#2k words

[tekia]

Sun Blind

I commissioned @meredithmcclaren! She was a pleasure to work with and produces some of my favorite art! (I got my character drawn by @meredithmcclaren!!!!! omg how cool is that??(◕ᗜ◕))

Najma closed her eyes and steadied her breathing.

In the shade offered by the balcony above her, she stamped her feet and stretched her arms, twisting her back and bending her knees. She had ran around the arena twice before arriving at the entrance, and her skin was pleasantly flushed, her body loose. Her bare toes dug into the dry dirt under her feet, the bite of the marble stone walkway bisecting her foot, cold and rough compared to the fine grain of the dirt in the arena.

Cheers and cries of merchants filled the air around her as the people gathered in the stands awaited the show. Children laughed at the antics of the fools now dancing for their entertainment. Drunkards shouted for more wine and beer. Somewhere, one woman’s boisterous laugh carried over the rest. Horns trumpeted in the distance as a foot race concluded, and a cheer went up as the victor celebrated.

Najma tried to ignore it all as she shook out her arms. She bounced on the balls of her feet, balanced delicately on that edge of marble.

“Najma,” her brother called softly from just beside her, and her eyes popped open.

“What are you doing here?”

Zilan smiled slightly, his dark hair blowing in his face as a breeze picked up, carrying with it the scents of fried foods, unwashed bodies, and animal. Najma shivered at the scent of angry bull.

“I’ve come to wish you luck.” He held out a length of ribbon, brightly dyed and thin. She peered at it happily until he motioned for her to turn. She presented her back to him and felt him tying the ribbon into her tightly bound hair. The tips of the ribbon only just brushed her shoulders once he was done.

“I love the color,” she said, picking up the end and eyeing it. It wasn’t an expensive ribbon, but Zilan surely knew how likely she was to ruin it today, perhaps even lose it. But it was the thought that counted.

Red for luck.

She turned back to him, smiling up at him.

He had always been taller than her, as far back as her first memories, when he held her clutched in his arms, his heart pounding loudly against her ear as she cried for their parents. It had been so cold back then, in the dark and rain.

She shivered again, and he reached out and rubbed his hands down her arms. “You’re ready for this.”

“Mn,” she agreed. “I know I am.” Her heart was pounding as loud as his had on the night they lost their home, for a reason so far removed that she couldn’t hold the sadness in her heart.

She knew the sadness of their loss was never far from her brother’s thoughts, something that kept him going in troubled times, but he tried for her. He smiled at her confidence and nodded.

“I’ll be watching from up there,” he said, pointing above their heads. She bit her lip.

Up there, the rich could afford seats under a shade and servants to bring them food from the market without them having to brave the crush. She and Zilan were certainly not wealthy enough to place among them.

Their parents had been simple folk, weavers by trade, dead these past eleven years. They had escaped the raging waves of the untamed river that had swollen with freezing waters into the city with only the clothes on their backs with the other displaced peoples of the flood. Just a pair of orphans among the dozens of others, lost into the crowd of poor and hungry.

Zilan had been old enough to become an apprentice, and clever enough to hide his sister in his little room permitted to him by his master that they had survived, but Najma had to wonder how much of their luck was due to hard work and how much of it was due to Zilan’s loose morals.

She had seen him come home far too often beaten and bloodied.

He patted her shoulder and shook his head. “Just focus on your performance today.”

She nodded. “Be careful up there with the lofty types, hum? They’re far more dangerous than any thief with a knife in the dark alley.”

“And you beware of the horn!” He pinched her cheek like she was still a child. Whinging like a child, she pulled away, batting at his hand.

“I know Sap well! He will not harm me!”

Laughing and shaking his head, Zilan left to take his seat as horns within the arena sounded. Najma returned to her preparations, stretching and bouncing on her toes.

She wore little clothes, so as not to have anything that might catch and pull. She had bits of cloth wrapped around the length of her feet, leaving her heel and toes free. Her hair had been pulled up, secured with pins and ribbons. Beside her, two other young women also prepared for their own performances. Dressed similarly, the three of them were a little troupe of dancers that knew no rivals in the city.

The oldest of them was Selika, dark and tall. She was well muscled and limber, and had been dancing their dance since she was a child, as her father had been a master in his own time. Najma was only two years younger than her, and the third girl was much younger, coming only up to Najma’s shoulder, and Najma wasn’t tall at all.

Salima had been sold to Selika’s father as a serving maid when her mother died and her father found he didn’t have it in him to care about a girl child that couldn’t work the fields. Selika’s father was a decent man that raised Salima as his own, giving her his family name, and teaching her alongside Selika. When Najma appeared to watch the girls practice, the man had easily drew her into the lessons until she was a part of the little troupe as if she were their sister, too.

He had died two years ago, a cough that wouldn’t go away, so Selika had taken over the training, while their cousin, Atam, insisted on taking over the business end of her father’s business.

He wasn’t as decent. Salima now lived with Najma, and Selika hoarded away as much money as she could, out of his hands.

Salima jumped into the air, touching the tips of her fingers to her toes in the air, and a few children spotted her, cheering at the display of skill. Salima landed, her arms thrown up into the air, posed just right, back arched, feet planted. A louder cheer went up.

Two fools came running back toward them.

“Let’s go,” Selika said, then ran out into the arena. Najma followed, and she could feel Salima behind her.

Two steps out of the shade, the sun bore down on them and sweat beaded on her brow, but she ignored it all in favor of leaping into the air, her hands landing with a dull thud in the dirt. She shoved back to her feet, into another flip, and a third, hands nearly touching her heels with every flip.

She caught glimpses of Selika doing a similar trick, higher into the air than herself. Then she stopped just in time for Najma to flip onto her shoulders. She caught her balance and held her pose as Salima lightly skipped onto her back. She touched a hand to Najma’s shoulder, and Najma gripped her leg and lifted her into the air.

Salima waved to the crowd, drawing more cheers, before Najma dropped her leg and caught her by her arm pits and then let her to the ground. Selika threw her into the air, and Najma twisted into a spiral before landing sideways in her arms.

“Good,” Selika commented before setting her on her feet. Najma nodded to her before bouncing back into motion, kicking up into the air to the cheers around them.

Flip. Flip. Flip. Twist. Land and tumble under Salima’s flip. Climb Selika’s knee and flip. Catch Salima and throw. Pose. And breathe.

She looked over the crowd, but there were so many people she couldn’t quite tell one face from another, and the balcony was facing the sun.

Who had decided to make them face the sun?

She glanced at Selika and saw that she was also worried about the sun. Under the balcony, Najma could just make out the shape of Atam as he opened Sap’s pin, but the bull that exited wasn’t Sap.

He was an unfamiliar bull, and Najma stiffed as fear coursed down her spine. The bull scuffed the ground, his snorts sending up a plum of dust.

“That’s not Sap!” Salima cried, her voice high with terror.

“Salima,” Selika snapped. “You stay out of his sight.”

“But-”

“But nothing. You stay out of his sight. Keep the crowd entertained and distracted with your flips and tumbles.”

“Yes, xwişk.”

“Najma-”

“Let me do it.”

“You-”

“He’s too short for you. You’ll get injured if he tosses his head. I can do it.”

Selika sighed. “Okay. I’ll dance.”

Grimly nodding her head. Najma ran forward. She knew Selika would be running just beside her. Salima would be sure to flip around to the back of the bull where he couldn’t see her and would hopefully forget about her.

The first pass the two girls dodged his wide horns as he charged, and each flipped in a different direction as the bull turned to face them again.

From around her waist, Najma tugged free the red pennant that would draw the bull’s attention to her alone. With the dust and dirt in the air, the red wasn’t as vibrant as in the fields just outside the city, but the size and fluttering nature of the fabric was enough to keep him distracted.

Selika kept pace with her as she raced toward the bull again, but once more they diverged when the bull swung wildly. Too dangerous to trust.

Panting, Najma knew that they’d couldn’t keep it up. Two flips was the standard. Najma daren’t go for more. Sap would have tolerated it, but this unknown bull was dangerous. Where did he even come from?

The third pass arrived and the bull lowered his head just right. Najma felt Selika break off as she caught the bull by the horns and threw herself into the air, feet over her head, body twisting as the bull tossed his head, shoving her farther up into the air. Silently cursing, she released the horns and touched her feet to his spine before quickly skipping off into a second flip.

That wasn’t elegant or smooth, she thought as she landed on her knee, quickly tumbling to her feet and dodging out of the raging beast’s path. Selika distracted the bull only momentarily before he was once more charging at Najma.

He was too close. The sun was directly in her eyes.

Huffing, Najma nodded to herself and met him head on again. He swung his head the wrong direction, and, had she time, she would have broke off, but they were too close. She heard Salima cry out.

Launching herself into the air, she landed on her hands on the bull’s shoulders, felt his horn brush her thigh, but shoved off just as quickly and landed on the ground, knees bent to absorb the impact.

There was blood dripping down her inner thigh, but it was done.

She did a back flip in place then looked to the bull.

She had dropped the red pennant on the last jump, and the bull had mauled it into the dirt. Selika was flipping off to one side, headed toward the shelter of the balcony. Salima was already in the shade behind the stone guard that surrounded the arena.

Najma quickly made her way out of the arena amid the cheers. Panting, she stopped beside Salima. “Are you alright?”

“Mn, he didn’t come near me.”

She reached out and patted her hair. “Good. That was dangerous.”

“You still did it.”

She nodded. “It was too late for all of us to back out. Never jump over an unknown bull, Salima. You saw how he tossed me the first time and then gouged me the second?”

Salima looked down at the blood on her leg. “That looks painful.”

“If it was painful, she wouldn’t have done it,” Selika’s cousin sneered, snapping a rope in his hands. “What a pathetic display.”

Selika stepped between them, glaring at her cousin. “Where is Sap?”

Atam shrugged. “I sold him. He cost too much to feed.”

“What?!” The three girls shouted in unison. Najma and Salima gaped at Atam while Selika fought to keep the rage out of her voice.

“How dare you? He was my bull!”

Atam waved a hand and turned away. “And the money I got for him will pay your rent.”

“In my father’s house?”

“And for your upkeep,” he went on, ignoring her. “Next time, I expect to see a better show.” He snapped at the arena. “And get that bull back into the pin so I can return him to his owner.”

He left them, and Najma could only reach out and rest a hand on Selika’s shoulder.

Salima leaned against her own shoulder. “How are we supposed to get him back in the pin?”

Selika shook her head, looking lost and afraid. Najma didn’t know what to say, and when she turned to wrap her arm around Salima, she spotted her brother standing farther inside the shelter, his arms over his chest and glaring at Atam as the man walked away.

She shivered at the hatred and anger in his eyes. She hadn’t seen that look since the day they discovered that the district governor had been the one to order the dam upriver from their family’s village to be destroyed.

That governor was now dead through unknown causes.

She met Zilan’s eye and shook her head. His eyes narrowed then he moved away, disappearing into the shadows, out of her sight.

[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

[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.

[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.

[cornplateur-fritz]

Four Stars in Glass

This is a six-chaptered story for the Dragon Ball Big Bang 2023 (@dbz-bigbang) that I collaborated with the artist @aviatrixx and the most patient betareader ever @zorua-adorable!!

Summary of the Entire Fic:

The Son Family is not a perfect unit.

They fumble, they make questionable choices, they assume everything they do is completely understood by the other, they can't completely make amends... Like any loving family, the Sons are flawed; and like any loving family, they never stop to try.

This is a story of communication, grief, and connection.

(Notes: I don't condone abusive family members. The Son Family has no abusive members.)

Chapter Title: If I can just know what you think

Chapter: 1/6 Chapter Theme: family, doubts, understanding(?) Characters: Son Gohan, Son Goku, Chi-chi, and Piccolo Timeline: After the Namek Saga & Start of Android Saga

Words: 2,354 No Warnings Apply.

Chapter Summary: Gohan wishes he knows what's going on in his father's head when he decided to stay in Yardrat instead of coming up with conclusions of his own.

<this work would be put in private after the last chapter is posted since I private all of my writing regardless of ratings now>

[atlas-accidental]

New Light

a klance one-shot for @autisticlancemcclain! she asked for fic recs the other day and I offered to write one for her so here it is!

its a refurbishment of sorts of the first fic I ever put on ao3. I'll probably be putting this up there as well later today, with a bit more formatting.

(edit: finally edited and posted the fic to ao3. you can find it here)

2.2k words, soulmate au, no warnings. i hope you enjoy!

All humans are born colorblind, and with a soulmate. This pairing is meant to compliment each individual in the best possible way, romantically or otherwise. When someone meets their soulmate for the first time, they are granted the ability to see color. This experience is meant to signal to the soulmates that they have met their destined match. 

When Lance's life finally did change, it wasn't what he'd expected. The first major change in Lance's life wasn't a soulmate, but an opportunity. Lance had been accepted into the Galaxy Garrison Flight Academy. He'd only been accepted as a cargo pilot, but you had to start somewhere, right? 

Now, technically, he'd never officially met Keith. Or even talked to him, really. Only watched from afar as, because of him, Lance had only ever held silver at everything. He never quite could catch up to the flight prodigy. Keith’s scores were second only to the famous pilot Takashi Shirogane’s at the same age. Lance actually had tried to meet Keith on multiple occasions. Keith managed to slip away each and every time, without fail. Eventually, Lance stopped trying and accepted that Keith was unattainable. His last attempt was the closest he'd gotten to an actual introduction and Keith had waved him off with a "Yeah, whatever. Don't you have cargo to deliver or something?" Lance's smile had fallen immediately. He decided that he hated Keith.

"Lance, don't you think you might be overreacting? Just a bit?" Lance frowned. 

"Of course not, Hunk! He literally said, and I quote, 'don't you have cargo to deliver or something?'" Hunk sighed at the mocking imitation of Keith, having heard the same thing from Lance dozens of times since it happened last week. 

"Yeah, Lance. I know. 'Who says that,' right?" Lance rolled his eyes at Hunk, who chuckled under his breath. 

"I'm serious, Hunk! He's a jerk!" Hunk assured him that he was aware, and insisted they go get lunch.

***

"I'd recognize that mullet anywhere!" Lance yelled, an aggravated tone to his voice as he let himself slide down the side of the hill three of them had perched themselves upon. 

Lance heard Pidge wonder aloud who he was talking about and ignored him. By the time Lance had made his way into the facility, far ahead of Hunk and Pidge, Keith was already there slipping the man's arm around his shoulders. 

"Nope! No, no-no-no, I'm saving Shiro," Lance announced. Keith frowned. 

"Who are you?" he asked and Lance scowled at how bored he sounded.

"Uh, the name's Lance?" He blinked at Keith expectantly and received a blank look in return. "We were in the same class back at the Garrison! You know, Lance and Keith, neck and neck!" Keith frowned even harder.

"Oh, I remember you,” Keith finally said. Lance perked up a bit. “You were a cargo pilot. " Hunk and Pidge appeared at the door. Lance opened his mouth, ready to come back with a biting response of his own when he paused. 

"Mira, wait, do... do you see that?" Keith frowned. Did he ever stop frowning? Was it all just one continuous frown? Lance feared he may never know. 

"See what?" Keith asked in that same bored tone. Lance's wandering eyes snapped back to Keith, his mouth slack. 

"Everything." How could Keith not be seeing this? Keith, obviously not understanding, huffed a sigh. 

"We don't have time for this. Let's go." 

And so they went.

There was a bit of struggle involved in getting everyone on the two-seater hoverbike Keith had rode in on. Hunk ended up on the back holding onto the bike itself, Pidge sat in front of him holding Shiro on his lap. Lance swung up right behind Keith, hesitating only a moment until Keith jerked the bike in warning and Lance grabbed his hips tightly. As they sped up, Lance slowly shifted until his arms were wrapped in a tight grip around Keith’s waist. It would’ve been romantic if everyone but the driver weren’t screaming their heads off.

By the time they had gotten to Keith's desert hideout, Lance still wasn't over everything he was seeing. The world had once again shifted while Lance had been clinging to Keith with his eyes screwed tightly shut. At first, everything surrounding him had been different, but now it was just Keith. Of course, Lance had realized that Keith was attractive but that was before he'd made up his mind to hate him. Now, though… Now, Keith had something new, something different. It didn't just make him stand out– though God knows he already did– it made him beautiful. Lance didn't know what it was, just that it made him want to laugh and cry all at once. This, Lance decided, is what his mamá had told him about. It had to be.

But that meant Keith was his soulmate.

"I'm screwed."

***

They were in a lion. A giant, blue lion, though none of them knew it’s color but Lance. It was strange; as soon as he’d touched the surrounding forcefield, he saw images, in full color, of this lion and four others. He had a connection with the lion, not quite the same as with Keith but just as intimate, maybe more so. It had proven as much by being the only other thing in color in Lance’s world. The lion was spiraling through outer space faster than any human technology has ever been able to do. They passed Kerberos in minutes. The feat would’ve been amazing if everyone would just shut up. Instead, four pairs of hands grappled on any surface they could to keep their balance. Lance himself was apparently the only available surface for grappling. He glowered, staring straight forward and concentrating on… 

“What is that?” The yelling stopped, all attention focused on the oncoming object. Gracia a Dios. The iron grips were incessant, though. Lance would have to take what he could get.

Lance would not take what he could get, mostly because what he was getting was an alien warship. The lion’s voice– was voice the right word? Lance wasn’t sure–  rumbled in his mind, sending instructions to Lance. He smirked, the lion’s confidence burned like ice through his blood, and they knew exactly what to do. Lance dove at the battlecruiser hovering dangerously close to their home. Turning at the last second, he smashed the lion into the ship, dragging its claws along the length of it. The gashes along the sides of the ship lit up, minor explosions happening along each abrasion. The ship took little damage, but it also took the bait. Lance shot away with the enemy ship in tow. The lion growled in his mind again and a massive, intricate disk appeared before of them. A wormhole. 

“I think the lion wants us to go through there.”

Lance frowned. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was afraid. Not enough to stop, but it was there. Maybe he was less afraid and more nervous. Anxious? He wasn’t sure. English had too many words. Whatever he felt, it was bad. He couldn’t help but focus on Keith in his peripheral. It was hard not to when he stood out so obviously. Not like a sore thumb, it wasn’t a bad thing, it was more like he stood out like an intricate painting in the center of a large, blank wall. Like he was there specifically to grab Lance’s attention, as though there was something Lance was supposed to do. 

“What am I supposed to do?” He mumbled. 

“Whatever this is, we all have to face it together,” said Shiro. Lance was sure he wasn’t alone in his relief at not having to decide. “Wherever we end up, we’ll face together, too. That being said, we’re a team now. We should all agree.”

Together, they went through the wormhole.

***

Between mind-numbing training and life-threatening battle, color bled into Lance's world over the next few weeks. Through an oddly-translated book, he learned the names of colors. It seemed like the book on soulmates had escaped Earth somehow and been translated into an alien language only to be translated back by the Castleship, leaving the words broken. The colors were spelled oddly and the sentences often made little sense. They were all words Lance knew, so that made parsing their meaning easier, he'd just never seen the concepts they described before. He learned that Alteans didn't have soulmates like humans. He learned that the Galra do.

Another new discovery was that the longer he spent around Keith, the more color he saw. It always began in his eyes, that first spark of violet. It quickly spread to the rest of him; his ivory skin, cropped red jacket, the way light played on his hair. He could've sworn it was tinted a shimmery purple, but he was new to the rainbow; it could be nothing. Best of all, Lance watched and the satisfying flush that crawled over Keith’s face and neck when he realized Lance would be performing his daily stare-down for longer than strictly necessary.

After he'd absorbed every shift in hue Keith had to display, the rest of the world faded in around them. Colors became more saturated (a word Lance only just learned the meaning of in reference to color) the longer Keith was around him. Lance wasn't sure what had to happen for the color to be permanent, but he'd heard it was supposed to eventually. 

He still hadn't told Keith. If Lance had changed, Keith must have, right? But he never said anything, or even seem to see it. Could soulmates be one-sided? Lance's book didn't say anything about unrequited soul bonds, but Lance had never read any books about the crazy things he was living through, either, so he figured anything was possible. Maybe Keith was Lance's soulmate but Lance just… wasn't his. He'd heard about a theory once, that everyone had multiple potential soulmates, that the match was a biological skill humanity had for survival. Maybe Keith had a soulmate already and didn't need Lance.

The thought was a painful one and it made Lance scramble for Keith's attention in any way he could. Lance didn't know how to appeal to the things Keith liked. He could easily do the opposite, though. Keith wasn't hard to antagonize and when it happened, all of his attention was on Lance as if the universe faded away and he was all Keith could see. The feeling of being noticed, looked at, seen by Keith was intoxicating despite the sting of their arguments, so Lance kept doing it. 

Maybe Keith wasn't Lance's soulmate in return, but he still noticed him. Even if it was a waste of time, it was time Keith wasted on him. That would have to be enough, especially as Lance battled the dichotomy of envy and adoration he felt for his soulmate. Keith was amazing, Keith was better than him, Keith was showing off, Keith was impressive, Keith was out of his league. Lance's thoughts were a mess, and the pressure exploded in the exact way to make it messier.

It became a cycle that Lance was trapped in.

***

Keith was trapped in a cycle. For his whole life, he'd been baffled by a mysterious birthmark; two patches of skin a few shades darker than the rest and both in the shape of perfect handprints, one on either hip. His father had said they were a sign, proof that he would be loved. The longer he spent being passed between homes and dismissed for "behavioral issues", the harder that story was to believe. 

Now, though, these marks had begun that cycle he was stuck in. Every morning, Keith woke up, lifted his shirt to stare at them, rolled out of bed to prepare for the day, spent another few minutes staring at the marks, and left the room completely unprepared for his regular morning "encounter" with Lance. 

The thing is, ever since the night they found Shiro, his marks have been different. Lance had swung up onto the bike with Keith and the rest, had grabbed him when he jerked the bike in a sharp warning, and the skin under Lance's hands had burned instantly. It ached where Lance touched him, a warm sting that faded into an strange tingle by the time Lance had shifted forward enough to press his chest to Keith's back and wrap his arms around his waist instead. 

Later, Keith had pulled up his shirt to examine the marks. He found them irritated, or so he had assumed. They had bloomed into an odd swirl of colors; colors he had always been able to see. Blues and violets swirled and bled together like a watercolor painting within the crisp outline of hands on his body. It was alarming, but stunningly beautiful. They looked like outer space, the deep hues melding in a way that reminded him of unbroken skies, of nebulae and galaxies. As if these hands held the universe within them. 

For the next few days, Keith's handprint markings itched nearly constantly. They would burn feverishly at odd times, especially during his spats with Lance. He chalked it up to an emotional response, his blood pumping in his irritation causing a warm sensation. The feeling gradually faded and stopped happening at all over the next few weeks, but Keith still hadn't stopped lifting his shirt to stare at the celestial-looking marks on his hips a few times a day. 

That night, just like many before, Keith lay in his bed staring at his ceiling and traced the too-perfect hands branded onto him with gentle fingers and wondered what they truly meant.

[justastrugglinghotchocolate]

💪🏽 I am in a desperate need of Dasil

This went from "funny fic about Dorian picking up Basil" to "Dorian and Basil have a genuine conversation about had Basil treats Dorian and learn things about each other ft. bridal carry"

This is technically for the og book, but you could see it as a prequel to The Losing Game or set in a Modern AU

AO3 Link (if it's easier ^-^)

~~~~

Dorian had many talents. He was a brilliant pianist, he could draw quite well, he could act decently when needed, and he looked stunning at all times with little effort. However, there was one very important thing that Dorian could not do:

Pick up Basil.

It made sense; Basil was tall and his body naturally dense, despite his rather lean figure. It didn’t help that Basil grew bashful and shy whenever he so much as looked at him. Really that man reminded Dorian of a sweet little turtle—hard shell, but so shy and always trying to hide his head in his coat.

Dorian might have let the inability slide—there were many other things he couldn’t do like tying a necktie or immediately tell his left from right—had Henry been as incapable. But on one sunny afternoon, he watched the lord lift a laughing Basil up a few inches off the ground. The artist had looked so happy, his smiling face illuminated in the warm orange glow of the sun despite how his coal black hair tried to soak it in. And when he saw how Basil had looked down at Henry with a look of pure affection and adoration—Dorian knew he had to do it too.

He started his process by cornering Lord Henry at a party and demanding to know everything about picking up Basil. 

“Pick him up?” Henry chuckled. “Dorian, you don’t have to do anything at all. Basil’s already enamored with you—tell him that you want to lay with him and he’ll worship your feet.”

Dorian blinked, “But I don’t want him to worship my feet. I want to pick him up.”

Henry smiled, “Yes, you’ve said. And as I’ve said, simply tell him you want him. You’ve already won his affection, picking him up shouldn’t be hard—you won’t have to play much of a game.”

“‘Game?’ What are you—?” Dorian shook his head, “Harry. I want to physically lift Basil in my arms.”

The lord stopped mid sentence and Dorian had the rare split-second joy of watching Lord Henry’s brain buffer as he tried to save face. He eventually forced out a laugh and patted the young man’s back rapidly.

“I know, Dorian.” Henry quickly tried to maintain his composure and appearance. “‘Physically pick up Basil’—I did understand you—”

“You had no idea what I meant.”

Henry excused himself from the conversation, citing boredom for his early departure. Dorian let him go, unimpressed and still nowhere closer to lifting up his favorite artist. He’d have to figure this out on his own.

He considered making himself stronger through exercise. He had a friend in the Guards who was more than willing to help him. After a single session, Dorian realized he’d rather die than do a ‘push-up’. He turned his focus to innovation, throwing himself into strategy books he had accidentally stolen from Alan Campbell.

Dorian would need to account for both Basil’s physique and his own. While Dorian couldn’t lift a thing, he certainly could hold them and, since Basil was tall, it wouldn’t be efficient to start from the ground up. Somehow he needed to elevate Basil. 

That night, as he flung himself into bed, an idea came to him. He fell asleep easily, eager to test out the idea the next day. 

…

The next day he arrived outside of Basil’s home. Instead of immediately alerting the artist of his presence, Dorian balled up the scarf he had brought with him and threw it into the great tree in Basil’s garden. It took a few tries, but finally he got the scarf to stay in the tree.

With a wide grin that he quickly hid, Dorian rapidly knocked on Basil’s door.

Basil opened the door with a concerned look, “Dorian? Has something happened?”

“My scarf got stuck in the tree!” the youth said, clutching at his chest. He batted his eyes, “Basil, will you please get it down for me?”

Basil stared at the man in confusion, but nodded his head and with long strides walked over to the tree with Dorian’s scarf. As he reached for it, Dorian quickly grabbed the small stool he knew Basil kept foyer and rushed to bring it to Basil. He slammed it down into the ground in front of the artist.

“It’s on a higher branch, so you’ll need to stand on this!” he said quickly.

Basil stared at him, “Dorian, are you feeling quite alright?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’ve already gotten your scarf down,” the painter smiled, offering it to the youth.

Dorian’s eyes widened and he stammered, “That—I brought a different one today, that’s not it.”

Basil furrowed his brow, “You… brought two scarves?”

“Yes—no!” Dorian grabbed Basil’s arm and began pulling him to stand on the stool. “I lost that scarf when I last visited you!” “Why didn’t you tell me?” Basil asked. “Dorian, are you feeling alright?”

“Yes, now just stand on this!”

“Why?”

“Because—because—” Dorian made a frustrated noise, hissing, “Just get on the stool, Basil!”

Nervously, Basil did as Dorian requested, grabbing one of the branches to steady himself as he looked through the tree. For a moment neither spoke. Then in a small voice, Basil said, “I’m sorry, Dorian, but I don’t see a scarf here.”

As hard as he could, Dorian kicked the stool underneath Basil. Unfortunately, because of how hard he’d placed it down earlier, it had been pushed deeply into the ground. His kick only resulted in him stubbing his toe against the hard wooden stool as it gave a small jerk upon impact. Basil slightly lost his balance, but grabbed the tree branches to keep steady. In a panic, he glanced back down at Dorian who looked like he was trying hard not to cry.

“Dorian, what’s wrong?” Basil clambered down the stool. “Should I get you ice?”

“No!” the younger man, stamping his foot. “No, no! This isn’t fair!”

Basil was bewildered, but tentatively he placed his hand on the other man’s shoulder, “Dorian… what’s wrong?”

The young man sighed, whipping furiously at his eyes, “I wanted to pick you up.”

“What? Why?”

“Because Henry could do it.”

Basil couldn’t help but chuckle, “Dorian, you don’t have to do everything Henry does. I’d honestly advise against aspiring to even attempt to be like him.”

“It’s not—” the young man sighed heavily. “I don’t want to be like Henry.”

“Then, why—?”

“Because I can’t just be me, can I?”

“What?”

“Basil,” Dorian looked down at the ground. “I’m only your friend because I’m your muse. Once I am old and no longer beautiful, you won’t want my companionship anymore—I have to do something more so you’ll want to stay as my friend as I get older.”

Basil looked aghast, “Dorian, you thought I’d stop being friends with you simply because you’ll… age?”

Dorian crossed his arm over himself protectively, “You spend half our time together giving me compliments. What other reason will you have to tolerate my presence?”

The painter sighed, “That’s… not untrue. But Dorian, I enjoy our time together because I simply enjoy being with you. There is no reason or any other justification necessary.”

“But we don’t do anything. I just sit and you paint. Those are wholly individual activities. When I’m with Henry, or anyone else for that matter, we laugh or talk or do something with each other. And when you’re with anyone else, you talk to them or laugh with them or anything else that friends are supposed to do!”

He frowned, holding himself tighter, “Why do I have to be the one you treat differently?”

Basil looked surprised, then guilty. He opened his mouth then closed it as he searched for the right words to say. Dorian wiped at his eyes again, wishing that he’d stop crying in front of Basil. Eventually, he sat at the trunk of the tree, watching the sky as he waited for Basil to say something.

Finally, Basil came to sit with him. With a saddened look in his eyes, he said, “Dorian, I’m sorry that I’ve treated you differently than how I’ve treated others—it was never my intention to make you feel as though I only valued you for your beauty.”

He paused, hesitating, then gently said, “I’ve only done so, because, well, truthfully, my friend, I’m not sure how to treat you.”

Dorian raised a brow.

“You act very young, Dorian. And forgive my blunt wording, but you’re… fragile.”

“I’m not!” Dorian paused and sighed. “I am.”

“And it’s not just that. You’re so… open. You wear your sleeve on your heart—I always know how you feel and what you want, but I never know how to respond to it.”

“I can give quite a lot at once,” Dorian admitted softly.

“And I have trouble giving anything at all,” Basil chuckled, defeatedly. “Sometimes, I want to be nurturing and give you someone to look up to and other times, I… Well, that isn’t important. I just don’t know how to treat you in a way that respects your human complexity.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be, I lov—I appreciate your genuinity. I can’t fathom ever being as confident as you.” Basil's eyes grew sad again. “Truthfully, it’s quite ironic that you think I’d end our friendship over something so fickle. Once you met Harry, I was sure our friendship had come to an end.”

“Why?” Dorian looked at Basil with wide eyes. 

“He seems to understand you better than I do. You seem to enjoy his company more.”

The young man scoffed, “Absolutely not, Basil. Harry is fascinating, but I do not enjoy his company enough to even attempt to do half as much as I’ve done to maintain my friendship with you. I’d prefer you to him on any day.”

Hallward was surprised, “I… I wasn’t aware of that.”

Basil leaned back against the tree and Dorian leaned onto his shoulder, gently grabbing one of Basil’s hands and absentmindedly thumbing over the back. Around them, birds chirped and the gentle wind rustled the leaves.

“If you want to do something other than sit for me, you are always welcome to ask,” Basil said, lifting his hand to run his fingers through Dorian’s golden locks. He felt the other man relax in his hold. “I can’t always promise that I’ll be available, but I am willing to make time for what you’d like. You’re my friend after all.”

“Thank you, Basil.” Dorian smiled mischievously. “But I’d still like to try picking you up.”

Basil laughed, “I don’t intend to stop you.”

Dorian guided Basil to stand on the stool then to carefully lower himself into Dorian’s arms in a bridal carry. Basil warped his arms around Dorian’s neck, then allowed his full weight to fall down on Dorian, fully expecting to be dropped.

Both were surprised to see that Dorian managed to hold Basil up. Dorian was gritting his teeth and overly tense, nail digging into Basil as he tried to carry him back into the house.

“You don’t have to do that!” Basil laughed. He felt light-headed from being so close to Dorian and fought the urge to bury his face in the other man’s neck. 

“I’m… going to!” Dorian grunted out. His face had gone red from the exertion and he took a shaky step forwards, jostling Basil. Basil cried out and clutched at the other man, bursting with laughter. Dorian would have laughed too, but he was more preoccupied with not dropping Basil.

Finally they reached the door. Dorian hissed out, “Basil, please open the door.”

Basil did so, but reached too far, causing Dorian to lose his balance and fall into the doorway with Basil in his arms. They fell into a heap on the floor, both laughing hysterically.

After they calmed down, Dorian breathlessly said, “Can we do more things like that?”

“Like carrying or falling?” Basil wheezed, looking at the young with adoration.

“Whichever one means I get to hear you laugh more.” Dorian grinned, feeling a flush on his face.

Basil was glad his face was already red. He forced out a chuckle and motioned deeper into the house, “Shall we grab something to drink?”

Dorian nodded and held Basil’s hand as they walked to the kitchen together.

[stellanslashgeode]

A new Nitearmor fic for Nitearmor week by @morose-magnetrix !

[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.

[samlacy]

Don’t leave me here (shivering in the disappearance of your warmth)

these characters do not exist and are completely made up!!

following fiction contains: Angst, Male x male relationships, cheating, mentions of alcohol, pool party goes wrong, falling inlove all over again, one sexual scene but it’s short so dw, mention of sexual assault, toxic relationship, self-blaming ish

Enjoy❤️❤️

+x+

Dyson was laying down on the couch in the living room. His cheeks had dry tears on them, following with lips being dry, eyes half open and whole body still shaking since an hour ago.

You may ask, how did Dyson end up like this?

Well,

Let’s take a look, shouldn’t we?

“Oh cmon, dude. Just join us at the pool party! Look, your boyfriend will also be there”, Ken tried convincing the boy who was pissing on the other side of the door.

Ken was trying to talk with Dyson for five minutes now. The boy just wouldn’t give him an answer. That didn’t last long as Dyson let out a loud enough sigh to make Ken be glad he didn’t die there or something.

“Fine”, Dyson almost yelled out as he flushed the toilet behind “I will fucking join your silly pool party this night.”

That was enough for Ken as he triumph with joy and left the bathroom door alone, finally.

Dyson smiled slightly at the silliness of his friend, while pressing soap and washing his hands. He rubbed the wet hands on the towel that was hanging as he unlocked the door to walk out.

To his surprise, He saw a pair of feet in front of the door. He looked up and saw his boyfriend, Wart. The taller boy yelped as he went to a hug. His boyfriend hugged him right back as his hands slides down to Dyson’s ass, for support.

Dyson lets go as he has a wide smile on his face, and proceeds to kiss Wart. Only to get pushed back slightly, getting rejected to kiss his boyfriend.

Wart left Dyson confused, as he pat his shoulder before leaving to go to the kitchen where Suri and Ken were.

Dyson didn’t think much of it, since Wart was not a physical touch lover. It was only a try to kiss anyway, he could get that anytime soon.

As soon as he entered the kitchen he saw the three boys packing out the stuff Suri bought for the Party.

Alcohol bottles, sided with beer brands from germany and a few snacks like Chips and crackers.

Suri was a really nice guy.

No one even suggested him to buy stuff, he did it all by himself with his own money. Surely someone’s type.

Dyson smiled slightly as he walked up to them at the counter, checking out the stuff they bought. Sneakily throwing a chip in his mouth.

Or not so sneaky.

“Stop eating! These are for the party, you can’t finish it already”, Wart scolded Dyson, kinda in a joking way, but not quite.

Dyson just nodded slightly as he put his hands on the counter, fidgeting with his fingers.

“Let him, Wart. I bought a lot anyway, it won’t finish anytime soon”, Suri assured the stubborn boy, making Dyson shoot his head up to look at him with slight widened eyes.

Dyson grinned before looking back down at his hands. Now fidgeting again, not because of embarrassment. Just because of the joy of someone defending him.

It really feels nice, doesn’t it?

But this didn’t. Dyson felt betrayed, totally betrayed

He was sitting behind the kitchen counter with his knees on his chest, tears rolling down his face onto his clothes and the floor. His hands clenched onto the fabric of his clothes. Nose scrunched at just the thought of what he saw.

What exactly happend?

Dyson, Ken, Suri and Wart were playing a game of UNO with some other dudes in the party. When Wart finally won, he jumped in joy and laughed a lot.

Dyson thought it was the cutest thing ever to see his boyfriend like this. All smiley and giggly. Cute.

Wart stopped messing around as he sat back down and whispered to a guy next to him.

Dyson thought of it just being a plan for the guy to mess everyone else up at the game. What else could it mean when the guy smiled right after?

How wrong he was.

“I gotta take Siwon to the restroom real quick, we will be right back! Y’all can play without us”, Wart notified the group as they all nodded in understanding. Expect Dyson. He felt his brain being too loud to even focus on the game. Something was not right.

“I have to get something, play without me”, Dyson notifies everyone immediately before storming out of the garden into the house. He speed walked to the restroom, making sure not to make any noise when he was getting closer.

To his luck the door crack was open wide enough for him to see what was happening.

Oh, he should have stayed curious.

Wart was leaning onto the sink, his head thrown back as the guy from earlier was on his knees.

Sucking his boyfriend off.

Dyson’s boyfriend.

Right at that moment Dyson felt his heart get ripped out of his chest and thrown in the toilet to flush away. As if it got chewed into pieces and then thrown away.

Was he this naive?

How long has this been going on?

They seem close.

“Fuck.. you are doing so good, pup”

The nickname, the pet name, that Wart just moaned out,

Dyson was the only one that Wart called that name.

Or so he thought.

Fuck, why is he still watching?

As soon as Wart came down the boy’s throat, Dyson started moving from his frozen position to the kitchen. On his way he accidently hit a shelf, knocking a picture frame off it, glass all over the floor.

“What was that?”, the muffled voice came from the restroom and Dyson ran as fast as he could behind the kitchen counter and slided down onto the floor.

He knew that Wart properly left the bathroom to see what the noise was, only to see a knocked over picture frame on the floor.

Probably not giving a shit, just like he doesn’t give a shit about Dyson’s feelings.

Fucking jerk.

Dyson felt like killing him. Just to choke him while he punched Wart multiple times, showing what he felt as soon as he saw that scene.

That scene that was not even worth doing.

But how could he? He loves Wart way too much. His precious face was not his to destroy. He was not even worth kissing Wart this morning. How can he lay a hand on him?

Fuck men. Fuck men. Fuck men.

Those two words filled Dyson’s head as the tears started rolling down his cheeks.

Was he really worth cheating on?

What did that boy have, that Dyson didn’t. He did everything to please Wart.

Including those times where Dyson was on his knees begging for Wart to touch him all over, clearly not even wanting it, but he had to please Wart.

Or else Wart wouldn’t even think before leaving him in the snap of a finger.

All those times Wart’s hands caressed his body, slapped it, squeezed it, pushed it and more. The amount of times they groped him inappropriately. Without his will.

Dyson was too love dizzy those times, not caring what he did to him as long as he felt his presence around him, knew he was pleasing Wart and heard him talk or make any kind of noise.

He really was head over heels for a man, a man who wouldn’t even do anything for him.

The thoughts rushed through Dyson’s head fast and loud enough for the boy to start grabbing his hair while he cried more and more.

His heart was beating so fast, it felt like exploding. His breath was faster and shakier, not in a rhythm. Dyson felt the pain just taking over his body.

What could he have done for Wart to be loyal to him?

What didn’t he do?

Dyson woke up laying on a couch, the blanket what he suppose was on him, fell on the ground. Nothing warming him up anymore. As if anything did.

He felt the dry tears on his cheeks and his eyes hurting from all the crying. His shirt stretched out from the grabbing and pulling.

The window by the living room was wide open, wind storming in. It was freezing in here.

The only real question he had was, how did he end up here?

Did someone carry him here or did he drink so much yesterday that he somehow walked here and slept?

But he really doesn’t remember drinking anything except a half can of beer, the other half probably cold outside.

His eyes focused on something at the other side of the room, another couch. It was common sense that Ken had two couches in his apartment, but that one had a person on it.

He put his feet on the floor, stretching his legs to get some sense of touch before standing up and kinda getting closer to the other couch, it was dark so he really couldn’t see anything.

The floor was creaking since it was a really old wooden floor. But that sound made the person on the couch twitch out from their sleep as the head turned to Dyson. With a deep, but gentle voice, the person spoke up.

“Dyson?”, the tone was questioning and Dyson knew that voice. It was oddly familiar. But his head spinned too much already from the crying as he tried to take a step forward, he felt weak and tripped over a pillow on the floor.

The person had quite good reflexes, it seems. Because they immediately sat up and opened their arms to catch Dyson, which was successful.

As soon as Dyson got conscious, he shook his head before looking at the unknown person.

“I’m so” he cut himself off as he realized it was Suri. They were so close to each other, faces inches away from touching. Suri’s head was between Dyson’s lengthy arms. The younger’s hands were wrapped on his hips, holding Dyson steady. Those sparkly eyes looked up at the older with worry and care.

Something Dyson got lied about.

‘What are you thinking, get off already’ Dyson startled himself as he stood up straight, Suri’s hands holding his hips still, which felt oddly… good.

God, fuck off.

Dyson stepped back, hands releasing the grip as Suri didn’t cut off the eye contact, but Dyson did.

Dyson looked at his feet as arms were on his sides. No clue on what to do.

“Did you lay me down here?” Dyson asked quite shy as he still avoided the eye contact, or any physical contact.

Just how Wart always did.

Suri cleared his throat with a cough “I found you laying down on the kitchen floor and didn’t want you to get a cold. So I made you comfy here while keeping guard by sleeping here also.”

Dyson nodded. So he did this out of pity, of course. That’s normal, it’s his best friend right?

“Thank you”, he whispers, but it was loud enough for Suri to hear and shoot a smile at him right where Dyson looked at him.

He smiled back.

Dyson immediately sat back down at the couch he was sleeping in as he wrapped himself with blanket on the floor and dropped himself down to sleep.

Suri just chuckled as he also tried drifting into sleep.

Dyson felt cold when he woke up, but now he kinda warmed up. It was surely not because of the blanket, it is thin.

The way Suri just.. cared about him. The way he touched him with worry and not in a sexual way.

It lightened Dyson up and made him forget about everything at that moment.

[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.

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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!

[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.

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[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!

[found-fam-trope]

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

[27thfirefly]

crawling out of the notepad document covered in blood

[actiaslunaris]

Fandom: SPY x FAMILY (Manga) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Loid Forger | Twilight/Yor Briar Forger | Thorn Princess Characters: Loid Forger | Twilight, Yor Briar Forger | Thorn Princess, Anya Forger, Bond (SPY x FAMILY) Additional Tags: Consensual Non-Consent, Angst, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Good Parent Loid Forger | Twilight Summary:

Loid is prepared to go all the way, if necessary.