#2k words

[patchworkcuddlebug]

The Remnant Heart

[This story contains surgery, discussions/depictions of human organs, as well as a general theme of anxiety and horror.]

I don't know if I slept. I can't tell anymore.

It used to be agonizing for me to lay awake at night, stewing in my own restless patience as I try to allow myself to rest. But now I barely notice the time go by.

Perhaps this is stillness? Or the closest I can hope to achieve to it in my current state. There was no clear separation between states, no consciousness and unconsciousness. Was it rest? Or was I performing the task of stillness, awake and aware of my inaction as the minutes gradually slipped by?

I'm shaken from my thoughts by my heartbeat. I need to go see her.

I'm painfully aware of what is left inside me as I try to rise. My heart, lungs, liver, and nerves press uncomfortably against the clockwork filling the rest of me. I'm sure the thoughts of everything getting tangled, ripping me into a gory mess as my machinery ticks away uncaring, would keep me up at night if such thoughts still had a brain to occupy. I choose not to articulate what emotions such thoughts would stir in my nerves, what feelings hide inside the phantom goosebumps. I have something much more pressing to focus on.

My morning routine is easier than it ever has been. My skin was one of the first things to go, so I needn't worry about sweat and grime accumulating as I sleep. Still, the shower is a refreshing way to start any morning, and it allows me to style my hair more thoroughly. Besides the lightened load, it simply feels easier to allow myself to perform as I am expected to. There's no begrudging resistance; I get to make my bed.

The only real concern is sustenance. My body can no longer process food as a human's would, but it is not as magically attuned as a completed doll would be. She's prepared a collection of crystals which should give me enough energy to last 24 hours each without feeling sluggish. The tingling sensation leaves my fingertips as I load one onto my tongue, the buzzing instead refreshingly flowing through my whole body. It melts in my mouth almost as quickly as it enters, leaving nothing but a volatile vapour.

I look down at my outfit one final time before leaving. It's a dress she picked out for me, something she has recommended to many clients in the past. It was inexpensive, but still satisfactorily elegant. An a-line dress with a knee-length skirt that frills to match the puffed sleeves. I think about it for the entire walk to her clinic.

The air isn't as cold as it used to be.

. . . . .

Her back is turned, accounting for her tools. A selection of pristinely maintained surgical implements, most obfuscated by her figure as I try to gaze from my position on her table. Back straight, legs together, hands balled together and resting on my midsection. "Have there been any more mental developments since your last appointment?"

"I'm having trouble sleeping." A second of consideration. "And it feels good to answer you. Better than it did before."

"That's perfectly normal at this stage. Your independence should start getting weaker as time goes on. Do you have someone to oversee you?"

"Yes." I nod, habitually.

I notice it feels bad to lie to her, as well. My heart beats faster.

"We'll be taking your blood today, Mimic." She states as a matter of course. "Are you still comfortable with that name?"

"Yes." Terse, yet polite. Saying just as much as I need to. It's the truth, but it's still not the satisfaction I should feel from responding to my better, something lingering in my mind.

"Do you have any concerns about the procedure?" she says after turning to look at my face. Is it perception, or protocol? I answer regardless, my tone unchanged.

"What will happen to my heart?"

"Well, it won't have anything to pump anymore, so it'll start to atrophy." She says with a practised delicacy. "Since your autonomic nervous system is still mostly intact, this can be a little uncomfortable, so we try to remove it within a few weeks of-"

For just a moment, politeness escapes me. "I want it gone."

She doesn't waver. "Well, you're already scheduled for your next appointment, but I can certainly see if my dolls can move you up." There's a deep compassion in her voice, one used against countless before me. "Is there anything else you'd like to discuss before we get started?"

"I'm content." I shake my head, habitually. I want it gone. I will tear myself open and rip it out in front of her, anything to stop this damned panicked beating against my chest. But good dolls obey.

She says something else, a formality of beginning, but I can't respond as I'm supposed to. I allow myself to dwell, losing my thoughts in the ways only a person could. Is this fear, or anticipation? Whatever it is, it can't make me protest. My heart beats all the same.

I'm aware of the expectations, I've looked over the consent form too many times to count, feeling my eyes buzz with anticipation. Beyond the banality of the paperwork, the evaluations, the reiteration of permanence and potential for harm, every detail of this process has been imparted to me without the chance for confusion.

I hold out my arm, and she gently supports it with hers. She struggles for a moment to find the vein hiding in the tangle underneath my porcelain shell, bending my hand as one would pose a doll to force a gap in my wrist's joints. The pain is momentary and negligible. Then, finally, it can begin.

As a person, a proper and fully human being, I couldn't stand having my blood taken. It was dreadfully vulnerable, an exposure, the loss of something that must remain inside at all costs. But now, I can't look away. I stare with rapt enchantment as finally, finally, I can discard another burden. Finally, I can let it go.

First I feel it in my feet. They start to feel cold, almost... drafty. Compared to the feeling of having my skeletal system removed, the feeling of being emptied of blood isn't as visceral as I had anticipated. Although, that may have been from how sudden it was to wake up, fighting through the sedative to revel in my alleviated body. Here, the feeling is more... supplemental. A formality of diminishing returns.

My heart beats faster. I breathe a little more. I think it's finally noticed what's going on.

I fight off a shudder as the coldness spreads to where my stomach once was. I must have stillness, lest I snap the fragile needle between my rigid porcelain.

It's in my hands now. I feel it more in the left arm, the chill spreading from my fingertips unwelcome against my still-full chest. I'm not sure if I could move even if I wanted to. It feels much colder there than anywhere else, much more empty. My proprioception is shot; I need to look at my fingers to confirm they still bend, and their twitching is haggard and clumsy. I was told of this numbness, to expect the recovery period to be difficult. To have the awareness powering the magical movements of my body to dull for an irritating length. But the feeling of undergoing it still induces panic, my heart beating ever faster.

Those worthless human remnants cling to self-preservation. My heart beats and beats as if begging, trying to pump my adrenaline enough to get me out of such a deadly situation with what little I have left intact. So pathetically uncoordinated, I lost my endocrine system long ago. What use is there for something so misguided, so detrimental? It doesn't know what it's doing, acting on blind instinct, flexing without caring why.

It's getting so much faster. The heat is finally receding from my face. What a greedy thing, trying to pump every last drop into itself. Fighting against the one thing I've wanted more than anything for as long as I can bother to remember. Such a stupid, pathetic, worthless organ. Good for nothing but distracting me with its infernal beating when good dolls need to focus. Making me cling to feelings of hesitance and conformity that dolls don't need.

My breath hitches and I flinch as it skips its first beat. I'm going to die. I focus on the consent, the intake, everything rational telling me every doll has felt this before. The last remnants of my past clawing at the comfortable similarity of a life it knew. The dread remains. Can't it see that I was never alive? Can't it know that it's afraid of itself? Can't it accept that this is for its own good?

But hearts can't see, as my eyes were quickly replaced by pretty glass marbles, sculpted treasures full of life. It can't know, the brain that held everything I ever believed was the first thing to be overhauled, before it was ever removed. It can't accept, it's just a heart, never built for anything but trying to survive, to try and stay safe the only way it can.

And as the last of its essence was drained away, left with the last of the strength it will ever have, all it could do was force out the last of its blood. It was weak, fading, but there, finally accepting that it could do no more. It was finally, finally allowed to rest. I can't find it in myself to curse it anymore, just wishing that it knows it served me well.

I breathe, and it feels useless. There's nothing for the air to do inside of me anymore. Still, the act is nostalgically soothing, something to ground me as the witch removes the needle.

"Alright, that's the procedure." The witch smiles to herself as she tends to her tools, discarding used parts and putting things where they belong. "Try to take a second to acclimate to everything, this is usually quite the shock."

I slowly, experimentally, lift a hand up to my chest. I can't feel it as I hold it in the air, trying to blindly guide it into place, until I feel porcelain touch porcelain as it lands over my still heart. Useless as it may be now, that frantic muscle kept it alive long enough to make it here.

The feeling will return. Or perhaps, it will arrive for the first time.

I struggle against my body, worn-out but calmingly chilled, to speak as soon as I can. "There is something I would like to ask for its next surgery."

. . . . .

This one retires to its chambers. It has still found no witch to serve, no purpose beyond preserving itself. Until this is to be fixed, it derives pleasure from such simple acts as maintaining itself and cleaning its surroundings, just as a doll would. The joy it feels is its purpose.

Sometimes this one swears it still hears it beat. That's all its poor heart knows, after all. When this one makes mistakes, has doubts of its rightfulness, looking back at the protected numbness of before it knew what it wanted from its existence. In those moments, it likes to take its heart down from its place on the shelf. It holds the memorial, the tube in which it is preserved, close to its porcelain chest as it finds stillness in its bed.

There is no comfort in this, nothing worth cuddling, no warmth left in the organ's never-decaying body, no more exhausted work to be extracted from the preserved cardiovascular muscles.

It calms the doll nonetheless, its heart resting just a little easier.

[a-sin-to-be-rin]

Unsuitable Home

Dick can't live at the circus anymore. They say it's in his best interest, but no one even asked him what he wanted.

---

It’s a sunny day. Painfully so. Dick has never been particularly averse to the heat - circus tents and bright stage lights aren’t exactly cold - but today, he can feel his skin crack and blister under the sun’s harsh rays. Everything is just too bright. Too loud. Too hot.

He’s suffocating.

“Today, we honor two people. Two very dear friends.” Mr. Haly’s voice is steady, but it’s clearer and heavier than Dick has ever heard it before. Laden with emotion but certain in its message. “John and Mary were some of the kindest-”

“No.” Dick doesn’t even realize he’s making the sound until it has already silenced the carnys. He can’t stop the trembling of his lip or the raggedness of his breath. He just can’t stop.

“Shh, shh, shh,” Gillie puts a gentle hand on his back and tries to lead him away.

“No,” Dick gasps, wrenching himself from the fire dancer and rushing up to Mr. Haly. He grips the man’s sleeve and shakes his head desperately. “No, please. Please don’t.”

“Dickie, kiddo,” Mr. Haly says gently, nudging Dick back towards Gillie. “Sit this out. We’ll talk after.”

But Mr. Haly doesn’t understand. If he gives this speech, if they have this wake…

Dick takes in a shuddering breath, so loud it makes his own heart skip a beat. But he allows Gillie to lead him away. They walk to the Graysons’… to Dick’s trailer. As they go, Dick’s vision blurs, the words behind him echoing for miles.

“John and Mary would give anything for their family. They were a mother and father. A brother and sister to us. Family.”

“Please, no,” Dick murmurs. “No, no, no.”

“Shh.” Gillie holds his hand tightly. Dick doesn’t know if it’s to ground him or to make sure he doesn’t run away. “Come on.”

They climb in the trailer, and Gillie pulls the door shut with a slam. If Dick shuts his eyes and buries his face in his bedding, he can block out the noise outside. He can pretend that it’s two days ago. That he’s waking up to the sounds of his parents talking. That nothing can ever hurt them.

But he can’t close his eyes. He can never close his eyes again, because every time he does… Every time he does, he sees his parents. After the fall.

So instead, Dick crawls onto the blue vinyl bench by the window and hugs his knees. Gillie is close behind, sitting beside him and wrapping an arm around him, holding him close. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to.

Dick doesn’t cry. He doesn’t have the tears left.

For many, many minutes, they say nothing. Gillie rubs his shoulder. Dick leans on her.

And then Dick gets impatient. “Are they done?”

Gillie shakes her head. “I can hear them still.”

Dick hums. He shifts away, and Gillie lets go.

“I can’t stay here, can I?”

The dancer hesitates. “We can stay here as long as you need.”

“No. Not the trailer. I mean… They’re gonna take me away, now that I don’t have parents. Right?”

“I don’t know.”

Dick kicks his legs. He grows restless, climbing the bench and hanging from the bar along the ceiling. Upside-down, things are still terrible, only now the blood has rushed to his head.

But it’s a distraction, and Dick will take it.

The door to the trailer opens, and Dick drops from the ceiling.

“Dickie,” Mr. Haly greets.

Dick nods back, and Gillie slips out the door. Dick wonders if she’s giving them space or if she can’t stand to be in the same trailer as him.

“I’m sorry,” Mr. Haly says. “That was… I know that was a lot. And I’m sorry you had to hear any of that.”

Dick stares at his shoes. His mom bought him those shoes last month. She’d said Dick was growing out of shoes faster than the shoe people could make them.

“Kiddo.” Mr. Haly is in front of Dick, one hand hovering over his shoulder. “Do you want to be left alone?”

Slowly, Dick shakes his head. “I… What’s wrong with me, Mr. Haly?”

That grabs his attention. He sits down and motions Dick over to do the same. “What do you mean? There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“I… I didn’t catch my parents. We’re… We’re the Flying Graysons. We’re supposed to catch each other. And I just… watched.”

“Oh, no. No, no, kiddo, that’s not true. You weren’t supposed to - you can’t catch your parents. They catch you. That’s the routine. You aren’t old enough to catch them.”

Dick picks at the callouses on his palm. “I don’t care. I should’ve anyway.”

“That’s not fair.”

“But that’s why you don’t want me anymore.” Dick finally looks up, guilt and frustration and regret piercing his eyes.

“We’d love to have you,” Mr. Haly insists. “But without parents, they won’t let you stay.”

“Adopt me,” Dick insists. “Or Gillie. Or Appy. Or Luka. Someone.”

Mr. Haly’s expression breaks. “It’s not that simple, kiddo. They won’t let us adopt you. Not when we’re always on the move. Believe me, I tried.”

But Dick doesn’t believe him. “What did I do wrong? Is it because I didn’t catch them? I…” Angry tears well up, but Dick doesn’t let them fall. “I tried. I tried to, but they were up there, and I was on the ground and-”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. You’ve got to believe me. Your parents are so proud of you. They wouldn’t want you any other way.”

Dick ducks his head. “Please leave,” he whispers.

“I…” Mr. Haly stands, but the trailer door doesn’t open.

“Please.” Dick can’t look at him. “Please just go.” He doesn't turn to see if Mr. Haly left, but he hears the door open and close again.

And then, alone, Dick screams.

---

Protective services take Dick away the next day. 

“We’re his family,” Irene insists. “He needs family right now.”

The social worker shakes her head. She can't be that old, but the fatigue lining her face makes her seem ancient. “It's not for me to choose. Juvenile services found the circus to be an… unsuitable home for a young boy. Not without his parents.”

“Can't it wait a few weeks? At least until the kid has some time to process things?” Mr. Haly sounds desperate, and Dick can't bear to hear it anymore.

“It's okay,” Dick says, stepping out from behind the troupe. “I can go.”

And no one wants to argue with Dick. No one has tried to argue with him. Not since the fall. Maybe they're trying to give Dick his space. Or maybe they're just scared that Dick will break down at the mildest of confrontations. Either way, Dick wishes they would just argue instead.

“Listen, kiddo.” Mr. Haly kneels down so he's at eye level with Dick. “You need anything - anything at all - you call us, y’here me?”

“Thanks, Mr. Haly.”

The man places a heavy hand on Dick’s shoulder. “Hang tough, kid.”

Dick nods once, eyes and throat burning.

“All done?” The social worker is looking at him cautiously.

Dick steals a hug from several troupe members before wiping his face with his palms and nodding.

“Let’s go, then.”

The ride is quiet, driven by a man in a sheriff's jacket. Dick isn't sure why the sheriff is involved. Maybe he should ask. Maybe he should be more concerned about this. But all he feels is numb. You can only take so much before you have to just… shut it out.

“Here,” the social worker says, and the sheriff pulls into a parking lot. The adjacent building is old, with ornate architecture sweeping across the roof and spilling down its columns. It'd almost be pretty if it wasn't so worn from centuries of acid rain and smog.

“Where are we?” Dick asks, unclipping his seatbelt and exiting the car.

“Gotham City Youth Center.”

Dick isn't sure what a youth center is, really, but context clues suggest that it's a temporary place for kids. Just until they get foster homes. It can’t be so bad, can it?

Dick was wrong. He learns that the hard way over the next week.

“Hey, Circus Boy,” someone says on his second day at the center. “You're in my spot.”

Dick frowns. “I was sitting here first.”

“Yeah,” the guy scoffs. “But it’s mine. Buzz off.” He folds his arms, and two other boys step forward, one with a baseball bat and the other with a two-by-four.

There are a lot of things Dick could do. He could argue back. He could yell for security. He could just give the kid the damn seat.

But Dick has had it up to here with people telling him what to do and where to go. He’s done taking orders. So instead, he folds his own arms and glares at the group. “No. Go get your own seat.”

The kid with a two-by-four rushes him, and Dick easily jumps out of the way. He’s been in plenty of fights - bound to be, if you grow up in the circus - so this doesn’t scare him. He doesn’t even feel excited. He’s still numb.

“Wh-?”

Dick backflips onto his hands, pushes off onto the wall, then jumps off the wall to throw a punch at one guy’s back and a kick at another’s face. But there’s still a third guy, and it really only takes one. A savage right hook wrenches Dick’s head to the side, teeth vibrating from the impact.

And then it’s all over. The other two recover, and suddenly three guys are wailing on him with fists and a bat and dirty sneakers. All Dick can do is curl up on the floor and try to protect his head. He’s pretty sure he’s going to die here.

Then there’s shouting, louder and angrier than the bullies’ cheerful whoops. Another violent blow to his jaw knocks him out, and then he’s waking up to two guards above him.

“Tough luck, kid,” one guard says apologetically. The other guard pulls Dick to his feet.

They walk to the infirmary together, and as they do, Dick thinks that maybe he should be angry about this. Why did those kids have to pick him? Why couldn’t they just mind their own business?

But Dick isn’t angry or sad or even upset.

He’s numb.

---

Dick escapes the youth center a week later. He slips out the door and sneaks past the night watch. Then he opens the flue of the fireplace and climbs in. With his back and hands pressed against one side of the chimney and his bare feet planted against the opposite side, Dick shuffles his way up. He thinks he might make a pretty decent ninja, if he ever gets out of this place.

Once Dick has reached the top, he crawls out onto the roof. Then he scans the area for an exit route. Maybe he could make it to the scaffolding? Or maybe there’s a fire escape around here-

“You should have brought shoes with you.”

Dick jumps. But the dark shadow with the gravelly voice stays as still as the gargoyle beside it. “How far do you expect to get in bare feet?” it patronizes.

Wait. Dick has heard about this. He’s been to Gotham a few times - it's a staple in the Haly Circus Route - and he’s heard all about the city's demonic night creature.

“Are you-?”

“I am the Batman.”

That's enough proof for Dick. He sprints back to the chimney. Better to get beaten bloody at the youth center than to have the muscles ripped from his bones by an evil half-bat, half-bear with a taste for human flesh.

But the evil half-bat, half-bear seems to have other ideas. He snatches Dick’s t-shirt, dragging him back. “Wait a second, Dick. I’m here to help you.”

How did he-?

“I know your name,” the Batman explains. “I know your story. It's not so different from mine. And I know your parents were murdered.”

Dick sits on the peak of the roof and hugs his knees. “But it was an accident. The police said-”

“The police don't know what I know.” His tone is sharp. Icy. Dick shivers. He hadn't realized how cold it is out here.

“The trapeze line showed no evidence of being cut, and that satisfied them,” the Batman continues. “But I found minute traces of an organic acid on the line. It mimicked natural wear. It was supposed to look like an accident.”

It's a lot of information. Dick doesn't process any of it. He just wants to forget about it. He doesn't care what the evidence is. He wants to stop talking about it. Forever.

“What difference does it make?” Dick’s eyes are watering, and he tells himself it's just the chill. “They're dead! I’m alone!” He sniffs. “Just let me go. Let me get away from here.” He’s pleading at this point, but he no longer cares.

“No,” the Batman rasps. “You have to stay here. You can't help me if you're a fugitive.”

But Dick doesn't want to help the Batman. He wants to go home. He wants to go back to Haly’s.

… he wants his parents back.

“You won't be here long,” the Batman continues, melting back into the shadows. “I promise you.” And then, when Dick doesn't look relieved, he adds, “Trust me.”

And just like that, he's gone again.

Dick considers getting up and continuing his great escape, but he knows what will happen. This freak bat man will find him again and send him back to the youth center. And Dick might be a decent fighter, but he’s still aching from the beating he took last week. His face is still taped and bruised, wrist still sprained and ribs still busted. He’d immediately lose to the Batman, and then he’d wake up back in the youth center.

So, dejected, Dick slinks back to the chimney and un-escapes. Trust me, the Batman had said. But he goes around in a mask, so how is Dick supposed to trust him? And honestly, in this cruel new world Dick finds himself in, he can’t trust anyone.

[dtblrficsupport]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/57791659

just really soft dnfies working on fusion together <3

Like A Movie (You Saw In Your Youth) , by @dnfity

“Dream,” George continues, “did you not hear me? I said that’s enough work for today.” When George doesn’t get an answer after a few seconds, he tries calling his name again: “Dream?” And again, more forcefully: “Dream.” And then he says the one thing he knows always gets Dream’s attention: “Fine, I’m getting naked.”

Or, Dream gets stressed while working on the project. George puts on a little show.

Leaving positive feedback for any author will make their entire week!!

Hits at the time of queuing: 950

[smallflyingbread]

TFES AU- Rumble lives, Chapter two (Writing + lil doodle)

\\—————————————————————————//

Finally got the creative juice to write the second chapter! There’s only one art doodle for this one because I really didn’t know what to draw. This is 2k words and is cross posted on Ao3!

Warning for description of robo gore, however it isn’t that bad.

And there’s the link to the first chapter if you wanna read it!

\\—————————————————————————//

“Aaaand… just a little to the left… there!”. A mechanics voice happily rambled to himself as a drone shimmered under the harsh laboratory lighting. The lab itself of a mess, parts strewn about and long forgotten projects rotting in corners, forgotten.

Pride tingled in WheelJack’s spark as he stared at his creation, an aerial drone. Fitted with a multi-lense camera, several different abilities, and fully capable of complex aerial maneuvers! Just looking at it made his spark spin faster.

BANG BANG BANG

“WheelJack! O-open the damn door! I need help! Wheeljack!”. Wheeljack nearly knocked over his newly prized possession from the sudden yelling. His neck snapped towards his lab door and before his optics had time to register the dim pink glow, the thick stench of energon hit him.

Scrambling to his pedes, Wheeljack wasted no time snatching his medkit from the counter. With one swoop of his arm he cleared the large medical table. Sending the items once resting on it to decorate the floor, only adding to the mess.

WheelJack was the oh so lucky one to have the most medical knowledge after Ratchet was cut off from the team on Cybertron. So WheelJack automatically became the medic of the Autobots, despite knowing barely anything at first with only a few medical datapads to guide him. WheelJack was being a pretty good medic, says himself. Ratchet would probably call his work a mockery to Cybertronian Medicine, though.

WheelJack hastily unlocked the lab door, his digits shaking as his optics saw just how much pink glow was coming through the frosted glass of the rectangular lab window. As soon as he pushed open to the door he was met with an energon covered Bumblebee.

WheelJack’s spark spiked as his mind immediately started going through a check list he memorized from one of the datapads. Is the patient alert and conscious? Well Bumblebee walked his merry aft to his lab so, Check. Does the patient have any open gashs or missing limbs? No no he’s standing just fine- then where in the pits was all this energon coming from?!

Before WheelJack could open his mouth to ask Bumblebee had already pushed past him. “Y-you gotta save her- she’s still online! She’s just a youngling!”, Bumblebee’s frantic voice cut through the thick air the lab as the sound of something heavy being set down on his medical table made its way to his long audials.

“She? Whose she-“, before he could even finish his question it answered itself. WheelJacks optics flashed in horror as he stared at the mangled body strewn across his table. His tables twisted and bunched up, he felt like purging. The mess of red and blue wires were a mockery of the neat bundles that they should be. Half the left side of her chest was torn off, bits and pieces hanging on from stands of metal. The once smooth left cheek of the small femme’s face was torn off, exposing the rather delicate endoskeleton and sliced wires. Wheeljack had no idea who the frag this was from how obscured their features was from the gore and energon. However he could tell from the height and shape of the optics that this was someone young, very young.

He’d never seen a mech in such horrid condition and their spark still lit. WheelJack’s body sprung into action. Grabbing his tools and trying to halt the flow on Energon. “Who is this?”, WheelJack had to force the words out of his throat.

“Rumble, one of SoundWave’s cassettes”, Bumblebee sputtered as his servos flexed over the pink splattered frame, just looking for something, ANYTHING to do to help.

WheelJack did a double take, his bright aqua blue optics staring at the figure infront of him. He suddenly recognized that the body shape was exactly the same as Frenzy, the one he more commonly saw being a general nuisance. A shameful thought echoed in his processor, should he even be doing this? This was a decepticon. Sure, a youngling decepticon. But still part of the faction that tried to starve their home planet by keeping the Allspark away from it.

”… Bee I need you to hold pressure on the severed fuel line while I get this one fixed!”, WheelJack barked, shaking the dark thoughts away. He wasn’t about the let the cycle of pain continue. The war was over, he reminded himself. He had to forget, or at least try to forgive.

WheelJack forced himself to focus on the singular line he was fixing, quickly replacing the damaged line and reattaching fresh metal. After painstaking fine tightening to her small fuel lines he finished and began taking care of the line Bumblebee was previously putting pressure on. Was this how Ratchet felt all those years ago during the height of the war when mechs torn up beyond recognition were dragged to him, their friends begging Ratchet to save their spark?… WheelJack shuddered at the thought and refocused himself

Bumblebee took a step back and bent down at an awkward level, staring into the gaping hole that was Rumble’s side just to attempt to monitor her spark which was dimly pulsing.

”Don’t you have a spark monitor somewhere in this damn lab?”, Bumblebee snapped at WheelJack as he strained his optics to try to monitor the little spits of every coming off of the core.

”oh I did! But some weasel named Swindle decided he could just waltz in and snatch it along with some other equipment. Worse part is, he broke it when I caught it! Then tried to sell it back to me in three pieces!”, WheelJack rambled as he gritted his denta at the mere memory of that purple and yellow bastards face.

”WheelJack, you have created machinery so complex that-“, WheelJack was quick to cut Bumblebee’s line of thought off as he put the finishing touches on the broken fuel line he was working on.

“Yes, but only a certain type of metal can be used to read one’s spark. And you know whose hoarding the last of said metal? G.H.O.S.T!”, WheelJack explained with a frustrated grunt as he stepped back.

“Those control freaks only give me limited amounts for commissions. I can scrape some metal off the top for myself but it’s not enough”, the words came out of his mouth on their own. Annoyance seeping into every word as he stepped back to view Rumble’s body. His next step was clear, getting Energon back in her and fixing the wires.

>—————————<

Bumblebee was silent, his processor swimming with the newly acquired information. If G.H.O.S.T was so possessive of value Cybertronian materials that WheelJack needed, why didn’t Optimus or Megatron try reasoning with them? Maybe Optimus just wasn’t aware?

Dull pain wavered through the yellow scouts processor, so much had happened in too little time. Why did this have to happen to him? Why couldn’t he have just avoided going out today? Maybe then none of this would’ve happened.

Bee’s bright ice blue optics uneasily watched as WheelJack began energon transfusions. Bumblebee could only hope that the sudden renewed energon flowing through Rumble’s fuel lines wouldn’t shock her into consciousness. Wheeljack learned the hard way to slowly transfuse energon into mechs from the time Elita needed one and punched him straight in the faceplates when she woke. However time was a luxury Rumble’s spark didn’t have.

Her face looked almost peaceful as WheelJack worked her save her. Her dark, dull optics emptily staring at the ceiling, completely unaware of anything that was going on. Bee almost envied her, almost.

Bee lent a servo when it came time to fix the wires. He had fixed his own wires quite a few times in field, and BreakDown’s who had begrudgingly came crawling to him for assistance in the dark of the night. After a set of wires were fixed he zip-tied them together and coiled them in nice neat bunches. Then he looked over at the wires WheelJack was doing and cringed. His coils looked somehow too tight and loose, having random loops sticking out here and there.

“I’ll do the ones on her face”, Bee offered without a second thought as he moved to stand beside her face. He had never seen behind Rumble’s bright pink visor before today. Her optics were large-ish, a sign of being on the younger side. But how was she so young? Ever since the war started the allspark halted its production of new sparks. So either Rumble and her sister were cold constructs or some sort of strange experiment. Could he even ask Rumble about it when she woke? Would it be rude to ask?

Bee’s attention was stolen as WheelJack stepped back and looked at his work. He seemed proud for a mere moment, but then his expression faltered. “I…. I’m unsure if I can even fully fix this”, the scientists voice came out uncharacteristically soft.

Bumblebee’s spark dropped at those simple words, his neck becoming stiff. “What do you mean?”

“There’s no arm joint for me to built off of. There’s so endoskeleton to connect to where the arm is supposed to be. I- I don’t think I can reconnect or rebuild an arm joint and arm from scratch.”, WheelJacl admitted as he shook his helm, disappointment thick in his voice as his optics went downcast.

Bumblebee’s optics widened at those words. They were beings of mechanical integrity, their whole bodies except for spark can be rebuilt with proper knowledge. Yet now Rumble was going to have to suffer with a singular arm for the foreseeable future?

“I can however safely seal the innerals off. Protecting them when someone with more experience then me can try to fix this mess”, WheelJack admitted with an exhausted sigh, a servo pinching the bridge of his nasal bridge.

”I think that would be best”, Bumblebee admitted as he solemnly looked at the limp form on the medical table, her frame decorated with dried energon and scratches.

”I’ll have to remove a speaker and some of the more rough edges”, WheelJack determined as he began and the harsh process of destroying a part of Rumble’s body to help her.

>—————————<

Together they stepped back, looking at Rumble’s repaired body. A metal plate had been applied to both her side and cheek. Her body was physically repaired to the best of their ability, yet she had yet to online her optics.

”… what are you going to do?”, WheelJack asked to break the silence, his optics drifting to Bumblebee beside him

”Me? No, this is a we now”, Bumblebee incredulously quipped as he crossed his arms.

“what? I want no part of this! G.H.O.S.T has actively trying to take over my lab! If I am found to be housing a fugitive I’m cooked!”, anxiety was heavy in WheelJack’s voice as he almost frantically waved one of his arms at Rumble’s form.

Bumblebee’s servos clenched as he bit his lip, optics drifting down to the floor. “Please, WheelJack… I have no idea what to do. I don’t think I can handle this alone”.

Guilt prickled up in WheelJack’s processor and he emptily stared at Rumble. What WAS bee supposed to do? He didn’t have many options at all. And he needed a safe place to house her until they decided what to do. Because letting a youngling- even if she was a decepticon, rot in jail made his spark hurt at the thought of it.

”… Fine. She can stay with me until you find some here else. Hopefully the best place for her to hide is right under G.H.O.S.T’s nose-“, before the last word could exit WheelJack’s mouth tight arms wrapped around him.

”Thank you”, Bumblebee softly said as his grip refused to falter.

WheelJack let out a sigh and patted Bee’s back. “Don’t mention it”

The sweet, tender moment quickly vanished as a groan came from the medical table, dull pink optics starting to turn on.

\\—————————————————————————//

Really happy with how this turned out! I met my word goal of 2k for the chapter. I’m planning on trying to have at least 2k for each chapter.

Also I’m aware that there’s a bit of ablism coming from Bee, it’s gonna be referenced again next chapter.

[samwritesstories]

A Bride For Me Before A Bride For You

This is a sapphic retelling of the Lindworm! I wrote this a while ago, and it's very special to me! Enjoy! 2k words

On the day the prince was born, the king had been off on a crusade. In his absence, the kingdom rejoiced, for the queen, who had struggled for years and years to even fall pregnant, had given them a perfect little prince with hair as red as a fiery rose.

But while the people celebrated, another child screamed and cried, her wails heard by no one. Abandoned in the woods by the very midwife who delivered the prince, the lindworm cried for her mother the queen, her twin brother, even her crusading father, who she had never even seen.

Eventually, she grew so hungry that she could no longer cry. With her white scales gleaming in the moonlight, she moved forward, dragging herself forward in search of food. Lizards she could snap up in her maw, crickets she could catch in her claws, rats she could pounce upon, food most unfit for a princess. All the while her brother was given milk from the finest cows, the sweetest fruit, and the most tender meat.

As the prince grew from a babe to a royal, so too did the lindworm grow from a mere winged serpent into a dragon. While the prince learned of courtly etiquette and hunting for sport, the lindworm learned of scaring peasants away from her lair and hunting for her next meal. As the prince learned to ride horses, scraping his knee as he fell from gentle mares and was fretted over by royal nannies, the lindworm learned to fly, jumping from branch to branch with no one to tend to her bruised and scraped belly when she fell.

But the prince and the lindworm were similar in one regard. While the prince would turn his head to take a second look at lovely maidens who passed him by, so too would the lindworm. Washers getting water, milkmaids leading their cows, farm lasses separating wheat from chaff. Because she had never been told to think otherwise, she knew that what she felt when she saw these women was desire. And so, when she patrolled her woods, she often stopped to watch them pass by.

It just so happened that one day, while she was watching a merchant's daughter, she learned a most interesting thing. "The prince is going to set out to find a bride."

The lindworm, hearing this, listened closely, as the merchant told his daughter, "I heard he seeks a princess' hand. I would expect no less for our only prince.

To this, the lindworm snarled and flew away, setting off to meet with her brother, remembering his scent and his bright red hair. When she found him on the road, she landed straight in his path, the ground shaking as she landed, his horse spooking, and she spoke, "A bride for me before a bride for you."

The prince managed to calm his horse enough to ride back to the castle, the lindworm chasing after him, only stopping her pursuit at the city gates. Knights stood at the ready and people around her screamed in fright.

When the prince returned to the palace, short of breath and sweaty from the fright and flight, he asked his mother and father why a lindworm had accosted him in such a way. The very moment the question left his lips, the queen began to sob in shame and despair, and regaled the story of the prince's conception.

One day, while walking in the woods, lamenting her infertility, she happened upon a witch. This witch was not wicked, in fact, she had heard the queen's woes and offered her a solution. She was to place a silver pitcher upside down in the north corner of the palace garden. In the morning, she would find two roses under the pitcher, one white and one red. If she desired a son, she would eat the red one, the white one for a daughter. But she must not, under any circumstances, eat both.

"I did not believe her at first but saw no harm in it. So, I did as she commanded. In the morning, I saw two roses and thought long and hard on my choice, for it is not one I thought I would make. I became fearful that if I ate the red one, you would be called to war, and I would lose you. If I ate the white, my daughter may be married to a foreign king, and I would lose her company. In the end, I chose the white rose, preferring a living but distant daughter over a dead but glorious son. But the rose was so sweet and lovely that I forgot the witch's warning and ate the red as well. And months later, I gave birth to twins. First the lindworm, and then to you. She is your older sister; she must marry before you can."

The king, knowing she was right, said, "Then I shall find a knight brave and true to take her claw in marriage. She can't possibly expect a bride."

The prince objected, "Father, is it wise to risk angering a dragon?"

And though the king wanted to argue that such a thing would be no marriage at all, he knew his son was right. He sent a letter to the neighboring kingdom, telling them his child wished to marry, but he did not tell them which child. Thinking that their daughter would be marrying the handsome and noble prince, the kingdom sent the princess. Upon arriving and meeting the lindworm, the princess grew fearful, but she consented to the marriage, for who would ever marry the dreadful beast and free up the prince if not her?

So, the two married. When it was time to kiss the bride, the princess kissed the lindworm between the eyes, and they feasted. The lindworm tasted cake and wine and spiced meat for the first time. Would this be her life now? To live as decadently as her family?

In the marriage chamber, the lindworm settled into bed told her bride, "Princess, remove your shift." Thinking only that they would do as all married couples did.

The princess did this hastily and went up to the lindworm, sitting in front of her and kissing her scaly lips. However, upon tasting the fear on the princess' lips, the lindworm's dragon nature could not be stopped, and before she knew what had occurred, she had devoured her bride.

In the morning, when the king and queen went to wake the newlyweds, they found the lindworm with tears in her eyes, the chamber flooded. Upon seeing her parents, the lindworm only said, "Bride."

Thus, the king sent word to a faraway kingdom that his child wished to marry, though did not say which. Thinking of the handsome and noble prince, they sent their daughter. The princess grew disgusted when she met the lindworm upon arrival but consented to the marriage. For if anyone could tame such a beast, it was her.

So, they married. When it was time to kiss the bride, the princess kissed the lindworm on the snout, and they feasted. When they were alone in the marriage chamber, the lindworm said, "Princess, remove your shift."

The princess did this hastily and went to the lindworm, kissing her scaly lips. But upon tasting the disgust on her bride's lips, the lindworm could not stop her dragon's nature and devoured her bride before she knew what had happened. When the king and queen arrived to wake the newlyweds, they once again found the lindworm alone and the chamber flooded with her tears. Her eyes still wet, all the lindworm could say was, "Bride."

Knowing that to ask for yet another princess would bring war to his kingdom, the king went to see his shepherd and commanded him to give his daughter's hand in marriage to the lindworm instead. For the shepherd had been loyal for many years and would never think to disobey.

"Your majesty, please, reconsider. She is my only child!"

"I know this, good shepherd, and I assure you, should your daughter be devoured, I shall have the lindworm, my own flesh and blood, slain.

But the shepherd's daughter did not consent to the marriage when she was told, running off into the forest at the thought of being a bride to a creature who would eat her own lover.

When she was deep in the woods, the shepherdess had many thoughts of how to escape her fate. She could offer her services in shearing and herding to the neighboring kingdom. She could stay in these woods. She could even make a home up a tree if need be. Like the great gnarled tree she stopped to look at. Then suddenly, in front of that tree, there was a gnarled old woman. And she spoke, "You're a long way from your flock, and you look as if you've met death. What troubles you, dearie?"

Though she had been startled, the shepherdess sighed and confessed to the old woman, "I'm afraid I may meet death very soon indeed. You see, they want me to marry the lindworm, but she has already eaten two princesses. What is to stop her from devouring a simple shepherd's daughter?"

"Ah, the lindworm. Such a shame, she would have made such a pretty princess, and we would have none of this trouble, had Her Majesty heeded my warning. Worry not, dearie, I can help you save both yourself and the lindworm. All I ask is that you follow my word to the letter."

The shepherdess considered the witch's offer and because she had few options, agreed to it, "Alright. You need only tell me what to do."

And so, the shepherd's daughter went home and consented to the marriage. When she met the lindworm, she grew determined. Never again would anyone suffer from this beast's appetites, least of all the beast herself.

So, the two were wed. When it came time to kiss the bride, the shepherdess kissed the lindworm on her scaly lips. Upon tasting the determination on her bride's lips, the lindworm's dragon nature did absolutely nothing. Thus, they feasted, and while all were distracted, the shepherdess pulled a servant aside and told him to bring a tub of lye, a tub of milk, and a bullwhip to the marriage chamber.

When they came to the chamber, the lindworm saw the implements, but did not ask what they were for. She simply settled down, telling her newest bride, "Shepherdess, remove your shift."

The shepherdess, now nervous but still determined, in turn said, "Only if you shed your skin."

The lindworm was stunned, telling her bride, "I have not shed in years, and never on command."

"If you will not shed, then I will not shed."

The lindworm, seeing no point in refusing her wife, thus shed a skin. Her scales were now brighter in the candlelight. When she did this, the shepherdess removed her shift to reveal another underneath. The lindworm, puzzled by what she saw, blinked, and told the maiden, "Bride of mine, remove your shift."

"Only if you shed a skin."

And so, the lindworm shed another skin, her scales gleaming even brighter, but also making the lindworm feel weaker. And when the shepherdess removed her shift once more, she revealed yet another underneath.

They did this ten times, until the shepherdess was down to her last shift and the lindworm's skin was raw and weeping, the beast unable to move. Now that this was done, the maiden took up the bull whip and dipped it in the lye before striking the lindworm.

The lindworm screamed out in agony and the shepherdess stopped. It was one thing to watch the lindworm shed until she looked like a scab that had been peeled before its time, quite another to induce pain on her. But she also knew better than to disobey the witch, especially this far in, so she continued. She dipped the whip in the lye and struck the lindworm again. She did this five times before she took up the tub of milk and poured it over the lindworm, the creature moaning in relief the instant the liquid touched her skin.

The witch had said the shepherdess could do whatever she wished at that point, so long as she stayed in the chamber with the lindworm. And seeing the poor beast on the floor, surrounded by her skins, and slashed by the whip and bleeding, covered in milk, there was only one thing the shepherd's daughter could do. She got down, took the lindworm's great neck into her arms, and embraced her.

The lindworm, never having been held so gently, began to sniffle, and then began to weep. Using the very last of her strength, the lindworm leaned into the embrace and asked, "Why?"

The shepherdess told her, "Because if someone did to me what I just did to you, I would want to be held by someone who cared." The lindworm sniffled once more and stayed in her bride's arms. The both of them falling asleep in that embrace.

The next morning, the king and queen went to wake the newlyweds, the prince with them this time. But when they entered the chamber, they saw not the shepherdess devoured, but the lindworm gone. In the shepherdess' arms instead was a maiden, with hair as white as a snowy rose.

As the two woke, the prince threw a blanket over his sister to preserve her modesty, the king picked up the shepherdess in a grateful hug, and the queen tried to hug her still sitting daughter. The former lindworm, however, crawled away from her with wide eyes, as if the thought of her own mother touching her terrified her.

The queen backed off at this, the king instead letting the shepherdess go and asking the princess, "What will you do now, daughter mine? Join court? Seek a proper groom?"

The princess looked at the shepherdess, the shepherdess back at her, and there was an understanding. The princess could not lead the court like this. Not when she had been an unloved dragon such a short time ago. And the thought of a groom was distasteful to her.

"I shall teach her to be human, your majesty. We are wed, so I have a duty to care for her. When she is ready, I'm sure she'll return to the palace."

The queen spoke once more then, telling her, "We will be waiting. In the meantime, you are always welcome in the palace. The way you should have always been."

And so, the shepherdess and the princess went home, the princess needing to be carried, though she didn't mind. It allowed her to embrace the shepherdess. Thus, they lived happily, and the princess never did move back into the palace

[purrgilpawkins]

Slime + Ink

Summary: Jack realized pretty early on that Mac always needed something. Whether it be something to distract him or something he needed to help finish his projects. (Or 5 times Jack is there to give Mac something he needs and 1 time he isn’t.) (Also available on AO3)

Pairings: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver

Part of the Comfortember 2020 series Prompt: Fidgeting / Jacket

Warnings: n/a

Notable tags: fluff, light angst, 5+1 things, caring Jack

Twenty-three hours into this surveillance mission, Mac had run out of paper clips and, unfortunately for Jack, found a pen and immediately started clicking it.

Jack was a very patient person (even if he liked others to think he wasn’t), you gotta be in order to be a truly professional sniper. That being said, he snapped after about three minutes.

“Mac, I am this close to smackin’ you upside the head.”

Mac stopped at Jack’s statement and glared at him before flipping the pen in his hand…and biting the tip. Jack sighed, glad he was no longer hearing the clicking (even if Mac’s pen chewing is still a little noisy).

They sat in (mostly) silence for the next few minutes, Jack trying to do his job and Mac still eating his pen. That didn’t last too long either, seeing as the pen Mac was chewing on burst and filled his mouth ink. Jack looked at him in amusement as Mac sputtered, reaching for one of the water bottles in the cup holders.

“Jesus, kid. I know you’re bored outta your mind but do you really need to poison yourself?”

Mac opened the door to the car and spat out his watery-ink mixture and closed the door. He glanced at Jack and wiped his mouth, which was still black. “Sorry. Guess I’m going a little stir crazy.”

“No shit.”

Jack sighed once more before reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a packet of tissues that he handed to Mac. The ink-stained blond took it and wiped at the ink he just painted his hand with.

“Sorry. For blowin’ up at ya. We’ve been here for a day, I’m tired, and our intel must’ve been wrong cause the guy didn’t even show up!” Jack sighed yet again as Mac dabbed at his mouth, “How mad you think Patty’ll be if we left?”

“Probably pissed,” Mac said before attempting to remove the ink from his tongue.

“Yeah, well,” Jack sighed (yes, again) and dropped his head onto the steering wheel before quickly bringing it back up with a look of determination on his face, “She’ll just have to send somebody else out here to waste their time.”

Jack started the car and took off while Mac protested with a tissue in his mouth.

—

Jack saw that look in Mac’s eye. The one he got when he was about to run off and start making something out of random junk. And that was exactly what he did.

Mac ran out the back door of the restaurant and Jack followed him, not surprised to see the younger man digging around in one of the dumpsters.

“If you’re that hungry, they got fresh food inside the place, hoss.”

Mac ignored Jack and continued rummaging in the dumpster, throwing things back just as much as he was keeping them. He looked to his partner and Jack got the idea just before Mac started tossing him some of the things he’d dug out.

“You mind telling me what your plan here is?”

“Would you listen if I told you?”

Jack shook his head, “Probably not, no.”

Mac gave Jack a look and carried on with excavating. He stopped for a moment and jumped out to the next dumpster before he started his digging again.

“Jack.”

“Huh?”

“I need something to, uh, to inflate. Kinda like a balloon but it doesn’t have to be exactly like it. Just, something to blow air into and tie off at the end.”

“Right, yeah. I know how a balloon functions.”

Mac ignored Jack’s snark and the older agent turned to search for the requested item in the restaurant itself when an idea struck him.

“Would a condom work?”

Mac paused, “Yeah, that’d work.”

Jack moved the junk to his other hand and reached into his back pocket and pulled out the aforementioned condom, handing it to Mac. Mac looked at the condom and then at Jack. “Why…?”

Jack smirked and raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Mac shook his head, “Never mind. Don’t need to know.”

—

Mac still had a few more weeks of recovery ahead of him. The PT was going well and the burns on his hands seemed like they wouldn't scar too bad, if at all.

Despite all the progress he’d made, it was still a struggle to move his hands. And for Mac, that was torture.

Bending his fingers too quickly was painful and some objects were rough against his still healing skin. It all made Mac upset and Jack saw just how upsetting it was.

They were sitting on Mac’s couch, Jack pretending to watch a movie while he sneakily eyed Mac as the man in question got lost in his own head. His fingers seemed to twitch even more now that they were hurting and Jack knew Mac would do anything for some kind of distraction.

So, the delta reached into his pocket and pulled out a mesh stress ball. He’d put it in there while at the store, completely forgetting about it, and ended up stealing it; he’d picked it up in the first place with the intent of giving it to Mac at some point anyway.

Jack reached over for Mac’s hand and gently turned it over to place the ball in his palm. Mac gave him a tired look but started squeezing the ball. He continued squeezing after several moments and once Jack realized he’d done good, he turned back to the movie, glancing at Mac occasionally, seeing him still slowly squishing the ball.

Not even thirty minutes go by before a faint pop! sounded from the general area of Mac and something warm and slimy smacked Jack in the face. Jack looked over to his partner and saw a trail of green slime inching down his face from his hair, his eyes squeezed shut, and a now deflated stress ball in his hands.

“Mac.”

“Sorry.”

—

Jack popped out of cover, getting three shots off before the guys on the other side of the warehouse got a few shots off themselves and he fell back behind the box he and Mac were using for protection.

“Anytime now, Mac!”

“Working on it!” Mac was very clearly working on it. Jack wasn’t sure the exact details of what “it” was but he was promised something explosive and that was all he needed.

The firefight continued as Mac took his time building his makeshift bomb. He looked up at hearing the click of Jack’s now empty gun. That was the last clip too.

“Mac!”

“Just another second!”

The goons were still firing their weapons from their places scattered about the “abandoned” building but they were likely to realize soon that the dudes who interrupted their illegal activities had stopped firing back.

“Okay, okay. Done!” Mac said as a bullet ricocheted past his head. He reached behind him to the matchbook he planned to use to light. “Oh, dammit.”

“What? What’s the problem?”

Mac picked up the matchbook, soaking wet after it had managed to land in a small puddle of water, now completely useless. The pair looked at each other and Jack was a little worried at the slight fear in Mac’s eyes. The bullet storm from the baddies had all but ended and then Jack remembered.

He frantically went for one of his inner jacket pockets and pulled out several loose matches, quickly handing them to Mac. A look of surprise replaced Mac’s scared one as he lit a match.

“The moment I throw this, run.”

“Don’t gotta tell me twice, hoss.”

—

It was unfortunate how used to the scents and sounds of a hospital they were. It practically came with the job, being in a hospital waiting room, if not the hospital bed itself.

Riley had been shot. She was currently in surgery and the doctor who’d talked to the two other agents had assured them that if all went well, she would be fine.

Jack remained worried, of course. It was his job to worry, after all. Mac was worried too but it was obvious by his pacing he was feeling guilty as well.

Riley had shielded him from the bullet. It was supposed to hit him. Now she was the one in surgery, getting a bullet removed from her back when it should’ve been him. She didn’t deserve this.

Jack had been watching him like a hawk the whole time. Mac knew he was making him worry, which just made him feel worse. He shouldn’t be making Jack worry about both his kids, especially when one was more deserving of that worry than the other. Mac's unhealthy train of thought came to a stop when Jack spoke up.

“Hey, Mac.” Jack motioned to the seat next to him and Mac sat down, avoiding eye contact.

They sat in silence for a moment before Jack reached into his front pocket and pulled out a paperclip. He moved it in front of Mac’s face, making sure he saw it, before he started talking again.

“I’m willing to bet that there’s no way in hell you can bend this into…the Eiffel Tower.”

Mac scoffed, “Jack, you’ve seen me do it before.”

“The hell I have!”

“You have! We were in Paris trying to take down that arms dealer, remember?”

“Nope. Not ringing any bells.”

Jack smiled and Mac smiled back. The younger agent knew what his partner was up to and Jack knew he knew. Mac took the paperclip, happy to be distracted, and started bending it.

—

It was their first mission without Jack.

If anyone had noticed that the jacket Mac was wearing was Jack’s, no one acknowledged it.

It was a little too big on him, but that was okay. It was comforting, in a way. It felt like Jack was still there. Still protecting him.

During their mission, Mac had made a mistake. He hadn’t been able to focus properly since…well. A man had come at him with a knife and Mac froze. Luckily for him, Desi actually took her job seriously.

A good helping of blood had landed on Mac and therefore also on the jacket.

Mac didn’t want to wash the jacket. It still smelled like gunpowder and leather. Like Jack. But it was also starting to smell like blood and Mac was sure Jack wouldn’t be too happy about a bloodied jacket when he came back.

If he came back.

He’d eventually made up his mind and decided to wash the jacket.

Mac knew from experience that putting something in the wash before checking the pockets could lead to some kind of catastrophe, so he decided to empty out the pockets. He opened the zipper of one of the inner pockets and pulled out a folded piece of paper, simply labeled Mac. The man in question looked at it curiously, flipping it over and back before he folded it open.

Hey Mac,

I’m sorry I broke my promise. You should know that I didn’t want to leave if I didn’t have to. I know this seems like something I don’t have to leave for but, trust me, I do. Irregardless, my place will always be by your side. And don’t you worry, I promise I’ll be back as quick as I can. If you’ll have me, of course. Tell the others I love them.

Love you kid,

Jack

Mac wondered if Jack had anticipated Mac taking his clothes or if this was something he was supposed to read at all.

Either way, the short note brought some comfort to Mac, like his partner was still checking up on him despite his absence.

Mac slipped the note in his back pocket and put the jacket in the wash, a smile of his face.

[piepiepiemag]

Kintsugi (Fortnite)

Summary: the heist crew desperately needs to hurry up their plan on stealing kado's time machine. the clock is ticking and just when all hope seems lost they get a clue that leads them to a strange place, where unseen horrors went down not too long ago.

or; midas was having a good day so far, until some strange man showed up to his house unannounced.

Tags from AO3: Nolan Chance (Fortnite) x Golden Gear Midas (Fortnite) ((barely)), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Graphic Description of Violence, Blood and Injury, Not Proofread, most fuckass ship you've ever seen in your life probably

((i have no excuse for this LMAO. ever since we threw these two at eachother on the rp blogs i had ideas for this silly au and today i finally broke. nolan chance you are so dear to me........(˃̣̣̥ヘ˂̣̣̥) ALSO i know this makes no sense timeline wise since kado already had midas's drum gun but. BUT. i don't care lol. au logic.))

The rhythmic click-clack of a rubrics cube filled the entire barn, occasionally interrupted by chickens walking in and out and playing in the hay. Self proclaimed Heist Mastermind Nolan Chance was lazily playing with the toy, not caring for a second that his teammates were trying to get some sleep two stalls over.

His mind was completely elsewhere, still mulling over their catastrophic loss, how he’s going to get back into the estate again, and trying to figure out just how in the hell that twig vampire can punch so hard.

It was useless, he was not getting any closer to the answer, and he was ready to call it a day, closing his eyes and letting future Nolan deal with all of that.

That was until an alarm went off, loud enough to make him jump. He heard some scrambling from the stall next to him and he quickly got up and walked over to Mae who was already trying to shut the ringing off.

“Oh oh!! He’s here, we got him boss!” - mae exclaimed, as excited as someone who just woke up could. Her fingers clicked away on the laptop as she pulled up a map, a red circle flashing in and out on it, on a lone building surrounded by fields.

“Where’s here?” - nolan asked with his eyes fixed on the location. - “And don’t call me “boss”, that sounds gross from you.

Mae giggled as she zoomed out of the map. It was in the middle of nowhere, a small house with only some trees and farming grounds around it for quite a big radius.

“Some dusty old house. It’s not too far from here, half an hour most. Dunno what business he has there though..” - she mumbled as she began clicking again, pulling up an image of the house from he web. It looked unassuming, just a regular old grey farmhouse with a red tiled roof, nothing special in all honesty. The moment she tabbed back to the map the red circle was nowhere to be seen. - “Aaand he’s gone. That was quick.”

“Yeah, bet he is.” - Nolan grinned at his own stupid joke, that made absolutely no sense. Mae just let out a confused “whaa” before burying herself back in her laptop again. - “We should probably check it out anyways.”

He looked over the barn’s stalls, all of his friends were deep in their sleep, in their less than cozy haystack beds. Slone really didn’t need to cheap out on the budget so much. Getting a few hotel rooms wouldn’t have killed her.

He thought for a second.

“Wake Piper up. It’s fine if it’s just us three going.” - with that he walked out of the door towards the van.

The sun loomed over the edge of the horizon, it’s red light making the scenery almost ominous looking. He never comes back after visits like that. They should be in luck.

The heist van creaked towards its location, the radio cut in and out form a song no one really enjoyed as it was losing service in the countryside. Piper turned the volume down completely after she finally got sick of it, then twisted the rear view mirror to catch a glance of Nolan who appeared to be deep in thought.

“What’s the plan? You think we’ll find a clue in there?” - she asked in her usual tone, blowing her bubblegum and popping it as a way to punctuate her question.

“Who knows.” - nolan replied bluntly. Even if this brings them no closer to the answer they tried at least. He cut his words short, he didn’t want them to see just how stressed he was about it all.

Slone’s been asking about their progress more and more. There wasn’t much time left it seemed, and they were fucked. Utterly fucked. Not even one step closer to how they could get the upper hand, now that Kado was fully aware of them. He’s been in bad situations before but this one seemed as close to hopeless as it gets.

Finally the house came into view and it didn’t take them too long to arrive, no doubt thanks to Piper driving over the speeding limit. Today was way too long already and she just wanted to get back in bed, and who could really blame her.

The car came to a halt and they all looked over the house. To say it seemed off was an understatement, and the moment the sunlight hit its walls they immediately recoiled, looking away.

“The hell?” - nolan grumbled, taking another careful glance in its direction before opening the dar door and jumping out.

Once he was closer it seemed even more unsettling, an old farm house with overgrown wildflowers and weeds scattered all around it. It didn’t seem like anyone lived there. Seemed like the perfect location for some low budget horror movie.

The only thing more worrying was what it was made of, it looked nothing like the picture Mae showed. More than half of the walls and roof glimmered in the sunlight so hard that looking at it from the wrong angle was almost blinding. It was as if it was made from some kind of metal, like a newly minted penny, just far more shinier.

He took a few unsteady steps towards it before accidentally kicking into something hard. He shot a confused look down at his feet, only to find a flower, just as shiny as the house.

“Huh? Is this… gold?” - he plucked it from the ground and studied it close to his face, spinning it around in his hands. He’s seen enough gold bars to recognise the real deal anywhere.

“This is weird..” - Mae mumbled as she caught up to him. He reached out the flower to her and she looked at it, a puzzled expression visible on her face. She reached around for her backpack and put it away in there for a more in depth study back home.

“I’ll go in there.” - nolan took a few more steps towards the house before turning around. - “You can stay as a lookout if you’re scared.”

She puffed up her chest and pouted, clearly insulted, but another look at the strange place was enough to convince her otherwise.

“Yeah... I’ll tell Piper to be ready to dip.” - with that she began walking back to the car, silently thanking Nolan for giving her that option. She wouldn’t consider herself a wuss, but weird freaky places like that were never a good sign. She’s seen enough scary movies and she was not cut out to be the final girl.

Nolan sighed before turning back towards the house and walking up to the front door. It was also coated in gold, so were the windows, and even a part of the lawn closest to the walls. Beyond freaky.

He walked over to the side of the house that seemed normal and tiptoed to peek over the windowsill. He covered the sides of his face as he focused, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, before a loud crackle startled him strong enough to jump.

“WHAT DO YOU SEE?” - Mae’s voice boomed through his earpiece, and he swore to throw that old piece of junk away the moment they got back.

“JESUS you scared the shit out of me!” - he snapped back, dipping below the window and trying to keep his voice down as much as possible. He could hear Piper snickering on the other end. She really tuned in just to laugh at him huh.

He huffed annoyed, before raising back up again, trying to make out something, anything in the barely lit room.

His eyes finally caught a figure, huddled on the floor in the darkness and his blood ran cold.

“There’s someone in there.” - he whispered into the mic. - “I’m gonna go in.”

With that he walked back to the front door and took a deep breath, pulling out his gun from its holster and gripping it with much more force than necessary.

He knocked, receiving no answer. He raised his hand again and knocked even louder, hearing frantic rustling form the other end before someone spoke up.

“Go away! Please!” - the person on the other side sounded panicked and breathless. By the voice alone it seemed to be a young man. Nolan hovered his hand over the doorknob.

“Are you okay?” - he managed to force out, unsure of what to say. - “I just- I need to ask you about someone.”

“Please! You’re in danger, go away please it’s- I can’t stop it, just please-“ - his words were rushed and slurred, like he wasn’t completely there.

Nolan hesitated for a second before pushing the door open.

What he saw on the other end was a carnage, the floor was covered in puddles of blood and what seemed to be liquid gold, and as the door creaked open further the person in the corner spun around to face him.

His face was pale as a sheet of paper, his dark wavy hair matted with sweat and blood, some of it sticking to his face. His expression was of pure terror, one golden and one milky white eye staring up at him like Nolan was some mass murderer with a knife. Nolan took a step closer, raising both hands to signify he’s not dangerous, completely forgetting he was holding a gun in one of them.

The stranger’s eyes shot up towards it and he stumbled backwards, a string of unintelligible pleas spilling from his mouth.

“Nonono I’m not gonna hurt you it’s okay!” - nolan exclaimed, his eyes fixed on the guy. He thought for a second before placing his pistol down on a nearby cabinet. He had a backup one anyways. - “See? I’m not dangerous, okay?”

The man on the floor finally stopped, his eyes still closely following Nolan’s every move. He reached for what seemed to be a towel on the floor with one hand and covered his other one with it, holding it down with great force.

Nolan watched in abject horror as this went down, not only was one of his hands fully gold from the wrist down, he caught a glimpse of the other one which seemed to be fully missing, with a cut so clean he could see the bones inside. His stomach twisted.

“What the hell happened here?” - he asked in with an unsteady voice, before it clicked in his head.

Kado Thorne happened. Clearly.

He walked closer, his hands still in the air. The man seemed to be in shock, and from the amount of blood lost it was a miracle he was still alive.

“He just- a man, he- came in and- I- He-“ - he stammered, his eyes wide as he forced the words out but was unable to finish them. The moment Nolan inched close enough to stand in front of him a moment of clarity hit him. - “No no, please, the gold- I can’t stop it, you’re gonna get hurt-“

Nolan’s eyes wandered down to his hand, some of the blood that seeped out from underneath the towel shined brightly before it melted into a gold liquid. It was probably the craziest thing he’s ever seen.

“If you don’t see a doctor you’ll die.” - he said bluntly, making the man panic even harder. Maybe he should consider his words before speaking.

“I- can’t - I can’t go to a doctor the gold will-“ - he cut himself off, clutching onto the golden towel for dear life. He was shaking, his breathing coming out in quick ragged huffs.

“I know someone who can help.. probably. She’s no regular doctor.” - Nolan said as he inched even closer to the man, reaching a hand out to help him up. He wasn’t a good guy by any means, but leaving someone in this state would be purely heartless. Not even he could be that bad.

And that wasn’t even accounting for what he was seeing. A guy, seemingly being able to turn things to gold on a whim. If he got on his good side he’d be a very important asset to have.

“Are you sure?” - he asked weakly. Nolan nodded. Slone will probably know what to do. She seemed to know the answer to most of the weird stuff that’s brought to her. This should be no different.

He man struggled to get up by himself, but he ignored the hand reached out to him and it took a second for Nolan to realise why. Oh, of course. He raised a hand to his mic before speaking.

“Piper, start up the car. The guy in here’s hurt real bad. Mae, phone Slone to get to the barn asap. Tell her to bring strong gloves too.” - he said, his eyes fixed on the man the entire time. He began stumbling towards the door and against his better judgement Nolan hooked one hand under his, trying his best to support him without touching any of the gold stuff.

“Uh.. What’s your name again?” - nolan asked, trying to get his mind off of the fact he’s a few centimetres from what seemed to be certain death. The man lowered his head, as if unsure if he should answer.

“…it’s Midas.”

[pubbybutch]

Get Clover It - Chapter 1 (VEX'LETH)

CW: Death of shitty father figures, Not an X Reader, Meet-Cute, Trans Vex (implied), Not Beta'd, Cute Fluff, Florist AU

Word Count : 2K

what is this?! me posting something that isnt a reader insert?!

MINORS AND CUNTS DNI 💚💚💚

Syldor was dead. And that was for the better. At least that's what Vex told herself as she folds the freshly ironed black blouse and leather trousers into the small suitcase next to the sleek black heels with the wine soles. With the zips pulled tight, the bag is left on the ground and she felt ready for the journey. With the key in her apartment door, it dawned on Vex how she would have to mourn or pretend to mourn her father in front of not only his new family but quite possibly the entirety of the town she lived in (but was never from). Turning back inside for the last time before leaving she walked back in and straight to the bedroom.

Looking into the wardrobe at the several jackets and overcoats she’d amassed over the years since leaving her own home and then her father’s house, her hand reached for the mid-length navy overcoat with the large silver buttons almost instinctively and as she pulled it from the hanger and threw the heavy suede over finely muscled shoulders, she felt safer, silly as it was. Trying to rationalise her new addition to the outfit Vex reminded herself of how funeral attire was always quite dull, too dull even, black on black with possibly even more black on top? Definitely more her brother’s style, the sprinkling of the dark blue would let her make it her own.

Out the door once more, and for good this time. Vex locked the door and sent a quick text to Taryon to thank him once more for taking Trinket on such short notice as her taxi pulled up to take her to the airport.

Stepping out of the humid air through rotating doors and into the tiled floors and airconditioning of Lyrengorn airport, the small departures wing was empty bar the few staff for various airlines making idle chit-chat amongst themselves behind the check-in desks. After lifting her bag to be weighed at one of the desks Vex began to tune out the short woman behind the counter as she babbled on to herself until she asked, “Can I see your passport?” The blue haired woman looked goofy as she held the passport up to compare the printed face to Vex’s in front of her, “And do you have anything sharp or dangerous in your luggage?” She continued as her head tilted to one side.

“No, nothing of the sort.”

“Okie dokie! Well, that means you're all set and you'll see your bags over in Syngorn! Enjoy your flight!” the bubbly tone not failing once, Vex begins to suspect that the woman is just that enthusiastic and it doesn’t do anything to help her already sour enough mood.

Vex continued through security, without a hitch but not without wounding at least four members of staff with glares to kill as she was subjected to secondary and tertiary checks, reaching the lounge with its deceptively comfortable seats and free Wi-Fi was as good as any reward, even if the bar wasn’t open yet and the overpriced coffee was watered down mud. Thankful to not have any human interaction for at least half an hour, Vex slid down into one of the empty benches next to the lone gate pulling out her phone, rereading the list Vax had sent of preparations that needed to be done between them. It wasn’t a short list.

Boarding the plane, having put her carry-on in the bin above her head, Vex’s phone buzzed in her hand.

‘stubby!! orget what i said before. need you to lift flowers from the florist on bakar street nezt to the blown out temple?? think thats all ill text you if theres anything else’

She sighed at the complete lack of consistent English on her brother’s part but took a mental note of his request and settled in for her early morning flight.

The cold vastness of the mountains and tundra pelted the passenger plane with thick white chunks of snow and tumbling wind. Large lone trees jutt out of the sheets of white, a train pushing along a track shoves its way through the hardened slush that's formed on the metal of the tracks from a previous journey, Vex watches as the little metal worm grows littler and littler before it’s completely engulfed by frost and snow. Everything becomes smaller until the plane is above the clouds where it continues to fly as the sun paints the tops of the cloud shelf with rosy pinks and soft twilight purples. Landing comes sooner than expected as Syngorn grows in the distance, the fielded and forested surroundings giving way to large roads and homes, and as the plane lands Vex wakes up. She discovers that she had slept the whole flight.

Stepping into the terminal and collecting her bags, Vex’s phone buzzes in her pocket as a message came through from Vax, ‘sorry freddie isnt there to pick u up had to send him to pick some stuff up theres a bus into town and ill pick u up on my way home’. Sending back a quick ‘No problem, see you soon,’ with huff and a puff, Vex gathers herself and makes her way out the front of Syngorn’s arrivals gate, suitcase wheels clattering behind her and a bus pulling out of the station just as she gets there, Vex subjects herself to more people watching. One couple, a blonde woman with a designer handbag being followed by a short woman with dark blonde hair built like an ox carting a suitcase in one hand and a duffel over the opposite shoulder, Vex watches as they head into departures. A lone woman, with short dark hair and deep olive skin, leaves the doors of arrivals and heads towards a tall woman and small child, she catches the child as he runs and jumps all the while the tall one smiles, laughing lightly. Vex watches, taking it all in while absorbing nothing. The next bus arrives.

Passing through the suburbs and past the lovely little houses with their white picket fences and tree swings, memories flood back to Vex from the unpleasant to joyous (few and far between as they were), and Vex’ahlia loses herself in her memories as the wheels trundle on further into town. The little homes give way to terraced homes and blocks of apartments, shops, and boutiques, and eventually, the main square of Syngorn, and the clunky chunk of metal pulls up to a bus stop in the middle of town. Vex hops off. Suitcase clacking behind her on the old cobblestone that makes up the footpaths Vex looks at the address Vax had pinned for her in their texts. ‘Get Clover It - Florists and Bake Shop (14 Main Square, Emerald Citadel, Syngorn)’ Awful puns for names, she was really looking forward to this now. Sarcasm drips off the little voice in her head as she reads the message, but she picks up the pace as she heads further into the cobbled square. Vex passes a cobbler, that’s new. A bakery, that was there before. A coffee shop, that's new. A tailor’s, that’s new too. It may have changed a bit but she was still in Syngorn and even acknowledging that she is here, is enough to send shivers down her spine.

Her heeled boots halt their clacking outside a quaint little shop, soft pinks and light minty greens decorate the exterior of the building. The large front windows illuminate the inside as Vex steps into the interior pushing the glass door as the tinkling of a bell came from above her head. A perfume of many different flowers assaults Vex’s nose from one side of the shop, while the other side of the shop attacks with the aroma of fresh bread and buns. If the smell didn’t knock her off her feet, the six-foot-tall vase being hauled around the shop certainly did. Both Vex and the tall redhead who was carrying the vase tumble to the ground, the circular forest green rug breaks the fall slightly as Vex’s suitcase goes wheeling off on its own as does the large vase.

Rushing to her feet, the red-haired woman is muttering to herself and Vex is left struggling to hear what the other woman says as she is pulled to her feet.

“Oh, gods. I’m sorry, uh- are you hurt- Wait! Pike!”

Shouting from the back Vex hears, “YEAH? WHAT’S UP?”

“Help!”

“What’s wrong?” A short woman with stark white hair, ‘Pike’ Vex assumes, pops her head out from behind the door into the back, “Okay, okay, okay… Gimme a second!” And she disappears again.

The apologies then flow like a river rapid once more from the tall woman’s mouth as Vex gets her first good look at the woman. She’s tall, not freakishly but her thin lithe frame does nothing but help to exaggerate her height, her face is sharp but pleasant with high cheekbones, a long nose, and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. Long, bright ginger hair falls down her back and is kept from her face with a cloth hair band with sunflowers on it. She’s gorgeous. Not hot or sexy, like all of the one-night stands and sneaky links Vex has had over the years but in a natural unassumingly, and delicately pretty way. Pike reappears bringing Vex's train of thought to a screeching halt as the bobbing of a head and a dustpan and broom dance around her. As the short woman sweeps the flour that comes off the robin egg blue apron is left floating in the air, tiny speckles that Vex tries to avoid as best as she can.

“Anyways, I am so so sorry. What can I help you with? I’m Keyleth by the way.”

“Vex’ahlia… Vessar? I’m here to pick up some arrangements for a funeral?”

Keyleth’s face instantly dropped. She begins checking through the book behind the counter, flicking through the thick log.

“I’m so sorry, was he something to you?”

“My Father.”

“I’m sorry for your loss-” She is cut off.

“It’s no loss, of that I can assure you, darling.”

“Oh! Well… There are a few lilies we’re still waiting to get in for the main grave arrangement, but I can get them delivered to you tomorrow or you could pick them up, I’ll be here from about six. And you can take the smaller arrangements today? The wreaths are all ready and I have them in a box up the back.”

“Wonderful.” Vex shouted to her as she headed into the back, trying to figure out what would be the best course of action for the following day, never even minding the chaos it could throw the plans for the funeral as a whole into. “Well, darling, I’ll see you tomorrow then?” With the flick of a braid and a twirl of a leather jacket she exited.

“Bright and early!” The flash of red from behind the curtain separating the front and back of the store called out before realising the pretty woman had left with the lazy tinkling of the bell over the door.

Keyleth turned back towards the short woman sat criss-crossed on the top of the counter tying a variety of ribbons in pastel colours to a dozen boxes with cute miniature sourdough loaves and pastries, about halfway through the first bundle.

“So,” Pike smiled a half smirk as she elongated the ‘o’ sound, teasing the blush even further up the long neck of her friend, “the tall drink of water got you flustered or something?"

“Yeah… something like that. Who’s on delivery duty tomorrow?”

This was something a little different AKA “WHAT?! ITS NOT A READER INSERT?!”, reblog to help a bitch out?

Requests are Opennn.

[enchantingjacarandas]

The Fall

Pairing: Lee Know | Minho / Yang Jeongin | I.N.

Tags: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, literal hurt, Domestic Fluff, Literal Sleeping Together

Other Sites to Read on: Ao3 or Wattpad

Words: 2,801

Minho slowly stirred awake. He glanced around the room attempting to find the source, causing the disturbance of his slumber. Their apartment was small. The only separate room was a bathroom. Unless it was coming from outside, there weren't many options that it could be. While debating on whether or not to get up from his comfortable spot on the bed. A small noise came from the person next to him on the bed.

Minho listened closer trying to defficer if his lover was having a bad dream or something that would be cause for worry. He heard it clear as day this time it was a tiny moan coming from Jeongin. Minho let out a grumpy noise in response. He rolled his eyes while also rolling to face away from Jeongin on the bed. 

He lightly kicked Jeongin trying to get him away so he could enjoy his sleep more. When there was no immediate movement from the other he decided to use his foot to scoot Jeongin’s legs further away from him. After putting distance between the two of them. Minho got taken off to dreamland once again. Unconsciously Jeongin was able to take the hint and he turned to face the opposite side, just like Minho had done.

Jeongin was jolted awake when his legs started falling off the bed after he had turned over. He let out a tiny scream as the rest of his body soon followed his legs. Before his whole body had hit the floor his face made contact with the corner of the night stand. A small thud was then heard by the apartment.

“Ow” Jeongin quietly said while touching his face. He pulled his hand back and saw that it had blood on it. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again to make sure that this wasn’t a dream, and that he was really in fact bleeding. Even in the middle of the night with only a dim light coming from the outside street lamp he could see it, blood.

He stood up and checked the bed to see if Minho was sleeping or not. Wishing for Minho to be awake. Jeongin lightly called out his name. “Minho?” Seeing no response Jeongin decided to cut his losses, as he stared at his boyfriend’s back one last time before leaving the room.

As Jeongin flipped on the light switch to the bathroom he regretted doing it so casually. The brightness made his eyes immediately close and his face scrunch up like he had eaten something sour. He stood there for a bit trying to wake up and adjust to the light. Taking a deep breath he opened his eyes again. He wasn’t entirely used to the brightness yet but he knew he had more pressing matters to attend to.

Peering in the mirror, the cut wasn’t hard to miss. It was fairly big just missing his eye by an inch or so. Sofly he poked around the cut to access the situation. Sharp inhales were made when he got too close to the cut, but it also made his cheek go up, causing more pain overall. Tiny moans from the pain escaped his lips.

He thought about how he was lucky he hadn’t lost an eye over something so stupid. His mind wandered to how he had fallen out of the bed in the first place. Sure, he was accident prone, but he’d never fallen off the bed before.

He looked up and grabbed the first aid kit from the top shelf. He stubbled a bit due to his tiredness and made quite a bit of noise. Jeongin was just glad that another accident hadn’t occurred. He set the kit down on the counter opening it up. After surveying the first aid kit, he scanned his injury once again to try to figure out what he would need from it. 

It started bleeding so Jeongin quickly got a wad of toilet paper and pressed it against his face to stop the blood. He moaned out in pain. In the rush to stop the blood he had slammed his hand right on the cut. 

Minho, hearing all the moaning, assumed Jeongin had woken up with his morning wood and was now attempting to relieve himself in the bathroom. After hearing the last one he assumed it was over or he was close. Either way it had woken Minho up too much to go back to sleep. He urgently wanted to see how embarrassed Jeongin would be when he was caught in the act. 

With his mischievous plan Minho quietly made his way to the bathroom. As he opened the door both men froze at the sight in front of them. Minho’s eyes focused on the cut, then to Jeongin’s hands that were holding bloody toilet paper. He melted at the sight and swiftly went to his significant other. Gently Minho lifted Jeongin’s chin and tilted his head around getting a hold of the situation in front of him.

“Hyung,” Jeongin whined. It was moments like this when you could truly tell who the older one was in the relationship. Not because of the name, but because Minho was consistently able to handle crises well. Jeongin was always thankful to have someone to lean on when he was faced with a problem. Minho was always happy to help solve any issues Jeongin would come across.

Minho surveyed the room seeing the first aid kit out and yet, Jeongin’s hand was filled with toilet paper he let out a small laugh. “Why did you get the first aid out if you weren’t going to use it?”

Jeongin pouted. “I was but then blood started pouring out and I had to stop it.” 

“Alright calm down, take a deep breath.” The situation hadn’t particularly made Jeongin anxious, but he didn’t want to receive a scolding from Minho. So, he took a breath and stared into Minho’s eyes waiting for his next move. Minho let out a sigh, “Why don’t you go sit on the bed, and I’ll bring the first aid kit and patch you up there”.

Jeongin fumbled with his hands as he sat on the edge of their bed. Minho stared back into the mirror in front of him. How do you explain to your boyfriend that he fell off the bed because you pushed him off? Thinking about it more, Minho decided to just wait until Jeongin was fully patched up before explaining what happened. He took one last deep breath before joining Jeongin on the bed. 

Minho and Jeongin were not the pda type of couple, they mostly gave physical affection behind closed doors, in private. They liked that those moments were just for them, and that they didn’t have to worry about the judgment of others. Jeongin was always more cuddly in the morning after just waking up. Minho always wondered if it was because of dreams he had or his way of trying to catch up on more sleep before being fully awake. However, once Jeongin was fully awake the rush of the morning would start. Minho knows all this from them living together for so long so he makes sure to give Jeongin reassurance.

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Minho scanned him over one more time for any other possible injuries. “Does it hurt?”

Jeongin spoke. “No, it doesn’t hurt unless I try to smile too big or if I touch it.” Although he wanted to give Minho a huge smile for caring and taking care of him.

“In that case it might hurt while I’m patching it up.” Minho offered his hand out on Jeongin’s leg. “You can squeeze my hand as much as it hurts.”

Jeongin gave a lopsided smile as he took the older’s hand. Minho got out the cotton swabs and began to lightly clean the blood around the cut.

Soon Minho had to do the inevitable and clean directly on the cut. He braced himself for the other’s reaction. He still attempted to make it as painless as possible, going lightly at first, with the iodine, Minho knew it was going to sting.

Jeongin sharply inhaled, clutching Minho’s hand. Jeongin reassured the other, “It’s okay, I’d rather just rip the band aid off if you know what I mean.”

Should Minho listen and just try to get it done fast instead of trying to make it less painful? Was it actually making it more painful? Minho decided to speed up the pace a little while still being cautious and not going too deep.

Jeongin still held his hand tight, but it lessened as time went on. Only a few times throughout would Jeongin tighten his grip. When that happened Minho eased up a bit.

Minho folded up some of the gauze patting they had in the kit and used steri strips to make sure it was secured on Jeongin’s face.

Not moving his face Jeongin looked down and spoke. “I’m really sorry I woke you up.” Jeongin began overthinking. “I know it’s probably annoying to have a clutz like me around so much.”

“No no.” Minho was quick to refute Jeongin’s statement. “It’s not annoying at all. I love being able to patch you up, don’t worry about waking me up for stuff like this. If I had found it annoying, you know me, I wouldn’t even be here right now.” 

“You always sound so tired when you have to fix something after I accidentally break it.” Jeongin lowered his head looking down. It seemed like this was something he had been worrying about for a while.

“Even though I sometimes complain, those are comments I make in passing.” Minho didn’t want his boyfriend to overthink the situation ever again and wanted to reassure him that he wasn’t a bother. “I promise to work on not doing it as much if it really bothers you-”

Jeongin was quick to react to the statement, grabbing Minho’s hands and saying. “No, I want you to be able to express yourself around me.”

Minho tried to bargain. “Still I can express myself in a different tone or with different words.” He held Jeongin’s hands tighter while speaking. “You are worth changing for. I want to be my best self for you. So, let me know if I’m being too much.”

Jeongin wanted to smile big and wide at the statement, but the tape restricted him. He yelped a bit at the pain.

Minho lightly chucked, “maybe I shouldn’t say too much more nice things right now, though”. He looked to the side. It was time for him to confess. “Besides, I should be the one apologizing this time.” Jeongin was confused and about to interrupt, but Minho stopped him first.

“While you were sleeping you started to moan a tiny bit.” Jeongin immediately got redder at the statement. Although they had been together for a while now, it was still embarrassing to Jeongin to have done that unconsciously. “I was tired and I just didn’t want to do anything at the moment so I kind of pushed you away, then I guess you fell.”

Jeongin gave a small laugh, he didn’t want to feel pain so he tried to stop himself from giving too much of a smile. “Here I was thinking that I was the only one messing things up.”

“Does that mean you’re not mad?” Minho gave Jeongin doe eyes at his statement. 

“Of course I’m not mad, if anything you made me happier. I’m glad I’m not alone.” Jeongin grabbed Minho’s hand, but Minho turned away.

“You make me sound like a menace.” Minho pouted. He had taken what Jeongin last said to mean that he made Jeongin feel alone in the relationship. Minho looked down, having a sorrowful look on his face.

“Don’t make that face. That’s not what I mean, I just sometimes think you’re too good to be true. I feel like I don’t deserve someone as perfect as you.”

“What? I mess up plenty of times?” Minho sat on the bed next to Jeongin. “Do you not remember when I broke our potted plant on the balcony, or when I made a fuss about the food taking too long at the restaurant last week?” Minho watched Jeongin.

Jeongin looked away in order to avoid Minho’s eyes. “Those things aren’t so bad though.”

Minho lightly chuckled. “Neither is spilling a drink once in a while.”

“Yeah but sometimes it messes up your clothes.” Jeongin looked into Minho's eyes as he spoke and he fell for Minho all over again. 

“That’s why we have washing machines.”

Jeongin sighed, “I love you so much.” Minho’s eyes would always cause his mind to blank and to only think of how much he loved Minho. It was Minho’s superpower, Jeongin’s kryptonite. There was no escape, but that’s what helped Jeongin through the ruff days. 

“I love you too.” Minho then leaned in closer to Jeongin’s face.

Jeongin tilted his head, relaxing his lips as he leaned in as well. Minho planned to just give him a quick peck and then move on, but Jeongin had other plans. Jeongin chased Minho’s lips moving closer to him and lightly pulled on his shirt to make sure Minho knew how much he wanted this. Jeongin relaxed the bottom of his mouth so Minho could easily lead the kiss and so the cut on his cheek wouldn’t hurt too much.

Minho gladly took the opportunity in front of him, he opened his mouth and pushed his tongue in to taste more of Jeongin. Jeongin lightly fluttered his tongue around Minho’s, slowly getting more and more of Minho. He wanted more. Minho could sense this as well. 

Before Jeongin went past the point of no return Minho broke the kiss and spoke. “I think we should try to sleep while it’s still dark out.” While Jeongin knew he was right he still wished to kiss a little longer.

Minho put away the kit and made Jeongin go to the far end of the bed that was next to the wall. 

“But you always said you worry about me kicking you.” Jeongin protested. 

“That was before we slept together so many times. I know you don’t kick in your sleep now. Plus, you are literally injured from being on this side so you are not sleeping there again.” Jeongin gave a small pout but agreed. He knew how hard it was to change Minho’s mind.

Because of where the cut was on his face Jeogin had to lay down facing the other. He didn’t mind it, and found that it was quite a nice view regardless of the cause for it. Minho got comfortable and faced him as well.

Jeongin gasped, making Minho alert. “What am I going to tell people when they ask about my cut? The truth is too hard and embarrassing to explain.”

“It’s not that bad, it was just an accident.” Seeing that Jeongin’s expression didn’t change, Minho added. “You can just tell them I did it.”

Jeongin’s eyes widened. “There’s no way, they’ll think you're abusive or something.”

“Hmmm” Minho gave in more thought before pulling a mischievous smile. “I guess you’ll just have to stay home here with me all day tomorrow.” Minho put his arms around Jeongin and held him closer. In return Jeongin laughed at the action, enjoying the skinship in his tired state. 

After the laughter in him subsided he sighed. Lightly pulling Minho’s arms off of him he layed back down on his side of the bed. He stared in Minho’s eyes of joy before starting to voice his concerns again.

“What if-”

Minho could tell that this would easily turn into an all night spiral if he let it continue so he quickly intervened. “What was your wet dream?”

“Hyung, just because I was moaning that doesn’t mean I was having a wet dream. Maybe I was in danger and needed your help in my dream.” 

“Is that true?” Minho smirked as he raised an eyebrow.

“Well it’s important to have the facts right.” Jeongin crossed his arms.

Minho thought about it more before speaking. “But you said maybe… wait do you not even remember?”

Jeongin’s cards had been revealed. “Fine I don’t, but it still doesn’t mean that what you think occurred actually happened.”

Minho chucked. “Okay, I’ll go with what you think.”

Jeongin gave Minho a quick peck. After the kiss Minho put his arm around the other instinctively trying to protect him from anything else hurting him. They fell asleep like that with Minho guarding the other. Jeongin, who gladly stayed close to his protector, laid his head on Minho’s chest. The apartment was still almost as if the universe wanted to freeze this moment.

➤ Masterlist ❀ Ao3 ❀ Wattpad

A/N: Jeongin is bias while Minho is my bias wrecker so, I absolutely adored making this story and it's still one of my favorites to this day. This is also the third place winner of the poll. I'll see you in the next post. Thank you for reading!

[bottomlouiswriters]

NEW FIC

New FIC

Sweet But Psycho Only For You - whatswrongwithAvocados - One Direction (Band) [Archive of Our Own]

Heyy it's been a while since I wrote anything but I got the sudden urge to write early this morning so here it is. I hope you all enjoy! Please repost this as well!

[a-sin-to-be-rin]

Loss and Reunion (Part 1)

Jason knew Dick had to die sometime. Besides the fact that it was inevitable, Batman’s Robins all seem to die early. It was really just a matter of time. But can Bruce at least pretend to be upset about it?

Part 2 here

---

Part 1: Loss

His mouth is stern. Jaw tight. Eyes unreadable behind the godforsaken cowl. Jason knows that something is up with Bruce - sorry, Batman - even beyond the obvious.

“You’re here,” Batman growls.

“I’m here,” Jason echoes. He hadn’t been there when the world was under attack. He’d been with the Outlaws. He’d been busy. There’s only so much one person can do, and Jason is becoming more and more aware of that fact as time goes on.

In an attempt to remain casual, Jason crosses his arms and leans back on one of the Cave’s many walls. He keeps his expression as neutral as possible. Batman doesn’t need to know that his voice still makes Jason’s hands shake.

The muscles in Batman’s jaw and mouth relax. The corner of his lip tips up ever so slightly. If anyone other than a protege of Batman and child of Bruce Wayne saw it, they’d never notice the difference.

But Jason knows. Jason knows quite well.

Batman - or is it Bruce? - is smiling. It seems to be out of relief, but Jason frustratingly can’t see his eyes. Can’t tell for certain why he’s smiling.

“You’re here,” Batman repeats, and Jason has ten witty comebacks on his tongue when he’s abruptly silenced by the hug.

Hug.

Batman.

Batman is… is hugging him. Jason can’t remember many times Bruce hugged him. He often jokes that the only time he’d been cradled by Bruce was after he was already dead. No one ever finds it funny, but Jason keeps saying it anyway.

“Bruce,” Jason says, tone flat and arms stiff at his sides. He’s pretty sure he’s talking to Bruce, not Batman. “Let go.”

And emotionally constipated Bruce Wayne hugs Jason just a bit tighter, lingers for just a moment longer, before begrudgingly letting go. He straightens, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’m, uh… I’m glad you’re okay.”

Jason squints, returning to his position against the wall. “I… Thanks?”

Bruce clears his throat. “A… A lot’s happened.”

Stating the obvious. Just because Jason was off-world doesn’t mean he wasn’t inundated with chaos the second he landed back on Earth.

But rather than say this, Jason decides to deflect, deflect, deflect. Anything to avoid discussing feelings with this uncharacteristically-vulnerable version of Bruce. “Where is everyone?”

At this, Bruce lets out a comically exaggerated sigh. He tugs the cowl down and runs a hand through his hair. Finally visible, Bruce’s eyes are tired. Exhausted, even. “Robin’s on patrol.”

Avoiding Bruce, Jason translates.

“Alfred’s with Leslie. Some people still need medical care after… everything.”

Meaning the world is so fucked that Alfred actually left the cave.

“Oracle should be in bed, though I doubt it. Probably still running comms.”

So nothing’s changed with her, then.

“And Red Robin is with the Titans.” Then he falls silent. Like the question has been sufficiently answered.

As per usual, Bruce’s true meaning lies with the unspoken.

“... and Dick?” Jason ventures.

Bruce sighs again, finding a chair to sit in. He lowers himself down gingerly, like every muscle aches. But his mouth stays shut. Jason can’t even hear a noncommittal “hn.”

Jason’s hands tighten on his arms. He and the golden boy aren’t the best of friends, but they’re still brothers. They’re still family.

And god knows what this family will do for each other.

“Where’s Dick?” And then, after another too-long pause - “Where’s Dick, Bruce?” His tone is tough enough to pierce titanium, sharp enough to cut diamond.

Bruce looks away and then back at Jason. “Nightwing’s dead.”

The words are spoken with a cold finality. With all the loving kindness of a dull icepick - weakened in mechanism but brutal in delivery. There is no room for care. No room for questioning. It’s spoken as Batman conducts his detective work: factual and efficient.

Jason may have forgiven the tone if Bruce at least looked sorry. But he doesn’t. His eyes are hardened. They’re not sorry. Not devastated. Not even sad.

They’re as expressionless as they were when he wore the cowl.

Something in Jason snaps. Sweat breaks out on his palms, his forehead, his neck. His shoulders tense, and his stomach flips. Jason’s face burns, and his vision goes a sickly green.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he demands, patience paper-thin.

“Nightwing was kidnapped by the Crime Syndicate. They revealed his identity on television and wired a bomb to his heart.”

Jason feels nauseous, but Bruce isn’t done.

“The bomb was set to go off unless Nightwing died. Lex Luthor killed him.”

And there it is. That railroad spike of flippancy. That absolute carelessness. It’s becoming painfully clear that even with the cowl off, this is Batman. This is the man that trained Jason. Not the man that tried to be his father.

That tried to be Dick’s father too. But hadn’t tried hard enough.

“You…” Jason means to say something defensive. He means to say something demanding and intimidating and furious, because that’s what he is. He’s furious.

…so why does he feel so empty?

“It’s not…” But still, Jason can’t manage a sentence. He opens his mouth to speak, and words fail him. Because… because surely there’s something wrong. Surely, this is a lie.

And while Jason wrestles with this, Bruce studies his expression. Is no doubt waiting for an angry outburst or a pathetic wave of tears.

But he gets neither. Because Jason is just… confused.

“You’re… He’s dead?” he finally manages.

And Bruce nods, eyes still devoid of grief or ire. It makes Jason’s stomach knot.

“And you’re certain?” Because sure, he’s dead. They’ve all died. But it never quite sticks. Being assumed dead is very different from being face-to-face with a corpse. And even then, it isn’t always forever. Jason is living proof of that.

“I wouldn’t lie about this.”

“Did you see the body, Bruce?” Jason presses. “Can you confirm-?”

“Yes.” Bruce’s tone is cold, but his eyes are devoid of emotion. He sounds upset about being questioned. Not upset that his son is dead.

Jason tries to ignore that. “When?”

“Two months ago.”

The revelation is like a hammer to his gut.

For a long, long moment, Jason says nothing. He stares out past Bruce, eyes losing focus.

“Jason.” Bruce is cautious, voice concerned. “Jason, say something.”

“... where’s Luthor?”

And suddenly, Bruce is the quiet one.

“Bruce. Where’s Luthor?”

Bruce doesn’t respond. Just shakes his head before turning around, sweeping his cape, and pacing to the Batcomputer.

And then rage hits Jason like a bullet train. “Don’t you care??” he shouts.

Still no response. Just rapid typing on the keyboard.

Jason’s eye twitches. He forces a controlled stream of air from his lips, struggling to compose himself. “Where’s Luthor?” He stalks towards the computer himself, not stopping until he’s standing next to the console chair.

The typing pauses, fingers stilled over the keys. And then Bruce - Batman - shrugs, resuming his case report.

Jason’s vision is filtered by a deeper shade of green. The blatant lack of respect - of decency - makes Jason’s mouth taste bitter. It’s so, so painfully reminiscent. So similar, it’s practically identical. So like Jason’s death.

The Joker is out there somewhere. Living to swing crowbars another day. Living to kill kids another day. Batman hasn’t stopped him.

And here it is. Dick. Dead. And where is Luthor?

Batman certainly doesn’t know.

“Don’t do that,” he warns, sight narrowing in on Batman. “Tell me Luthor’s dead. Tell me he’s dead, Bruce!”

But Batman doesn’t say it. Bruce doesn’t say it either. Both are the picture of calm. Of someone who hasn’t just lost a son.

“Where is he?” Jason seethes. Even if Batman doesn’t care, Jason needs somewhere to go. Something to do.

This seems to snap Bruce forward and push Batman away. “Jason,” he begins softly, finally looking away from the computer and spinning in his chair to see Jason clearly. “There’s nothing we can do.”

Wrong thing to say.

“Isn’t there?” Jason fumes. “Is that what you said after Joker killed me??”

“Jason, I…” Bruce scowls. “I’m sorry that I don’t seem remorseful enough for you. The fact of the matter is that Nightwing is dead. The Crime Syndicate has done a lot of damage, and there are people we can help if we act now. But being upset about Nightwing isn’t going to fix anything.”

Wrong. Thing. To say.

“This is your fault,” Jason growls. “This - your whole holier-than-thou, no-killing bullshit - is why Dick is dead. If you would just get off your soapbox for five seconds, if you actually thought about what you were doing, if you hadn’t recruited a bunch of kids into your dumbass crusade, Dick wouldn’t be-!”

“Jason-”

But there’s that tone again. Not caring. Not sympathetic.

Bothered.

“Why did you drag him into this? Why did you drag us into this?” Pace, pace, pace. Jason pauses in front of Batman. Swivels to face him. Lowers his voice to a chilling whisper. “Did you lose a son? Or just another toy soldier?”

Batman rises abruptly. His silhouette is foreboding. Just as foreboding now, when Jason is taller than Batman, as when he was a kid. When he got saddled with Dick’s old job. At the time, it sounded fun. But at the time, he was also twelve and living on the streets

(Had Dick thought it was fun? It was his idea, as far as Jason is aware. But he was eight. Just how much resistance had Batman put up before he let Robin patrol with him?)

“Do not say that.” The words are terse, forced through gnashed teeth.

“What? That we’re all just pawns in your game of chess? That you caused this?”

Batman doesn’t back down. He maintains fierce eye contact. Balls his fists before hiding them in his cape. “You are my children,” he insists. “I did not force any of you to do this, and you know that. Nightwing knew that.”

Nightwing. Not Dick. Not Richard. Not even goddamn Grayson.

Nightwing.

“Dick,” Jason corrects, barely concealing a growl. “Dick knew that. Your son. At least have the decency to say his name.”

Batman levels Jason with a glare hot enough to melt steel before returning to his desk and continuing his report.

Because the truth of the matter is that Batman - that Bruce - is incapable of handling emotions like this. Whenever things get hard, he ducks his head and becomes engrossed in his work. He blocks out the world until the problems disappear.

But nothing can erase this.

Jason can’t take it anymore. He throws his helmet on the floor with a resounding crack. “Fuck you,” he hisses. Then he jumps onto his motorcycle and peels away. This is too much. It’s all just too much.

With an absent hand, Jason pulls out his phone and speed dials Dick’s cell.

“You’ve reached Dick Grayson. I’m not available right now, but please leave your-”

Jason hangs up. He’s not going to listen to that.

(He can’t listen to that.)

Instead, Jason flips his manual comm on, regretting the tiniest bit that he’d destroyed his helmet. “Hood to Oracle.”

The comm crackles and pops more than a toddler’s breakfast cereal. Jason really needs to replace his backup equipment. But through the hissing and static, he can make out a voice.

“Oracle.”

Ah. So Barbara had stayed up. Maybe to spite Bruce. Maybe because she just wanted to. Who’s to say?

“What’s Lex Luthor’s status?”

A long pause. Jason wonders if his comm has finally crapped out before Oracle replies, voice so loud it makes his ears ring. “Don’t bother, Hood.”

No explanation. No reassurances. Just one firm order.

But Jason is tired of taking orders.

“Look, I’m finding Luthor one way or another. The only question is if you help or if I need to consult a different source.”

Jason could swear he hears a huff over the receiver. “Can we talk?”

But Jason doesn’t want to talk. He wants to act. Now.

“No,” he says curtly. “Do you know where he is or not?”

A new voice invades the channel, dry and irritated. “Whatever you’re planning, Hood, I assure you it’s inadvisable.”

“I wasn’t asking you, Robin,” he growls. “Oracle, where is Luthor?”

A heavy pause. “Come to the tower.”

“Copy.”

Jason leaves his comm in - just in case someone decides to be helpful - but keeps driving south. If Barbara isn’t going to tell him where Luthor is, Jason will just find another way. Do some detective work, just like he’s been trained to do.

Because Dick deserves it. He deserves for someone to give a shit about him.

The thought makes Jason’s eyes burn. The Golden Boy, even in death, is taken for granted. And if Dick was still alive? He’d probably forgive Bruce for it too.

It makes Jason’s vision turn a deep emerald, and he has to focus on finding Luthor. It’s the only way to sate the fury in his veins.

Part 2 here

[dtblrficsupport]

we love to see healthy communication in our fics!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/52590859

Care(Take), by @bagelrites

Synopsis: George and Dream talk about love and effort and care, in different ways, at different stages of their relationship.

Leave a comment and kudos to let the author know you enjoyed their fic :)

Hits at the time of queuing: 680

[found-fam-trope]

I finally decided to post a short BKTD hurt/comfort fic I've had in my drafts for months.

[samwritesstories]

The Great Blue Dragon

An arrogant knight picks a fight with a dragon who has acted as the kingdom's golden goose, will he win and claim its treasure, or find himself crushed?

Once upon a time, there was a kingdom of year-round warmth, rich soil, and the cleanest of water. Where they grew fruit and raised cattle and where the elderly would come to live out their twilight years in the warm sun. It was a humble existence, not one that would make the kingdom especially rich, but one that sustained them.

One day, a great dragon arrived in the kingdom, bringing with him a massive hoard of riches. His blue scales shined in the sun, his wings massive enough to be mistaken for storm clouds when he flew overhead, his claws were as sharp as daggers, his teeth as white as pearls, and his fiery breath hotter than even the hottest forge.

At first, the people were afraid, for dragons only ever brought devastation. However, instead of razing their kingdom to the ground or devouring their princess, he demanded to speak to the king and the knights of the realm. Having little choice, the king and his knights ventured into the dragon's lair. They armed themselves with swords, lances, and maces, seeing not only the dragon when they arrived but his hoard of riches, which he took no effort to hide.

Seeing their greedy gazes, the dragon gave a smug smile and told the knights and king, "I have come not to harm you, but to help you. For I need you and you need me. I have been to many places and seen many things. With all I have witnessed and experienced, I can tell stories like no other creature can. And I could do it in your land without ever needing to hibernate. With these tales, I could make additions to my hoard from people who will come from near and far. They would especially come to hear them from a gentle dragon."

The king, growing impatient, asked the dragon, "How exactly does that help us? All you've told us is how you plan to enrich yourself."

The dragon chuckled at the king's outburst and told him, "Why, I'll need servants of course. To shine my scales and clean my teeth and be my scribes. And I shall need the consent of His Majesty and his knights to ensure that I am not harassed. You and my servants will, of course, be richly rewarded. The knights of the realm most handsomely of all."

The king's eyes widened, and his knights murmured. A payment from a dragon's hoard, even just a handful, was a fine catch. But though the king desired the dragon's treasure, he was also no fool. He asked the great beast, "And what if we reject you? What will happen if some future king wants none of your riches and demands you take your leave?"

The dragon rumbled and got up from his reclining position, standing at his full height. "If you refuse me, I shall simply devour the nearest cattle herd, from the mightiest bull to the smallest newborn calf, and take my leave. If I am, in the future, betrayed by the king, then I shall devour him and any knights he brings with him before making the kingdom beg for forgiveness, is that clear?"

Thus, the king agreed to these terms. The kingdom welcomed the dragon. Peasants came to earn their living with him, to shine his scales and clean his teeth and be his scribes, being sure to fill those books of his tales with beautiful drawings. And just as the dragon predicted, when people heard of a gentle beast who told tales of righteous princesses, fair maidens who overcame turmoil, brave heroes, and beasts of a most amusing sort, they flocked to see him. Little children climbed up onto his wings and back and their parents would gladly take his tomes home. All of this for a fee of course. In this way, the kingdom grew rich and prosperous as the dragon expanded his hoard. The king and his knights especially grew rich, the peasants still living a humble existence.

As the years passed, the kingdom became known for the great blue dragon just as it was known for its fruit and warm weather. Kings came and went, but the dragon only grew richer and stronger as he became older. However, just because a kingdom is prosperous does not make it a happy place, no matter what a dragon says. For in this time, the knights of the realm were not chivalrous gentlemen, but cruel tyrants. To make themselves more popular among the cruel and clueless, they declared a witch hunt. They wrecked herb gardens, made young lovers hide themselves away, and declared that those who chose a destiny different from their birth were dangerous demons. It was a disgrace, and the kingdom became an embarrassment. One day, however, things became worse. The king, who, like all the kings of this land before him, had been a knight, made a decree. No longer would the knights of the realm be beholden to chivalry and need to answer for their actions, they could do whatever they pleased in order to maintain "order"

And this enraged the peasants. How dare the king do this to them when they already dealt with such brutish knights?! Something had to be done, and there was only one thing they could think of that would actually work. Thus, on a day that was terribly busy, the dragon's servants stopped their work. Stories were half finished, art left only as sketches, scales cleaned but not shined, his teeth brushed but not rinsed. And he became angry, demanding of them as they walked out of his cave, "Why do you leave me, the one who puts food in your bellies and coin in your pockets? Tell me why you walk away from me!"

The leader of this walkout, an artist and scribe of great skill and renown, told him, "It was the only way to get your attention, Great Dragon. Our quarrel is not with you, but with the knights you share your hoard with. A knight should be chivalrous and just, but I have been harassed and my garden trampled, accused of being a witch. The story I told of the virtuous little sorceress in love with the sad little princess claimed to be corrupting the youth and used to slander me. Those are not knights worthy of a dragon's hoard."

"And what do you expect me to do about it? They are not my knights."

"Yes, they are. They depend on your hoard to maintain their fine armor and gleaming swords. So long as you enrich those brutes, we will not lift a finger to enrich you."

The dragon snarled but did not attack his servants. For he knew that, though he was much stronger and more powerful than them, he needed them more than they needed him. Without him, they would go back to farming fruit, ranching, and caring for elders. But without them, he would never get the word out with books, he'd run out of tales sooner rather than later and no one would believe that he was tame if he looked like a feral beast. His hoard would never grow.

Thus, with little choice, the dragon called forth the knights of the realm. With spread wings and a booming voice, he spoke. "Hear me and listen! You have grown lazy and cruel in my time here. You have taken my generosity and harassed my servants. Thus, I have a new decree. My gifts will only go to those knights who are chivalrous gentlemen, none of this behavior I have seen from you lately. No attacks, no accusations, no slander. If you cannot behave, you will receive nothing from my hoard."

There was a great cry from the knights then, but they could do only that. For they knew that the dragon had a right to alter his terms. One knight, however, was much angrier than the others. He gripped his sword and yelled at the dragon, "You foul beast! How dare you steal food from the mouths of these good knights' children! Are you conspiring with the witches and demons who seek to corrupt the youth?"

The dragon rolled his eyes and said to the knight, "Don't tell me you believe your own lies, sir knight. Besides, I know what the king gives his knights. Just behave yourself lest you find yourself moderately wealthy instead of fabulously wealthy."

This prompted the knight to let go of his sword. It seemed he would have to fake good behavior for the time being. However, he didn't have to wait very long, for soon the king made an announcement. He was growing old, his sword arm weak, his energy draining. As tradition dictated, there would be a tourney held in order to find a new king.

This made the knight very happy indeed, for he had always wanted to be king. As the kingdom prepared for the tourney, so did the knight. He, of course, trained, but also begged people to cheer for him. On the day of the tourney, hiding his disdain for the peasants, he called out from atop his horse. "My good people! For too long we have lived under the tyranny of the dragon! He eats our beef, collects his hoard, and now he helps the witches and demons that corrupt our youth! If I become king, I shall slay the dragon! And when that is done, I shall rise even higher, become high king of all the realms and rid them of this blight."

While most people didn't cheer for the knight, those who did were so thunderous that it seemed that the whole kingdom was cheering, and boos drowned out. And that gave the knight great encouragement.

He rode to his position in the joust and, once called, seemed to push his horse to fly. He carried his lance with such certainty that it was like a battering ram against his opponent, the other knight falling to the ground in defeat. The other events went much the same way, the knight feeling such confidence that his victories were won so easily. Thus, he won the tourney, was crowned king at the end of it, and moved into the castle that very night.

The peasants did not celebrate but grew afraid, for this knight had been exceptionally cruel to them. He had been among the most aggressive in destroying gardens, harassing lovers, to lie and say the unique were demons. And now he was to do away with them! Their only hope was that he wouldn't go through with his threats.

Unfortunately, while he didn't immediately come after the dragon, he did keep his other terrible promises. His knights trampled ladies' gardens on the off chance their herbs may be used for witchery. He declared that those who loved the same gender must hide themselves away. And he decreed that the people who wore clothes that defied their fates from birth should be locked in the dungeon with the murderers and thieves for the crime of being themselves in public.

Now, to say that the dragon cared for these people would be a lie. Dragons only care for two things, expanding their hoards and keeping their bellies full, this dragon was simply more diplomatic about it. If he were to continue growing his horde and ensure that he was fed, he needed to ensure that he had servants and permission to be here. So, he did something quite unexpected indeed. He left his lair, perched himself atop the tallest tower, and called out for all to hear, "Arrogant king, I hear your challenge, and accept it! Come face me in combat and I shall give you the fight of a lifetime! Meet me in my lair in three days and you shall have the slaying you desire!"

The king's advisors grew afraid of this, for they knew that a fight with such a dragon was a massive undertaking at the best of times, only three days to prepare was a joke. They begged him to ignore the dragon and to think of his kingdom, to at least surprise the dragon. But the king refused. "The dragon went back on his part of the agreement! He owes every good knight a king's ransom! Besides, he's a dragon who submitted to a mob, it will be easy to defeat such a docile beast."

And so, the king was prepared to go to the dragon's lair after three days. He took with him his sharpest sword and hardest armor, paid for long ago from his hoard-share. He gathered up his strongest and most loyal knights to help him in his quest. His horse was brushed and when it was time to go, it was as swift as it was on the day of the tourney. When he arrived at the lair with witnesses, he jumped off his horse and told his knights, "I will give you all a chance here, my good sirs! You are to help me slay the dragon. Weaken his resolve. We will then split his hoard amongst ourselves, as is our right."

The men cheered and, with a great commotion, jumped off their horses and ran into the dragon's lair, the dragon's servants running from them to not be trampled.

The dragon, who had been napping, opened his eerie glowing silver eyes at the yelling. He snarled at these knights and roared. However, this was not a roar of fear, but in anger at this insolence. Those who dared get close enough to his legs to try and hack at, he stomped on. Those who tried to attack from behind he promptly slammed into the wall by his tail. The witnesses watched in horror as the knights were slaughtered in their foolishness.

The king then went in himself, stepping over the mangled bodies at his comrades. The dragon then spoke to him, telling him, "Finally. It was you who I challenged to a fight, not these morsels."

"Morsels? You foul beast! You murdered my knights! What shall I tell their wives and children?"

"If they behaved at home as they do with the peasants, Imm sure their wives will be better off. As for killing them, hardly. You sent them in, Your Majesty. You knew my quarrel was with you and, knowing full well how deadly I was, you sent them in anyways to make this easier on yourself. Now, do your worst, Good King."

The knight gave another yell and rushed at the dragon, slashing his leg with his sword, and found that he could not penetrate his thick scales. He stabbed him in the belly and found that all it did was put a tiny cut on the thick skin. The dragon laughed, "You had no blessing on your little sword and expected it to hurt me? You are a fool."

The dragon took a deep breath, and the king heard a spark in the dragon's throat. The dragon blew fire at the king, ate the charred king in one bite, and devoured the previously defeated knights with the same swiftness. It was finished.

Once that had been done, the dragon had his servants return the knight's melted and solidified sword to the witnesses. And he flew to the tallest tower once more.

The people grew fearful once more, for if the dragon was here, then the king had died, and the dragon had the right to ravage the land. But instead of burning everything down, the dragon spoke. "Do not think that I care about you, your nonsensical method of choosing a king, or your so-called chivalry! Your king had forgotten his place, that I rule over him and not him over me! For your last king's insolence, I shall choose the next one for you, one who will not scare away visitors or terrorize my servants into rising up against me or be so foolish as to try and slay me! Do I make myself clear?"

The dragon had made himself more than clear. The castle advisors canceled the next tourney, the people accepted the new king appointed by the dragon, a man fearful of the beast but who also knew to undo the last king's disaster for his own sake. And thus, the kingdom knew a fearful peace for many years.

[27thfirefly]

crawling out of the notepad document covered in blood

[bucketofindigo]

i wrote a Cuphead thing recently because it's getting stressful writing for Monster House Party; amazingly stupid how this took like a day or two to write. i even took time with the punctuation and all so it should at least be readable.

word count: +2k

It was a beautiful day in Inkwell Isle. The sun smiled down on the land and the town squares within, the flowers bloomed and sung quietly to themselves. Even the breeze felt like it was taking a cool, leisurely walk that day.

On the isle, Miss Chalice also floated freely through it. Gently disturbing people and other things in the square while passing through holes in the cosmos, she was on the hunt for... something. A feeling of restlessness stirred in her spirit, one she couldn't ignore, so she was desperate to find... something. Whatever it was, she hoped to find it in this corner of Inkwell she had never been.

The chalice passed by plenty of homesteads and other buildings. She even found that Porkrind had a shop off in the corner, because of course he did. However, what made her stop was the smell of baking sugar wafting through the square. She followed her nose until she found... a quaint little bakery wedged right in the middle of the square. It looked quiet but welcoming, although she couldn't help but find it a bit unusual. After all, she had no clue that there even was a bakery on the isle like this. Deciding that this was worth exploring further, Miss Chalice floated right up to this building.

She wandered in quietly, slipping through the crack under the door and disturbing the chime ever so slightly. Then she had a good look around.

Inside, Chalice found a comfy rural scene; a few shelves against the fading walls held up all sorts of old jars and bottles, and the cabinet in the corner housed both cook books and baskets of fresh bread. Closer to the back, she could see two pastel green display cases that had pastries patiently waiting inside, as well as a cake stand proudly holding a cake ontop. The air in the whole place smelled sweet and delicious.

Behind the cases, she noticed a large man in chef's attire facing away from the door. He was humming cheerfully to himself, the faint squeaks on the chalkboard in front of him indicated he was writing on it. She could see his hat glistened a little in the soft light as his head bobbed in tandem with his movement. He also looked so pale from a distance, the only real spot of color on him was the scarf that looked to be tied firmly around his neck.

Miss Chalice drifted closer to these cases and towards this new person, who was a bit too lost in his work to notice anything unusual. A moment went by before he finally turned back to the front counter, and upon noticing the ghost his humming paused. The chalice paused too as she suddenly had a better look at him. It revealed his hat looked so shiny because it was the top of a salt shaker - in fact, she could see now that he was indeed a huge glass salt shaker baker.

She could even call him a-

"Oh!" the salt shaker smiled down at her, and he put the chalk down on the chalkboard frame before addressing her properly. "Why, hello there, welcome to my bakery! You can call me Chef Saltbaker; what can I do for you?"

She couldn't help but let out a short giggle as she clasped her ghostly hands together and smiled up at him. "Hi there! Don't mind me, I'm just having a look."

"Well, feast your eyes then, little chalice!" he beamed and drummed his glass fingers against the top of the display. "I've got all sorts of gorgeous for-the-gaze goods in here. Some have lots of sugar as you can see, but between you and me, they all have at least a pinch of salt to them - you could call it my specialty!"

Chalice drifted up to the display case and pressed her face to the glass.

He was right; the wares he had on the shelves looked divine. Cakes with sweet buttercream frosting and plump red strawberries stood proudly on the bottom shelf, and cookies of all kinds from soft sugar to chocolate chip laid on the top. There were fluffy croissants and round rolls, there were even colorful little macaroons in a sweet little bowl.

The sight of it all practically made the chalice's mouth water. If only it was actually watering in life, and not in spirit. Literally.

Slowly, she pulled herself away from the glass with a sad look on her face. The sight of it strung pity in the chef's chest.

"What's the matter, little miss chalice?" Saltbaker hummed, and the chalice looked up at him with big glossy eyes.

"It sure would be nice, sir," Miss Chalice sighed. "To taste these treats."

"Oh dear, I guess you can't exactly do that, can you?" he commented as he brought a hand to his cheek, then suddenly he pointed to the ceiling with a proud look. "Or wait a second... perhaps you can!"

The little spirit watched curiously while the chef bent down and reached into the display case.

"Let's see... which shelf did he put those cookies on again?" he muttered loudly to himself.

It took him a second or two, but soon Saltbaker held up a chocolate chip cookie that seemed to glitter between his fingers.

"Here we are! I knew we had a couple of these baked today. How lucky!" he chuckled and he leaned over the counter to give her the cookie. "Now, all you need to do is share it with someone and it'll put you right back into your body. You can come right back here and try as much as you'd like once that's settled!"

"I can?... It... It can really do that?!" she chirped and practically snatched it from his hand in her excitement, to which the chef put his hands on his wide hips with a hearty belly laugh. She studied the glittering cookie in amazement for a second. "That's incredible! I should've been here a long time ago! So, this little dessert is going to bring me back to life, no strings attached?"

"Ah, well-" his voice faltered with guilt as his hand went up to the back of his neck. "Not exactly, little chalice. You see, it will bring you to life, but whoever eats it will go in your place. That's why you need to share it."

"Oh..." Chalice's excitement suddenly dwindled and she looked down at the floor., her voice growing conflicted. "That's... Gosh, I don't think I could put anyone through this. But I mean... oh dear, if only there was another way."

The chef had been giving her a sorry look as she lamented; it pained him so much to see someone so torn, and unable to eat the foods he made on top of it.

Yes, if only there was-...

Another way.

His face suddenly changed. It changed to a look of joy... with a heavy side of sinister, because suddenly he had an idea. It was more of an old dream coming back to him, but still it was an idea.

It sadly also brought with it a stroke of evil, one that went against his nature. But even still, he figured, when was the opportunity ever going to present itself again?

"Well," he smiled, and he leaned over the display counter, his jolliness quickly masking his shifted intentions. "There... is another way, miss chalice. A very special way that I'm going to need some help preparing for, but there is another way. You wouldn't even need to swap lives with anyone."

"There... There is? There really is?" Chalice gazed up at him in awe, her excitement picking back up and her thoughts racing through her head as he nodded in response. "In that case... Wait, I've got an idea! There's this pair of cups I know; I could introduce you, and with this cookie, all three of us could help!"

"Oh, that's a wonderful idea!" he laughed as he clasped his hands together. "Yes, bring them here and we can get to work on that special way... right away!"

"Goodness, I need to find them right away... I'll be back as soon as I can!" With that, she practically zipped out of the bakery. "Thank you so much, Mr. Saltbaker!"

"No need to add a mister to it!" he laughed and hollered after her as she zoomed out of the bakery. "Just 'Chef' Saltbaker's fine by me!"

The door shut behind Miss Chalice with a loud ring, and Saltbaker chuckled to himself, taking a second to contemplate what had just happened.

Then, he glanced down with a smirk and loudly knocked three times against the top of the display case. A moment went by before the case shifted and slowly lifted from underneath by a trapdoor. A pair of green eyes glowed from within the darkness of the hole, peering around with an angry leer.

The eyes softened greatly as they looked up at Saltbaker, who regarded them with an even warmer smile than before.

"Ahh," he said as he started to move the display further off the top of the trapdoor. "There you are, Bowlcut! Just in time, I need you here."

Saltbaker pushed the case out of the way and out slunk a tall, lanky green-and-white bowl. He had a large chip in his head and bread dough seeping slightly from it. He also wore an apron over warm-colored dressy casual, and all around he looked like the very model of a kitchen apprentice. This was even with his white gloves and saddle shoes, though it was probably something to do with how tired and harsh his eyes looked. That expression came especially strongly through the eyes; he had no mouth yet he looked like he had to shout.

The bowl, aptly named Bowlcut, gazed up at him with a tired yet soft expression. He squinted a little as the chef smiled like the sun at him. After shutting the trapdoor and moving the display back over it again, Saltbaker knelt down to take the bowl's hand into his own.

"Bowlcut, darling," he cooed, his voice low enough for the both of them to hear. "I'm sorry to disturb the bread resting, but listen. I have... wonderful news."

The bowl's head tilted a little and his gaze shifted suspiciously to the old mixer on the storage shelf behind him, making Saltbaker laugh heartily.

"You silly bowl," he chuckled as he patted the top of his hand. "No, this is something different. You were right about making those astral cookies today; the stars have aligned... We're finally making a Wondertart."

Upon hearing that word, Bowlcut's eyes shot open wide and he tensed up his shoulders. He bobbed his head gently at him and put his hand overtop his, as if urging him to continue.

"It does mean what you think it means," the chef hummed, his hand going over his again and his face suddenly becoming more devious. "We're getting the ingredients. All of them. The best part is, we don't even need to get them ourselves; a few cups will bring them to us."

Bowlcut studied his expression for a second before his eyes looked towards the door, with one of them cocked in thought. His free hand went over his cheek, and Saltbaker chuckled.

"Oh no no no, it won't be like that," he grinned, stroking a glass finger against his porcelain cheek. "It'll be far more convenient, actually. You see, a little chalice soul has wandered right into the bakery. Not only that, she's bringing here another pair of cups. Based on what she said, I can only assume they're the same ones that bested... him. So... In short, we truly don't have to see him now for any of this. We'll have everything we need. Right here."

As he spoke, his finger slipped up and traced against the edge of Bowlcut's head, whose eyes gazed up at them with a look of quiet contemplation. He shuddered when it brushed against his chip.

"Sugar bowl," Saltbaker dropped his voice suddenly, snapping the bowl's attention back to the chef with a hot blush on his face. With it, his hand slid down to his cheek. The glow in the chef's eyes burned a honey-sweet yellow that made Bowlcut's heart pound. "Do you... remember when I told you about the tart? How I said that I wanted you to be the dish I made it in? I want that more than ever now, darling; it would honor me deeply if you let me. You would elevate it to a plane higher than even I have dared to dream... But more importantly, the taste."

His voice turned into a purr on the last word, and the bowl trembled slightly in reverance. He stared into his eyes and made a nodding gesture, with the dough in his head visibly bobbing in tandem. It was almost as if to say that he himself was the honored one. Adding to that, he also brought the back of his hand to where his mouth should've been.

It made the chef grin with a dangerous hunger that the apprentice wasn't used to. Good lord, just what was coming over him?

Not that Bowlcut minded it... but it still felt odd there and then.

"Oh my bowl," he whispered, leaning in with a gentle kiss against his red-hot face, again where the mouth would be. His free hand gently grabbed onto him by the edge of his head. "My sweet bowl... I wonder-."

They both froze suddenly with the sound of the door swinging open with the ring of the bell, and the chef's eyes immediately darkened back to their typical soft and glossiness. The bowl glaced over his shoulder with a disgruntled curiousity.

"Goodness, they're here," he whispered before putting a finger over where Bowlcut's mouth would be. "Wait here for a second for me, won't you honey pot? We'll talk more, later."

The bowl's eyes took on an upset pout, bringing a quiet chuckle to the salt shaker's lips.

"Boys-" Miss Chalice's voice came through much more clearly than before as she addressed the cups wandering in through the door behind her. From the sounds of it, the cookie was a success! It gave the chef even more pride and confidence. "May I introduce you to..."

"It won't be long, I promise," he whispered to Bowlcut as he let go of him, and with that he got up to greet the cups with a jolly smile on his face and his hands on his hips.

"Chef Saltbaker! The greatest chef in the whole world!"