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bearhugsandshrugs · 3 months

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@houseofhopeofficial here. You said bottom gortash and I came running like you sounded the dinner bell. Maybe gortash trussed up like a turkey as a present for Tav? A reward for them for a job well done? Not sure who tied gort up, maybe got someone to do it for him or maybe bane took acception to something gortash did. Reward for Tav and punishment for gortash all in one. Very effective if you ask me XD

Sex and Power - Sub!Gortash x Tav

Oh hey @houseofhopeofficial I didn't forget this. I just needed a bit of inspiration. Bratty sub (and bottom) Gorty under the cut. If people want more of this, I might to a part 2. Let's see :)

Gortash/Tav, Explicit | Read on AO3 Rope bondage, boot worship, slapping, clit warming (inspired by this, that @tripleyeeet shared on discord the other day), oral sex (fem receiving), squirting, light dubcon

Gortash had always been a fool. His boundless ambition and his smug attitude had prevented him from seeing what was happening right under his nose: A rebellion, led by the Banites, displeased with his efforts in bringing the Hero of Baldur's Gate to heel.

They'd laced his drink with a sleeping agent, then moved him to a secluded oom in Wyrm's Rock fortress, naked and tied up, and invited Tav to dish out his punishment. Gortash barely had opened his eyes when Tav was already walking in, her ass swaying with amusement as she took in the scene unfolding in the room.

Gortash's hands were bound behind his back, he had been forced to his knees, and something held him in place, the constraints connecting to a beam on the ceiling. His cock was swinging heavily between his spread out legs, and the hair on his chest rose softly from a light, chill breeze that washed through the room from an opened window.

"Wow", Tav chuckled as she strolled up next to him, her eyes falling lazily over his entire body and back up to his face, "You must be an even worse leader than a Banite if this is what they're doing to you."

"I will enjoy hanging all of your corpses from the ceiling", Gortash grunted, but there was a slight waver in his voice that hinted at doubts beyond his pretenses.

"Cute", Tav smirked, unimpressed by his dramatics. She started pacing slowly in front of him, marveling at the rope work. "You know I've cleared my whole schedule for this. I kept thinking: What could I possibly do to teach Lord Enver Gortash a lesson?” She paused for dramatic effect, but Gortash just rolled his eyes. “And then, it hit me: Submission.”

“You’re mad if you think I’m going to submit to you”, he scoffed, but Tav held his gaze.

“Oh I think you will”, she said firmly, “And you will like it.”

There was a flicker of interest in his eyes in response to that, and it didn’t go unnoticed. But he wasn’t to give in to her yet. Not so easily.

“You’re a fool”, he huffed out, holding his head up high with pride, but Tav just smirked. When he followed her gaze down between his legs, he saw that his body was beginning to betray him; his cock half-hard between his thighs. Gortash groaned.

“And you’re a terrible liar”, she quipped back, loosened the end of the ropes that kept him upright, and then pressed her boot against his chest until he fell backwards, his core unable to withstand the continued and increased pressure. He landed on his tied back arms, his legs sprawled out to the sides, and shifted uncomfortably. “However, you do look good on your back.”

“Is all of this leading somewhere?”, Gortash spat out, trying unsuccessfully to sit up, but Tav kept her boot pressed down on his chest.

“I think a little gratitude is in order”, she sighed dramatically, “considering I am punishing you like this, and not by spilling your guts on the floor.”

He didn’t reply, so she brought the sole of her boot to his face, hovering it above his mouth. “Kiss it”, she demanded, watching his eyes widen in outrage, then narrow in disbelief.

“Fuck you”, Gortash grunted out, much to Tav’s amusement. She moved her foot away and pulled at the rope, lifting his body back up to his groans. He was like a doll to her. Tav walked over to tighten the bindings so he wouldn’t flop over, then made her way back to him.

The slap echoed so loudly through the vast halls that she was surprised at how much noise the flat smack against his skin could make. Gortash groaned involuntarily, opening his mouth to breathe, and that’s when she slapped him again. His cheek was burning red, and he moved his jaw stretching out his facial muscles in pain.

“Let’s try this again”, Tav said cheerfully, loosened the rope and watched him topple over to the side. She pushed against his body until he was lying flat on his back, then brought her boot back to his face.

“Kiss it”, she demanded. There was a hint of a smirk on his lips as he pursed them together, lifting his head so he could press them against the sole. “Now, was that so hard?”, Tav chuckled.

“You have the Archduke of Baldur’s Gate at your command and you’re playing games… weak”, he muttered, shaking his head. He sounded offended.

“Wrong”, Tav said flatly, taking off her boots, socks, and trousers until she stood above him in her shirt and panties. “You’re the one who’s weak. Not long until you’ll beg me for more.” She lowered herself down until she was sitting on the backs of her feet next to his shoulders and neck, then brought her core to his mouth, her clit brushing lightly against his nose. Gortash let out a muffled sound of protest, or maybe delight, but it didn’t matter to her. She let her weight fall back onto her feet and legs, gently resting her folds on his lips with his nose not able to do anything but breathe in her scent.

He felt good against her core. She wanted little more than to push her panties to the side and demand that his mouth devour her, but that wasn’t the game. No, Tav had planned something else. Something that would hopefully break away that first layer of pretense.

“What are you doing?”, Gortash asked, his lips moving against her cunt, brushing over the thin fabric. Tav didn’t reply. She sat there, patiently, indulging in the way his warm breath dampened the exposed parts of her skin.

It didn’t take long until she was wet, her juices slowly soaking into her underwear. Gortash could probably taste her already, but if he could, he didn’t say. Instead he was lying there, unmoving, still resisting, still stubborn. His lips were pressed into a thin line, and when Tav looked down she met his gaze, staring up at her in defiance.

And then he made a mistake.

He wetted his lips. His tongue brushed against her panties, and a soft groan escaped his throat. For a few moments neither of them dared to breathe, the tension between them a silent battle. One that he ultimately lost: His eyes fell closed as he pushed his tongue against the fabric covering her folds, tentatively, carefully at first, then more and more demanding. Gortash breathed in deeply as his lips pulled at the panties and her labia, and when he started to move his head, trying to push her underwear to the side for better access, Tav’s hips started to move in sync. He groaned, louder this time, and he looked like an animal waiting to tear at her with his mouth parted, half covered by her body.

Without saying a word she reached down, pulled the fabric to the left, then sank down on his mouth again that was already waiting to meet her. His tongue lapped broadly at her folds, licking long streaks over her wetness, circling her clit, and Tav moaned out when he nuzzled his face into her cunt. His nose was glistening when he pulled away to rearrange himself, and soon her juices smeared over his chin and mouth.

Gortash was good with his tongue, even better than he was at spinning lies. Tav felt her body climb higher and higher, her waist rolling into him greedier and greedier with each passing moment. Her hands flew up to cup her breasts through her shirt, and when Gortash glanced up, alerted by the shuffling fabric, he moaned into her folds. His deep voice vibrated against her clit, luring out a new set of pleasured sounds from her.

His tongue circled her clit with expert precision, having found exactly the rhythm that made her pant. A few more strokes…–

Tav came, gushing out spurts of wetness against his face as her cunt clenched around nothing, stimulated solely by his mouth on her folds. “Fuck”, Gortash groaned loudly when the first splashes hit his chin, and he licked her clean first before his tongue lapped at the skin around his mouth, gathering as much of her taste as he could.

“Fuck indeed”, Tav breathed out, feeling a bit dizzy as she lifted herself off of him. Standing up she pulled down her underwear, now completely wet and soaked, before taking in the way Gortash was lying on his back.

His legs had fallen open to the sides again, his balls swollen and resting heavily between his thighs while his cock stood fully erect, precum having leaked out of his slit already. Face flushed, his cheeks and throat looked damp, and sweat was glistening on his chest and temples.

“Good boy”, Tav praised, making her way over to pull him upright again by the ropes, and she heard him huff out a laugh in response. “Didn’t even need to tell you what to do.”

“If you wanted me to fuck you, all you had to do was ask”, he grunted, rubbing his hands against what part of his tender arms he could find behind his back. “No need for all these dramatics.”

Tav laughed. “Oh Enver.” He raised an eyebrow at the use of his first name. “This isn’t about sex at all. Don’t you understand?”

She kneeled down in front of him so that she was on eye level, and cupped his face with both hands. He stared at her, still spiteful, still stubborn, but also intrigued. He wasn’t even half as good at hiding his emotions as he probably thought.

“Then what is this?”, he eventually took the bait.

Tav pressed her mouth onto his, pushing her tongue in to meet his in a deep and passionate kiss. She could taste herself on him, and her clit twitched thinking about the way he’d laid there, forced to taste her, forced to want her, until he had succumbed to his primal instincts.

Pulling away from him, she smirked. “My sweet boy”, she cooed, licking the outline of his lips. “This isn’t about sex. This is about power.”

#enver gortash #tavtash #gortash x tav #sub gortash #bg3 smut #my writing #drabbles

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the-uninformed-zennial · 16 days

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So, uh, Fable ended.

And now I’m gonna be sappy on main.

I started watching Fable about half a year before I started being active in the fandom, around the time I started falling in love with my partner @hoardingpuffin . Watching Rae and Caspian’s relationship develop was actually part of what helped me realize that the things I was feeling for them were romantic and not just platonic. Surprisingly enough, that’s just the beginning of the profound effect Fable had on me.

I had never really interacted with fandom spaces before Fable. But when I caught up with lore sometime in November 2022, I decided to join the discord. It was a crazy place. Being someone who’d never really been in a server before I was completely overwhelmed and nervous, so I didn’t interact much for the first month or so.

Then I discovered that, despite the incredible love for the project, no one had made a “which character are you?” Quiz yet, so, I decided to fuck it and make one myself. The response I got to that was unlike any I had seen before. I was getting pinged weeks afterwards with people’s results and it made me really happy to see how much my work was appreciated by everyone in the community. It got me thinking about other ways I might be able to give back.

Then, as you all know, the stream “Call” and it’s partner “Response” came out on Ghosty and HeyHay’s channels. I’d been feeling so similarly to the two characters, dealing with my long distance relationship with Puffin. So, I took those feelings and the words Heyhay and Ghosty had used to convey them for their characters and put them into a song.

And then something insane happened.

Everyone liked it. Like, everyone liked it. This crappy recording I made at 2 AM suddenly got hundreds and then thousands of views when I put it on SoundCloud and YouTube. It was insane. I had written some songs before, but they’d always been ridiculed, so having a large group of people like the fable community enjoy something that I wrote was absolutely insane to me, and it encouraged me to make more.

I found myself being inspired by the characters in fable, connecting with different storylines or sentences said on streams. I found myself writing songs, one after another after another. At one point I was writing a song a week for a period of about three months. I had never experienced this amount of raw creativity before, but every time I put a new song out, I only got encouraged to make more.

And then people started to ask me when I was going to put them on Spotify. And that was another moment that everything changed. I realized if I was gonna put these out there in such an official way I didn’t want it to just be a bunch of crappy recorded singles. So I needed to make an album.

That was something I had never considered doing before. I knew nothing about music editing or sound mixing. Up until that point all of my songs had been made on GarageBand at 2 AM with very little editing or mixing going into them. So, I started saving for a real music editing program and within a few months I got there.

Then came the actual making of the album. I took a few months off in the summer and just dove headfirst into it. Every spare moment I wasn’t modding for the Sherbathon, or the discord, or streaming my own lore, was spent working on those songs. And while looking back now I wish I knew what I know now about music editing, I’m so glad I did what I did. Putting that album out, seeing how you all responded to it… it made me realize that this is something I love, something that I don’t have to wait for someone else’s permission or teaching to do.

This fandom is the reason I’m a musical artist and that is something I don’t think I will ever be able to express the importance of enough.

As much as I could talk about the unending support and encouragement I received from the wonderful cast members throughout my experience making the album, or how being given the role of mod on the fandom discord taught me so much about how to be a creator in my own right, or even the amazing experience I had being able to make songs for the lore. When it comes right down to it, it was the community, cast and all, that impacted my life in the profound way it has been. So thank you, each and every one of you, whether you are a cast member, a fan, a fellow mod, or even just someone who streamed a song you didn’t have any context for. Thank you for changing my life, for giving me the encouragement to pursue my dreams.

Thank you Fable SMP cast, crew, and community 💕

#Fuck this hit so much harder than I thought it was going to #I hope you guys liked the finale though #fable smp #fablesmp #mcytblr

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 6 months

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Am I the asshole for blocking my friends who I suspect wrote mpreg about “me”?

I (21ftm) have two friends who have recently been writing a story together, I’ll call them O and S, O and S are both cis woman my age. They openly discuss the story on our friend groups discord server in a channel dedicated to this story. O draws the character designs while S primarily writes and they added a character into their story a few months ago who I believe was meant to be me, or at least inspired by me, they’ve done this in the past with other friends of ours who have side characters and cameos, I can usually tell because the character has a name similar to their real life counterpart and a design similar as well, such is the case with “my” character, he is a trans man who looks like me and his name is a shortened nickname of my chosen one.

I wouldn’t have an issue with a character inspired by me but they made him gay and began shipping him with a pre-existing male character which made me uncomfortable because I am very much not gay, the other characters inspired by our friends weren’t given love interests or anything so I can’t say they’ve changed the sexualities of those tribute characters. I don’t care if a character is gay, but this character is clearly meant to be representing me and I’m very uncomfortable with this. People assuming I’m attracted to men is a BIG dysphoria trigger to me and they KNOW this because I told them in the past and when they first wrote this in, all my life I’ve had people assuming I was into men because I was AFAB and I’ve dealt with a lot of “comphet” stuff, I’ve been harassed and haven’t been believed when I told people my actual sexuality, the expectation that I would one day get into a relationship with a man and have children with one was treated like an inevitability by the people around me and it scared the fuck out of younger me.

When they first wrote this relationship, i asked them to change it, i said that if they wanted to put this character into a relationship he could have one with a woman instead, they refused and said they liked the rep it gave, though there is already lots of gay rep in the story and I said that it would still be rep because the character is trans but they didn’t change it, so I then asked that this character could be changed so he wasn’t actually related to me in looks and name and they again refused, which made less sense to me because I didn’t (and still don’t) understand what they got out of writing someone who was basically me into a gay relationship. I gave up because I didn’t want to cause drama in the friend group and other the next weeks I spent less time on the friend groups server and never checked the stories channel because I was still extremely dysphoric and upset. It made me feel angry that they didn’t consider how I felt and dismissed my suggestions.

The next time I checked on that server was a month later and they were discussing the future of the story where some of the characters had children, among those characters that had children were the male character my tribute character was in a relationship with, I came into the chat and asked them how that character had kids, O posted a blushing emoji and said he had kids “the fun way”, I asked further and they said my character also had children and at this point I got really angry and just left the server and blocked them.

Later on one of the friend group J (22nb) dmed me saying that I was being dramatic and that I had no right to control what they put in their story, we had an argument and two of my other friends said I was “ruining the fun” and trying to censor their story and it wasn’t “explicitly clear that it was me”. I originally thought that if you are writing something inspired by someone and it’s making them upset you should stop right? But now I’m not so sure and I’m still feeling very down, I don’t know why they decided to write that in, and especially about someone meant to be a tribute to me, it feels like they’ve taken everything I told them about my dysphoria and distilled it down into something to hurt me.

Aita?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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evandarya · 11 months

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Inspired by a prompt from @davestridernb in the Discord server.

I Now Pronounce You... Brothers?

Read on Ao3

***

Tim was a self-taught magician. His parents had brought home a book they had gotten on one of their travels. They bought it because it looked old and fit with the other artifacts in the library. Tim found it. It was written in an old language, but it was similar enough to Latin for him to use the Latin-to-English dictionary to read it. When he tried some of the spells in it they worked! So, from the age of six, Tim had been teaching himself magic.

His spells helped keep him hidden and safe as he followed Batman and Robin around Gotham. He was trying to figure out how to slip a charm onto one of the heroes to keep them safe, but never quite managed it before Robin died.

But Tim knew exactly what to do. There was a spell in the book at the very back. The ink was smudged, but he could work it out. Something about a soul transfer to save someone dead or dying. There was more written, but Tim didn't have time to translate it, Robin was already buried!

So that night, Tim snuck out with the book and tools and materials he'd need to perform the ritual and went down to the graveyard.

He drew the circle around the grave, set up the candles and herbs and said the words, and waited... And waited... And waited...

"Aren't you a little young to be performing a soul bond?"

Tim spun around toward the voice and came face to face with a young man sitting crisscross applesauce and hovering four feet off the ground, making himself eye level to Tim. He was young, maybe early twenties, but his hair was already snow white. His clothes were a strange amalgamation of a modern-looking black rubberized suit with white gloves and boots and random pieces of gunmetal grey armor on his left shoulder and forearms. Around his shoulder was a dark blue cape with stars that looked like they were glowing.

"Who are you?" Tim demanded. The man smiled.

"You should know, you summoned me here." Tim scrunched his eyebrows. He was trying to revive Jason, not summon a walking anachronism.

"I didn't summon you, I was trying to do a soul transfer."

The being sighed and shook his head. "You magicians never learn to read the warnings and fine print."

"I read as much as I could! The book said I could give half of my soul to bring someone and it would bring them back from the dead" Tim said, flipping the book around for the man to read. The being leaned in, floating on his stomach now with his legs bent at the knees and swinging back and forth.

"You're using a Latin dictionary, aren't you?"

"So?"

"So" the being drawled in an imitation of Tim's Diamond District accent, "this verb that you translated as 'give' or 'exchange' translates closer to 'merge' or 'trade' and this noun isn't 'soul'. A soul is an immutable object, you can't break it in half or give half away. That word means 'everything.' your heart your mind, your life force. Everything that you are. That's what that word means."

"No, I know this says 'half', like three times."

"That's me, I'm the Half."

Tim could almost feel his brain breaking as none of this made sense. He took a deep breath and when he opened his mouth his mother came out. "What does this say, exactly, then?"

"Uh...direct translation is kind of impossible, but the closest I could get is 'I offer my everything to merge with your everything so I may stand by your side and protect you forever even into death...' and then some summoning for the officiant, that me."

"That sounds like...like..."

"Marriage vows. Wow. You really don't know what you're doing, do you?" The being flipped right side up and gave Tim a look that was equal parts impressed and horrified.

"Am I married right now?"

"No, of course not. A soul bond works both ways."

"Both...ways?"

"You didn't expect to bind your soul to someone else without permission, did you? Ever heard of informed consent? Speaking of, usually, these binds are...well...binding to the binder– that's you –but since it's clear you didn't know what this was when you started, I'm willing to let you out it."

"But then Jason won't– will stay– no. I need to bring Jason back. I don't care what I have to do."

The man frowned. It was the first unhappy expression Tim has seen on his face. "You're willing to bind yourself to someone you don't even know to bring them back? Why him? Why Jason Todd and not --" the being looked to the grave marker to the right of Jason's "Margaret Thompson? Or any of the thousands of people who die every day in this city? You don't know him, you've never even talked to him. "

"Jason--" Tim paused trying to figure out how to explain without giving up Jason's identity to this man. "Jason is very important to a lot of people. People rely on him and with him gone--" Tim thought of how violent Batman had gotten in the last few weeks. "I just need to bring him back."

"You'll be bound to him for as long as you both shall exist. You don't even get out of it when you die. There is no divorce. There is no undoing this later."

"I'm okay with that."

"If he dies again, so do you. You realize that, right? That tying your life forces together means where one of you goes, the other follows."

"I'm okay with that."

"What if you end up not liking him? What if he's a jerk?"

"HE ISN'T!" Tim glared at the man "Jason is kind and good and smart and funny! He helps people and gives them hope. He's a light shining through the darkness, guiding people to safety. And now he's gone and there's no more light and I don't know what to do except I know I have to do something, like an itch under my skin. I have to do this. I have to bring Jason back." Tim didn't know when he had started crying, but he roughly wiped the tears away. "I'm the only one who can."

The man was quiet for a long time, the air itself seemed to be still.

"I didn't know anyone felt that way about me."

Tim gasped. That-that was...

The being sighed and shifted his cape, opening a dark void that Jason-no-Robin stepped out of. He was still in his Robin armor, mask attached.

"You promised you'd stay quiet if I brought you." The man said. Robin turned and grinned at him.

"Come on, Phantom, I had to meet this kid at least once." Robin turned that grin to Tim "You really are something, you know that?" Robin sounded approving, and he was smiling at Tim!

"R-robin?" He stumbled forward a few steps "You're here. You're --" Tim looked Jason up and down. He looked the same as he did, but it was like looking at an image projected onto smoke. His form shimmered and shifted like he wasn't quite there.

"Dead?" Jason said it with a sardonic grin, but Tim flinched. "Yeah. It's an adjustment, but I can do this." Jason's form shifted from the Robin uniform and into blue jeans and a red hoodie that Tim was sure he'd seen Jason wearing in a paparazzi picture. "Much better. So, what were you saying, something about a light in the darkness?"

Tim's fingers twitched. "Jason, you need to come back. Batman is-- he's not the same without you."

Jason's expression cooled at the mention of Batman. "He'll be fine. It's what he does."

"He won't. He's violent, not holding back. He put a man in a coma last week for robbing an ATM. Jason, please. He needs you."

"No, he doesn't!" Jason yelled. "He needs therapy. Like, years and years of therapy. He doesn't need a kid in a cape."

"But he does. He-"

"He fired me!" Jason's form shifted. He looked taller, more angular and it was as if the smoke swirled around him. The man- Jason had called him Phantom- put a hand on Jason's shoulder and his form visibly softened. "He fired me," he continued calmer "and said I was too angry to be Robin. He doesn't need a kid like that."

The air seemed to settle around them. The graveyard was still, the silence pressing in on all sides.

"But I do." Tim broke the silence with a whisper. "I need you because you fight for what's right and you're not afraid to do what needs to be done. I need you because you inspire me to be better. You're such a good person, Jason, you care so much, and it shines through so brightly. And that's what Batman needs, someone to be the light to his shadows."

Jason sighed and his whole form rippled, twisting and curling. "If it means that much to you, then why don't you do it?"

"Me?" Tim physically recoiled at the idea "I can't be Robin. I'm just– Tim– just a kid with a magic book."

"Well, 'Just Tim with a magic book' you managed to pull the Guardian of New Ghosts out of his tower" Jason jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Phantom who had floated a few feet away while they were talking. "If you can do that, I'm sure being Robin would be a piece of cake."

"But I-"

"Nope, no buts. I get to pick who takes up the Robin mantle and I choose you."

"But Batman-"

"Doesn't choose who gets to be Robin. Robin is something you do because it's right. Because no one else can or will. Because the injustice in the world sits under your skin like an itch you can't scratch." Tim recognized his own words coming back to him. "You're Robin, Timmy, whether you realize it or not."

Tim had a thought, a chance to still bring Jason back. "If I'm Robin, then I get to choose who teaches me, right?"

"Dick can teach you," Jason said, eyeing Tim with suspicion.

"But I don't want Dick to teach me. I want you to."

"And I'd be glad to teach you. I'm really interested in seeing what you do but I'm still dead."

"You don't have to be. We can finish the binding and you can come back."

Jason looked torn. "Come back to what, though?" Jason asked "My body is in the ground, it's been what...two, three months? My face has probably been eaten by worms by now."

"No, the spell brings you back to just as you were right before you died."

"Is...is that true?" Jason looked at Phantom for an answer.

Phantom nodded "As long as the binder has enough lifeforce to handle the strain. The spell takes the time you've been dead and subtracts it from the binder's life."

"No. Absolutely not." Jason said, crossing his arms over his chest in a giant X. "You aren't giving up months of your life to bring me back on top of binding your life to mine."

"But I'm okay with it. I want to bring you back, I don't care the cost."

"And what if you're supposed to die in two months? What if that's all the lifeforce you have and croak right when I get brought back?"

"Death doesn't work like that." Tim said "It isn't predetermined. Everything we do either subtracts from or adds to our life force. I'll die when I die, either when my life force runs out or if it is snuffed out."

Jason looked to Phantom.

"He's right."

Jason’s form swirled. "Why do you want this so badly?"

"Because you are so loved, Jason. By me and so many people, and you don't see it. I want you to see it."

Jason closed his eyes then looked to Phantom who regarded him kindly and said "It's your choice."

"Okay," Jason said, then turned back to Tim. "Okay, if we're going to do this, we are going to do it right. I come back and teach you how to be Robin, and we find you a teacher for this magic stuff. You're going to get in trouble, running around raising the dead."

"Okay," Tim said easily.

"I mean it. No more magic until someone, Constantine or Zatara or someone teaches you."

"Okay, okay, I'll get a teacher."

"Okay," Jason said. "You said it was like a marriage." He said, turning to Phantom. "We don't have to kiss or anything, do we?"

"No, a soul bond strengthens the bond between two people, it isn't inherently romantic. Just say the words with honest intent."

"Okay," Tim held out the book and Jason spoke, his voice crackling like a fire, pronouncing the words in a way a human voice never could imitate. Then Tim felt the bond SNAP into place at the same moment a wave of exhaustion crashed over him. Between one second and the next Tim collapsed on the ground and his emotions swirled and his thoughts raced and only half of them were his. And Jason Todd was beside him, funeral suit covered in dirt and grime. Tim reached out a hand and found Jason's wrist, pulse beating, weak but steady. And then the world went black.

***

"--strangest thing--"

"--dug him up?--"

"--found them like this.--"

***

Awareness came slowly. He felt heavy and slow. His mouth tasted like iron and grit and something was tickling his nose. He went to brush it away but his hand hit something hard on the way. Tim peeled open one eye and saw the too-bright florescent lights and shut his eyes again. There was a deep chuckle from his left and the light dimmed. He risked opening his eyes again and looked. Someone was sitting on a little chair next to his hospital bed reading a paperback novel that was folded in half back on itself. They were tall and lithe with black hair that seemed to float.

"Good morning, sleepy head." He said quietly. "I probably should have warned you about the side effects before you went through with it."

"Phantom?" Tim muttered through the oxygen mask. His throat felt like sandpaper. "Where's--"

"He's in surgery. The doctors say he should make a full recovery." Phantom dog-eared the book and set it on the table beside him. "You were found severely dehydrated and covered in dirt. The best guess is you dug him out of his grave. How you knew he was alive in there is beyond me." Phantom gave him a grin. He'd have to come up with a story. Something believable. Later, though.

"What are you doing here? Why do you look like that?"

Before Phantom could answer there was a knock on the door and a nurse walked in carrying a tray.

"How is he--oh, good you're awake." The nurse set the tray down on Tim's rolling table. "I just need to change your fluids. How are you feeling?" She made quick work of the IV bag.

"Tired. Head hurts, throat sore." Tim rasped.

"I'm sure. I'll see about getting you some ibuprofen okay? In the meantime, your uncle can get you as many popsicles as you want. Right, Mr. Nightingale?" The nurse pinned Phantom with a look and he looked sheepish.

"Right. Popsicles are for the kids, not their guardians."

"Alright, I'm all done here. Call if you need anything."

Once she was gone Tim turned back to Phantom. "Uncle Nightingale?"

"They wouldn't let me stay if we weren't related."

"But...but why?"

"It's my job. I'm the Guardian of New Souls and Halfas."

"What's a Halfa?"

"It's what I am, and what Jason will become."

"But..but I. The spell." Tim could feel tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

"Shh, shh. Rest now." Phantom smoothed his hair and ran his fingers over Tims's scalp. It felt nice. "I'll explain everything when you're better."

Tims's eyes closed of their own accord and he fell back into a dreamless sleep.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dp x dc #dc comics #batman #crossover #tim drake #jason todd #evandarya writes #prompt fill

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silvereyedzoroark · 4 months

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Another Thrithstore Fakemon inspired creature based on the amusing photo from shiftythrifting tumblr post down below

I present to you Whaletomen (Whale-toe-men)

Name: Whaletomen Type: Electric / Psychic Ability: Levitate Hidden Ability: Disguise Classification: Fakémon Dex Entry:

Another strange Fakemon that is believed to be more myth than real, it is said to live in the space between worlds and its haunting songs can sometimes be picked up on certain radio frequencies.

Where ever this creature appears or goes it is always singing a haunting and strange song, that sounds like a mix of whale song and static.

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Originally when I first saw the photo below I was thinking, 'Hey wouldn't it be amusing if I made a Xatu variant based on this?' and well when working on the design it became its own terrifying creature. This thing probably has conspiracy theories on wither or not its real as people claimed to have heard its song, but when they tune into the radio frequency they heard it on, its no longer their. I guess one would consider it more of an Ultra Beast than Pokemon which I guess suits the creature more.

I also imagine this thing knows the move Teleport and is partly the reason people haven't been able to catch this thing on camera easily. Also it is seems to have an effect on radio frequencies and turning T.V's to static when its near by it is also a very 'wary' creature, seeming to want to avoid human contact, but is clearly looking for something or someone.

Photo below that inspired this fakemon creation.

#pokemon #fakemon #Whaletomen #Ultra Beast #Thrithstore Fakemon

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dreadfutures · 1 month

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2024 DA Fanfic Server OC SWAP Fics!

Every year in April, the DAFF server does a semi-secret round-robin gift exchange where the goal is to write a gift fic using your assigned person's OC. The gifts are always phenomenal, heartfelt, and give a glimpse of how your character is loved through someone else's eyes. Click the link above to read the 18 gift fics!

This year, I wrote for two different lovely writers, and both fics were OC & OC crossovers. I was so inspired by their characters I couldn't resist.

I wrote two of our Mahariels meeting as they quest for a cure for the Blight. And I gave a Trevelyan and my Lavellan the dragon fight we've all been rooting for!

The Dragon Age Fanfic Writers Discord Server anniversary (Aug 2021) generated a bunch of crossover-type gift fis and introduced the idea of a multiverse connected by eluvians. Thus, the Mirrorverse was born. This is an OPEN collection for ANYONE'S FICS that feature Dragon Age OCs who meet via the eluvians-to-the-multiverse plot gimmick. (I hope to see your own soon ;) )

Death is an Open Door

for Ghila Mahariel ( @ammoniteflesh )

Rating: T Words: 8100 (Crossover Mahariel & Mahariel).

Old Wardens told tales of long-gone companions and how they knew it was time to go. When hair thinned and nails grew sharp; when bone spurs sprouted or muscles began to hunch; when the eyes grew milky and the veins grew dark, and the light of the sun burned like the Maker’s wrath… that was when a Warden was a Warden no longer.

Mahariel had never known old Wardens.

Mahariel traveled at night.

Faust's Ghila Mahariel and my Halevune Mahariel are both worn out ten years after the Blight: shem politicians have not made good on the promises made to Ferelden's elves, and both Mahariels struggle with a lot of guilt, regret, and frustration. They both set out in search of something: a cure for the Blight, or at least its source. But their eluvian journey leads them from their own worlds, where each is the singular Hero of Ferelden, to somewhere in-between. Together.

It felt like the perfect mirror/foil set up for the two Mahariels and gave me the chance to write some horror and some ancient elven legends to boot!

and a second fic:

Unbreakable, Unbowed, Unyielding

for Theresa Tervelyan ( @warpedlegacy )

Rating: T Words: 2600 (Crossover Female Trevelyan & Female Lavellan, Female Trevelyan/Cullen Rutherford)

Tess, if it's this important we can march the blasted halla in with some troops to guard it. — Cullen

“For once,” said Inquisitor Theresa Trevelyan, a wry smile aimed at her advisers, “that might actually be a good idea, Commander.”

I love Theresa with all my heart, and her writer Duchess. I was able to write a little Cullen-centric mysterious mini adventure for her for the winter holiday exchange, but we've always talked about "Ixchel and Theresa should slay a dragon together!"

Now they have!

Featuring battle couples, mid-combat banter, a dash of humor, and a bit of a cliff hanger, I hope it inspires more Mirrorverse crossovers.

#dragon age fanfic #mirrorverse #daff reading list #ixchel lavellan #halevune mahariel #theresa trevelyan #ghila mahariel

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i520u · 1 year

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long distance ༘⋆

first time doing hc’s so it MIGHT be a little awks… 😢 also i’ve been losing the idgaf war with jiwoong lately he’s been so damn fine

ricky x gn!reader, fluff, point form

masterlist

request is open!

personally i think he’d get reaaaaaaallllll clingy

especially if you have different timezones like oh he’d definitely stay up all night just to talk to you

the grabby hands thing that he does whenever he doesn’t want someone to leave?? he’ll do that every single time you tell him you’re gonna hang up

jokingly calls you his discord kitten 😐😐😐

STUDY CALLS ARE A MUST.

ricky would be struggling with his upcoming exam while you’re out there enjoying your semester break and he’d get soooo jealous

asks you to facetime him while he finishes up on his assignment but then he gets distracted by your voice and there’s 0 progress on his work

ricky’s an art student 100%

a lot of his artworks that he needs to do for his assignments are inspired by you tbh 😞 like he misses you so much that he decided to revolve his schoolwork around you

i think at first he would’ve been really reluctant on doing long distance with you

but he also loves you too much so he was willing to try it out

he never gets used to it though. like he just wants to be with you physically every day. but he understands that he can’t just do that

he loves to send you surprise gifts too. maybe in a month you’d get 2-3 gifts delivered to your house by an ‘anonymous sender’

you obviously know who the sender was

ricky LOOOVES it when you immediately facetime him to show him that you’ve received the gifts he sent you, even if it was 4 in the morning for him

ricky likes sending you tiktoks that reminds him of you while you’re asleep so when you’re finally awake you’d have like 53 notifications from him

you’d get a call from him sometimes and it’s usually over something really trivial like him wanting you to experience the first snowfall of the year with him

or him showing you a random street cat that he found and saying that the cat is “soooo you”

girls tried hitting on him once. as a result he made sure his lockscreen was you, his wallpaper on his laptop was you, and like i said HIS ASSIGNMENTS were inspired by you

with that being said, one time his friends saw his lockscreen and called you hot and he got super jealous

(he wouldn’t admit it though)

one time ricky was eating a local candy that was not available at the place you lived in, so he decided to buy a dozen of them, put them in a box and shipped them to you

you cannot go on with your day without texting him good morning. one time you forgot to do so and he started overthinking about your wellbeing

even called your mom and your cousin to make sure you were ALRIGHT

those monthly ig story photodump thing? he always makes sure to include a photo of you and him (even if it was an old picture) in every one of his dumps!! he loves u so much!!!!!!

he’s rich so the first thing he would do is book a flight straight to your place as soon as his sem break starts <3

“ricky you should use your sem break to travel to other places”

“they don’t have you in other places, so why should i?”

when it’s time for him to go back to his place, though, ohhh he’d cry so hard in the plane

he promised you he wouldn’t cry but he never keeps his promise

gives you the longest and sweetest kiss ever before the airport staffs starts scolding him to check into his flight

if the long distance relationship lasted long enough he might actually just pay for your flight and expenses so that you could live with him tbh

#zb1 ricky #ricky #ricky shen #shen ricky #zb1 au #zb1 x reader #ricky au #ricky scenarios #ricky x reader #zb1 #quanrui imagines #shen quanrui #zb1 ricky imagines #zerobaseone #quanrui #ricky fluff #boys planet ricky

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prolix-yuy · 10 months

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Chapter 4: I Had to Face the Journey Before Me

Pairing: Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x F!Reader “Sugar”

Summary: He's only turning your world upside-down.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Now we're really going to Angstville, a million questions and SOME answers, brief description of a panic attack, will be E in later chapters so full series is 18+ MINORS DNI.

Notes: It's time for another (and better) face to face, though they're not on easy street just yet. We're starting to get into the beefy chapters now, and while they've got a lot of talking to do I hope you'll also enjoy the tensionnnnnn. Thank you to the Discord besties for giving me the best inspiration for Jack's ranch, and some of its inhabitants. Without further ado, the much-anticipated conversation!

Cross-posted on AO3

Decoherence Masterlist || Whiskey & Westworld Masterlist

The steering wheel is sticky with sweat, slicking your palms the closer you get to your destination. Jack gave you an address, followed by verbal directions “once you get past civilization.” You’d just passed that point, heading through an open fence and down a dirt road where the GPS could no longer follow. He said it would be about five more minutes after that, and “you can’t miss it.”

The tug in your chest, like a fishing line pulling you closer and closer, is terrifying and exhilarating.

You’d had plenty of time to contemplate what seeing Jack again might be like. After you checked into your room, you sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the wide wooden floorboards for at least an hour. The bed and breakfast you rented for the long weekend is cozy, just outside the town center. It’s classically furnished with a four poster bed, dark cherry dresser and oversized reading chair. The proprietor, a middle aged blonde woman named Michelle who gave you a no-nonsense vibe, had offered to light the fireplace but you refused.

“What time would you like breakfast tomorrow?” she asked as you were leaving. An innocuous question, but one that dried out your mouth. You had planned to come back here after speaking with Jack, ruminate on what he might share, but having to commit to it makes a confusing swirl of emotion build behind your eyes.

“8am, if that’s no trouble.”

Now, mere minutes away from being face to face with the person who’d turned your life upside down yet again, that commitment is a comforting blanket. You have a way out in case it doesn’t go well, someone who will notice where you’ve gone. Well, someone else at least. Lacey knew you were here, though not precisely why.

“Are you sure you want to meet some guy you’ve only known for a few months? I know Match is pretty reputable, but you’re flying to him. Do you have a plan B if he’s a big old catfish?”

A small lie, but Lacey’s concern is not far off from your own.

“If it’s terrible, I’ll bail. I know it sounds a little crazy, especially after the past year, but…it’s the first thing I’ve been excited about in what feels like forever.”

She squeezes your shoulders, giving you a kind smile.

“Sometimes, it’s good to do something a little crazy.”

This probably isn’t what she meant.

Cresting over a small hill, the house comes into view. You’ve become so accustomed to the city - skyscrapers, men and women in fresh-pressed suits, corporate coffee shops and endless headlights - that the landscape breathes renewal into your chest. The vista is dotted in reds and ochres, ironwood trees giving cover to the hard-packed dirt. Tiny dark lines of fences dot across the hills, the road carving a deep rut to a ranch house.

Where Sweetwater had been a manufactured ideal of what the western countryside should be, Jack somehow found its true form. The boards and shingles are weathered to a faded brown that nestles into the landscape. A sizable portico shelters a few chairs and a porch swing that’s just whimsical enough to bring a smile to your lips. A barn constructed in much the same style stands proudly a short distance away, and a rough wood fence sections off plots. There’s another machine barn housing what you think is a tractor, tire treads cut into the dirt.

Pulling your car up beside a faded blue pickup truck, you shut off the engine and take a moment to breathe. You already feel like you’re a world away from your life, just like the first steps into Westworld. But instead of the tamped-down excitement you held then, a heavy dread presses your anticipation low. How does this all exist at the hands of a man who is nothing like anything around him?

Finally shaking out your hands and checking yourself in the mirror, you open your car door to a curious brown and white Jack Russell terrier peering up from the dirt. The sudden intrusion makes you bark out a laugh, leaning down as his mouth opens and his tongue flops out.

“Well hello there,” you say, earning a sneeze and wag of its short chestnut-tipped tail. It backs up enough to let you step out, sniffing at the car tires and sitting primly while you stretch your back. When you extend your hand for a sniff, it whuffles on your fingertips before making three quick circles with a yip.

Chuckling, you take in a deep breath and the landscape in front of you bursts into color and sound. The shifting whistle of sand on the wind. Verdant greens twisting around tree branches. Hay, soil, tin, and baking sun tangling in your nostrils. A nicker and snort, far away, that makes your heart clench at the thought of horses.

The terrier trots off to climb the porch steps, looking behind like he’s expecting you to follow. Your feet propel you forward, each step crunching under your shoes letting a weight ease on your back. There are worlds so much bigger and bolder than this, but now in this moment, even with all that waits behind the door, answers feel closer than ever.

You reach out and knock three times, then wait.

The door swings open, and it’s Jack, but so much more than the man you remembered. Dark-washed jeans taper to scuffed and faded boots, dirt ground into the knees. The brown plaid he’s wearing has a handful of open buttons by his neck, exposing a long line of dewy skin from his collarbone to his throat, swallowing hard. His thick dark hair is parted and combed neatly, soft waves framing his face. His hand grips the edge of the door, knuckles going white.

“Hey,” he says, small smile on his lips and trepidation painting his face. Your own must be showing just as clearly. “Thank you for coming.” You nod and shuffle on the porch, hands wringing nervously. Scolding yourself, you forcibly drop them to your side.

At your heels, the terrier yips and clambors into the open door. The corner of Jack’s mouth turns up.

“I see you met Russell already. He tends to be the better host.” Jack rubs the back of his neck and it’s so endearing you almost forget the frustration and trepidation.

“He gave me a warm welcome. Though his name isn’t that imaginative,” you tease lightly, the words coming easy to mind.

“Well, we sure as hell couldn’t have two Jacks around here, could we?” he replies. A soft giggle blankets you before falling silent again. Jack’s eyes roam, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“Would you like to talk out here on the porch? Or come in?” he asks, stepping back enough for you to see the hall stretching behind him. Taking a deep breath, you will your voice to steady.

“Inside is fine,” you manage, and Jack backs up to let you in. Stepping over the threshold brings your shoulder close to his chest, heat prickling at your skin. He closes the door behind you, then nods quickly to follow him in.

For someone you always considered a man’s man from his bravado and showmanship, his home is warmly decorated. Passing by the living room, the couch is oversized and slouchy with a well-worn recliner facing a modest TV. Dark woven rugs warm the wide-planked oak floors, gauzy curtains sandwiched between windowpanes and cream drapes. Russell’s nails click on the hardwood as Jack gives him a little nod and point. A showdown of puppy dog eyes and a stern nod finally sends a dejected pup to curl up on the couch, head propped on the armrest as you venture further in.

Jack leads you to the end of the hall and the heart of any home - the kitchen. The appliances are older, well used, with deeply scarred wooden counters and an impressive farmers sink under a window. The top cabinets look to have been recently sanded and prepped for stain to match the lower ones. Noticing your attention, Jack pipes up, “Caught me in the middle of a project.”

He’s got projects. He probably has TV shows he likes, a way he prefers his coffee. And looking at him as he pulls up another chair to the little kitchen table in the center of the room, it’s clear that he has a heart when he looks at you.

“Would you like something to drink? I’ve got iced tea, a few beers…” he rattles off as you scoot your chair up to the table edge. “Whiskey, if that’s not too on the nose.”

“Seems appropriate,” you muse, resting your wrists on the pale yellow plastic covering on the table. Jack huffs quietly, pulling down two short glasses and a bottle of Statesman from a high shelf. Pouring you a glass each, he sets them between and sits across. You take the glass between your hands, fingers circling the rim and lending some grounding to your racing thoughts.

“So…I might not have an answer to every question, but I can tell you as much as I know.” Jack’s voice, quiet and cautious, cuts through the air like an arrow to the heart. His posture is rigid, apprehensive, but not defensive. He probably thinks you’re still holding on to the notion that he’s human. He’s probably just as scared as you are of what this will bring.

“I guess…how long have you…known? Been sentient? Did you know when…” The words start to tumble out of your mouth as every question repeating in your brain vies for attention. “Fuck, I don’t know how to do this,” you say, hands coming up to massage your temples. Jack holds the tumbler between two fingers, twisting it on the table.

“You and me both, Sugar.”

“That!” you shout, hitting your palm on the table. Jack’s eyebrows shoot straight into his hairline. “That’s the problem. You waltz back in here and act like we’re still the same people as we were in there.” Your voice cracks as you cross your arms over your chest. “But we’re not. I have no idea who you are. What you are.”

“I’m still Jack,” he says, quieter. There’s pain in the creases around his eyes.

“Are you?” you ask, and it’s harsh, acidic in your mouth. “Who the fuck is Jack? I met someone that called themself Jack…in a world that wasn’t real. How can you be Jack here? Who the fuck is Jack in this…” You gesture to the farmhouse surrounding you. “...this place?”

Jack chews on nothing, eyes downturned and searching his glass. Your heart is fluttering in your chest, chin jutting out in a defiance that would shatter with a strong breeze. Jack takes in a deep breath and a fortifying sip of liquor.

“Whiskey is a construct of Delos. A man made for the story they wanted. Widowed, wife and child lost. Driven by grief and madness. A traitor doomed to die every. Single. Time.” Jack punctuates his words by tapping his cup to the table. Each knock is a death knell.

“Now Jack, Jack has nothing to do with that world. He grew up raising horses. Mom and Dad passed some years ago. Or so he tells people who ask. Trains working horses, some farm hand work. Sells his chickens’ eggs. Helps some of the older folk with the higher-tech harvesting equipment. Keeps to himself.”

Your fingers press into your glass, something to fortify you against the push and pull inside your chest.

“And which of those men did I…”

You swallow up the words that grip your heart.

“Both. Neither. I’d barely become when I met you. You left the bar with your friends, and Maeve…awakened me.” He lifts the glass to his lips and takes a barely-there sip, a slip of his tongue to catch the burn sending a frisson down your back. Little slips of memory - suave, confident, then cautious, unsure - dance along the edges.

“You felt different, between the bar and the wagons,” you say, taking a sip of your own. It’s nice, sweet on the tip of your tongue and full as it warms your chest. “It was just like that? One minute you’re Whiskey and the next you’re Jack?”

“Bit more complicated,” he muses, sardonic smile quirking his mustache. “I knew something was up, something was different, but it took time to figure it all out. I barely knew what to do with myself when I was with you.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you say, leaning back in the chair. “I guess you did. Felt like you knew exactly what to do to make everything…” You choke on the word perfect.

“Well that’s more Delos than me. The mesh network, the storylines. Once I could see it…” He falters, falls silent for a moment. When his eyes finally make it back to yours, they’re almost sheepish. “Sorry, not sure how much of this you want to know. I assume…you don’t feel the same way you did the last time we saw each other?”

You sigh, rubbing your temple. A dull ache scratches behind your eyes, the exhaustion of travel and the weight of conversation taking its toll.

“I talked to someone who gave me some perspective,” you finally say. Jack’s smile vanishes, replaced with a dead-set seriousness.

“You told someone about me?” he asks, and the fear in his voice clenches your chest.

“No, no, not like that. I spoke to an ex-Delos worker. She didn’t ask a lot of questions. But she gave me enough to know that you aren’t some predator.” Jack’s shoulders lower, but his hands are still nervous and tight.

“She didn't know you were coming here?”

“Only Lacey knows. And only where I am, not about you.” Jack finally releases, chewing on his lower lip.

“Sorry, it’s just…I’m not sure if they’re looking for me. For their property,” he spits out. In this idyllic little home so far away from the advances of society, more things start making sense.

“How long were you in the park after I left?”

“About a month. Maeve had an escape plan, but it took time…and sacrifices.”

The next question comes easily. In fact, most of what he’s saying now seems easier to accept.

“And then?”

Jack leans back in his chair, hands spread wide on the tabletop. His fingernail scratches at the surface, at some invisible stain that stands between his memories and you.

“Nothing could have prepared me for what this world looked like. I thought the hell I woke up in the first time was the worst thing I could imagine but…” Jack’s jaw tightens , shaking his head. “It was like waking from a dream into something cold and unforgiving. I tried to make my way but I got too close to the city and…” He waves his hands, fingers wiggling as he makes an explosion noise, “It was like something inside me set off every alarm. I ran until I couldn’t hear sirens. The land was more familiar to me than anything humans built.”

Another swig of liquor, almost draining his glass. “Managed to learn more about my predicament in lower tech places. It was easier to pass there. I figured out what I needed to be a man in this world, and set about doing it. With a brain like mine, lots of doors opened.”

“I didn’t even know places like this still existed.” Your eye catches on a cowboy hat resting on the kitchen counter, black and worn. Breath catching, you wonder why it never occurred to you that Jack wore a black hat. It practically screams “bad guy” in every old Western, yet he never struck you as such.

Maybe you should have realized sooner that you weren’t following a narrative with him.

“Took me some time to find it. I moved around a bit, tried the cities but…it was just too much, you know?” Jack shrugs one shoulder, and you can understand how a cowboy wouldn’t fit easily into a society that runs off of code and data and intangibles. Not when fresh air and a hard day’s work could be found.

There it is again, that pull in your chest. You recognize it from the moments right after you entered Westworld, the familiarity of a life spent outside, rough and unkempt. The relief of leaving the sleek and shiny behind for dirt under your fingernails. You clear your throat, knocking back the rest of your glass in an attempt to regain a grip on the practical nature of this meeting.

“But you made it. You’re…here. Free.”

Jack nods slowly.

“So are you. It seems.”

In five words the careful wall you built so sensibly around your heart, all the coaching and resolve you fortified it with, threatens to crumble. You’re free batters your teeth, and in the echo of that thought is the memory of long nights wondering if you made the wrong choice. The coldness of your bed, the quiet that pervaded with only you in the small apartment you moved to. Jack makes as if to reach for your hand, but stops short, letting his heavy one lay a respectable distance away.

“I wanted to go to you the first day. And every day after. But after seeing what I had to learn…I knew I couldn’t burden you with that. I had to figure out who I was first.”

Your heart pumps so hard you’re sure it will break. When has someone ever had a burden they didn’t want to place on you? How much had you shouldered from the people around you, without even thinking hard about it?

“And then when I was ready, I didn’t know if you were.” The crease between your brows made Jack stumble on. “I mean, I didn’t know how much of your story was true. And I didn’t want to barge in and say something stupid if your life was peachy keen without…me.”

Say something stupid, Jack, your weary mind begs, but your pride won’t allow.

“So I got myself an identity, a job, this house. It’s close to the paradise I wanted. Or, that Whiskey wanted. I guess it’s good enough for me to want it too. And I waited.”

“Until?”

The scrawl between the lines of your question is faint, but Jack reads it well enough.

“I took a long time to ask myself if I wanted to drag you into this. As you’ve discovered, nothing about this is easy.” Jack pours another glass for himself, raising his eyebrows at you. Nodding, he pours two fingers into your glass and settles his elbows on the table. “But one day, it felt like it was time to at least try.”

Your throat is sticky and sore, the next sip of whiskey burning more than clearing the way for your words.

“How did you find me?” you ask, the question finally bubbling up after weeks of torturing yourself. Jack’s eyes flick to your face, and the uncertainty comes out in his hands.

“I didn’t have much,” he says, standing up and walking to his modest off-white fridge. He slips a magnet off of something, carrying it back to the table. It’s a small square, black with white borders, a thicker one on the bottom. Your breath freezes in your lungs as he places it in your hands.

The polaroid Lacey took over a year ago. It’s worn, a permanent scuff on the bottom right corner, the shine worn from the photo in places.

Like listening underwater, Jack’s voice drifts to you.

Had your first name, nothing else

What would have happened if you never went?

Talked to a private investigator

Where would you be now? Married? Bound by duty? Resigned to a life that never gave you enough?

Took months

What the hell were you doing?

Suddenly you can’t sit anymore, can barely be in this house, next to this man who can’t stop turning your world inside out. Stumbling to your feet you drop the polaroid like it’s burned you, hand coming up to press against your lips. Jack’s eyes are wide and alarmed but you’re too busy trying to decide if screaming or running is what’s tearing your body apart.

“Sugar?”

“Don’t call me that!” you shout, the cacophonous energy finally finding release. With it come tears as you try to speak through your clenched throat and hitching breaths. “You can’t…this can’t be…I need…I can’t breathe,” you heave, sprinting for the front door. Slamming it open, you clatter onto the front porch, the small step out of the doorway startling your weak knees. You crumple, sitting hard on the worn slats and letting the heaving sobs shake your body. Jack’s voice booming your name follows your path, heavy boots and the skitter of Russell’s paws coming to a stop beside you.

“I’m sorry, darlin’, I thought it might be too much,” he murmurs, kneeling just far enough away. You can’t bring yourself to look at him yet, the cries rough and guttural as you try to get the panic under control. Russell plants his paws in your lap and licks at your face, letting you cup his small head in your hands.

You’d taken so much time telling yourself that Jack didn’t matter, that your decision to leave wasn’t because of him. He wasn’t an infidelity, he was a wake-up call that you’d been unhappy for so long. You couldn’t use him as a crutch. You had to own your choices, and it made you stronger, happier every day since.

Reaching out, your hand collides with soft flannel and a beating heart. Fingers curling, you fist the fabric as you lift your head, and you finally let a voice inside speak for the first time in so long.

Because a tiny part of you, so small you buried it under everything else you used to cope, left your fiancé for a man who you could not let yourself believe was real.

Except now, he is, and he’s looking at you like he can’t believe you’re in front of him either.

“Jack…” you croak out, leaning forward.

“I’m here,” he croons, and you’re surrounded by comforting arms and your nose pressed into a shoulder. He pulls you in tight, one hand cupping the back of your head while the other wraps around your waist. Russell paws at your pant leg and presses his wet nose to your elbow. A few hiccuping sobs trail off as Jack holds you, the faint whinny and thud of horse hooves and chickens worrying soothing you further.

When the shoulder of his flannel is sufficiently soaked and your back starts to ache, you let Jack help you to your feet. He still hovers, released from your embrace but still chest to chest as he searches your features. Hurriedly you wipe your nose and cheeks, your face hot under the effort of crying your eyes out. Tentatively, he takes your chin between two fingers and tilts your eyes to meet him.

“I’m sorry, I know there’s a lot we still have to talk about…” he starts, but you wave him off.

“Yes, yeah, I just…I think I need to take a break. Get my head around this,” you interrupt. Jack’s hand falls, chewing the inside of his lip. He even takes a step back, your body unconsciously drifting towards him. Your logical mind snaps you back to attention.

“You’re close by?” Jack asks, a nod in return. “In town?” Another nod. Your lips are numb and you’re not sure you can manage much more talking. Jack nods himself before leading you down the steps and to your car. You scrub your face one more time, turning to say…what? Goodbye? I’ll call you? But Jack intercedes.

“I have to run some errands in town tomorrow. Maybe you’d like to come along? I can show you the rest of the ranch too, if you feel up to it.”

Staring into Jack’s hopeful half-smile, there’s only one answer you can give.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

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