ending.

Madame Snare by jettiebettie

“Sounds like a lot of work for nothing. She should take this as a sign to have a relaxing weekend with no responsibilities.”

“It's a lot of work she put her whole heart into. It wouldn't be right for it to go to waste,” Adrien whispers to him. The look on Marinette's face is enough to cause Adrien's own heart to ache. If anyone deserves the satisfaction and pride from a job well done, it's her.

“Too bad there isn't anyone else who can walk in those death traps,” Plagg says. Adrien hums in thought, tapping his chin.

“I could.”

Chapters: 1/1

Marichat, episode-based, Chat Noir in a dress!!!, light angst but it's mostly just idiots being idiots and a lot of fun.

in the same sun by peachcitt (@peachcitt here on tumblr!)

"It’s hard to believe that I saw you last at the peak of summer, when the sun was close and warm - and so were you. It should go without saying that I miss you. I miss you something terrible."

"It’s been seven months to the day since I’ve seen you. I wish you were here more than anything else."

Two letters, signed with initials instead of names, found in Paris, France.

Chapters: 1/1

Ladynoir, just angst, that's it, written like letters. No ending, just pain.

an uncurtain discovery by Missnoodles (@ladyofthenoodle here on tumblr!)

When he returns from school on Wednesday afternoon, Adrien discovers the darkness in his own home. He struggles to come to terms with it. To his utter mortification and delight, Ladybug is nearby to rescue him.

(He does not discover that his father is supervillain. That will happen on a different Wednesday.)

Chapters: 1/1

Ladrien, it says it's crack, and don't get me wrong, is super funny, but I also found it sad as fuck?

An Open Secret by Kasienda

Adrien whirled around toward Marinette. She smiled at him.

He couldn’t smile back. He stared at her like the dumb blond model that he was often accused of being.

Something shifted in her expression. And her warm open Marinette smile transformed into Ladybug’s grin. He was looking at Ladybug right now.

He knew Ladybug’s name!

Her name was Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

And he couldn’t say anything! Not to Marinette! Not even to Plagg, who had confided two weeks prior that Master Fu was growing increasingly paranoid since the location of his home and hideout had been compromised. Their master had apparently decided that Chat Noir and Ladybug would have to give up their miraculouses if they ever discovered each other’s identities.

It wasn’t fair!

...

A fic where they both know, but can't openly talk about it.

Chapters: 4/4

Post-reveal... but is it? Mostly adrienette and ladynoir, fluff with light angst and them being absolute idiots at hiding their secret identity.

golden (like daylight) by okayanna (@anna-scribbles here on tumblr!)

Friendship, Adrien decided, shaking off the mental image of Marinette’s hurricane eyes and hesitant mouth, parted in a small, careful “o.” He had a very strong friendship with Marinette. That was all.

Adrien thinks a lot about words, love, and Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Chapters: 1 + epilogue

Adrienette but has lots of ladynoir, another Adrien character study because I hate myself, it tries to not be angst but the writing will punch you in the guts and make you cry, it's so good.

Strangers in the Bright Lights by poodles (@ladybeug here on tumblr!)

Adrien is about two drinks in when he sees a girl at the end of the bar wearing black cat ears. It's kind of weird, so he watches her, and although it's crowded he can see her face when she turns around. She’s wearing a Chat Noir mask. He takes a quick look around- nobody else is wearing a mask. Just her.

Adrien finishes his gin martini and heads over to her. He could use some company tonight anyways, he hasn’t told anyone he’s back in Paris and Nathalie won’t arrive in town for another month. And it’s been a rough day, okay? A rough move! He’s not sure he wants to be back yet, and he spent most of the day in the Agreste mansion sorting through some photographs of his father he found in the study. Maybe he wants a drink and some stranger to tell him he’s pretty! That’s not a crime, is it?

Chapters: 1/1

Adrienette but it's also ladrien??? I think??? It's super super angsty but they're both drunk the entirety of the fic so it's also really funny.

Pick-Up and Chase by also SKayLanphear

After she accidentally trips into Adrien and apologizes about "falling for him," Marinette learns that he's no match for cheesy pick-up lines--whether they were unintended or not. And while she finds it flattering that he turns into a flustered mess with only a few words, Marinette comes to regret making him uncomfortable. That is, until she learns he's Chat Noir. At which point the phrase "just deserts" becomes a permanent fixture in her everyday plans.

A story in which Adrien is flustered, Marinette is smooth as glass at dropping lines, and Chat Noir gets the romance he was always asking for--even if he doesn't quite know how to handle it.

Chapters: 10/10

Adrienette with one sided reveal by Marinette's side, it doesn't say it in the tags but I'm pretty sure the characters are much older than they actually are in the show, so much fluff and so much flirting.

Pairing: Alya Césaire/Nino Lahiffe

Nino Has Done Nothing To Deserve This by GuardianKarenTerrier (@guardiankarenterrier here in tumblr)

It's nothing, really- just an innocent comment, a joke. But when they hear it, Nino and Alya come to a realisation.

There were, in retrospect, dozens upon dozens of hints. Now that they're suddenly aware of all their friend's flimsy excuses and rushed explanations, they're not only sure how they've missed it, they're not sure how anyone else has either. They realise that it had to be magic protecting their friends- and that same magic has ceased to work on the two of them.

Well, this means they'll just have to start watching over their friends themselves.

Chapters: 7/7

This is more a found family fic than anything else, Alya and Nino are the mom friend, has light angst but it's mostly identity shenanigans in the most bizarre way. ❗TW: eating disorders❗

christmas lights by demistories

Nino checks up and down the street, checking to make sure there’s no raging akuma headed his way before he crosses quickly and ducks inside the small café. He closes the door quickly before the icy air can blow inside and tugs his beanie down over his ears. He spots Alya sitting alone in the corner.

Chapters: 1/1

Just fluff!! Really short but really sweet.

hold on, i still want you also by Missnoodles!

Written for the @thedjwifizine ! Wich I also recommend if you wanna binge a lot of djwifi fics while also looking at amazing art!!!

Five times Alya ran into her ex, and the one time he stopped being her ex.

Chapters: 1/1

Light angst with a happy ending! I don't really like the ex-lovers to lovers trope but this one is the only exception.

I will continue to expand the list in the future! But by now I hope I was helpful in the search of new fics!

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