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butgilinsky · 10 months

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i should’ve fought harder | tj

warning; language, mentions of drinking, mentions of violence (its hockey babe)

summary; What happens when you both find out that your messy breakup was the biggest mistake of all?

word count; 5k+

this is for @typical-simplelove as a part of @wyattjohnston summer fic exchange💓i hope you enjoy it bb

You’d be lying if you said you cut him off entirely after that night. It was nearly impossible to cut him out of your life after all you’d gone through together. Sure, it only spanned over a year in all actuality, but it felt like you had spent an entire lifetime by his side. Now you were expected to do a complete 180 and pretend like none of that ever happened? It didn’t feel possible.

You’d also be lying if you said you wanted to cut him out of your life. You weren’t the one that wanted to end things in the first place. You tried to work through all of your differences, tried to work through the different lives the two of you led. You tried everything you could possibly think of, but none of it was enough to save the life you’d built with Tyson.

It also didn’t help that you had heavily intertwined your lives before breaking things off. You were one of the first things that grounded him in New York. Too many nights were spent with him expressing gratitude for your presence helping him adjust. Despite your many reminders that he had friends on the island and in the city, his appreciation was always given to you.

You still got questions about him, despite all of your friends knowing that you weren’t together anymore. It didn’t matter that the break up was messy, nothing was enough to get people to stop asking. It probably didn’t help that you still hung out with mutual friends.

He experienced the same thing to a certain degree. It was a weak spot for him. His teammates only used it as fuel when he was having an off day. He'd never admit it, but it was the one thing that really set him off when he was on the ice.

He was always able to step away from his personal life when he was on the ice. He used to be the best at it, but with the newfound ammo, there was something that would set off Tyson Jost every single time.

It's not like he advertised it, telling every other team in the league that the only thing they had to do to rile him up was mention your name. Once one person caught on, it felt like every hockey player in North America knew about the boy’s soft spot.

He'd gotten into two fights this week alone, which wasn’t like him. It might have been more than two if Jeff hadn’t been there to talk him down from the ledge on more than one occasion.

He didn’t know you still watched his games. In fact, he thought you’d rather drop dead than show up to another hockey game. He didn’t know that you’d asked Jeff to get you into the first few games after the breakup, since you’d sworn the winger to secrecy each time he helped you.

Eventually you resorted to watching their games in your living room, wrapped in the last sweatshirt he left at your apartment, a bottle of wine sitting on the coffee table at the ready. You didn’t even bother to pull out a glass.

The first fight, although confusing, was written off by you initially. He played hockey, fighting was practically inevitable. It wasn’t a part of his game usually, he wasn’t the most violent player, especially in New York. The second fight of the week, however, raised some concern in your chest.

Jeff had texted you after both games, assuring you he was okay and that the game just got the better of him. You weren’t sure it was true but appreciated the sentiment anyways. Tyson had been on edge for weeks, but Jeff wasn’t going to tell you that. He didn’t think it would do either of you any good.

Then there was the night that he was on the end of a nasty hit, one that had him hunched over on the ice for longer than anyone wished he’d been, gripping onto both sides of his head after violently ripping off his helmet.

You were at work, hand over your mouth as you stood at the bar, frozen in place. There was a tray of drinks sitting in front of you, getting warmer with every passing second, but you couldn’t move.

“Y/n.” Reyna, your best friend at work, gripped your elbow gently to tear your focus away from the screen. “I'll take these. You go check your phone.”

You mumbled the table number to her quickly before flying to the back room, fishing your phone out of your bag quickly and trying to think about how to go about this.

You couldn’t call him. He'd be confused at best. He probably wouldn’t answer. You couldn’t call Jeff, he was still on the ice. In fact, every other person you thought of calling was out on the ice. Even Mat was in the middle of a game. You’d have to wait for intermission.

So you texted Jeff, knowing you wouldn’t get a response quick enough, but figuring it was better than any other option you had.

i’m at work, but i saw the hit. just please tell me he’s okay.

You had to go back out and clear the rest of your tables. It weighed heavily on your chest for the rest of your shift. Two more grueling hours had passed by, and when Tyson never came back out onto the ice, you knew something was wrong.

You lunged for your phone after clocking out, ripping it out of your bag and fumbling to punch in your passcode.

minor concussion, massive migraine. he’ll be alright, but he’s out for a few weeks.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, sighing heavily both out of relief and in slight distress.

You remembered a time where you’d spend nights running your fingers through his hair gently, massaging and softly scratching at his scalp to soothe his migraines. You’d sit in the dark for hours, barely even speaking while soft music filled the room.

His head would sit in your lap or on your chest, your nails running up and down the span of his back. Then there were the days where he was so sore he could barely move. You’d spend hours rubbing out knots from his muscles and doing anything you could think of to help him relax.

You couldn’t do any of that anymore. It wasn’t your job anymore.

You thought it would get easier. You thought that it would get worse before it got better, but as weeks turned into months, you began to realize that things may never get better. You couldn’t let go of him.

His words would replay over and over again in your mind, a loop that had no ending, it seemed.

“I’m tired of fighting, Tys.” you sighed, your shoulders slumping as you watched him lean back into the couch.

“Maybe if you didn’t stick your nose in my business all the time, we wouldn’t have to fight.” He lifted the hat off of his head and ran his fingers through his hair, not missing the way your eyes followed his hand before he placed the hat back onto his head.

“I'm sticking my nose in your business? You haven’t spoken to me in almost three weeks!” your voice raised again, earning a guttural groan for the boy as he rose to his feet, standing just above you.

“Talking to you is exhausting sometimes.” His voice was calmer than yours, and he didn’t have the same wall of tears built up in his eyes that you did. He was angry at you for whatever reason and your heart was breaking. This might be the final nail in the coffin of your relationship.

Your bottom lip wobbled as you looked down at your feet, feeling him brush past you as he headed towards his bedroom. There wasn’t a single touch or glance as he hurried by.

“I don't think this is working out.” you shook your head, sniffling in an attempt to suppress the tears that threatened to spill over.

“You don’t mean that-”

“Yes, I do. What don’t you understand, Y/n? I don't want to be with you anymore. I don't want to deal with this shit anymore.” The venom dripping from his voice was hard to shake off. He never sounded like that with you. Disbelief flooded your senses as you stared at a boy you weren’t even sure you recognized anymore. “Just go, y/n.”

“Tyson, please-”

“Just get the fuck out, y/n!”

It seemed like a bad dream every time it replayed in your mind. The way he slammed the door shut behind you. The way he waited two weeks to call you, only in search of a sense of comfort that he knew you’d be willing to give him.

You ended up in Tyson’s bed three times after that, each one breaking your heart even further as you neared the realization that he wasn’t going to change his mind. It was a hard pill to swallow, and the void was still a large hole in your chest, but you had come to the understanding that you and Tyson needed to be separated in order to get through this.

He returned back to the ice as soon as he was cleared to play, throwing himself into it more than he ever had before. He barely talked to anyone outside of the team, and people were running out of ways to reach out to him.

The first time the two of you ended up in the same room together was completely accidental. Tyson had made sure he didn’t end up at your restaurant on nights out, always too scared that you’d be working the same night. even on days he knew you never worked, he didn't risk it.

You let your friends pick the bar that night, which seemed to be a mistake now. You should’ve just picked one. You would’ve picked one you knew he never went to. But as your luck ran out, you found yourself pressed against the bar, flagging down the bartender when a hand landed on your back.

You turned over your shoulder, not being able to stop the wide grin that spread across your lips. You threw your arms around Mat’s neck, hugging him tightly and listening to him chuckle beside your ear.

“Haven’t seen you in a while.” Though you hadn’t seen him in a few months, you had heard from him just last week.

“I know.” You stopped yourself from scanning the bar over his shoulder and settled on letting your eyes settle on the boy in front of you.

Mat and Jeff were two of the only mutual friends you shared that still reached out. The rest of the sabres had taken obvious sides to “keep the peace”. Jeff knew you better than they had so it was difficult for him to cut you out. Especially when he knew how your brain worked when you were alone. He knew you needed some line of connection to Tys.

Mat’s situation was a little easier. Though New York wasn’t all that large, being on a different team made it easier for Mat to separate you from Tyson in his mind. It wasn’t often that he saw Tyson between their schedules, and he’d never stop pointing out the obvious.

Mat introduced the two of you when Tyson moved to Buffalo. He knew he needed good people around him after his hectic years since Colorado. You l didn’t live far from Tyson, and Mat’s raving review of your restaurant put the final stamp of approval on it all.

“You can ask, you know?” you shook your head, chewing on your bottom lip nervously.

“I don't need to ask, Jeff. I know he’s here, and I know that he probably knows that I'm here. It’s not like I can ban him from stepping foot into the same building as me.” Even if you wished you could. Your head snapping back to the bartender as he sets four cups on the counter in front of you.

You reached for your wallet just as your wrist was caught in Jeff’s grip. He told the bartender to put it on his tab that he had started not too long ago. You thanked him and he waved you off quickly.

“How is he?” Your curiosity got the best of you, seeing as you hadn’t spoken to Tyson in so long that you weren’t sure how he was truly doing off the ice.

“Awful.” Jeff offered you a sad smile, letting a heavy sigh pass his lips. “He fucked up, y/n. Maybe beyond repair, but he hasn’t been the same since the two of you split.”

You took a sip of your drink, hoping that the alcohol would wash away the nerves growing in your chest. You knew Tyson had at least some regret from the way things ended. You had drunk voicemails to prove it. That didn’t mean you were ready to jump back into something that ended the way it did. Part of you never believed it was entirely genuine.

“I have to go back to my table, but it was nice to see you, sunshine” he nodded, letting you wander off with one last smile.

You flung yourself into the empty seat at your table once you returned, throwing your head back against the wall as you let out a heavy sigh. It caught the attention of your friends, who were quick to ask what was wrong before you heard a gasp from beside you.

“Out of all the bars in the fucking city?” you nodded, following her line of sight only to be filled with instant regret.

He was laughing, a wide grin on his lips as his head tilted back ever so slightly. You felt your stomach twist, nausea mixing with nostalgia as you longed to hear the sound he was creating.

“Drink this.” you turned to your friends, head slightly foggy as you pulled yourself out of your current headspace.

You don’t know when they got shots, but you were quick to throw one back, and one more before Selena was gripping onto your hand and pulling you out of your chair.

You could barely hear the song, just feeling the bass in your hips that moved sensually. You laughed loudly at your friends around you, pressing themselves against you in an attempt to distract you. It had been slightly successful and you almost forgot about the boy’s presence at the bar.

You hadn’t thought much of it as you told your friends you’d be back after a bathroom break. They stayed in the middle of the crowd, though they did keep their eyes on you as you slipped into the hallway with the bathrooms.

When you walked out, wiping the excess water off onto your jeans, you almost ran right into someone, eye level with their chest as you almost sputtered out an apology.

Almost.

Your breath caught in your throat at the sight of him, right in front of you for the first time in months. He clearly didn’t know what to say anymore than you did, because it took a minute for you to spit out a coherent thought.

“Hi.” you spoke softly, wanting nothing more than to kick yourself for being such an idiot.

“Hi.” his voice was just as soft, barely reaching your ears over the loud music.

You froze then, your mind void of all thoughts you previously had. You didn’t know what to say, and you didn’t know if you should say anything. You hadn’t spoken to him in months, what were you supposed to say now?

“Y/n, listen-”

“Y/n!” you turned to the sound of your name being called, eyes landing on selena who stood at the other end of the hallway with hands on her hips. “We ordered shots!”

Selena knew what she was doing, and you and Tyson both knew that. She wasn’t trying to be all that discrete, her eyes burning holes into the side of Tyson’s head as she silently tested him. She expected Tyson to try to fight back against her, fight to keep you in front of him for just a moment longer, but he didn’t.

You nodded, glancing at Tyson one last time before walking towards your friends and grabbing your savior’s outstretched hand. You squeezed it softly, thanking her for helping you once you were out of earshot.

You probably had three more shots before the boys saw you again. You were level headed enough to walk, but your filter had completely left you as you let your muscles finally relax.

Your night had taken a turn for the better until you felt an unfamiliar set of hands land on your hips, gripping you tighter than you wanted to be held. You turned over your shoulder, moving out of the grip of the man you were unfamiliar with.

“What's wrong, gorgeous?” you rolled your eyes, annoyed with the fact that he felt entitled to a reason why you didn’t want his hands on you.

“Don’t touch me.” you shouted over the music, turning back around towards your friends when you felt his hand back on you.

This time his hands were off of you before you had even moved, confusion flooding your system as you turned around. You were drained of any intoxication you currently felt as you jumped to pull Tyson back, not wanting him to get caught in a bar fight just after he returned to the league.

“Tys, stop.” you moved in front of him, your hands flat on his chest to keep him away from the other guy. His nostrils flared in anger, his eyes not even looking down at you as he looked over you to glare harshly at the guy behind you.

“You can’t get into a fight right now. You just made it back to the league.” his eyes snapped down to you then, his face draining of any anger he previously felt as a soft smirk inched up his lips.

“You’re keeping tabs on me?” you rolled your eyes then, huffing in newfound annoyance as you dropped your hands from their place on his chest.

You took a step towards your table, only to be pulled into a familiar pair of arms. you avoided his eyes until he brought a hand underneath your chin, tilting your head back far enough to look up at him.

“Come home with me.” you sighed softly, eyes fluttering shut when his hand moved from your chin to your cheek.

He smiled when you leaned into his palm, pressing a soft kiss to the heel of his hand before looking back at him. The phrase of denial sat on the tip of your tongue, threatening to fall past your lips despite you wanting to give in more than anything.

You looked over his shoulder, catching sight of your friends who had different expressions adorning their faces. Selena clicked her tongue in disapproval, shaking her head gently at you and watching your shoulders slump in defeat.

“I can't.” you pulled his hand away from your face slowly before walking past him, towards your friends but not stopping to address them.

You gathered your things from your table and grabbed your card from the bar before walking out of the bar, leaving your friends and Tyson back in the bar behind you.

You shouldn’t have been all that surprised when he ended up in your restaurant just a week after that, letting profanities slip underneath your breath when Reyna gave you the heads up that they were in your section.

She offered to take their table, but you told her you had it under control. Besides, it’s not like he came alone.

You couldn’t help but smile when they clapped at the sight of you. The loud interruption wasn’t all that surprising for the tables around them, given that it was a sports bar in New York. There were always people screaming and clapping from tables.

Tyson sat in the aisle seat, which you noticed within seconds of seeing their table. Jeff sat beside him, offering a warm smile when you finally reached the table. Mat and Anthony sat across from them, and you noticed another table of hockey players just beside them, another table in your section.

“What did I do to land all of you guys in my section?” Your smile was refreshing for Tyson to see.

He hadn’t been able to get you off his mind for the past however many months, but the last week was brutal. After having you right in front of him, leaning into him like you used to do, he knew there was no going back. Any progress he made, which wasn’t much, was lost the second you pressed a feather soft kiss against his hand.

“We asked for you.” Owen beamed at you from the next booth over, hissing out in pain when Jeff reached over the back of his booth and hit the back of his head.

“You weren’t supposed to tell her that, idiot.” you laughed at the interaction between the boys before your head fell to the side.

“Can I get you drinks?” they all fired numerous drink orders at you, but you took mental note of them before smiling warmly and telling them you’d be back in a minute.

You tended to your other tables as well as theirs, bringing everyone drinks quickly before you stood in front of their table with a pen and a notepad, writing down their orders with ease.

When your eyes landed on Tyson, a corner of your mouth curled up gently.

“Same thing?” he nodded, smiling when you scribbled his order down from memory.

You didn’t notice that every time you’d check on them, you’d set a hand on Tyson's shoulder, the other resting on your hip as you looked over the eight of them. It was usually quick, but Tyson felt a fire underneath his skin every single time.

You had expected him to ask something similar to what he asked you the week before. It shocked you to find two empty tables, multiple checks left on the table with various different messages written across them.

The only thing he left you with was an uneven heart at the bottom and a tip that had your eyes practically popping out of your skull. It was something he jokingly did when you were dating, but that was then, and this was now.

In theory, you should’ve probably called him. You should’ve reached out, even if it was just to scold him about the tip that he left you. He was hoping you’d call, checking his phone every five minutes for the rest of the night while his leg bounced in anticipation, but you never did.

He was disappointed, but he thought that was selfish of him. You didn’t owe him a phone call. He'd broken up with you, after all, and you were the one that made this entire process easier than it should’ve been.

You should’ve screamed, should’ve pushed him away after all he’d put you through. The two of you had ups and downs, riding an emotional roller coaster all the way to the end. but you couldn’t push Tyson away. You couldn’t cut him out even if that had been what you wanted.

You couldn’t get rid of him, and you didn’t want to.

Jeff had practically choked on his drink when you told him you planned on coming to their next home game. He had to drop his phone into his lap in order to finish coughing up a lung, assuring his teammates he was fine and the liquid had just gone down the wrong pipe.

Tyson gave him a hesitant look, not exactly believing that nothing had triggered Jeff’s coughing fit, but didn’t push the subject. If Jeff wanted to keep things from him, he would. There was no breaking that boy once he told himself he’d keep a secret.

Tyson had no idea you were sitting in the crowd. You were a few rows away from the glass, the jersey you’d usually wear still stuffed in the back of your closet. The hoodie you wore, however, did have the familiar logo on the front of it, with the same name and number that you used to wear every other night draped across your back.

It wasn't until he had scored a goal with two minutes left in third period, screaming at the top of his lungs and skating around the back of the net that he saw you. He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes locked on you even while his teammates tackled him with massive hugs.

Jeff turned to follow his line of sight, smiling widely and waving at you. you waved back, watching Tyson turn towards Jeff and mumble something before the shorter boy shrugged, laughing when Tyson shoved him playfully.

He turned back to you, eyes filled with a slew of emotions you weren’t able to unpack in the short moment. His lips moved, mouthing a desperate ‘please don’t leave’. You nodded, assuring him you’d stay put after the last buzzer filled the arena.

You kept good on your promise, staying in your seat even as the people around you filed out of the arena. you expected to wait for a while, given that he’d no doubt have to do a media run before he’d be given the chance to shower and change, so you were surprised when he came barreling down the stairs not even twenty minutes later.

You laughed gently when he almost flew right past you, his momentum making it difficult for him to stop on the right row of seats. He watched you stand up and make the short distance over to him, his jaw dropped and mind reeling too fast to form a coherent thought.

“Hi.” you spoke first, seeing the mental roadblock he was currently facing.

He didn’t know why talking to you right now was so difficult. He has just spoken to you two weeks ago, sitting in your restaurant for hours, and that didn’t seem as daunting as this did. maybe it was because you were wearing his name across your back. maybe it was because this is the first game he’d seen you in months.

Maybe it was because he was still head over heels in love with you.

“Hi.” it came out in a breath, almost like he couldn’t believe that he finally got a single syllable past his lips. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see Skinner.” you shrugged your shoulders, waiting for a second before a wide grin spread across your lips, a similar one finding a home on Tyson’s.

“I thought I’d never see you in here again.” it shouldn’t have knocked the wind out of you, shouldn’t have come as such a surprise.

“Well, here I am.” he nodded, unsure of where to go from here. He didn’t know what this meant, but he was desperate to find out. “Tys-”

“I’m so fucking sorry. About everything I ever said or did that crossed the line. I'm sorry I wasn't the boyfriend you needed me to be, and that I didn't love you hard enough when things went to shit. I’m sorry I fucked it all up, because I swore U wasn’t going to. I told you I was going to be there for you even when it seemed impossible, and I didn't follow through with that and i’m sorry.

“Not a single day passes by that I don't think about you, that I don't miss you. I love you with everything I have and I should've shown you that when we were together, but I didn't. I don’t know how to make up for all of that time, but I need you to know how fucking sorry I am.”

He barely even realized he was rambling, shooting off at the mouth too fast to think about what he was saying. He missed the smile inching up your lips as you listened, letting him get everything off of his chest.

“I should’ve fought harder. I shouldn't have let hockey get in the way of it all. We both had our own shit we were dealing with and instead of trying to help each other through it, I thought isolating myself and shutting you out would make it easier. I was an idiot, y/n, and I know that’s no excuse, but-”

Your hands reached for his head, holding it between your palms and bringing him down to meet you halfway. His lips felt familiar, a sliver of home that you had been missing for months. The rhythm came naturally, moving against each other like you had never been apart to begin with.

You were both slightly out of breath by the time you pulled back, foreheads resting against one another as you both smiled like idiots.

“I love you. I always have, and I always will.” you whispered softly, leaning up to place one more kiss to his lips. This one was softer and shorter, but it was enough to have Tyson’s heart beating at a mile a minute.

“I don’t think I'll ever be able to love another person the way I love you.”

You tilted your head back, just enough to disconnect your foreheads so you could look up at him properly. Your thumb ran across the skin of his cheek, and he leaned into your hand just like you had done at the bar. His lips were soft as they pressed to the pad of your thumb, sending a jolt of electricity down your hand and through your arm.

“Take me home.” you whispered softly, watching his lips turn up in a smile wider than one he’d ever worn before.

“I’ll take you anywhere you want me to.”

#tyson jost #nhl fic #hockey fic #nhl imagine #buffalo sabres #tyson jost x reader #summer fic exchange 2k23

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drivinmeinsane · 10 months

Text

Thoughts on Driver as a romantic partner

He's not inclined to talk much. He never mastered small talk, but he could listen to you speak all day long. He's an active listener and mentally files away anything you say that might be important. He shows his affection with acts of service, especially if it's related in any way, shape, or form to vehicles. Anything your car ever needs? Done and done. It'll never run better. Although, Driver will always insist on taking you places himself regardless of how well he maintains your vehicle. Despite some complicated feelings, he wants to be part of a family even if that family is made up of just the two of you. He wants to be wanted. He lives for the little domesticities. Quiet nights in front of the TV with your legs over his lap are his favorite. He's a paranoid overthinker and too trigger happy. He tries to hide his violent tendencies from you, but you can still see the edges of them. He's not necessarily a jealous man, but he is a protective one. Possessive. There is no hesitation when it comes to defending you. Any slight directed towards you does not bode well for the offender's wellbeing. He'll take the excuse to lash out. His idea of a date is to take you out on a drive. He's intimately familiar with the city and its hidden spots. He takes you to tucked away places and hole in the wall eateries you would have never known existed. He's especially fond of Mexican food. He's content when he sees the wonder on your face at each new surprise. He yields and softens just for you. You easily bring that shy smile of his to life. He talks to you more than he talks to anyone else. Driver has a tendency to watch you. He had his eyes on you without your knowledge long before you two became an item. His obsessive observation does not go away even now that he has you. You often wake to find him staring at you. The man rarely sleeps. His schedule is erratic. He doesn't disclose what he does at night. It's better that way. He always comes back to you. He'll slip into bed with you in the late hours of the night, smelling of leather and oil. He's always warm. With you in his life, he has eyes for no one else. He's not overly sentimental. All his belongings can fit into a duffle bag that he can toss into his trunk ever few months, but you're the one thing he can't compartmentalize. He uses any excuse to drape his jacket over you. The item of clothing comforts him so he supposes it ought to comfort you as well. He wants to share that feeling of security with you. He's dense when it comes to sentimental emotions or flirtatious intentions that are directed at him. He simultaneously infers too much and not enough. You have to be forward and direct with him.

18+ thoughts below the cut.

He's got a hair trigger. If he even thinks too hard about kissing you, he's all but cumming in his pants. He has a very vivid imagination. It's a problem.

He's intense and consuming. Any sexual interaction with him feels like he will devour you whole. He's not slow, he does not take his time. He's not one for savoring the moment. He likes it hard, fast, and messy.

He's always silent while he gets off. His breathing is ragged and he open-mouthed pants, but he does not whine or moan. The most you'll get is a low groan that sounds more like a growl when he cums.

His libido is high. All too often, he gets unexpectedly and painfully aroused. It's common for him desperately jerk off while thinking about you, fantasizing about things you've done or he would like you to do. Most fantasies are centralized around his car. It's like an extension of him. He bounces from crappy apartment to crappy apartment but the car remains the same.

Driver has an intense praise kink. He wants to be put down on his knees, pressed back against a seat, or pushed down on his stomach over the hood of his car. Anything. He's desperate to be told he's doing so good, what a good boy, good job, Driver.

#drive 2011 #driver #driver x reader #drive movie #my posts #my work #mostly movie canon with some additional characterization pulled from the two books by James Sallis #my feelings about this character are definitely a lot more complex than I'm letting on here #but i gotta keep it palatable for the “if ___ was your partner” format #I'll be going feral and deranged later. don't worry lmao

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mamasplat · 28 days

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ooooooooo ive been keeping up with the huge thread.. <3333

is the fic smth you actually want to do? id read it 👍

have you got a timeline in mind?

also hows the run going?

im still in the middle of playing y, im almost at the snowy city, check out my squad 💪💪💪💪💪🐺

The true Calem run is coming along great, I only have one spot to fill in my team and I just got through the power plant!

Now regarding actually writing the Kalos vs amour story, I want to, I’d LOVE TO. It’s something younger me wanted so badly to do- however I am not exactly confident in my writing.

I’ve dabbled under a few sites with a lot of different “pen names” if you will, and I’ve never been too fond of my own work. I struggle with coming off as redundant when I use one word too much without realizing till after the fact, but in my defense! I’m entirely self taught with reading and writing so It’s surprising I’m even a little bit literate.

I can’t say I have the confidence to get a beta reader either as that would mean letting someone read my messy work which- yeah that kinda makes my skin crawl. So it could be a great exercise for me! But it would be a big step. I haven’t publicly written anything since 2019 and it was all small fandom stuff.

But I do have a rough list of story beats? Kinda? Ideas really.

Serena leaves for her journey on a whim to see ash, but in the process she neglected to tell anyone other than her mother. Which means Calem would have no clue where she went until he went to Grace. The dialogue “I was starting to worry until I saw you on pokevision” definitely dings around my skull a bit.

He was a member of the summer camp team with Shauna Trevor and Tierno, he was just too shy to talk to Serena again after she up and left without warning, especially seeing her proximity to a guy who is wearing HIS EXACT JACKET

Yeah no I’m making that a thing, the fact him and Ash dress nearly identically is going to freak him out in some way.

When I envision this as animated scenes, I can see him as a faceless character watching from the sidelines. Obscured but noticeable, coming to a head at the end of the episode where there’s a scene between him a Shauna. In a cabin kitchen at camp, It reveals him and Shauna specifically are traveling together. His face still unseen she’d pry at him for information on why he was so distant and why he hid from Serena. He’d dodge the question with an ever brooding “I don’t know” and the silence would linger as whatever midnight snack is being prepared. A camera angle change and turning to face Shauna for the first time during the conversation it ends with a single line. “Who was that guy she was with anyways?”

We would then see him again officially in a later episode with the appearance of Shauna, he and Serena finally reconnect over an awkward apology for her sudden absence. He’s familiar with Serena, his behavior is starkly different around her to anyone else- even Shauna. And while it might not peek anyone else’s concern it would get Bonnie’s gears turning, the kid is perceptive and comes to the conclusion Calem likes Serena, but that also turns into distrust thanks to Calem’s inherent standoffish nature. She would recognize him as “no good”

Also insert plot of Ash being super hyped like “oh yeah! New rival! Let’s go!” And Calem being violently uncomfortable around this hyper short stack who is dressed just like him and traveling with his run away neighbor-

If you couldn’t tell, I’d have no clue how to pov this. A third person pov makes the most sense but with a shift in focus from our main cast to Calem and Shauna- idk-

I’ve put more thought into this as actual anime episodes rather than written pages, so it’s all art stuff in my head and might translate weird to a fanfic

#kalos vs amour posting #certified egg #kalosshipping #amourshipping

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pynkhues · 2 years

Note

Thoughts about Lestat's monologue on the balcony? Was he talking about Louis (desperately alive and desperately fragile)?

Oh, man, I adore that monologue, anon. The quiet intimacy, the cracks of heartbreak starting to show, the need and the want to hold onto this moment a little longer, knowing that everything's about to fall apart. There's a crushing grief in both of them that they're trying to hide behind a flippancy that belies the weight of what's about to happen, and Sam Reid and Jacob Anderson both play it so beautifully. Just!! Wonderful!! Wonderful writing, wonderful acting, wonderful direction.

One of the things that gets to me about the season overall is how it does such a good job at showing Lestat, Louis and Claudia's displacement. There's this sense that they never really fit into the places they exist in, whether that be shown in Lestat's transience or his othering as an outsider to New Orleans, or in Louis feeling unwelcome in the home he bought for his family, or flushed out of a business he built due to racism, or Claudia being taken during a race riot and moved into the home of a white man who'd rebirth her and then keep her like a pet for his lover.

They play house, and I think each desperately seek a sort of home - a permanence that immortality can never truly offer - but the reality is all three of them come from traumatised backgrounds that have hardened the pliable parts of them in ways that are inevitably set to fracture.

But! Home for Lestat is Louis, and he chose that. Wanted it. Lets himself pretend it's fate, something that the show emphasises in their first proper meeting with Lily between them, when Lestat is delighted by Louis' name and reveals he was planning on moving to St Louis. Lestat was looking for a place to lay roots, and he found a person to lay them in instead.

It creates an interesting juxtaposition to Louis, I think, who needs physical grounding. I do think Louis is just as possessive as Lestat, but I think Louis finds home in sharing - sharing wealth, which we saw him do with his family, sharing places such as the park or the lake, as we saw with both Claudia and Jonah, but also I think in sharing memories. One of the happiest scenes we see of him is dancing with his brother at their sister's wedding like they used to do as boys.

Home, I think, for Louis, is something you miss.

What I love about that monologue is that I think it echoes both sentiments. I think Lestat's words about New Orleans - especially the words desperately alive and desperately fragile - are about Louis, but also about them, about their home, about what they created together, and I think every look Louis shares with him is an understanding of that too.

The entire episode is Louis struggling with the reality of what he's doing, and looking at Lestat and yearning, but he doesn't veer from the course, not really. Not until Claudia wants to burn Lestat's body, and isn't that the point? Louis loves Lestat enough to save him, and Claudia enough to kill him, but it also seals this chapter of their lives off as a messy, passionate, violently loving and lovingly violent home, and juxtaposed with the cold, controlled life he now lives with Armand, it's stark.

That monologue is just the perfect end to this chapter of their lives. It's a goodbye to New Orleans, to each other, to the home Lestat found in Louis, and the home Louis' going to spend a lifetime missing, and I love that it ended with a dance, and I love that it ended with a rejection from the city. A reminder that that dance and that kiss on the floor wouldn't be written about, because still, just like as we met them, they're condemned to displacement. The city will use them, enjoy them, play with them, but it won't claim them, and with the home between them destroyed, all three of them are, again, alone.

#sorry it took me a couple of days to get to this one anon!#i had many Thoughts #i love this messed up little family #and that monologue killed meee #lestat x louis #lestat de lioncourt #louis de pointe du lac #claudia de pointe du lac #amc interview with the vampire #iwtv meta #welcome to my ama

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vampnyx · 1 year

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Aleric

Race: Vampire

Occupation: Monster hunter

Personality: excitable, overly friendly, easily flustered, dumb, clearly out of touch with his humanity, troublemaker, edgy, apathetic but always needs to state his opinion (that he does not care), hedonist, extrovert

Family: Left his family at a young age. He didn’t keep in touch, and they have since all passed. He had a younger sister so there’s probably descendants running around somewhere but he has no interest in finding them. Despite hating his parents, he speaks fondly of his sister on the rare occasion she comes up.

Background: When he left home, he got lost in the vices of the city. He enjoyed gambling and was a regular at an unlicensed gang-owned casino. After an unlucky night where his wallet ran dry one too many times, he was turned into a vampire and made to hunt other monsters. He still does this although his debt is for the most part paid, monster hunting is very lucrative and he’s bloodthirsty enough to enjoy it.

Likes: sweets, getting in a good fight, going to concerts/festivals, really anything chaotic, stealing from corporations for sport, fresh blood, being antagonistic

Dislikes: bitter things, getting caught, peaceful resolutions, when people mess with his stuff, gambling (although he used to love it, getting turned into a vampire kinda ruined it for him)

Strengths: strong and agile, will stop at nothing to protect what he loves, has a good heart despite a hard life

Weaknesses: keeps everyone at an arm’s length, likes to get into fights, doesn’t really give a shit about how he comes off/what he says

Beliefs/Morals: morally corrupt, doesn’t really care for humans since none have ever really been nice to him other than his sister. Doesn’t have much sympathy for other monsters either.

Appearance: tan skin, very light blue hair. Short king (smallest of the four), messy in a general sense. Loves showing off his body

Style: e-boy mixed with punk style. Most of his clothes have rips and holes but Rafiq made him get one “nice” outfit just in case (it’s not very nice there’s just no holes in that one)

Distinguishing marks: lots of piercings, tattoos. Scar going through his lip, cut in his ear

Habits: smoking blood cigarettes, disappearing for days on a job without saying anything, steals every time he goes to a store (but he does not steal personal items), being loud (talking to himself/singing around the house)

Favorites [music, movies, foods, etc.]: any sweet food but has a preference for berries drenched in chocolate, action & horror movies (especially violent ones), loves rock music or anything catchy so he can sing it loudly, loves card games

Hobbies: always carries a deck of cards to play solitaire when he’s alone or a game with a group. Also carries dice around for the same reason (will occasionally distract his prey with a game of chance). He’s an extrovert so he’ll always be hanging out in group spaces when he’s not busy

Cardinal Sin: greed, gluttony

#oc aleric #should probably name the story soon hmm #almost forgot to add his scars rushed in at the last minute lmao #my brain said make that vampire a fuckboy #and they were housemates...#my art

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jeannereames · 2 years

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Regarding your most recent ask—why do you think Alexander got so violent during the last leg of his campaign? I get he and his men were tired, that he was pissed at them too, but as you pointed out, his behavior in India was so bloodthirsty I can’t even fathom. I just can’t put my head around what could’ve possibly flipped that switch inside of him when, previously, his violence seemed to have served a purpose (understandable, and calculated, not pardonable though of course). In the last years of his life the level of violence was just crazy for no good reason.

Why Alexander became increasingly vicious, especially in India, has been asked by a lot of historians. Unsurprisingly, there are several general categories of answers:

1) He’d come to think of himself as a god and/or suffered increasing megalomania to the point that resistance in any form was met with offended outrage and violence.

1a) He’d proven himself so many times in combat, why were these stupid Indians still resisting? Why couldn’t they just surrender already?

2) He’d been through increasingly brutal guerilla warfare in Baktria and Sogdiana for three years, so when he faced similar resistance in India, he had a very short fuse.

2a) Years of combat and exposure to violence had numbed his sense of compassion, or his ability to see “the enemy” as human. E.g., non-stop war turned him cruel.

3) Indians were sufficiently different that he didn’t regard them with the same sympathy he had granted more familiar populations. If not necessarily full-on Aristotelian racism, it fell into the category of, “It’s harder to feel compassion for people who don’t look like you.’

Our big problem answering is that this question delves into motivation, which is psychological. We can’t plop him on a couch to psychoanalyze. The best we can do is consider what attitudes his culture might have most predisposed him towards.

I don’t give much credence to #1 as I don’t think he believed himself a “living god,” only a hero (Herakles 2.0) who might expect deification upon death—but not while alive. As for “megalomania,” it’s beyond our capacity to diagnose, and perhaps altogether anachronistic.

I do think #1a, #2, #2a, and #3 were all at work to varying degrees.

Alexander was enormously competitive. He wanted a challenge. That’s why he treated Poros so well after the Battle of the Hydaspes. Poros hadn’t run away, and he’d fought a good battle. A pitched battle with a decisive outcome. Alexander didn’t really like sieges. They were long and messy and typically ended badly, even if he won. But a set-piece or pitched battle took less than a day, and it was over. This one in particular ticked all his boxes: talented, brave opponent, clear victory, and his opponent surrendered (didn’t escape).

It wasn’t combat in itself that put him off. It seems to have been the sheer stubbornness of the Indian resistance. If we recall, he was extremely unsympathetic to Gaza and Batis when that city still opposed him despite his victory after a 7-month siege of Tyre. His behavior at Gaza had a clear intimation of: “Dammit! I just took the ‘untakable’ city, why are you resisiting?”

If Alexander liked a challenge, he didn’t like “repeating himself,” so to speak. He had to repeat himself a lot in India, ergo, both #1a and #2 are in effect.

As for #2a and #3, it can be uncomfortable for those fascinated by Alexander to accept he had a vicious side. We want to justify it. “He was brutal to ___ because….” I find myself doing it too. But after a number of conversations with students in my classes on Alexander or Greek warfare, themselves war vets, Alexander the soldier is a reality we can’t ignore.

These vets talked about their process of training—indoctrination—that conditioned new recruits to become part of “the group,” but also to dehumanize “the enemy.” It’s one difference between “soldiers” and “warriors.” There is, I think, a tendency to look down a bit on warrior societies as more “primitive.” Yet in warrior societies, the focus is more on the individual warrior’s bravery and honor. They don’t develop as much same group-think that leads to a smoothly operating war machine…but can also lead to war crimes. Do what you’re told; don’t think about it. The enemy is less-than-human and deserves death and torture.

That’s a broad generalization I don’t want to push too far; some warrior societies were quite insular and violent. But if the training/indoctrination involved in turning out soldiers certainly professionalizes an army—like the Macedonians—it also allows them to engage in a level of atrocity that’s mind-boggling to those outside the system. The longer one fights, the more violence one sees, and that requires a certain disassociation in order to remain sane. One of my former students who left the military and became very left-leaning was unambiguous about the process of numbing soldiers to the need to kill or engage in violence—“even for the guy down in the mailroom.” And of course, part of military separation involves teaching these now-former soldiers to become part of civil society again.

The upshot is that is we can’t dismiss the impact of near-continual violence on Alexander. He’d been in charge of military operations from at least the age of 16, and had probably killed in battle some time before that. In Dancing with the Lion: Becoming, he’s 14; that’s not unreasonable.

Not only did he engage in violence intrinsic to a war machine, but death and violence was intrinsic to daily life in everything from food preparation to religious sacrifice. It’s not that our world is less violent, but that violence these days is segregated, largely by wealth, in a way it just wasn’t then. I go to the grocery and buy my pre-packaged deboned chicken breast, whereas both my grandmothers walked out into the chicken yard, grabbed a chicken, wrung it’s neck, plucked feathers, and only then could get down to the business of cooking it for dinner.

Furthermore, human slavery was endemic. Alexander’s teacher, Aristotle, spoke of slaves as “human animals.” The problem for ancient people was how to explain why some became slaves when others were masters. Simple chance was recognized by some, but far more tried to explain it as the disfavor of the gods, or as some sort of “natural” inferiority (as Aristotle did). It wasn’t the racial slavery of the Atlantic slave trade, but it certainly sowed the seeds.

Thanks to the long shadow of W.W. Tarn, a popular perception persists of Alexander as a proponent of One World politics (Brotherhood of Mankind). Yet Brian Bosworth has shown rather convincingly via officer and political appointments in his latter years, that Alexander grew more cynical about foreign peoples. That doesn’t mean he got more racist exactly, but he grew progressively more distrustful. It might be better to think of him as naïve when he started out, but experience rubbed off that innocence.

As he was un-learning trust, he was also encountering cultures—and landscapes—increasingly alien. I don’t think he ever lost his curiosity, or his basic “approach” attitude to difference. He liked learning about new things and people. But plenty of psychological studies have shown that most of us display increased sympathy towards those who look like us. It’s not that we can’t be sympathetic towards others, but we’re apparently hardwired to care more about people we perceive as “like us.” It’s no doubt linked to survival: protect the family, the tribe. The flip side, of course, is that it’s easier to walk by someone in distress, or to actively harm them, if they’re “not like us.” Alexander’s friendship with Poros shows that he remained able to see The Other as human. But I suspect the cultural and physical differences also made it easier for him to disregard not just Indian suffering, but Baktrian and Sogdian and Persian, as well.

#asks #Alexander the Great #Alexander in India #the violence of Alexander the Great #soldier indoctrination #increasing tolerance for violence among soldiers #violence in the ancient world #Classics #tagamemnon #violence in ancient warfare #violence in daily life in the ancient world

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ash-and-books · 8 months

Text

Rating: 4/5

Book Blurb: The Bell in the Fog, a dazzling historical mystery by Lev AC Rosen, asks—once you have finally found a family, how far would you go to prove yourself to them?

San Francisco, 1952. Detective Evander “Andy” Mills has started a new life for himself as a private detective—but his business hasn’t exactly taken off. It turns out that word spreads fast when you have a bad reputation, and no one in the queer community trusts him enough to ask an ex-cop for help.

When James, an old flame from the war who had mysteriously disappeared, arrives in his offices above the Ruby, Andy wants to kick him out. But the job seems to be a simple case of blackmail, and Andy’s debts are piling up. He agrees to investigate, despite everything it stirs up.

The case will take him back to the shadowy, closeted world of the Navy, and then out into the gay bars of the city, where the past rises up to meet him, like the swell of the ocean under a warship. Missing people, violent strangers, and scandalous photos that could destroy lives are a whirlpool around him, and Andy better make sense of it all before someone pulls him under for good.

Review:

A new case for the queer private investigator, except his client is his ex and he'll be facing a whole slew of messy history, dangers, and feelings, especially since he's falling for the cute bartender too. Its 1952 in San Francisco and ex-cop turned private investigator Evander "Andy" Mills is on the case. Ever since opening up his own investigation office, he's still trying to fit in, no one trust him because he's an ex cop despite him being gay, but he's trying. When an old flame shows up, his ex from the navy, wanting to hire Andy to help him get back some illicit photos that could destroy his career, Andy is on the case. Yet this case has a lot of it's own troubles and dangers as Andy gets pulled in further and further into his old history with his ex and the fact that someone is killing for the blackmail photos that happen to be more than just his ex's. Can Andy crack the case before it's too late and finally protect the home and people he's begun to think of as his own family, and maybe also finally ask out the cute bartender Gene that he's been crushing on, that is, if he can work out his complicated feelings for his ex. This was such a fun historical murder mystery, it's a great continuation of the first book, and I absolutely can't wait to see if there is going to be a third book (I would love for this to be a continuing series), it would be so cool to see all the characters again and see them grow, especially getting to see Andy grow more into himself and his journey as a P.I!

*Thanks Netgalley and Tor Publishing Group, Forge Books for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

#book review #lgbtq books #the bell in the fog

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carnivorarium · 2 years

Text

Massive infodump about Yamai that’s been waaaaay overdue for like, a year now since I did a major rework of him. Most of this information covers where he is currently and a broad overview of how he got there. Content warning for: drug abuse, body horror, mutilation, and cannibalism.

Yamai is neither living nor dead.

He’s on a spectrum that can teeter closer to one than the other, but he’s never fully alive or fully dead. If he gets too close to one end of the spectrum, his body will go through extreme measures to correct its precarious, odd homeostasis. When he was a child, it wasn’t as bad. He was susceptible to catching illnesses, and this was chalked him to him having a weak immune system-- which to an extent was true, as his immune system was purposely weakening itself to keep him from veering too far off onto the “living” side of the spectrum.

During his preteens and well into his teenage years, though, he became violently ill due to how much he was thriving as a “living being”. Years 14-16 were spent in and out of a hospital room. His adoptive mother and half-brother, Aoki, held a funeral for him shortly before his seventeenth birthday. Naturally, he didn’t stay dead. Since it was his first time dying, though, it took him a while to come back around. Roughly a month. He died several more times clawing his way back to the surface. Confused, unable to remember much about himself or his background, and still half dead, he wandered out of town and (canonically), found his way to Roefall [or insert whichever other place threads take place in].

Currently, he works as a crime cleaner for Zippermouth / a bartender with crime cleaning as a second, unmarketed job (this is verse dependent, but defaults to bartending unless specified otherwise).

To put things very bluntly: the guy can hoover up a bloody explosion of a murder after all needed evidence has been secured in like, an hour or two at the most. A touch from his bare fingers disintegrates things into clusters of fungi that turn to powder. Simply put, he’s the best of the best when it comes to making the nastiest of crimes disappear. But his services don’t come cheap or without proper vetting of the client, either.

He used to be involved with organized crime as a sort of info broker- not the kind you’d think of, though. When he found himself in the middle of a strange city, surrounded by strange people, a stranger to himself, legally dead and nothing to offer except his own body, he didn’t have very many options but to sell what he was good at: playing possum. You pick up on a lot of interesting little details when people think you’re dying or dead. Never the full story, but enough to shift the tides for whoever was paying. His detachment from everyone else around him made it easier for his monstrous capabilities to be a resource when things went south, too; he preferred it that way, at least until he met a then-much-younger Lenore who reminded him an awful lot of his little brother. He came into contact with Zippermouth shortly after reuniting with Aoki, but organizing a way to get himself, Aoki, and Lenore clean was messy. Further detail will be given in a bio post, but for now we’ll leave it at that.

He needs to keep balance by consuming both living and dead things.

His diet’s pretty normal, for the most part. He eats his fruits and veggies, he’s especially fond of caramel-drizzled flan, and he hates artificial strawberry flavors. Oh, and he has to eat living flesh to help maintain his homeostasis properly. He can regulate off smaller mammals, but eventually he has to get a bigger bite. He has methods for making sure he’s not grabbing some random off the street and turning them into a screaming buffet. He’s not a vigilante by any means. No, it’s all about personal vendettas for him, wounds he didn’t let heal for this exact purpose. And he gets some extra cash slipped his way if he gets the right person at the right time. He knows he’s not a good person for doing this. It’s just easier finding scummy people that make for a good meal and washing the leftover guilt down with a drink and a relaxing night in than it would be to brutalize some average Joe for a quick bite.

Yamai’s left leg is missing from just above the kneecap.

His leg was cut off in the aftermath of his previous employer becoming privy to his plans to skip town. Again, a story for later (or maybe never, it’s not like he talks about it often). While he is capable of mild regeneration, he cannot permanently regrow limbs; it would consume too much of his energy, and lead to him needing to eat living tissue too often for his personal liking. Instead, he wears a prosthetic leg. Said prosthetic is comprised his own weird fungi tissue that’s been ossified and semi-responds to neurotransmissions, but doesn’t move exactly like his intact leg and is prone to stiffening up. On days where it does, he uses a cane to help with mobility and balance. At home, he has crutches for when he takes his prosthetic off.

When he’s in his other form, he does have constructs that grow over his legs. But, again, for him to constantly maintain them would be counterproductive and just downright impossible for him.

He’s an ex-addict who’s been fully sober for close to a year and a half.

In terms of full sobriety from drugs (namely heroin): he started weaning off it 3-ish years ago from the present, shortly after being taken under Zip’s wing, and has been fully sober for close to a year and a half. He became dangerously close to getting addicted to the painkillers he took while he was fighting through the intense bone and muscle pains that came from withdrawals. He still drinks alcohol, but only socially. He picked up the habits of smoking cigarettes and drinking caffeine even when he doesn’t really need it. Aside from that, his substance vices have waned to a minimum-- though not without a painful struggle towards achieving sobriety and maintaining it. He takes care not to expose himself to anything that might reinforce old habits.

Best way to describe his personality is ‘slightly distant but still invested older brother.’

He rarely takes things personally and he’s developed a very thick skin, though he is prone to internalizing things. Very laid back and a little too into pins and bad humor. He keeps things easy going and barely gives anything about himself away while making others feel comfortable sharing about themselves. Sometimes even described as being “the mom friend”, which always gets a laugh out of him. Not the kind of guy to be the life of the party, but he is the guy further off from the crowd you’d chill and (maybe drunkenly) chat with, or who you’d find smoking outside and either get a cig from or just sit and get into a surprisingly in depth convo with. He has plenty of pet peeves and gets prone to overstimulated irritation (he’s more of friendly introvert than anything else), but it’s fairly difficult to actually get him angry. Handles confrontation way better than his little brother Aoki as he rarely takes things personally. One of his biggest flaws is dressing up his self doubt as overconfidence. Another major one is refusing the same help and advice he’ll give to others. A major strength is his resilience and being ready to admit when he IS afraid of something.

#about | yamai #* idk if i worded everything quite right BUT i'm tired and it's 10 PM and i have to be awake at 6 #* weeeeeee into unspeakable horrors we go!#* also i think mai's the only oc i have that's like. in the crime genre #* but only barely bc of his past #* hm i will now continue to think about him until my brain explodes #* i'll update his page tho!#* also figured out that after writing him for like 7+ years and him never showing-#* -any attraction to any women he might be... U Know #* good for u buddy

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witch-hazels-musings · 3 years

Text

seeing you get hit

warning -> violent*, angry XIAO, mentions of death

Xiao X GN reader | Anthology

Synopsis:

*character* become progressively worried about you not returning back - as the hours tick by, they notice a commotion has started and as they check it out find you in distress. Quickly they head to where you were and, well, their reaction to seeing you being accosted by someone in the middle of the city, let’s just say they took matters into their own hands

The wind drifted through the open air inn delicately woven into the large tree resting at the crossing of Dihuah Marsh and Guili Plains. The weather had been pleasant all day and decided to leave with a warm summer sun slipping below the horizon.

Xiao found himself walking across the balcony to look over the vast landscape below Wangshu Inn. The one place which always welcomed him without question. He’d seen countless years drift by on these plains and yet always found a place to return to here; even as the faces of its patrons faded into memory the comfort of the inn lingered still.

Below, he saw the citizens of Liyue passing through, never stopping for more than a few nights or grabbing something quick to eat from the kitchen. The endless treks they made from place to place completely devoid of any worries, all thanks to him.

He leaned forward and rested his chin on his crossed arms detecting a flock of birds taking off from the watery marsh. Their small frames disappearing into the vast sky he’d never be able to touch. He was forever tethered to the world of mortals, plagued with keeping humanity safe from destruction as the final, lonely yaksha.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been studying the landscape, it was such a normal pass time for him that he’d grown quite accustomed to monotonous rising and setting sun. Though today, he found it peculiar for you not to be with him.

For months, you would show up to pester him. Typically, he avoided getting involved with humans as they were often messy and their problems petty; especially since those petty problems breed miasma which became his problem whether he liked it or not; he disliked humans to a great degree. However, you never seemed to get his hints, never seemed to mind his harsh tone, never seemed to be bothered by his constant attempt to push you away.

He had started to expect you on certain days of the week. Without fail you’d greet him at the peak of Wangshu Inn with something to offer him - a bowl of Almond Tofu, some items you thought he might find interesting while you were out on your travels. Sometimes you’d hold a conversation with him, or try to, and other times you’d just be there with him under the stars. At this point it was more energy to get you to leave, so he stopped trying.

So when you didn’t show up, he found it odd. The consistency of your visits made this day, the day where you weren’t there, unusual.

In the distance he noticed shadows moving quickly over the land. Their shape stretched across the rolling hills and wet marshlands. Xiao lifted himself off of the balcony, something in the pit of his stomach warned him to be vigilant.

His eyesight was better than most. Others may have been unable to clearly identify the figures at the end of their shadows, but him, he was able to see everything so painfully clearly.

As if he were right next to you, he saw you running over the hills desperately trying to stay on your feet. Your arms flailing out in front of you in an effort to catch you were you to fall. He felt it, your fear … and he saw what you were afraid of. Chasing after you were several treasure hoarders. Their burly bodies create haunting shadows across the vast landscape in front of them. He noticed you were dodging out of the way, of what he couldn’t make it out.

Suddenly you topple to the ground, rolling painfully across the dirt and grass. The group chasing you dangerously close behind.

“XIAO!” his name reverberates through him and in an instant, he vanishes.

---

The dirt coats your body, sticking to your clothes, your hair, filling your mouth as you roll across the grassy plain. Your body comes to a violent stop as you collide with one of the many rocks sprawled over the land. It knocks the wind out of you and you gasp in an attempt to get the air back in your lungs.

“I got em’!” someone yells from the top of the hill. Their victorious cheer sends its own pain your way. Get up, get up!

Grasping onto the rock behind you, you attempt to push yourself off of the ground. When you step on your right leg you topple back to the ground. There is a burning pain in your leg and when you look down to investigate you see a huge wound speckled with dirt and rocks, blood following the flow of gravity. Something they threw must have hit you, which explains why you fell.

A stampede of feet makes their way to you and before you know it you're surrounded.

“I got their leg,” you look up and see one of them pointing at the wound. Their face beaming with pride. You were hoping they would have given up the chase a while ago, unfortunately for you they didn’t.

“What do you want?!” You yell at them, the anger building in your stomach, masking the pain in your leg. Your veins filled with adrenaline, a common reaction when one's life is at risk.

“We told you,” one of them walks closer to you, “don’t get in our way; and yet, there you were. So, this really is entirely your fault.” he looked at you with contempt, his eyes narrowing in irritation as he spoke. “Now, if you wouldn’t be so kind, give it back.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You push his hand away from your face. You knew dealing with this many enemies would be a challenge, you just hoped the adrenaline pumping through you would be enough.

“Oh, okay…” he stood back up and made a gesture with his hands. The other treasure hoarders surrounding you lifted their bows, pulled out small bottles, and prepped their throwing knives. “If you won’t give it back, we will take it by force.”

SHIT! You threw your arms over your face and prepared for the onslaught of weapons.

In an instant you were enveloped by black and green smoke. It’s so oppressive you close your eyes and pull your arms closer to your face. The sound of metal crashing against metal, glass bottles breaking and exploding overloaded your senses. You make out confused yelling, but there is so much commotion you couldn’t understand it all.

There is a huge gust of wind which tears its way across your body threatening to take you with it. You feel something steady you, an arm bracing you from the violence.

“What the hell…” the main antagonizer yells.

The wind died down and hesitantly you opened your eyes. Shielding you is Xiao, his body hovering over you possessively. You notice his spear is driven into the ground, the tip of it deep in the earth. He’s grasping onto it so tightly the color in his knuckles are gone. When you look to his face you see he’s wearing his yaksha mask, green smoke spilling from the sides. In fact, his whole body is blanketed in smoke, it’s seeping off of him like wooden logs after a slow burn.

You can’t get a good grasp on the eyes hidden underneath the mask, but you can sense he is looking in the direction of the head treasure hoarder. When you look around you everyone is picking themselves off of the ground, equally as confused as you.

“Xiao?” you say his name softly, not knowing how speaking his name will impact the current situation.

You’re startled when his head snaps to you. His head drifts down your body and comes to rest at the slash against your leg. Shifting to a crouch he gingerly touches the skin around the wound and when you wince at the contact he recoils violently.

“What did you do?” slowly his head turned toward the people surrounding the both of you. The erratic nature of the wind knocks into you and you try to shield yourself with your hand. He stands, yanking the spear from its place in the ground. In an elegant move he rolls the spear over before thrusting it toward the man who gave the initial order.

“Look, we don’t want any trouble…” the panic in his voice enhanced by the eagerness to keep his life.

“This world has no use for humans like you,” his voice filled with contempt.

“It was all harmless fun, we weren’t really going to hurt them...” he sputtered out the excuse and looked at his comrades for agreement.

They all began to chime in, adding their, “yeah we didn't mean anything,” “what they said,” and other useless excuses.

“SILENCE.” it was if the world itself obeyed his command. The wind stopped blowing which left the leaves still and silent. The birds had all but gone, the water dare not move in fear it incur the wrath of the yaksha. The heavy silence was unbearable, and you weren’t the only one who thought so.

You watched as those surrounding you began to shiver and shake from the silence, their teeth chattering, the sound of their heartbeats pounding in their head, the terror growing on their faces. Several of them attempted to get up and run away from the source of their fear, they didn’t make it very far. An invisible force erupted from the ground, impaling them before returning them to the ground, facedown and unmoving.

“Take another step … try me.”

“Okay okay, let’s make a deal?” the man sputters. Xiao doesn’t answer. “Let me go and I’ll tell everyone to never bother you again … yeah? Deal?”

“What about us?”

“Hey!”

“Boss!” the others shout out.

“Shut up!” he yells before looking back at the Yaksha, “...so, deal?”

“Y/N, close your eyes.” You peer up at him, his back to you, arm extended downward, his hand gripped around the long jade spear.

“Hold on …” Without warning Xiao was gone from your sight. His figure vanished from in front of you. You’re left looking at the man trembling before you, his face contorted in terror, and then your vision is gone. A hand covers your eyes and blocks your view.

“Wait … wait…..!”

….

The breeze picked back up. You heard the rustling sound of the leaves and the subtle whistle of the wind rushing through the grass. Somewhere in the distance a bird calls out before extending its wings for flight.

The hand covering your face slides away, it’s warmth leaving your eyes cold. You begin to open them but are stopped.

“Keep them closed.” Xiao speaks to you behind the dark veil of your eyelids. “Whatever you do, do not open them.”

You feel him lift you off of the ground and you fight the urge to disobey his order. As he carries you away the smell of blood wafts in the wind.

---

Keeping your eyes closed the whole time, aren’t sure where you are until you hear the sounds of voices below you. Xiao places you in a chair and even still, you keep your eyes closed.

“Xiao?” you call out his name, worried now that he isn’t close to you anymore.

“I’m here. You can open your eyes now.” his voice is distant, as if he’s in another room, but when you open your eyes he isn’t there. Suddenly, he appears next to you, he’s kneeling by your leg and has begun to clean the wound.

“I can do that,” you attempt to reach for the towel he is using but he swats your hand away.

“Leave it be,” he barked and you shakily pull your hand back, letting them rest in your lap.

You sit there in silence and listen to the sounds of the happy patrons below drift up to you. The inn must be pretty full tonight, you wondered if anyone may accidentally find their way to the top balcony. Looking down at Xiao you bite your tongue in an attempt to keep all the thoughts from spilling out.

After he cleans the wound and your leg, he examines it for a bit before vanishing before your eyes. You knew he was always good at appearing out of thin air, you didn’t exactly expect to see him vanish on it too. The night breeze was cool and had the scent of glaze lilies.

You’re not sure if Xiao will be back so you look down at your leg and see just how bad the wound is. The cut is quite large, not too deep, but big enough to already have blood dripping down your leg again. Something catches your attention and you watch as Xiao fades back into view. He’s carrying some items in his arm and making his way back to you, a small chair in his other hand.

He drops the chair next to you and sits, adjusting until he’s found the right position.

“I can help you with …”

“I told you to leave it.” He gives you a warning look and you know to drop the topic. He makes quick work of cleaning and applying a bandage over your wound. It’s pretty well done which makes you wonder how many times he’s done this. Even though he seems to be disinterested in your help, maybe he would be okay with your conversation.

“Thank you, for saving m….”

Abruptly he wraps his arms around your neck and pulls you into a hug. You’re so caught off guard that you have to stable yourself against the railing. The action is beyond surprising since he’s never really initiated contact, especially not this type of contact. Reaching your hand up to rest on his arms you notice he is shaking. It’s subtle, but he is shaking.

“Xiao…” you wrap your arms around him returning the embrace. “I’m okay… I’m just fine.”

You hold each other for a bit before he speaks, “I can’t lose you,” he is so quiet you wonder if he actually said anything or if it was just a wish drifting on the wind.

“You won’t. I did what you told me to do, remember; I called your name.” you say, pulling him closer and running your fingers into his hair.

“I heard you.”

MASTER

#genshin impact #genshin impact X reader #genshin impact musings #genshin impact fiction #xiao x reader #genshin xiao #xiao

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catintheruemorgue · 3 years

Text

annoying things they do

summary: small things these guys do that just grinds your gears a bit.

characters: oda, dazai, kunikida, twain, akutagawa, atsushi, mori, poe, ranpo, fittzgerald, steinbeck, chuuya, yosano, gin, kouyou, higuchi, alcott and lucy

these are all based off things i do or have inconvenienced my life lmfao i’ll probs do a part two with everyone i missed this just got wayyy to long lol next im posting being friends with double black

Oda:

If you're wearing shorts and have bruises he will poke them when you're resting your legs on him. He’s silent about it too and if you yell at him he pretends to act like he doesn't know what you're talking about.

Will smack your sunburn but this one is actually an accident. He just wanted to pat you on the back because you're amazing.

Will space out when you talk too long, sometimes certain objects are just so… mesmerizing

Dazai:

Loves to jumpscare you the only exception is if it was a trigger. In that case he will just call your name and whip something at you for you to catch at random.

When you're driving he likes to reach over and honk your horn. It's almost caused so many roadside fistfights.

If he sees a dog in public he will bark and growl at it.

Kunikida:

Won’t let you on the bed without socks on. You could be sick as a dog and he’ll still enforce this rule.

Cleaning is hard because he has a hard time throwing things away. You'll spend extra time as he holds two identical pens, trying to decide which one he wants to keep. He’s learned to plan certain days in his schedule for cleaning now.

Won't let you turn up the music in the car and will keep it at a level that's so low it's annoying.

Twain:

Walks around the house shirtless but then complains about how cold it is.

Blasts his music so loud when he wakes up in the morning and it's always early 2000’s hits. It's not rare for you to have Pocketful of Sunshine by Natasha Bedingfield stuck in your head by 9 am.

Always has to climb something, this stems from his adventurous side. It's not really that annoying but when you’re in a crowded area and he runs off to go climb the tall statue, screaming at you to take a photo… Yes it is. Especially when children try and follow him and you're stuck receiving glares from the parents.

Akutagawa:

Will not let you throw any food products out. He tells you it's a perfectly good meal (even if it's not) and that he will eat it tomorrow. It’s sad because you know this stems from childhood but it’s still annoying.

Reuses the same gross, musty ziplock baggies. You keep buying new ones but he doesn't get it lol.

Will tell you if your breath smells, hair is messy, outfit is ugly. He does not see an issue with this and it's nice knowing someone has your back but he doesn't have to be so rude about it..

Atsushi:

If he drinks he's one of those drinkers who will not let you take it from him. Keeps an iron grip on the cup. He finishes it no matter how drunk and always throws up. Thankfully he rarely drinks.

He stops to help everyone, literally even if they just look like they need help. You've been late to so many things.

Will eat anything. Once you made steak and somehow forgot about it. It was hard as a brick yet he still almost broke his teeth eating it. You think you saw some tears as he told you it was delicious.

Mori:

Listens to people's conversations in public and isn't afraid to comment, loudly, about it. You know it's loud because they either stop talking or try and confront you guys.

Comes up to stops fast and brakes so hard you feel like he does it on purpose.

Sometimes if he and Elise get into a “disagreement” he’ll try and rope you in to take his side and you always do, knowing it would probably give him more satisfaction if you chose to side with her.

Poe:

Asks for constructive criticism but will then argue with you about why you're wrong.

Always humming a song he heard Twain singing and then it gets stuck in your head too.

Will deny stupid things like why your favorite mug is in the trash or why he just let out rather loud scream in the bathroom. You know he's lying because he looks away and makes sure his bangs are covering his eyes.

Ranpo:

Will call you out on any lie even if you don't mean to lie you just forgot about some of the details.

Don't take him grocery shopping if you have a set amount you want to spend. He won't even sneak, he will just say he wants something and throw it in the cart.

Such a backseat driver even though he can't drive.

Fitzgerald:

Likes to act like he's still in his twenties and will somehow get the two of you invited to college parties where he will attempt to do a kegger in front of everyone. You end up being the one to hold him up and he always ends with a, “LETS FUCKING GO!”

Likes to ask for the senior discount even though he's not that old, he just likes to hear the women validate that he's not old.

It’s scary how he used to buy without looking and now will scream if the price on a price tag is too high.

Steinbeck:

Always looking at the grass for wheat to chew on. It's so cheesy when you walk into the city and he's got it sticking out of his mouth.

He gets weirdly intimate with nature and you feel like you're third wheeling.

Has the mentality that he has to provide for you because he is the man. He gets so shocked when he finds out you still want to work.

Chuuya:

Has a hard time making decisions you could ask him what he wants for dinner and his mind will just break.

Gets way too pissed at movies and will actually get up and walk away. Once you were kicked out of the theater because he wouldn't stop yelling at the screen. Another time he walked out you waited a whole ten minutes before you realized he wasn't coming back.

Sometimes activates his ability at night and it's so scary waking up to him floating halfway across the room.

WOMAN TIME!!!!!!!!!!

Yosano:

Will glare at you so intensely if you say something she disagrees with.

Always tries to rope you into drinking with her even if you’ve said no the past ten nights.

Will describe wounds or injuries in such detail and just won’t stop, almost like she’s trying to fuck with you, but she’s not.

Gin:

Claims to be nothing like her big brother but then will go on to make the same facial expressions and do some of the same mannerisms as him.

Will spend hours trying things on just to put it all back, leave the store and change her mind when you’re almost home. Then she’ll have you run back with her to buy it all.

Is used to sneaking around so scares you a lot. Also on the topic of being silent sometimes she just won’t respond, thinking you can just read her vibes / mind.

Kouyou:

Will judge what you eat, especially fast food but will try and steal a fry in private when you're not looking.

Will say things like, “Well that's just the way the world works.” If someone tries to share their baggage with her. You understand she’s had a pretty rough life but it's caused you to almost spit out your drink multiple times.

At functions forgets about you for about an hour while she mingles with everyone else, you could tap on her shoulder and she'll dismiss you like you're a subordinate. Until you clear your throat again you'll see the slight blush as she apologizes.

Higuchi:

She has no sense of privacy. If she hears a crash or loud noise she will bust down the door. It’s sweet but not when the noises are usually from you knocking all the shampoo bottles down again.

Horrible road rage actually puts you on edge to be in the car with her. She doesn't even have to be driving.

Likes to act like she's a professional at everything and people usually believe it because of her suit. It's so nerve wracking when she giggles when they walk away with false information.

Alcott:

Will agree to everything you suggest but you can only tell when she doesn’t want to do it when you’re currently doing it.

Yet she’s not afraid to grumble about how annoying it is when someone bumps into you and doesn’t apologize. It’s sweet but you’re left dealing with the situation if the person is aggressive enough to say something.

Always corrects your spelling or if you say something like “I could care less.”

Lucy:

Will fish for compliments in a very obvious way like, “Wow. Wish someone would call me pretty..” and then just stare right at you.

Kicks you so violently in her sleep but won't let go of you so you cant get away.

Constantly stealing from restaurants. You're banned from a couple restaurants because she got caught trying to steal a cup or salt shaker.

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rudedolf · 2 years

Text

a bunch of headcanons and thoughts and stuff about sing 2 especially about my dorks Nooshy Klaus Ryan and Johnny ALSO m'sorry but bad english below

so.. if the crew could stay in redshore city to perform... imagine this sweet gay family, Johnny and Ryan dating AND living together? and Nooshy living with them? (someone's awesome headcanon about her being homeless before check) like a street urchin, still dancing for money sometimes, but living mostly at the boys expense when money for performing runs out(and it DOES run out quickly, probably on ice cream or some junk food every day lol)

and smol Nooshy is being a big sis for this two huge dorks. also they all certainly are that stereotypical type of gay people who just can't sit normally, Nooshy is just hangin upside down on the couch most of the time

Klaus probably coming to visit from time to time to check "if you are still alive and breathing in this dirty, messy, dusty household of yours" usually bringing some good wine. their apartment is not THAT messy I mean.. yeah you have to balance between piles of clothes to get through the hallway AND WHAT IT STILL NOT THAT DIRTY

one time they accepted the invitation and went to Klaus' house and... they are definitely not going here again EVER. everything so clean and white and shiny and you're scared to hold a cup or to sit on the corner of the couch to not stain it somehow UGH that's just terrible how can this man live like that

though Nooshy just got a new opportunity to tease him about his love for luxury

but I think Klaus and Nooshy become real good friends, they keep fighting every time they see each other, nothing serious but it's hella fun to watch

for Johnny Klaus is just like Buster, his grumpy cranky but such a cool and hardworking uncle. I think he could even continue his choreography lessons as a sign of acceptance and respect. like damn I thought your violent coaching style and your frumpy choreography were trash! well I don't think so anymore! and Kickenklober of course is not torturing Johnny anymore, he pays more attention to him, helps him to learn the moves right and Johnny becomes pretty... decent! but he still likes breakdance way more

Ryan never was really close to Klaus, he was just his weird dance coach, so when the rehearsals ended they just haven't met or talk again, before Klaus started to come for a coffee sometimes. Ryan is still not that close to him as the others, but Klaus is certainly a good friend on whom the tiger can always rely

in conclusion, Nooshy, Ryan and Johnny are sharing two braincells and the whole one belongs to Ryan, thank you for your time

#sing 2 #nooshy #ryan #Johnny #klaus kickenklober #rynny

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phantomchick · 3 years

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Ok like I’m not 100% sure on who I’d say you’re passionate about (character-wise) except for Jason Todd, so if you want to post some musings on him I’d be thrilled to hear them :]

Ooooh maybe because I love this character so much it's a little hard to articulate my feelings about this? I'll do my best though! Thank you for the ask.

So:

Top five ideas/concepts/etc that I believe are essential to accurately depicting Jason Todd

1. The Core, The tragedy; the crux, the turning point, whatever you wanna call it, the pathos of Jason Todd's character lies in the fact that he was good, before he died.

He was a good Robin.

A good hero, someone who loved Bruce and loved life even with the messy complicated bits and was loved in return, someone with their whole future ahead of them. That's what makes the confrontation in UTRH so fucking sad. The fact that Jason was the best of us and Bruce knows it, the fact that Bruce and Jason made a great team, father and son, batman and robin, they worked well together they were partners side by side and yet they're so far apart now and there's the question of whether they'll ever be able to close this vast gaping rift that's between them and there's the sinking knowledge that that love, devoted and constant as it was may always be lost because of irreconcilable differences. A pivotal aspect of Jason's character, his trauma and foundation, is that before "he took me away from you", before Jason was brutally murdered and came back only to find another kid wearing his identity and living in his house and his murderer still breaking out of prison every year to kill, before all that, he was good. And he was innocent and that innocence is gone and he'll never get it back. Bruce might never get him back, something that aches especially after seeing how much Jason's loss has haunted him over the years in comics like Knightfall. If you retroactively make him a bad Robin, a violent person who solves his problems with murder and was always going to grow up to be a violent person who solves his problems with murder? Then that central tragedy becomes warped, it undermines the entire narrative, the entire emotional heft and weight of the character and the character's bonds.

2. What motivates him and why. In the words of the great @cerusee try to think about the psychological processes, or the experiences of events Jason might have had that could connect child Jason to adult Jason; that gives you a lens with which to interpret adult actions and assume motivations. You can also explore the emotional disconnect between the two if that's what you like!

3. Make him competent! It doesn't make sense for him to be otherwise, he had a 4.0 gpa and overall excellent grades in school to the extent he was considered a nerd by some of his classmates, he was trained by the Batman as well as the league of Assassins who trained the Batman, not to mention the line up of teachers of various expertise Talia provided for him in a literal replication of the training journey Bruce himself went through, and that's before you even get into the likes of the All Caste and their time distorting pocket dimension. Additionally, during UTRH he literally took over the entirety of the Gotham criminal underground in a fortnight and that was just a step in his plan to get the Joker out to kill him, this man is meticulous, goal oriented, observant and incredibly capable. Gotham gang crime is an immense network that's been clearly portrayed as vast and untenable in comics of that time such as Birds of Prey, War Crimes (terrible as it was) and Nightwing. Not to mention the Batman depictions of it such as Long Halloween and Dark Victory. He singlehandedly broke the stranglehold Black Mask had on the city that Batman was temporarily letting stand due to wanting things to settle after the events of Batman: War Crimes. It really grates when people make him less skillful or less intelligent than he rightfully should be.

4. Make bold decisions about what you envision the character as and don't let the canon dictate your boundaries. It's totally valid to ignore entire swathes of canon if you find them ooc! I personally find a lot of his canon characterisation all over the place at best and viciously classist and clickbaity in development at worst. Whether it's using him to prop up another robin of the hour in comparison, just using him as a violent reckless misguided foil to Batman or portraying him as a lesser person and more of an antagonist than a hero and retroactively making him 'someone who never should've been made robin' thereby again undercutting and sabotaging their own narrative for no good reason, there is a lot of sucky canon to wade through and pick apart if you want a coherent characterisation. Like in that one Rhato issue where Jason hallucinates Joker killing Robin Jason and younger hallucination Jason cries out to his older self for help? And Jason having experienced this hallucination several times before, knows he can't really help, sits back and does nothing (until after robin-him dies and then killing Joker for self satisfaction despite knowing the pointlessness of it), the whole issue served to not so subtly re-contextualise Jason as the villain and the one to blame in his own murder, "it's not just Joker killing Robin it's Jason himself who lets happen!" heavy handed way to excuse dc for the responsibility of the writing choice or what. Stuff like that and like battle for the cowl is common and beyond fucked up and it's fine to ignore it and pick and choose what you accept. However, importantly it is equally valid to come up with motivations and reasoning for morally messed up portrayals of him in comics like Nightwing: Brothers in Blood or Battle for the Cowl, if that serves more cathartic for you. I mean @envysparkler on ao3 has an entire catalogue of re-imaginings of the scene where he beats Tim up in Titans tower and I love their stuff. There are also people who vibe with the modern portrayal of him because they identify with him as a victim of Batman's failures/jerkishness and enjoy his darker side. I enjoy those kinds of call out fics and too! @lananiscorner has some great arkham knight stuff especially. However personally? I generally find the more modern canon portrayals of Batman, especially when it comes to his dynamic with Jason, grim dark and overly edgy. Batman is a wish fulfilment hero inspired by the romanticism of fictional heroes that came before him the likes of the Scarlet Pimpernel, Zorro, The Phantom, The Shadow as well as detective stories like The Bat, Dick Tracy and Sherlock Holmes. He's supposed to be someone who saves, who inspires, who has the ability to make a difference, he's the wish fulfilment of being able to save the day by punching the problem and alternatively having enough resources and money to make a difference in a societal way, he's mysterious, he's dark, he's broody but has a core of compassion and kindness behind his every action. He's supposed to be heroic! And heroes don't abuse their kids. It's hard to find the tolerance line of what's still acceptable as Batman messing up and being emotionally inept Batman.. and not being acceptable as Batman. This got long winded but basically... In my opinion, a core concept to keep in mind while writing Jason? Is ignoring a lot of what's written about Jason. The same applies to the characters closest to him and his relationships with them. Use your own judgement.

5. Remember the core! In this case the core appeal. For me. He's a character rooted in hiraeth, he can't go back and doesn't know if he'd want to now, but the fact remains that place that used to be his is gone. Along with the future he could've had. But is he doomed to brood and linger on that? Where is he going? What does he want most? Jason isn't apathetic, he cares deeply about everyone he meets, about his family, about his past and about his choices. Is he someone who kills because with the likes of the Joker, there's no other option if you want to prevent them from killing the innocent, it's been proven demonstrably that containing them doesn't work. Or is he just someone who'll kill any criminal, ala The Punisher? Someone who Batman doesn't trust not to kill. There's also the sense of isolation and craving for love while simultaneously distrusting it, as well as the way he compares himself, his worth, how much his father cares, with his siblings. While exploring his relationships with other characters and his struggles with his past, his future and his motivations for his type of justice. I think it's interesting to remember the idea that he's someone who's very lost and lonely, someone who grieves for not having been grieved, someone without a love he can trust. Jason is terribly kind, and terribly angry and, terribly, terribly sad all at the same time. I think for me that's where the whump hits hardest. The fact that he's lashing out is undeniable, but also relateable. It's good to keep in mind what draws you to a character as well as what kind of stories about them hit you hardest when you yourself are trying to write them, I try to always keep that in mind when writing Jason especially. I want to write things that bring out the appeal, the thing that makes him resonate and attracts me. I like to put him in situations that show it off!

#long post #meta #jason todd #batman #red hood #robin 2 #writing #i kind of babbled on here i hope it's still interesting

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spooky-hungry · 3 years

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You know you were supposed to feel safer than ever, with that recently established guild of “superheroes” supposedly keeping an eye on the city… but honestly, you weren’t feeling any better than you normally did walking through the darkened alleyways. Especially since the heroes tend to be so distant, soaring high in the sky… while the man behind you seemed so close. As you walk faster, so does he, his darkened silhouette growing ever nearer as your mind races, wondering what he wants, hoping it’s all just a coincidence and you’re merely walking down the same alleyway by complete coincidence…

“Hey!” At the sound of his booming voice echoing through the alleyway, you froze like a deer in headlights. As he stomped up to you, you could see the glint of the street lights on the blade of his knife. “You! Break yourself!” You started at him, doe-eyed and unmoving - transfixed at first by the mugger himself, and then, by the silhouette of something from far up above landing amid the garbage piles behind him, unnoticed. “You heard me. Empty those pockets! Let’s make this real easy, huh?” As he advanced, you backed away, frightened not by him, but by the even larger silhouetted figure sneaking up behind him! “Are you dead!? Don’t make me cut y- mph!” Suddenly, two hands popped out of the darkness from behind him, grasping him close!

The knife clatters against the ground as you watch in confusion and horror, muffled screams filling the alley as the silhouette envelops him. It’s hard to even tell what’s happening, the view only barely illuminated by the distant street lights. What little you can discern, your mind refuses to believe. In the silhouettes of their shadows, you see the figure lifting the man off the ground, thrusting him - dare you even think it - between their lips? His screams grew ever more muffled, until they were at last drowned out by messy slurps and powerful gulps, accompanied by an orchestra of gastric moans and bubbling gurgles. His legs are hoisted up into the air, kicking violently as they’re pulled ever deeper with sickening swallows, until gradually disappearing as the two shadows become one. The swift, nature-defying process was capped off by the sounds of lips smacking contentedly, and a deafening, echoing belch.

Out from the darkness, a young woman stepped alone, the man nowhere to be seen except, perhaps, if you count the hand, feet and face prints clearly bulging out her stretched-taut belly even through her outfit. Said bulges were hidden somewhat by the layers of fat that settled on her pudgy figured - apparently, this was far from her first meal of this sort. She was dressed in a purple cape, eye mask, and spandex leotard with a logo of an open mouth over her belly. “Have no fear, citizen! You’ve been rescued from that dastardly ne’er-do-well by… the Glorious Greedyguts!” She spoke in a stereotypical superhero voice, hands proudly on her hips. When you stood there in stunned silence, though, she got a little nervous. “I understand that my methods may be, umm… unconventional! B-but… we don’t get to choose our powers, you know… the point is that I saved you, right?” The silence continued, and she grew more nervous still, perhaps even desperate. “Look, I’m new to this whole heroing thing, and I’m trying my best over here, okay? Please don’t freak out! I - ugh!”

She was interrupted by a painful kick in the ribs from the mugger imprisoned in her big fat stomach, enough to bring her to her knees. You acted on impulse, kneeling down to help her… and shuddering when you pressed those hands into the deep squishiness of her gut. Like it or not… watching her devour him like that had actually been entrancing! Soon, you were kneading and massaging her belly in earnest, feeling her belly prisoner move as he was sloshed around in that caustic stomach as it began digesting him. She sighed in bliss, leaning back and letting out a few more burps. “Thank you… this guy’s a real fighter… ooooh, that’s nice…” Eventually, the man had been more or less subdued by her powerful stomach, yet you still played with it, molding her fat like dough in your hands. “Listen, I know how weird and gross my power is. I wish I could’ve gotten something different… I guess you probably hate me now, though, just like everybody else does after they see I’m basically a cannibal.” It hurt you to see her so down about herself. So… you simply told her the truth. Her eyes widened, and her cheeked reddened. “W-what? You… you actually like my power…!? Truly?”

She seemed relieved and flattered, smiling warmly as you help her lift her heavy body to her feet. She now flaunts her belly proudly, swaying it back and forth and letting it slosh gently before your hypnotized gaze. You can’t help but to ask if she’d want to have dinner at your favorite restaurant sometime. “Oooh! Of course! I love that place! But, uh… careful not to run into any more muggers on the way there. Although, I certainly wouldn’t mind making use of my power for you again, if you really like it so much…” She giggled. You can’t take your eyes off her belly as you exchange numbers, imagining stuffing it with a buffets worth of food - or even villains! “Well, great! It’s so nice to meet someone who appreciates what I’m doing out here! I’ll be seeing you around for sure, sweetheart.”

And with that, the gluttonous hero flew off once more into the night sky, her belly sloshing about as she soared over the city.

#fatal vore #v.ore #v/ore #vo.re #vo/re #vore-tag #vore digestion #digestion vore #vor/e #vore tag #vore story

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batarella · 4 years

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3 birds 1 stone - chapter 3

‘Dick, Jason, and Tim. Supposed brothers 'till the end, until all three fall in love with you. Who wins your heart?

The man who earned it, the man who stole it, or the man who always had it?’

A/N: New readers, I’d like to welcome you to my blog by showing you exactly why when I wrote IDHY, a virtual angry mob was ready to burn me at the stake. Do enjoy.

WORDS: 8670 WARNINGS: PTSD

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST

-----

You were so happy then.

Before everything happened, when things went for the worst, when your life was so much more than having to settle with the mounds of shit some cruel deity decided to throw at your face. Before your life was just some settlement, which was what it probably was going to be for so long, for as long as you could foresee what was in store for you.

Back then, you were in this blissful bubble of obliviousness, having plans of your own for the next years without much thought on circumstance. You had this kind of illusive mirage that somehow, this was how it was always going to be. You knew, deeply, that it probably won't be. You knew something might happen, something bad that could put an end to this freedom. But you were ignorant, enough to still go through with these plans and thoughts, let them have their place in your head as if they were permanent. You knew they’d have to change, maybe to some extent. Just not to the extent of what actually happened.

Though you couldn’t say you wasted those oblivious moments not living each day as if you were going to suddenly drop dead on the next, especially since you actually did live those days so near to death each time without regret. You were, in the closest sense, a bird taking advantage of its large wingspan, taking advantage of its flight. You were happy, and even when you couldn’t exactly tell how those happy, oblivious days were about to be stripped away, you never let the sun set and the darkness rise when you weren’t fighting for others, fighting beside your loved ones, providing a kind of service that was needed but wasn’t so deserved, so they hadn’t gone to waste, not in your eyes. You didn’t look back and think you should have done more. You did enough. You did what you could.

One of these included what was probably one of the most stupid decisions for even a sixteen-year-old could possibly make.

The winds weren’t so strong, and it wasn’t so freezing that your limbs would occasionally stiffen after five seconds of immobility. Not many birds. No helicopters. No drones up in the air to catch you in the act. The city was practically inviting you to soar, let your wings take flight and feel exactly what it was like to be a feather so light, falling from such heights in the most delicate, mesmerizing drop, or perhaps an eagle with its wings closed, diving from thousands of feet up in the clouds, let the mist run through its feathers until it reaches so closely to the ocean’s surface, then it extends its impressive wings, gliding and hovering over the water.

It shouldn’t be any reason to do this, though. You weren’t a feather and you weren’t a literal bird. Its feasibility shouldn’t be reason enough to just set all other logical thought aside.

But, again, you don’t like wasting time. You didn’t like letting the days go without flying, falling, living.

Robin, on the other hand, clearly had more practical senses than you were, because he was shivering with his knees by then just from the sight of being a hundred stories above ground, on the highest tower in Gotham. You were right at the base of its antenna and the air was so light that if you weren’t going to get out of there any time soon, both you and your partner would drop lightheaded.

But your head wasn’t spinning. You weren’t trembling. You weren’t at all bothered by the heights and you held yourself up as if you hadn’t a fear in the world. You were the free-spirit, the bird that just couldn’t stay stagnant on a tree’s branch. Laughing at Robin, whose eyebrows were almost sticking up his forehead, you grabbed his hand.

“Tim. Seriously. You don’t have to do this with me-“

“No. No. No. I’m not letting you do this alone. It’s stupid enough as it is.”

“Then stop shaking!” you put your arm around his shoulders, then both of you turned at the ground that was much too small and blurry for you to make out anything other than the thick road. The thick, cement road that certainly was going to break you like shattered glass if things go wrong. Robin wasn’t like you, obviously. He liked to go through things after calculating every possibility, go through the safest, smartest manner and he certainly didn’t like putting his life at risk just because he wanted to.

But, then again, this had you involved.

You held his hand, squeezed it hard, then Robin let the thinning air fill his lungs to a bulk he’d probably never reached until then. He stopped shaking, or at least forced himself to stop shaking, then you turned his chin to look at you.

That’s when he smiled.

“Ready?”

“Wait, now?!”

“If we stay here, we’ll pass out!”

“Wait!” he bounced on his feet, breathing in, breathing out. You wished he wasn’t awake this time just from the rush of caffeine, but it was too late to back out now. If anything happens, you’ll be there. You’ll save him.

Do you trust yourself enough? Yes. Should you? Probably not. No one would.

“Okay, okay. Let’s do this.”

Hand in hand, you bent your knees, eyes on the ground. You ignored the thinning air. You ignored the strengthening winds. No noise. Just you and the height.

Like eagles soaring to the ocean, or a feather dropping from the clouds, you and Robin jumped from a hundred stories above and let the winds speed violently past the frozen muscles on your cheeks, the mist that was running up your suits, only to be suspended in the air when you continued to drop. Heads first, hands firm on your sides, you were alive. You were living.

“WOOOO!” you screamed until your throat burned, probably not a good idea when there were bugs all around, but it couldn’t be helped. Then your arms were up, enjoying the thrill, enjoying the fall. Robin was more focused, serious. He kept his hands strong and firm, watching as the ground grew nearer and nearer.

You dove through the air. Everything else was still, unmoving. Time was practically stopping all around you. You and Robin were in this own secluded space of a blurry, messy little figment of ecstasy, a moment when you shouldn’t care about the world, nor could you. Further and further down, you forgot you were human.

Just a few stories up from the ground, you both shot your capes up to break the fall, suspend yourselves in the air whilst ignoring the slapping impact. Arms were starting to hurt, but you held on. You were gliding down, and it was slowing.

Then you shot your grapples up to the building right across, Queen Industries, and suddenly rising back up towards the sky from whence you were sinking from. The shift of the winds wasn’t so kind to your skin, but it was all the more uplifting, invigorating. Every nerve ending in your body was buzzing and your blood was going rampant.

When your feet landed on the rooftops and your bodies rolled about the floor, there was an inescapable grin on your face, cheeks numb from either the rush, the air, or from your smiles. And your laughter was everywhere. With your trembling arms circling your own stomach, you rolled about, chuckling on the ground. The high was there. You didn’t want it to go away.

“That was amazing!” you screamed. Robin, who was also on the ground near you, wasn’t as ecstatic. He looked scared out of his wits, lips were almost as white as his skin, and the poor thing was visibly shaking. You started to crawl after him, but you just couldn’t stop laughing.

A few more moments to get yourselves together, Robin catching his breath, reminding himself that he wasn’t about to die, and you with your high slowly subsiding but your chuckles still there, he finally pulled himself up.

“Fucking come here, you.”

“Tim, no!”

He slammed his body against you on the ground. You were both numb and buzzing, and you laughed and tried so hard to push him off of you, but his back was against your chest, and he certainly wasn’t very light. Both of you smiling, laughing, Robin grabbed both your hands and pinned it against the floor so you couldn’t budge.

“Not so fun, now is it?”

“Get off me!”

“We could have died!” he laughed.

“Yet, here we are!”

He was so pretty, even with the mask. His nose was sniffling from the cold, and still his skin was warm felt through his suit that was against you. His masked face was starting to get closer, and you kept laughing, still in a buzz. It was his choice to come with you, and you wouldn’t have let him if you didn’t know your dangerous endeavors most often left Tim just as high up in the clouds as you were. A break from his work.

He stayed on top of you, no longer laughing. He was watching you with your cheeks so high up and your smile so contagious. Robin’s one hand was now on your face, gently holding it. He was your high. He was the happiness you thought would never go away. The happiness that was permanent. You swore you could feel bells and keys playing in the distance, because everything around you suddenly felt so soft and delicate, like the air was afraid to topple you over.

This attitude you had of being a wild bird, so unafraid of falling yet so afraid of not being able to fly, it probably wasn’t a good idea with you not exactly being the best fighter in the family. Close calls, you had them too many times. Sometimes, it was to no other’s fault than yours. They worried you in the aftermath. They made you train for hours on end, but that was only because pulling your muscles with training just seems like a better option than being more cautious, to clip your arms back, or worse, your wings. You liked flying too much. You weren’t about to give it up.

You lived, and when you did, so did Tim.

You stopped by then, silent. The high from the fall had subsided, but it was then overtaken by Robin’s breath so cool against your mouth, your noses touching so playfully and delicately. You grinned from ear to ear, and when you felt his forehead starting to lean right against yours, your communicators started up.

You threw your head back against the ground, and Robin frustratingly groaned, pushing on his ear. “Batman?”

Though his arms were still around you and he just let your fingers continue to lightly trace the R on his chest.

“Trouble at Drescher. Sending you coordinates right now. You two get over here ASAP.”

Eyes shut close, he turned his communicator off, then took another minute to look at you in the eyes. You drew his hair back on his head, letting the strands breeze through your cool fingers. A peck to your nose, then Robin sat up and pulled you with him.

“Wanna do that again, soon?”

“No. Not in my life. And neither will you.”

You pouted, but he just pinched your cheek. “Race you.”

“Wait-“

He started running down the ledge, and before you knew it, he was jumping towards another rooftop, shooting his grappling gun in the air. You knew you wouldn’t win this, yet you ran after him, faster than your legs could bear.

Everyday, it was like this. You loved the thrill. You loved that high. You craved it every time. You went through training like a madman just so your life wouldn’t be put in as much of a risk. You did everything to enjoy what you had, never letting anything go without being cherished, without being put to its use. And that included your wings. You did enough when you could. You did everything.

You just wished you could continue to do it now.

-----

A yellow bow, perfectly tied and fixed on the top. The wrapping could have gone a bit better, but you guessed it looked decent enough. It had to be seamless, perfect, just as he’d wrapped all those other Valentine’s day gifts he never failed to send to you each year. At this point, it was unfair how Tim’s gift had the most attention, the cleanest, most delicate wrapping that hoarded most of your efforts than all your other gifts, and it wasn’t without a smile when you tied that perfect bow and smoothed out the wrapper with your palms. And on the tag, beautiful calligraphy that spelled out his name with a heart on the side. All the while, you had soft, soothing tunes playing from the phone plugged beside your bed and the window slightly open to let the cool in. Snow was falling so delicately, onto the ledge outside your room and some on the window sill.

Wiping that bit of sweat on your hairline despite the cold, you piled Tim’s gift with everyone else’s in a large bag and stood from your desk. It was well into the noon. Everyone should be on their way to the manor by now.

And only at Wayne Manor could you get away with having a Christmas pool party in the middle of a stormy winter. At the indoor pool, of course, where everything was heated and warm. It was Steph’s idea. As much as you’d prefer to do other things, you couldn’t exactly vote your way out of this.

With your bag full of gifts on your shoulder, you stepped out into the falling snow, hands deep into your coat, then you hailed a taxi.

Tim would probably like what you got him, though it wasn’t exactly a gift you’d normally give to just any casual friend. Not that Tim was a casual friend in the slightest. A watch. An expensive one that you bought with the money he paid with for the last painting he bought from you. You had no idea it would eventually add up to such an amount, but it got you to buy him a decent gift. And to add to the sentimentality, you added a small painting the size of your hand sitting with the watch in the box. It was of you and him, in your old suits, overlooking the City of Gotham from the highest tower. You also made the box yourself, then you wrapped it so well you couldn’t help but feel proud.

Yeah. It would probably be too much. But this was Tim. It’s always different when it’s Tim.

Though, doing all this would escalate what you have with him. Your friend. Your best friend.

Are you ready to be more than that?

Still no answer. Not since you first asked yourself the moment you woke up that morning. Not even in the back of your mind.

It wasn’t because of your lingering feelings for Dick. You weren’t going to pursue Dick, and with that it was probably a bad idea to gift him an entire painting he was supposed to pay you for. The one of Bludhaven he asked for weeks ago that you said would be done by tomorrow and not today. Other than that, no more pining. You established that. Written it in stone for years now.

So it wasn’t because of Dick that you had doubts for Tim, someone you loved. Probably still do.

There was just that tiny little detail holding you back, something you couldn’t forget no matter how much you tried to. Something that you wanted to let go, so you could move forward and actually make beautiful something that was already so precious to you.

No. You probably weren’t ready now. Maybe someday.

It’s ridiculous how your decisions can be so unclear and clouded, decisions you didn’t even have proper ground to build from.

But this was Christmas. You were giving him a gift, not pouring your heart out to him. You’ll be fine. For now.

You reached the manor and you fought your way through the snow, head buried into your scarf. Alfred greeted you inside and took your coat, telling you everyone else had already gone to the indoor pool area. Setting your gifts under the tree, you got your clothes and made your way down to the basement.

The room had been warmed up, of course. Like a private tropical getaway in the middle of winter. The heater was practically blowing against your face and it thawed down the icicles forming under your nose the moment you stepped in. Plants against the walls, a small waterfall coming from the ceiling from high above. There were three marble pool chairs seated at the sides of the oval-shaped pool that had changing color lights from underneath the floor. Music was blaring through the speakers, as well, along with laughter, people talking over one another. Almost instantly, you were sweating, so you took your sweater off.

It was totally because of the new-found heat.

Totally.

Tim was first to come up to you, shirtless and drenched from the sweet strands of his black hair down to his toes. Drips of the chlorinated water were so delicately sticking to his skin and so slowly tracing the lines of his lean muscled pecs.

His gorgeous, gorgeous body that looked all too inviting. Tim had been working out, because he was definitely bigger than the last time you saw him with his shirt off. His abs were more defined. His pecs just looked so lean and perfectly molded. His biceps looked a lot bigger, stronger, strong enough to snap a neck in one move.

There was a table at the side that served water from a pitcher and you never reached for something so quickly in your life.

“You’re here!” he ruffled his damp hair and smiled at you so handsomely you wanted to scream. You nodded, keeping the glass of water between your lips. Then you swallowed hard in an attempt to not accidentally drop your jaw. “Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas,” you gulped. “You guys sure are acting like there’s not a blizzard happening outside.”

“What’s a pool party for a change? Come swim with us!”

Tim took the glass of water from your hands, and hearts were practically floating around your head when he craned his head up, drank from the glass with his throat doing little jumps as he swallowed, with the water slightly leaking from the corners of his mouth all the way down his collarbone and chest. The water from his hair also dripped down to the floor, and his pale skin looked so cool to touch. It was glistening, like gold and silver mixed in a pot, melted together in the form of such gorgeousness you couldn’t take your eyes away from. Your lips were between your teeth and you looked away before he could see you staring for far too long.

“Have fun, Tim!” you said, then he was already running back to the pool, jumping in the air to land a cannonball.

You had to take a long minute to stretch out your neck, which you hadn’t noticed was so tense and stiff you could have died right then. Setting the glass back on the table, you went over to one of the pool chairs to set your duffel bag down, pulling out your towel to place at the back of the chair.

“That chair’s taken, Y/N.”

“Oh,” you looked up for a split second and there was someone standing right in front of you on the other side of the chair. Grabbing your stuff back, you hurriedly fumbled with your bag. “Sorry, I just saw it was empt-“

You squealed. You actually let out a light, high-pitched squeal like some kind of hamster spinning around its wheel the same way your brain was spinning in circles around your skull. Dick was in front of you, in nothing else but a pair of blue swim shorts, and his taller, more built, yet still lean frame was staring back at you, an acrobat’s body.

Which you could describe as the most perfect, beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Not a flaw in sight. Bright, tanned skin looking back at you to make your knees shiver. And every move he made, some muscle would flex. It was just way too perfect.

“I’m kidding,” he said. Then he grabbed his own bag that he’d slung on the back, where you hadn’t seen it. “We’ll share this one.”

Damp skin. Black hair slicked back and clean. A drip of water was, as if nature was making it happen herself, falling down on his skin right in between his defined pecs and abs. Dick turned his head to the side, then started jumping with his hand slapping the side of his head. “I think I got water in my ear.”

“Mhm,” was all you said, because it took every bit of might in you just to keep yourself from squawking like a bird when his shoulders started to flex and the water from his body started splashing against you.

Get yourself together, you complete asshat.

Placing the towel back on the chair, you tried so hard not to look at his swim shorts that were starting to drop further and further down his hips the more he shook his head. His arms looked so strong. You want to be encased in them, carry you around so you’ll never have to walk a day in your life.

And his face was impossibly beautiful, like something out the runway or a romantic comedy with the most unrealistic expectations. A stray hair had fallen on his forehead, and you just wanted to reach over to place it to the back of his head so his eyes wouldn’t be covered.

“Fuck,” he groaned, then he looked relieved. “Finally got it out. You gonna swim?”

“I, uh-“ you said. “I’m not sure. I wasn’t planning to.”

“Come on. You're missing out!”

Dick winked at you, then he hopped back into the water with Cass and Duke, who also looked insanely pretty with his shirt off-

You couldn’t even look anywhere around the room and not see something that made you want to drown yourself in the pool from the red creeping up the veins on your neck.

Steph was there, talking to Tim as they floated on the water in bright yellow bikini. Cass was sitting on the edge, legs tossing about while Dick and Duke were wrestling it out in the water like twelve-year-old boys. Bruce, who Alfred finally convinced to enjoy Christmas like a normal person and take a load off, was sleeping peacefully on the pool chair at the farthest end, not looking like he wanted to be bothered by even the slightest bit with his arm covering his eyes.

And Damian was on the lounge chair right beside him doing the exact same thing, with a book over his head.

Babs wasn’t here. Probably with her own family. Which you probably should be, too, since you were technically the only one in the room who wasn’t an adopted child and more of a really close companion just like Babs who went with these group of beautiful crackheads wherever they go.

You sat on the lounge chair, weight on your hands, and you were thoroughly enjoying the sight of these kids, and that was basically all you were planning to do for the whole day.

No, you didn’t plan on swimming.

No, you haven’t been to the beach or another pool party in more than a year.

Yes, you were keeping your long pants on.

Then, of course, as is the world just couldn’t help but continue to pick on your poor, withered soul like a puppy with a stick, another flush surged up to your cheeks and you tried way too hard to focus on the ground.

Even through the rippling water, you could see every bit of Jason’s muscles flexing and stretching and moving so perfectly. The largest, tallest, most built man in the room, completely jacked up to any human being’s possible capacity. And of course, there were the scars that made you want to internally grunt and scream like a lunatic in a full moon. Eyes on him, and your cheeks no longer coloring but every nerve ending beneath your flesh buzzing in a cold chill, you locked eyes when he came over to the pool side right in front of you, placed his arms on the ledge and folded them to rest his chin on top.

Oh fuck. The veins. They were practically popping out of his skin.

Swallowing, you turned to the wall.

Why couldn’t you just be closer to your real parents, to your brothers and sisters you barely contact anymore so you could spend today with them? Why couldn’t you have just reached out and called so you could spend Christmas there and not in a multi-million-dollar mansion filled with the hottest men alive who are also your dear, dear friends just so you could keep some part of your sanity and dignity intact? Why couldn’t the world just be a little bit crueler at the same time kinder to you?

“Happy holidays, pretty bird,” Jason said. His hair was completely wet, and you tried not to look at the really long, painful looking scar that was stretching all the way from his wrist up to his absolutely phenomenal bicep that was bigger than your head.

Okay. You really had to stop gawking at every shirtless, black haired male that came up to you.

Especially not the incredibly pretty, incredibly flirty one that had the thighs you often found yourself trailing your wandering mind about. Could you see his thighs if you just moved your head enough to peak under water? Surely, they had enough substance to be visible but if you just moved a little bit-

Enough.

Sighing, filling your lungs with the warming air when you felt like you needed a swim in the four feet of snow that was piling up outside the building, you turned to Jason. “Merry Christmas.”

“You won't swim?”

You swallowed. “I don’t think I should…”

“Don’t worry. You don’t have to. Don’t let Tim and Dick get to you.”

Jason pulled himself up the surface, moving his ass so he could sit at the edge of the pool and oh my god his back looked so perfect and muscled and huge and a waterfall was draining down his rock-hard chest and back and his hair was so perfectly messy and roughed up and again with his back and the curves of his shoulders and fuck you could finally see his thighs and they looked even bigger than usual when he sits like that FUCK his arms his chest his beautiful, beautiful abs-

You had to get out of this fucking place.

Coughing, swallowing, panicking, getting whatever was stuck in your throat out of your system, Jason looked back at you and you rushed to look as completely normal and non-flustered as you could.

“I’m not letting them get to me.”

He shot his eyebrows up, and you inched about so you were both facing the same way. He rocked his legs in the water, and you watched as everyone else laughed and gathered in the center for a chicken fight, with Cass on Dick’s shoulders and Tim on Steph’s shoulders.

“Won't you join them?”

He snorted. “I’m fine. Besides, if you’re just gonna sit there all alone, might as well keep you company.”

“I’m fine, Jason. Seriously. I’ll swim if it means you don’t have to.”

“Are you sure you’re ready?”

Your hands were gripping on the chair’s edges too tight; your knuckles went white and you kept your head down.

“It took me two years just to take my shirt off when I train in a private gym, Y/N. An autopsy scar’s not exactly something you want to flaunt about.”

You stared at your knees, at the metal that stuck out of your jeans.

“And even now, I only work out in the cave or in my apartment. I can't show myself in public. Probably not ever.”

Your nerves stopped buzzing. Your face started to cool. But something in your gut had started to hallow out and dig through the depths. A feeling you never liked but were forced to go through much too often.

“How do you know I just don’t like being in the water?”

The look on his face looked more like an annoyed scowl than a comforting frown. He rolled his eyes, then turned back facing forward, at Duke who’d sunk to the water when he went against Steph in a fight.

“I’m fine. But thank you for opening up to me.”

He shrugged, without giving you a glance.

“Don’t take it the wrong way though. They’re not asking you to swim to tell you ‘Oh, we don’t care that you only have one leg. We promise we think of you the same way as any two-legged mammal.’ They’re not exactly pretending it isn’t there, which I first thought they did, and I hated it when that happened to me. I sure as hell know you do to.”

Yeah. You did. You hated it especially when they try to tell you nothing was wrong or nothing was going to change. Because pretending it isn’t there, or that the accident didn’t happen, is just as bad as telling you that having one leg was something you should definitely overlook just to live normally.

“They’re asking you to swim because they genuinely think there’s nothing wrong with you and that there’s nothing to be ashamed with taking your prosthetic off. They mean well.”

“I know they do.” You swung your legs about, looking at the skin on your left one and the steel on the other. “But it’s a lot easier for them to say. I get it. I’m not mad.”

Jason roughed up his hair, bicep glistening, then he turned to you and smirked. “You’re holding up better than I ever did, though.”

“Losing a leg is considerably better than dying and coming back to life.”

Snorting and laughing, Jason leaned over his knees. “Have you ever taken it off in front of anyone so far?”

You shook your head. “Just with Tim.”

“Ah,” he nodded.

“I don’t even like to let it show. I haven’t worn shorts in years and the summer heat absolutely kills me.”

“Tell me about it,” he laughed. “I’m not gonna tell you to start showing it in public because it looks cool and all. Having a cybernetic limb. Which it is. But that’s like telling me I shouldn’t be afraid to show my scars ‘cuz the look hot.”

They do. They really fucking do.

“Yeah. It sucks when people do that.”

“It does.”

Silence when Steph’s screams filled the room. She was pushed onto the water, a large splash that drenched everyone all around her. You and Jason smiled and watched.

He understood you. And everything he said sounded straight out of the back of your head.

He never babied you. He never treated you any differently.

Because if there was anyone else in this family who knew trauma, it’s him.

Jason would have hated the kind of spoils and treatment you got from Dick, Tim, and Bruce after you lost your leg. Back when you used to fight alongside them, you went home alone to your apartment you’d shared with an unknowing roommate. But then the incident happened. You couldn’t exactly work anymore. You couldn’t pay the bills. So they let you stay in the manor for so many bed-ridden weeks. That was the only time you lived here, and you didn’t exactly have much of a choice but to accept everything Bruce had spent for you. Like a state-of-the-art bionic leg.

And you hated that.

When you finally could, you moved back out. And everyone has been asking you to come back to the manor ever since.

Everyone except Jason.

“Take that robot leg off when you're ready. Don’t swim if it isn’t to save your life.”

“I won't. Thank you. Now go join them. Please. I’ll be fine.”

You nudged his shoulder with your leg, and he grinned at you with his hair fallen to his eyes.

Thankfully, none of them gathered around the pool side near you just to force themselves to make you feel included. None of them gave you concerned looks or whispered to the other asking if they should come over and ask if you wanted to join in. Just as you wanted. So you just laid on the lounge chair, settled yourself as comfortably as you could, and let their cheers and laughter lull you to sleep.

-----

After everyone had dried up and changed, you went on with their rightfully anticipated Christmas dinner, with Bruce and Damian sitting on opposite ends of the long table, everyone else in between, and Alfred serving the best turkeys, yams, and pies enough for a whole table of starving vigilantes.

Tim was right in front of you, and you couldn’t help the smiles when you’d so often catch him looking up at you and flash that grin.

When you’d all finished, everyone went to the parlor and settled. Damian played the piano, and Bruce was on the sofa chair relaxing while everybody else sat in a circle. Talking. Laughing. Being normal for a change.

The parlor looked divine. Decorated so beautifully all by the hands of a hard-working butler. The cold and the snow, falling outside the three glass windows between the bookshelves that littered the walls. Then there were lights on the pillars, on the ceiling and the ledges that looked like heaven’s gates and fences being lit up in bright yellow. There were wreaths on the otherwise empty walls, and the carpets and drapes were switched from the usual boring dark red into a more festive print with greens and yellows.

Then there was the tree, high enough to almost reach the already tall ceiling. And it was undoubtably magnificent, with bright, starry lights, expensive looking flowers and balls hanging on its branches. A gold star was on top, of course. It sat right by the side near the gorgeously decorated fireplace that burned and cozied up the place to smell like roasted chestnuts and firewood.

You took your mug of hot chocolate and sat back against the couch. Tim was beside you. He had been for the whole time almost never leaving you out of his sight. And you placed your head on his shoulder, listening to the fire crackling, the snow falling, the piano so wonderfully playing right before it abruptly stopped just as the grandfather clocked started to chime.

“It’s midnight, Father,” Damian stood up and went straight for the tree. “You said we can open the presents.”

“Go ahead.”

A bright smirk from the adorable little brat, then he was then racing to the tree with Steph to open their presents under the tree.

You and Tim took your time. You didn’t want to leave his shoulder. Eventually you both moved to sit right in front of the warming fire for your presents.

You both started with other people’s gifts. Steph gave you a really pretty dress. Cass and Duke gave you art materials, really nice ones that you’d use almost everyday. Bruce, of course, gave you a cheque, just like he’d given everyone else in that room that was enough to pay a common man’s rent for half a year. Jason gave you paint brushes that he hadn’t taken off of its original packaging from Amazon. You laughed.

Then you saw a blue box with your name written in perfect cursive. It was well-wrapped, and it was heavy. The bow looked seamlessly fixed as well.

Tim was busy with his own gift, so he wasn’t watching you as you slowly opened the wrapper.

When you opened the box, there was a black, square-shaped device sitting alone in the bottom. The box itself was wonderfully decorated, with brown confetti on the bottom to cushion the floor.

You picked up the device and saw that it was a hard drive. A terabyte’s capacity. When you flipped it over, there was a note taped to the back.

‘Every movie we ever watched together, about fifty of your favorite classic ones, twelve you’ve been so excited to see but never could, and a hundred we’re yet to go over. Thanks for welcoming me back. Merry Christmas, Y/N.

From Dick’

There were other things as well sitting with the hard drive.

A polaroid photo of you, leaping up a vault in a perfect position.

A fountain pen, with your name engraved on the center.

A packet of hot sauce from that one Mexican restaurant when you ate the whole thing thinking it was ketchup.

A small box of your favorite chocolate chip cookies that Bruce once brought from Switzerland, ones that could never be found in America.

A pair of sharp, cat eye sunglasses you always made fun of every time you saw someone wear them around the city.

A piece of tissue that had your handwriting scribbled on it, from when you and Dick tried to write a song in the middle of a fundraising gala because you were so bored.

And a drawing you made years ago, back when you could barely sketch out an apple. Dick caught you trying to draw a tree outside the manor and ripped the page out of the sketchbook. You never knew he kept it.

You never knew he kept any of this.

Dick was on the other side of the Christmas tree, helping Damian out with his presents. You caught his eye, and when his beautiful blue eyes made you jump, you smiled at him.

He smiled back.

Then when Tim inched behind you, tapping on your shoulder, you saw Dick lose his smile, slowly facing the ground and cover his mouth with his palm.

You snapped back to where you were sitting and laughed when you saw Tim was wearing a little elf’s hat on his head. You reached over, toyed with its bell, and he playfully scowled at you.

“Here,” you handed over your gift for him. “Merry Christmas.”

“This isn’t another coffee mug, is it?” he joked.

“No, and you're insane if you think I’m enabling your addiction any more.”

Tim sat cross-legged, and you had your legs set to the side as you watched him smile so heart-warmingly beautiful that it could possibly hurt you and your eyes if you even dare to look away for even a second. Probably not hurt, but it would make you miss out on one of those scenes you just wouldn’t want to miss. A brightly-lit fire, lighting up his face in an orange glow, the sweet smell of candy that had just been served on the coffee table nearby. And of course, the sight of him, eyes glimmering and shining with its blue hue.

Tim took the gift from you. Maybe you did take this a step too far, a step you weren’t sure you were ready to take. A step that needed you to forget what had happened years ago and move on.

But you could set that aside for now. You just wanted to enjoy this.

“Wow…” he breathed. You saw his chest heave, his cheeks looking like it hurt from the smiling he was doing. He took the watch and already had it around his wrist. It looked so good on him.

Then he stared too long at the painting you made for him.

“Y/N, I don’t know what to say…”

You let the beauty in front of you sink into your skin, into your flesh, into your head. Him, looking so happy and content, just as you used to be years ago. You’d left those years of yearning to fly and leaned to love what was so mesmerizing when you just took the time to sit down, marvel over the world flashing right in front of you. Your world. Your best friend.

Not even the fire was as warm as him, even when he was sitting almost a foot in front of you, but as he inched forward, close enough to let your knees touch, you looked up and met his eyes. Everything was so elusively delicate, that even with so much brightness and colors, looking at him softened everything else. Softened you. Grounded you.

You couldn’t imagine being without Tim. Not even for a minute.

“Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

He was blushing, handing you an equally small box that was also considerably heavy. Your face started to hurt at this point from the amount of smiling you were doing.

But when you had it in your hands, you lost your smile. It didn’t have a wrapper. It didn’t have a bow.

It was a velvet jewelry box.

So soft to touch beneath your fingers, you ran your hand over your initials engraved on the top and felt every bit in you melt just as it would have being so close to the fire. You didn’t know if your palms were sweating from the heat, from the excitement of getting to find out what was inside, or the nerves that were rabidly going insane from the look on Tim’s eyes staring at you like you were the world.

Trying so hard not to shake, you opened the box.

Then you actually stopped shaking. In fact, you stopped moving at all.

You’ve never seen anything so beautiful in your life.

So greatly contrasting the dark velvet, a radiantly glimmering necklace with a light silver chain stole every bit of your breath until your chest could no longer heave, no matter how much you felt the need to. You ran your hand down, brushing your fingers down until you reached the pendant.

Your initials, stylized so gorgeously and encrusted with the brightest little diamonds.

It caught your eyes and all of your attention that no longer could you hear much of everything else that went on, with Tim still staring at you, nervous at your reaction. Your mouth was parted. Your breath started up after a while but only to keep you alive.

You never could say you had your breath taken away so many times in your life. But if you could, this moment was definitely one you were going to remember for the rest of your life.

“Here.” Tim took the necklace back from you, then asked you to turn around.

You swallowed at the buzzing warmth when his hands went around you, locking the necklace behind your hair. You still couldn’t move. Everything was a blur and at the same time nothing moved so clear, steady, and slow, like a movie on slow motion. Your skin felt cool but everything within you was as scorching as the fire.

When you turned back around, Tim was so dangerously close to you that you just knew there was no going back from this, no pretending that you were just going to be best friends.

You hugged him, pulled him so closely in your arms. And he did the same.

And you stayed that way all through the night. That wonderful, normal, beautiful Christmas night that was that taste of normality you often craved as much as you missed not being normal.

You decided to stay in the manor. Just for that night. It was snowing too hard for you to go home to your apartment anyway and by the time you and the family had finished with the festivities, it was a few hours away before the sun would eventually come up.

Tim walked you to your room while it was still dark.

“I had a great night,” you said, and he went with you into your room and closed the door behind him.

“I did, too.”

“Thank you for having me.”

You sat on the edge of the bed, and Tim stood in front of you with his hands in his pockets. “You know you’re family, Y/N.”

Smiling, tossing your feet about as it hovered over the ground, you inched back to the center of the bed, bringing your feet closer, then you started pulling the ends of your jeans up to your knees. Tim walked towards you and sat on the edge, then you watched him take off your prosthetic leg for you.

Then he squeezed your knee. He didn’t even turn on the lights. Everything was dark, save for the light coming from outside the window. The snow pouncing against the glass were the only sound there was, and with the chill that came with it, you wrapped your arms around yourself.

Tim’s hand still on your knee, the warmest thing there was to aid you, you could make out his eyes, his sharp nose, his pale skin that looked so soft to touch, his lips so soft you could see even with so little light.

He moved closer. Closer.

You moved closer as well.

Then his hand was on your cheek.

It wasn’t sudden. It had been building up since you saw him in the pool.

But it was nevertheless a burning fire being thrown with a bottle of gasoline, bursting out into the air at the instant that tension finally came with its climactic collision.

You both leaned in at the same time, and you could have sworn the ice that had frozen over your chest, from the years of trauma, cynicism, of wanting vengeance, it all melted at the instant his lips grazed so delicately against your own, how gentle he was, like he was terrified you could possibly break. They were wet, and soft, and you made them even more so when you pressed yourself even closer against him. His hand on your knee went up to hold the other side of your face, and your hands were on his wrists, holding them, squeezing them, feeling how firm he was making sure you wouldn’t pull away.

He was everything. He was always everything. To you. And supposedly to everyone else.

With the light outside so slowly starting to dim, leaving the room in such blackness you couldn’t see past, you relied on your hands, your lips, your every other sense to know what he was doing.

And what he was doing was pushing you to lie back on the bed.

Yes.

Yes-

No.

A sharp jab of an icicle, or a knife, or a bullet that went straight to your chest, tugging so violently that you instantly jumped at the hot flashes of images, pictures, memories that so painfully played in front of your eyes.

The pain. It was still there. You were so, so terribly afraid that it was. That it never left. Because you wished it could just go away and leave you be. So you could have him, again.

But it was all still there. Every word he’d said that day. The look on his face. Everything that led up to it. Everything that happened after. Everything that raced in your whirlwind of thought.

It was disgusting how cruel you were to yourself, to let it all suddenly come back to you at the worst moments.

Because you couldn’t help it. As much as you prayed you could. As much as you believed you finally forgave him, you hadn’t.

You pushed Tim away.

At first, confusion, with what so little you could see plastered on his face.

Then that confusion turned to realization.

Then it was hurt. Pain.

Because he knew, too. He understood.

“Y/N…”

“I’m sorry…” you buried your face into your palms. “I’m so sorry…”

He pulled on your chin, tried to kiss you again.

But you stopped his wrists and pried them away from you.

“Please…”

“I can't…”

“Please… I thought we had this… I thought we were gonna-“

“I can't forget it didn’t happen, Tim…”

“I love you.”

“I know…” you whispered so softly as if saying it any louder would only heighten the pain. But it was, inescapably, equally painful if you’d screamed it out the window.

“Why?” Tim licked his lips, holding your face. “I’ve waited so long…”

Waited. Waited for you.

All those years. He was waiting for you.

“Is it because of Dick?”

You closed your eyes, shook your head. “Not even a little bit.”

“Then why?”

Whatever the pain that came with that, it couldn’t possibly have been as worse as what you had to go through.

That tug on your chest went on, and when you could see his eyes, with so little light, you held his face.

“You broke up with me, Tim…” you choked.

Everything in his face, every bit of hope you could see in his eyes, it all went away in an instant.

“Y/N, that relationship… We were kids…”

“That’s the problem,” you swallowed. “It didn’t mean anything to you. It meant everything to me…”

“That’s not true…”

“No one has ever hurt me the way you did.” You tried taking your hands away from him but he wouldn’t let you. You just closed your eyes.

“I-I was…” he swallowed. “I was a kid. I had no idea. But then… You were still so kind to me and you never treated me any different… You’re everything …”

“I was a mess…” you gulped. “And the worst part was… you weren’t. You were okay.”

“Y/N, I swear, that isn’t true…”

Tears, even when you’ve cried enough of them over the years now.

“Did you love me then?” you asked.

Tim was crying. “Of course, I did-“

“But not as much as I loved you…”

He didn’t have to answer that.

Because you knew you loved him more. At least back then. You could see it. Everyone could see it.

Otherwise it wouldn’t have been too much for him. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have left you so broken when he was more than okay.

It hurt just thinking about it.

“B-but, I…” he took your hands. “But I love you so much now… More than I ever did… It can't be too late… Please.”

No, it probably wasn’t too late.

Tim didn’t start loving you too late, because you never stopped yourself.

But it hurt you so much, that it forever made you believe that the people you loved endlessly were going to love you less, leave you when things get too much.

“I’m sorry…”

“If this is because of-“

“You can blame Dick all you want.” Your voice was stern, firm, no longer shaking. “But we both know what really happened.”

“Y/N,” he cried.

“I loved you first,” you said. “And you know that. I fell in love with you. I chose you. Over Dick. Over everyone else. I was hurt… and so vulnerable. Dick was there. He helped me through it…”

Tim cried, and you felt his tears fall to your legs when he bent over to cover his face. You reached over to him.

“I’m so sorry…” he sobbed.

You pulled back.

Then you took the necklace off your neck, taking his hand, stuffing it into his palm.

“No, please.” He placed it back into your hand. “Please keep it.”

Your hand didn’t flinch away. You didn’t push back.

Everything was in a raging blizzard around you, even with the snow outside falling so soft. The only thing you thought of doing was closing your eyes to block it all off.

Tim backed away, and never have you felt so cold.

“I’m sorry…” he said.

He stood from the bed, wiping the tears with his sleeve.

“No,” you said, just before he went for the door. “I am.”

-----

A/N:

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MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST

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qqueenofhades · 3 years

Note

For the spooky prompts, "Violent Thunderstorms" for Fivan perhaps? 😳

Anonymous asked: Heyyy 2 Vampire for fivan (how to ask for the chapter 2 witout asking for chap 2)

Anonymous asked: Fivan and #2 🧛‍♂️🧛‍♂️

Very well, I see what the people want, and that is a sequel to this one-shot. I have thus combined these prompts for reasons.

Fedyor spends the next fortnight attempting – with notably indifferent success – not to think about Ivan Sakharov. The Conclave was less than pleased to hear that Fedyor came back empty-handed, having not even secured a promise for Ivan and the rest of the Black Hand to leave off their mischief-making, and in fact has empowered them in their belief that there is nothing the law can do to them. Considering the earful that Fedyor got on that accord, he saw nothing to be gained from mentioning that not only did Ivan blow him off completely, he did it after he had fed on him. It’s entirely possible that Ivan accessed sensitive thoughts, memories, or plans, any scrap of useful intelligence that Fedyor did not carefully hide away in his mind before that too-distracting bite. In short, he has comprehensively botched the entire situation, the Conclave is well within their rights to be very angry with him, and to demonstrate the extent of their displeasure, they have temporarily revoked Fedyor’s right to enter their territory and feed on their drones – willing humans kept for the purpose, who are hoping to be selected for the transformation in exchange for their service. That means if Fedyor wants to eat, he has to go out and hunt an animal, or bamboozle and beguile an unwitting passerby to let him chomp on their neck. Truly, being a vampire can be such a terrible drag.

Fedyor figures that if he keeps his head down, meekly accepts his punishment, and doesn’t make any trouble, the Conclave will get over their anger and reinstate him sooner rather than later. It’s not like he has many other options. If he wants to stay in Belgrade, he will remain in their good graces, and he has no desire to get mixed up with the Black Hand. The rumor is that they were founded by the Black Heretic himself, who has remained out of sight for many decades but is now said to be active again, and the Black Heretic is the scion of the Conclave’s greatest enemy, the vampire that all other vampires fear. Absolutely no good can come of throwing one’s lot in with that crowd, and Fedyor wonders if he is going to have to find a new home. If a stupid supernatural war blows up this city, he’s out.

Most of the fortnight passes without incident, but the flaw in the plan is the unfortunate fact that Fedyor is very hungry. He’s still a young enough vampire that he can’t go two weeks without feeding, and he really hates the messy business of corralling an unwitting human. Besides, the Conclave’s headquarters and chief place of business are on Knez Mihailova Ulica, the most fashionable downtown district right in the middle of Belgrade, and what with Fedyor’s current banishment from the premises, he can’t go there anyway. Hunting it has to be.

Fedyor waits until it is dark, a soft summer rain pattering on the steep-roofed eaves and glowing streetlamps, and then, having changed into clothing more suitable for getting a lot of bloodstains, he slips out. He moves silently in the shadows, past the well-dressed gentlemen and evening-gowned ladies out at the ball or the opera or the latest society supper-party, and escapes the precincts of Belgrade proper for the low green hills that surround it. This is on the Sava side of the river confluence, to the west, and once Fedyor is out of the city, the trees close in thickly. They are only broken by the occasional tiny village: small churches with square steeples and double-branched Orthodox crosses, red-tiled cottages crowded together along narrow dirt lanes, a lantern burning here and there to keep the monsters away. Fedyor can hear human voices, sense the shadows of people moving around behind the shutters, and it gives him a pang. No wonder he is clinging so closely to the prospect of timely reinstatement to the Conclave. Without them, he would truly be entirely alone.

The rain starts to come down harder as Fedyor climbs through the thick green underbrush, and by the time he reaches the top of the hill, it is slicing into his face with a vehemence that even a vampire finds intensely disagreeable. Squinting and swearing under his breath, Fedyor shields his eyes and takes a deep whiff, searching for the scent of a prey animal. He could always hop a fence and grab a cow, but cows can kick surprisingly hard, a poor farmer doesn’t need the hassle of his one beast of burden keeling over, and maybe it is just the city-boy aesthete in Fedyor, but crouching in a muddy farmyard, doing your damndest not to get murdered by a large and angry bovine while you valiantly attempt to suck its blood, is just fucking terrible. There’s nothing to recommend it. Now that he’s out of the fledgling bloodlust, Fedyor has no intention of ever going back.

Thunder booms overhead, making him jump, and a jagged spear of lightning sears the horizon from sky to ground. A tree not that far away lights up in blinding white, and a scorched scent of ozone drifts through the pounding rain. Fedyor flinches, as he has no desire to be set on fire, and decides that either he raids a farm or he heads back home and waits for better weather. But he can catch another scent just ahead, and he’s hungry enough to risk it. He breaks into a run, almost loses his footing, dodges around an enormous dripping tree, and spots a thin crescent of lights high on the bluff ahead. Wait, is that a house? Some Serbian royal bureaucrat’s elegant country retreat, or – something else? Fedyor doesn’t recall that he has seen it before, although he has not spent much time out here alone. That, or –

He has only a split second of warning, his supernatural senses screaming at him to get the fuck out of here right now, before he realizes two things at once: first, that the scent is very definitely hostile, and second, that something is dive-bombing directly toward him, on the strength of a ferocious leap that is remarkable even for a vampire. The next second, it – he – hits Fedyor like a ton of bricks, and they go crashing down the slope, kicking and thrashing and biting at each other in a flurry of blows too fast for a human eye to see. Another enormous clap of thunder rattles Fedyor’s fangs in his head, he slams down on his back hard enough to break his bones if he was human, and then, in the flash of the succeeding lightning bolt, his eyes confirm what his nose has already told him. Of all the stupid, stupid things, he appears to have unwittingly trespassed onto Black Hand territory and tried to hunt their game, and the angry supernatural soldier determined to beat the unholy tarnation out of him is therefore none other than the one and only –

“Stop!” Fedyor wheezes, although he has no idea why he expects it to make any difference. “It’s me! Fedyor Kaminsky! From Terazije!”

The rain stings his eyes hard enough to make him grimace, just as a third incandescent bolt of lightning rattles across the sky. From what Fedyor can see, which is not very much, Ivan looks almost as startled as he feels. They remain staring at each other, their faces barely an inch apart, Ivan’s fangs bared in a way that it is really not the time to find disturbingly attractive. Then Ivan springs off and barks, “What the fuck are you doing out here, Conclave whore?”

“Sorry.” Fedyor sits up. His dark hair is plastered to his head and getting in his eyes, there is mud all over his clothes, and even for an immortal who technically does not need to breathe, he is winded. Ivan, to nobody’s surprise, really packs a punch. “I was just… hungry.”

“You have your own arrangements.” Ivan eyes him suspiciously, arms folded, rainwater running down that magnificently disdainful Slavic nose as if from a statue in the public square. “If anyone besides me had caught you out here, you would be dead.”

Well, that is (not) encouraging. It does, however, point out the fact that Ivan has already had the chance to murder him and held back, and Fedyor is not about to speculate on why exactly that might be. It’s not a good idea, but he’s wet, hungry, has just had to unexpectedly fight like the dickens, and irritated at Ivan for being the one who got him into this mess in the first place. “The Conclave demanded that I return their visiting card,” he says shortly. “I’m not allowed to feed on their drones for some unspecified length of time – which is, I might add, entirely thanks to you.”

“What? Why is that my fault?”

“In case you’ve forgotten our last meeting,” Fedyor snaps, “it was at the Golden Cross, on the Lumière brothers’ film night. I relayed the Conclave’s warning to stop your illegal behavior and associations, and you completely ignored it. As a result – ”

“What, they cut off your feeding access?” Ivan interrupts. He looks utterly incredulous. “That’s charitable of them. A good way to build loyalty among your people. Besides, what the fuck did they expect? That you would walk up and ask me nicely, and that would solve it?”

He does, Fedyor has to loathingly admit, have a point. The best he can muster is, “The Conclave is accustomed to being obeyed.”

Ivan eyes him up, with an expression on his face as if that riposte is so pathetic, he isn’t going to dignify it with the effort of a reply. He is poised on edge, as if he doesn’t consider this matter to be entirely settled by the previous bout of violence, and Fedyor is equally tense. He very much does not want to scuffle with a Black Hand hardman who looks like that and fights like that, especially in the throes of encroaching frenzy, and the attendant loss of control. His fangs dig into his lower lip, seeking out the nearest blood – his own – and Fedyor clenches his fists. “Do you have an animal I can borrow?” he asks, as politely as he can. “I’ll – pay for it.”

Ivan surveys him up and down, dripping like an undead drowned rat and otherwise looking as miserable as Fedyor generally tries not to look (after all, presentation is everything). Then he jerks up an impatient fist. “Follow me.”

Fedyor is unsure what this might entail, but shamefully – whether it is due to his increasingly desperate hunger, or something else – he is not altogether opposed to it. He trails after Ivan, trying not to slip in the wet grass or fixate on Ivan’s scent; he will just get another smackdown for his trouble, like a horse flicking aside a fly, and he is not in the mood for it. After a climb of a few minutes, they reach the top of the hill and cross a deserted lawn to a manor house, scattered lights flickering in steep gables and pointed turrets. It is otherwise entirely dark, even to Fedyor’s vampire senses, as Ivan unlatches the heavy front door and drags it open with a screech. “In.”

Well aware that this is an even stupider idea than the polite request to knock it off – he is putting himself voluntarily in the power of a Black Hand operative, on enemy territory, where nobody knows where he is or what Ivan intends to do with him. If Fedyor’s drained corpse turns up floating in the Danube tomorrow, a warning to the Conclave never to interfere in their business again, he can’t say that he didn’t expect it. He hesitates at the threshold a moment longer, and then, given permission – it’s not essential, but it does help – steps inside.

The hall looks almost exactly as you would expect a secret vampire mansion to look: dusty suits of armor, glowering paintings, a sweeping grand staircase with a gothic balcony, and a chandelier which struggles to illuminate the cracked black-and-white chessboard flagstones. Still dripping, the thunder dulling to a muted rumble, Fedyor looks warily from side to side. There doesn’t seem to be anyone here except the two of them – or at least, he certainly hopes that there are no unwitting humans asleep upstairs. In the state that he’s in right now, he isn’t sure that he could control himself. Unless Ivan is trying to make some tiresome point about the inherent monstrosity of vampires, the sort that certain factions like to use in order to argue against the Conclave’s attempts to civilize them and make them follow human-like rules and laws. Fedyor hopes not, because that would be deeply irritating, but he’s so hungry that he’s about to bite his own wrist, and it would not be his finest hour.

However, Ivan does not lead them upstairs, but through a dim warren of corridors to a small, curtained study in the back of the house. Sullen embers glimmer in the hearth; vampires don’t need fires for heat, or to see by, but the human habit is hard to break, even if it’s one of the few things that can hurt them. Then Ivan shuts the door behind them and says crisply, “I’ll make you a deal. Give me useful information on the Conclave, and I will let you feed.”

“What?” Fedyor gapes at him. That was clearly a starvation-induced hallucination. “On – on you?”

“No,” Ivan snaps. “On the davenport, you idiot. Yes, obviously on me. Or I can throw you out and send you to try your luck in the nearest village. Yes or no?”

Fedyor continues to gape at him. Obviously he does not want to go and rip some screaming innocent villager out of their bed, like the very worst of the strigoi horror stories, but he is not in a hurry to jeopardize his ticket back to the Conclave’s good graces by informing on them to Ivan bloody Sakharov. (Indeed, literally.) Did Ivan make that offer because he knows that Fedyor wants it, and remembers how much of a reaction Fedyor had to Ivan feeding on him back at the Golden Cross? It was impossible to hide it entirely, blast him, and Ivan is too canny not to take advantage of an adversary’s weakness. He’s caught Fedyor dead to rights, trespassing on Black Hand territory, and as he himself said, Fedyor is lucky to escape with his skin. It’s Ivan’s right to exploit that fact, nothing more. If Fedyor refuses, what in the hell is he going to do?

“I don’t know,” he stalls. “I’m not sure that I can – ”

Ivan shrugs, then lifts his own wrist to his mouth and bites the back of it. Slow, rich, dark blood beads up, and he wafts it temptingly in Fedyor’s direction. “So, you don’t want this, then?”

Yes, Fedyor wants it. Fedyor, in fact, wants a few other things while he’s at it, and there is no way that Ivan, with hearing and senses and smell as acute as his own, doesn’t know it. He takes a step forward, but Ivan dances aside. “Information first,” he orders. “Then you may have your reward. Come now, Conclave whore. Why is it any different from last time?”

“Don’t call me that.” Fedyor is seeing red – which, at this point, could be due to just about anything. “I have a name, remember? Fedyor – Mikhailovich – Kaminsky.”

He stumbles a little over the patronymic, as it is an ongoing debate whether proper etiquette for Slavic vampires entails the use of the birth father’s name, or that of the vampire sire. Opinion generally comes down on the side of the latter, since it represents proper respect for one’s new immortal status and supernatural bloodline; you’re supposed to let go of your human family, since pining to go back complicates the already-difficult adjustment period and is impossible anyway. But since Fedyor isn’t entirely reconciled to it, and tries to hold onto his humanity, he tends to introduce himself as Fedyor Mikhailovich, not Fedyor Dmitrievich, and the flicker in Ivan’s eyes means that he has taken note of that struggle. Then he shrugs, crooking a taunting finger at him. “Fine then, Fedyor Mikhailovich. It is your choice.”

“What do you – ” Fedyor is having trouble seeing straight. “Want to know?”

“Anything that might be useful.” If he is worried about being shut in a small room with another vampire on the verge of total frenzy, Ivan doesn’t show it. Indeed, in this paramount confidence and command, Fedyor realizes that Ivan is much older than he initially thought. He took him for one of Catherine the Great’s courtiers, from the late eighteenth century or so, but the well-worn shadow of violence that sits on Ivan’s shoulders is of considerably longer use than that. It’s something else to puzzle out when Fedyor regains the use of his higher critical faculties, which is definitely not the case at the moment. “That is, if you can bring yourself to actually – ”

At that moment, he is cut off as Fedyor, deciding that two can play this game and he is tired of being jerked around by this arrogant bastard, lunges at him. Ivan jumps six feet straight up, hissing, and they end up somewhere in the vicinity of the ceiling, only to crash back down to the floor. Even vampires are not immune to the laws of gravity, and they roll around in a second deeply undignified flurry of kicking and biting, as Fedyor finally gets hold of Ivan’s wrists and tries to get his mouth as close as possible to that maddeningly enticing trickle. Then, for a crucial instant, he hesitates. He is very far gone, but there’s enough of his brain left to remember that feeding without permission is regarded quite dimly, and he is trying to prove that he is not a total savage. He gulps and gasps, fangs cutting into his lip, struggling and thrashing, not even able to properly articulate his request, as Ivan still looks – bafflingly – as if he is rather enjoying this. Then he smirks and says, “Very well, Fedyor Mikhailovich. Take it if you can.”

Now that is a challenge, and while it would be very enjoyable to throw it back in Ivan’s face in another fashion, Fedyor has only one concern at the moment. He presses his mouth to Ivan’s wrist, sinks his fangs, and sucks and licks like a man dying of thirst in the desert. Ivan utters a contented purring sound, his head falling back on the carpet, and certainly does not bother to keep struggling while Fedyor is otherwise occupied. Silence falls across the drawing room, except for the soft sounds of Fedyor feeding. He is half on top of Ivan, between his legs, and Ivan does not appear to be objecting in the least. Well. That was… unexpected.

When Fedyor has drunk enough to feel sane again, he pulls back with a jerk, remembers where he is, and fights the wash of embarrassment that floods through him. He wipes his mouth with the cuff of his shirt, then bends down and licks the bite wound closed, which is common vampire practice even if Ivan failed to do it with him. (After all, some supernaturals have manners.) Then they look at each other, and Fedyor doesn’t think it’s his imagination that Ivan’s breath is coming short, a flush visible in his pale cheeks, an enjoyment bearing a remarkable resemblance to Fedyor’s own. The silence persists a moment longer. Then Ivan groans, his legs sprawl further apart, and he orders, doing his utmost to sound gruff and commanding, “You will give me information on the Conclave now, yes?”

It is extremely tempting to tell him to take a long walk off a short pier, to pay him back for that underhanded trick at the Golden Cross, but that requires more command of his verbal processes than Fedyor currently possesses – or indeed, expects to possess in the near-to-medium future. He leans down instead, his nose brushing the hollow of Ivan’s cheek and his mouth ghosting against Ivan’s neck, his fangs tracing the line of the vein as if he might bite there too. Ivan’s hips buck, and his big hands settle heavily on the small of Fedyor’s back. “You know,” he murmurs, his voice a low, rough rasp in his throat. “You are wasted on those idiots.”

“Mmm.” Fedyor nips Ivan’s lower lip, with just a hint of fang. Then – although it’s the most difficult thing he has had to do in his life or his afterlife – he rolls off and gets to his feet, leaving the fearsome Black Hand anarchist vampire flat on his back on the drawing room floor. “It has,” he says, “been a lovely evening. But I will be taking my leave now. Good night.”

And with that, in the somewhat shameful epitome of quitting while he is ahead, but wanting to make absolutely sure that the point has been felt, Fedyor turns around and books it. He doesn’t dare to look back as he bursts out of the dark house, pelts across the lawn, and skids down the hill, in the thick and slippery knots of mud and moss. He doesn’t slow down until he spies the lights of Belgrade, and in a few minutes more, he’s thundering into his flat, clothes disheveled and hair a mess and mouth and head and heart still full of the taste and smell and feel of Ivan Sakharov. It’s intoxicating. It’s unbearable. But it can only be once. It will be only once.

The Conclave, Fedyor reminds himself. You’re doing this to get back to them, and you managed to get out of there without saying anything. They’ll appreciate it. They will. And it’s what you want. Keep your head down and don’t do anything else stupid, and it will work.

It’s what he wants.

It’s what he –

Ah, fuck.

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