#Cryptid rights (crack)

[hellishgayliath]

Helli hellooooo

I’ve been seeing you like Mel quite a lot 👀👀

Hard agree with you

Personally I am quite smittened by her mother Ambessa LMAO

ALSO I JUST SAY YOUR NEW HEADER AND IT MADE ME CRYYYYYY HELLIIIII

I’m gonna explode again

LISTEN-

[erabundus]

he's  staring  like  a  particularly  UNFRIENDLY  racoon  or  alley  cat  —  that  on  its  own  isn't  especially  out  of  the  ordinary.  however ...  normal  (  human  )  eyes  aren't  supposed  to  reflect  the  light  so  strangely,  are  they?

[sleepless-in-starbucks]

workin on lucky jumbo rn and ik in the grand scheme of the series it's a pretty serious fic but do y'all ever think about how funny the end of vision of violence is for mumbo. like. pov uve had a Moment™ and ur well meaning but unfortunately cursed boyfriend attempts to bring u tea only to drug u instead

[jaewritesfic]

Everlasting Trio Nobody Knows AU DP x DC Part 4

Part 3

(Tim POV! This is a long one 😅)

 Tim almost has it. He's so close to cracking this file he can fucking taste it. He's been fighting this thing for two weeks. It's the most incomprehensible and infuriating code he's ever faced off against, which is fitting considering who gave it to them.

The engineer. THEIR engineer. The engineer they didn't ask for and Tim still isn't sure how they got, and the single biggest mystery in Tim's fucking life right now.

See, a significant amount of Bat gadgets at this point are Tim's brainchildren. He imagines them, he designs them, he workshops and tests them.

A few months ago, he'd had a pouch on his utility belt full of experimental pellets meant for slowing down fleeing vehicles. They were designed to break when run over and the compound inside would expand into durable, sticky foam that would ensnare tires.

He'd tested them in the cave.

He had not been prepared to take one hit to that side and have to frantically divest himself of that pouch before he became Gotham's latest foam based cryptid. 

His family had laughed themselves silly at him even as he broke off in pursuit of the drug runners he'd been fighting.

When Tim had doubled back expecting a mess to clean up and pellets to rework? It had been gone. All of it. The foam, the pellets, the pouch of his utility belt.

A serious problem, because who knows who got their hands on that?

Then it had shown back up.

That is to say, Gordon had called them because he found a pouch with a note labeled ‘for Red Robin’ sitting on the stand of the Bat Signal and didn't dare touch it.

After making sure it wasn't a bomb or some kind of biological weapon, Tim had opened the pouch - his own belt pouch - and found pellets. New pellets. Different pellets.

The note just read, “As funny as that was to watch, I fixed them for you. No more premature sploogage on the job. :3 P.S. here's a recipe for solution to dissolve future intentional discharges.”

They'd been right, too. The new pellets were tested (in case THEY were a bomb or biological weapon) and they'd been just strong enough to safely transport but still break when under the pressure of tires. Even the foam was more effective, and the spray Tim synthesized from that stupid recipe had worked like a dream.

What. The fuck.

This person not only improved his design and came up with a dissolution agent from scratch in days, they'd been watching without him knowing and made off with the original pellets without anyone noticing.

This was either a rogue in the making or someone they wanted on their side, and either way they needed to be found.

So Tim had done the obvious.

He'd put together a lockbox of money for the product they'd been given, loaded it with no less than ten (10) bat trackers and a note thanking their mysterious benefactor and requesting to meet up. He'd exploded a foam pellet on a rooftop and left the box on it in the hopes they'd notice and find it, then hung around far enough to not be seen and close enough to beat feet as soon as the trackers started moving. 

They did not start moving. They all went offline simultaneously. 

Tim has never moved so fast in his life, and yet by the time he got to the rooftop there was a pile of foam and nothing else. Not even a trace of whoever took the lockbox.

The next day, there was a ping of one (1) tracker that led them to a note thanking him for the money, refusing to meet, and asking if they'd considered certain improvements to their grapples with schematics for said designs.

Thus started the most bizarre and infuriating chase through notes, money, helpful designs and disappearing trackers Tim has ever been a part of.

Last time, the engineer had left them a USB stick and a note claiming that since they really wanted to know about him so bad, they could have the information on the USB if they could crack the encryption on the zip file inside.

Obviously they screened heavily for viruses or backdoors, but long story short Tim has been trying to crack the fucking thing for two weeks and refuses to let Oracle help. It's personal. It's a matter of pride. 

He could swear the code itself has actively been sabotaging his attempts to hack it, which is, you know. Impossible. 

Ping!

Tim blinks, looking over at the map on another monitor of the Bat computer. 

“Motherfucker-”

He taps into Duke’s comms. This is the first time this has ever happened during the day shift, he wasn't expecting it.

“Signal! I need you on the roof of the warehouse on the corner of Fifth and Everest - a tracker just came online.”

Another thing that infuriates Tim. You can't just turn Bat trackers on and off. They're activated, and then they either stay active or they're destroyed. They can't be turned off and then reactivated.

And fucking yet.

Duke groans, but his own tracker starts making its way in that direction.

“Dude. He's gonna be long gone by the time I get there. He always is.”

“He can't run from me forever,” Tim insists. “I'm almost in this damn file, and I am going to find him and dangle him off a roof from his ankles for giving us this runaround, so help me God.”

“Uh huh,” Duke deadpans. “Sure you are. I'm almost there, and- oh look! A note. What a surprise!”

Tim hears Duke touch down on the rooftop, eyes on the code on his screen while his brother clears his throat and reads aloud.

“Ahem- ‘Good morning, sunshine!’ - guess that's me - ‘I hear some bats and birds have been murdering tires at an alarming rate with the way they drive their bikes-’”

Tim freezes. He's not listening anymore.

“Signal.”

“‘- and that just can't be good for business. Nobody wants a bald tire ruining a chase. So boy do I have the thing for you-”

“Signal!”

“What?”

“I got it.”

“Huh? Got what?”

“I cracked his file. I got it.”

Tim is staring, wide eyed and full of a mixture of elation and trepidation at the contents of the zip file. It's a single text file titled, ‘Wow! You did it!’

“Oh, shit? Well? What's in it?”

Tim swallows, mouse hovering over the file. He takes a deep breath, then double clicks.

The file opens.

Tim blinks.

“Red Robin? What's in it?”

Tim scrolls slowly down, disbelief and horror dawning across his face. “Oh my God.”

“What? Come on, man, talk to me.”

Tim scrolls further.

“Oh. My God.”

“Red? Red Robin, you're scaring me, man.”

Tim puts his face in his hands. Voice muffled, he responds.

“Duke.”

“...Red? You okay?”

“No.”

“No?”

“It's the entire Bee Movie script.”

Silence reigns for a solid five seconds before Duke breaks and descends into raucous, hysterical laughter.

Even muffled by his own hands, Tim's scream of rage scares the bats in the cave into a tizzy.

Part 5

Masterpost

[solelifauna]

Yandere Batfam & Neglected Reader Prt. 2

Okay, so I didn't realize how much building I was gonna do around (Y/n's) social life so this chapter is honestly about knowing (y/n). Anyways, the next chapter will be from the batfam's pov and focus more on the yandere bits! Hope you enjoy this chapter tho!

Tag List!: @sitepathos @ferakillia @uknowimdumb @shycreatorreview @niggrrooo @dhanyasri @cantfindmelol @space1crow @earth-to-mee @rosecentury @yuyuzi-ling @simpingfor-wakasa @bat1212 @sheepintherain @person-from-daaaa-voidddd @resident-cryptid @cupids-pretty-boy @danni1323

The change started slowly on a normal evening, an evening like every other. It was a football season game day, the big match between the Gotham City High Bats and the Gotham Prep Knights. For the rich prep kids, this was nothing more than another game, but for your school, this game was everything. This would help your school get the recognition and funding it deserves, and allow some students to be scouted and rewarded for their talent.

Not only that, but Gotham Prep always, every season goes to state, beating out all the other public schools in the city. They haven’t lost a game since the early 80s so there was a lot riding on this game. 

Your role, funnily enough, was representing the school as one of the Gotham City High school cheerleaders. Turns out that the gymnastics classes you took before were actually useful for purposes other than trying to impress Dick. You surprisingly took to cheerleading like a fish to water, liking the competitiveness and sense of belonging that came from joining the team. 

Anyways, you, the cheer team, and the football team were on a bus headed towards the bigger, better Gotham Prep football field. The bus was loud with music and schoolmates hyping each other up for the big game. Ethan, a friend of yours on the football team was nervously shaking his leg and squeezing his helmet so hard you thought it would crack.

Both you and your friend Arya noticed.

“Ethan, the game hasn’t even started yet and I already see a crack forming on your helmet.” You said jokingly, a gentle arm on his shoulder.

He startled, “Jesus Christ (Y/n) warn a guy next time.” Ethan spoke, offering a nervous smile.

“You need to stop freaking out bro. When you do, it freaks out the others on the team.” Arya gently said.

“I know, I know but— but there’s just a lot riding on this game. For a lot of us, this is our only way to get out of Gotham, and if we screw up the finals, we’ll be stuck here forever.” Ethan said solemnly, looking around at all his teammates.

“Well then good thing you guys aren’t gonna lose. Y’all have spent two years training to make this comeback, to make sure that Gotham City High finally gets this win. I promise you’ve worked harder than those assholes at Gotham Prep, so just go out there and put your training to use. Don’t let your nerves get to you, you have no reason to.” You calmly said.

“Yeah—yeah, we have trained harder, haven't we? Yeah, you’re right! We've just gotta go out there and play like we've practiced.” Ethan exclaimed, as if suddenly realizing why he should have confidence in himself and his team.

“Exactly!” Arya said, matching his enthusiasm and hitting Ethan playfully on the shoulder. 

The rest of the bus ride to the stadium was louder than ever, the coach and other teammates taking turns to hype up the more nervous members, to get them confident for the field. Everything was about normal once everyone made it to the stadium. The band was set up, and people were flooding the bleachers. It wasn’t until the last ten minutes before the game when normalcy died.

“Hey (Y/n), isn’t that your family?” A girl, Maya, says.

Lo’ and behold, Bruce Wayne and his entire gaggle of children were sitting on the home side of the bleachers, sporting Gotham Prep t-shirts. 

“What—oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. What the hell are they doing here, they don’t even like football like that!?” You shout in frustration.

It was then when you remembered a conversation Dick, Bruce, and Damian had at the dinner table. Something about how it would help Damian out if he started going to school events and games, getting him acclimated to what being a normal teenager was like. That was all fine and dandy, but you didn't think the entire damn family was going to show up. Oh, the gossip columns are gonna have a field day with this. You could already imagine the headlines, “Bruce Wayne openly isolates daughter (Y/n) Wayne” or even, “The Wayne Family once again publicly shows dislike for daughter (Y/n) Wayne.”

You rolled your eyes at the thought, you had bigger things to worry about right now.

“Are you good (Y/n)?” Arya questions softly. 

She was one of the only people who you spoke your sorrows to, one of the only people who actually knows of just how lonely you were. Of course everyone knew that Bruce Wayne and his family didn't really like you very much– thank you Vicky vale– but nobody but Arya and Ethan really understood the crux of your situation. 

“Yeah, I'm all good bro, don't worry about it. Just focus on the game.” You said dismissively. It didn't bother you anymore, sure it hurt a little bit, but this was expected.

“Alright, its time to shake hands with the other team, everyone line up!” the football Coach, Coach Daniels, all but yelled.

You sighed, moving to the front of the line for the cheerleaders; you were team captain after all. Both the football teams and cheerleaders made their way to the center of the field where they met. You looked back at the rest of your team, you all knew that this was going to be an unpleasant interaction, it always was. The Gotham Prep cheer captain walked up to you, disdain and poorly concealed disgust on her face. You all quickly shook hands, trying to get this exhausting ordeal done and over with, but of course the other captain had to open her mouth.

“You lower end city girls sure have your own sense of style.” Darla, which was basically code for calling you and your team sluts. Wow, how original.

“You should see what’s underneath the jacket.” You replied, giving her a sharp smile.

She floundered, clearly expecting her insult to rile you and your team up. 

“Ugh, as expected of Bruce Wayne’s biggest embarrassment. You sad Daddy doesn't like you? Or maybe she’s just glad she gets to mooch off of him before he ends up disowning her.” Another girl pipes up, drawing mind grating giggles from the rest of their team. You recognized her, she was the daughter of some hot-shot CEO.

You just tiredly look back at your team, a few of them getting angry on your behalf while others looked to you in concern. 

“What, not going to say anything?” The other captain haughtily questioned. 

“I mean, what exactly is the response you’re expecting? Yeah, Bruce Wayne doesn't like me, but at least I didn't have to buy my way into the cheer team or have my daddy pay to make sure I wasn't held back.” You stated boredly.

She was silent in shock, right before the anger came bursting through.

“You whore! I’m going to fuck you up, take you to court and sue you!” She shrieked.

“You’re going to sue me? You mean sue Bruce Wayne?” You snorted, “Like that’ll ever happen. And bitch, you couldn’t fight if your life depended on it, so next time you threaten me remember–I can and will beat the ever-loving shit outta you.”

That must have sparked some fear in her because she just turned around and led her team back to their side of the field. You’re sure others noticed your altercation, obviously having no idea what was being said, but it was clear to both sides of the field that nothing good was said. You’re ready to turn back to your side when you accidentally make eye contact with Tim. The cold, calculating look in his eyes has you shifting in discomfort, you quickly look away as the cheer team and football players head back to their respective sides.

The players took their place onto the field while your team got into formation.

“Aright guys, this’s the big one! Give it all you got, just like we practiced!” You yelled.

Just like that, the whistle blew signaling that the game started. 

By the time you reach half time, Gotham Prep is fifteen points ahead of Gotham High. Your school does its low budget halftime performance which pales in comparison to the extravagant Gotham Prep performance. Your side of the stadium grows louder, louder in support of the football team. Before you know it, the boys are lining up for the second half of the game. Thankfully, Gotham High shoots up in points, the score now becoming 34 to 29. The issue is, the game is starting to come to an end with only two minutes on the clock. The crowd is loud, but everyone knows it'll be damn near impossible for Gotham High to win now. The only way to win would be to score a touch-down, which would bring Gotham High to 35 points.

It isn't until the 36 second mark when Ethan sees an opening and makes a run for it with the ball. The crowd is booming, your own voice adding to the mix of cheers and shouts. 

“Come on Ethan! Come on!” You yell, voice undoubtedly hoarse.

There's 5 seconds on the clock when Ethan dives over an opposing player and rolls into the other team's touchdown zone. The score board changes, the numbers now showcasing 34 to 35. Gotham City High with 35. Everyone goes crazy. You and Arya are holding each other jumping up and down. Holy shit, yall won! The football team was celebrating on the field, as they’re announced as the winners, a big trophy being handed into Ethan and his team's hands. And by tradition, you, Arya and the coach go grab the large gatorade barrel and proceed to soak the football team with it. There are yelps and laughs but everyone knows what it means, it means “you’ve won”. You and Arya run up to Ethan launching into him, uncaring of the gatorade now soaking your uniforms. 

It was a good day, a happy day. Everyone started loading up into the buses, starving for the victory dinner at Taco Bell. You honestly, truly forget that the Bats were even here. Shit hits the fan however, when you're in the middle of messing up a chalupa and Bruce Wayne and the rest of his brood walk in, making awkward eye contact with you. You promptly proceed to choke, Arya hitting your back to get you to stop. You do, but holy shit was that embarrassing. Also, what in the ever-loving fuck were they doing here!? 

Before you could voice your utter disbelief, another familiar face barrels into your table. Oh great.

“Hey ladies, how’d you like the game? Betcha I looked good on the field.” The voice of Adrien, a freshman player on the team, made itself known. 

He even made it a point to flex his arm muscles, hoping to impress you and Arya. You both just looked at each other before bursting out laughing. This poor freshman has been trying to get with y'all all year, despite you and Arya being sophomores. His god-awful attempts at flirting were absolutely adorable and downright hilarious. 

“Guys please don't laugh, I promise I have better pick up lines.” he begs, his demeanor that of a kicked puppy.

“I'm sorry man, you're just too adorable, we can't take you seriously.” Arya says amused.

“Why don't you go talk to one of the freshman cheerleaders? I'm sure I heard Hiba and Darla talking about how good you did on the field.” You pipped in.

“No way! Are you serious!? Oh-uh, gotta blast ladies! See ‘ya around!” Adrien stutters, excitedly scrambling off to go find the girls you mentioned.

You and Arya broke off again into a fit of laughter.

“Were you guys teasing Adrien again?” Comes a lighthearted scold from Ethan.

“Not anymore than usual. Plus, I think we finally got him to pursue girls in his own grade.” You responded, a smug smile on your face.

Ethan just chuckled before sitting down with you and Arya. You all talked and laughed some more, your mood only being slightly soured by the Wayne family’s presence at the table across from yours. You did your best to avoid their not-so-casual glances in your direction. Why they were here is a can of worms you had to marinate on later. But for now, you'd just enjoy the rest of your night.

It didn't take long before everyone started getting ready to leave. Some students had their parents come pick them up, probably to go celebrate the school's victory with their families, whilst everyone else was getting ready to load back up into the buses and head to the school where parents would be waiting for their kids. You, however, would be biking back to the manor on your own. Sure both Arya’s and Ethan’s parents had offered you a ride, but you had declined. There was no need for them to go out of their way for you, especially when they should be spending their time celebrating with their children. You’d honestly just ruin the mood with your shitty circumstances.

So as you threw away the last of your trash and started walking to leave the restaurant, you were not expecting to be stopped, let alone stopped by Bruce Wayne. You froze, not knowing what to do. What did he want?

“(Y/n),” He started, voice lacking any tell-tale emotions, “no need to get on the bus, you’ll be riding home with us.”

You noticed immediately how he didn't really give you a choice, just an order meant to be followed. You swallowed nervously, you did not, under any circumstances want to be in a car with any of them.

“There's no need for that Bruce, I–um actually left my bike back at the school and I can't just leave it there so…yeah. I’ll–I'll see you back at the manor.” You said nervously. You weren't used to talking to him and to be quite frank he scared you.

Bruce of course took note of the fact you had not called him “dad” or “father” and had called home, “the manor” instead. This is when Dick decided to chime in.

“What, you're not going to bike all the way back home, are you?” Dick jested sarcastically.

“Uh, yeah? It's how I get back home everyday.” You mention abashed. Did they seriously not even know how you got home? Whatever, you’re too tired for this.

Bruce and Dick glance at each other, their shared look holding a meaning you couldn't understand.

“Well, it doesn't matter. You’ll just ride home with us from now on.” Dick stated, faux cheer in his voice. 

“Wha–what? Hold up, I can’t just leave without my bike! It’s gonna get stolen or–”

“We’ll get a new one, now stop fussin' and get a move on,” Jason grumbles, cutting you off.

You just sigh in defeat. Why the hell are they doing this? Why now? In the end, your questions don't matter as you get marched over to the waiting Rolce Royce Limo. That was when Arya and Ethan noticed you walking away from the bus, not even noticing the Waynes in their hurry to catch up to you.

“Hey (Y/n), why are ‘ya–oh.” Arya yells out before going silent after noticing the intimidating figure of Bruce Wayne and the even more intimidating figure of Jason Todd.

“Oh, hey guys. So–uh, I actually have a ride back to the manor now so I'm all good.” You say awkwardly.

“That's–that's great! But, what about your bike bro?” Ethan questions worriedly, the awkward and almost tense energy affecting him.

“I'm just going to pray and hope that it's still there when I come back for it tomorrow.”You answer tiredly.

“Damn, well, get home safe and get some sleep. We’ll see you soon girl.” Arya says, hugging you.

You hug her back.

“You too guys, get home safe. And Ethan, good job on the field bro, we’re all super proud of you.” You voice, a small smile on your face while you give him a hug.

“Thanks (Y/n), couldn't have done it without y’all hyping me up.” He says.

“Alright, alright no more sappy, corny lines. Now get on the bus before Coach Daniels pops another blood vessel.” You joke.

“Shit, I didn't even realize that was him yelling! Ethan, we gotta go! See ya (Y/n).” Arya exclaims, practically dragging Ethan to the bus with her.

You wave at them, your smile slowly disappearing as you realize you're about to have the worst fifteen minutes of your life on this car ride. The staring you were trying to ignore when talking to your friends was more prevalent now, making you anxious as you entered the car, squirming and fiddling uncomfortably in your seat as everyone else piled in.

You internally sighed as you heard the door shut and the car engine start. Perhaps it’d be better if you drank acid and died instead, but alas, it was too late for any of that. 

You’d just do your best to stay quiet and avoid the eyes boring into your very being.

[hipsdofangirl]

“baby”

seungcheol x reader

contents: sfw, fluff mess, idol au, established relationship au, repetitive use of word “baby”, kkuma is seungcheol’s daughter

summary: seungcheol finds out he is a grandpa at age 28 in his own way / seungcheol comes home to his (growing) family

wc: 1111 (hehe)

“where’s your toy?” you coo.

kkuma stares blankly at you, sitting pretty. you slap your hands on your knees with an exaggerated grin decorating your face.

you repeat, enunciating each word, “where is your toy?”

she pants with a smile—the crooked pink bow clip melts your heart bit by bit. she stands up and spins in a circle, searching for something; the clopping of her nails against the hard-wooded floor reminds you that she needs her nails clipped, and your boyfriend will no doubt get her groomed for that to be completed.

the fluffy small cloud faces you, tongue out and involved in her desperate recovery mission. she moves her head to the right then the left; you can’t help but huff air with a smile, observing her cute yet calculated movements. her smile fades as she sniffs lightly. there is one more attempt to push kkuma over the edge.

“where is your baby?” you reiterate.

like a sleeper agent, something inside of her awakens. her head moves back to the right, regaining that same grin she trots into the hallway out of your sight.

you stand up, kneecaps cracking from being on the floor for some time; you keep your gaze locked from where she last left your sight, anticipating little patters to get louder.

soon enough, kkuma emerges from that hallway with a plush hello kitty doll, bigger than her own body, being dragged across the floor; if only it was real you could imagine the doll’s face painted with agony of living another day of torment while being lifelessly lugged.

you smirk and clap your fingertips together, creating little yet audible sound. “there she is! do you have your baby?” you babble.

in response, kkuma shakes her head and therefore her body and therefore the doll. you nod your head in respect and walk to the kitchen. kkuma continues her tirade and saunters over to the living room, plopping herself right in front of the couch with baby in hand.

—————

after the sun has been set for some time, the front door creaks open. soft yet heavy footfalls patter against the floor.

from your spot laying on the couch, you glance towards the noise in the dark, only your phone and tv providing light. you sit there and listen: you hear deep breaths and rustling of fabric before something collides with the floor. a defeated grunt comes from the entrance still: you chuckle quietly and turn your phone off, turning onto your stomach to lay on.

you click your flashlight on. the perpetrator standing there being your boyfriend, seungcheol. his eyes widen yet dim quickly when he made contact with the light. he covers his eyes with his hand and sets down the rest of his stuff. you turn off your flash and get up to immediately flick on the living room lights. you stroll to him with a not-so hidden grin.

he takes one glance at your expression before huffing, “you heard me struggling yet here you are taking a photo of me like i’m a cryptid.” your grin hurts your cheeks at this point; he gives one of his own as he watches you.

“you try so hard to be quiet when you come in, it’s hard not to see you as one.” you counter.

his eyebrows raise and grin deflates. “well you should be in bed right now. i swear you don’t have to wait up for me, i’ll be fine.” you both hear little paws barrel towards you. seungcheol’s dimples return once again as he squats, palms open.

“cause this little girl will always be there to greet me.”

you playfully scoff, leaning on the wall, observing the interaction. “yeah because she knows she will get a treat.” kkuma licks his fingers as he scratches underneath her chin.

you squat down yourself and her attention was instantly caught. you gently unclip the bow from the top of her head and smother it in your/his pant pocket.

as you give her your own soft head pats and aggressive spouts of rubs, seungcheol gaze is stuck on your face, basking in the intimate moment he secretly waits for after every day of intense idol-life.

he would never say it, but he appreciates how you wait; he doesn’t understand how you are able to keep waiting after all this time—for him. he glances at the floor, he shouldn't keep you waiting, should he?

kkuma’s rhythm of her happy dance kept him in a trance, but for some reason it stopped? seungcheol blinks and doesn’t see his little girl in front of him. he glances up at you for some clarification as you shuffle his things around, grabbing his workout clothes to put in the washer.

seungcheol blinks again. where did one of his princesses go? every time he arrives home, she follows him wherever he goes. is his little girl growing up?

he mindlessly follows you and stutters with a pout, “w-where did kkuma go?”

you flip open the washer lid. “she’s grabbing her baby.”

seungcheol’s inner demons were confirmed. “her baby?”

you hum in confirmation.

he sadly flicks his eyes to the door to the rest of the apartment. as you shut the lid down and press the appropriate buttons, you feel his fingers weaving into yours; slowly, he drapes his body weight onto you, head searching for his crook. you smile and pat his head.

you both hear little paws barrel toward you both. entering the door frame is little kkuma with her big baby hello kitty doll.

seungcheol’s head lifts up from your body.

kkuma gives him a little shake, showing him and her baby dominance.

he makes eye contact with you. “your childhood pillow?”

you correct him, enunciating your words, “her baby.” his arms sneak around your waist, eyes never leaving the white dog.

he repeats after you, “her baby.”

you hum and nod, pecking his cheek before sauntering out of the room. seungcheol bites his lip, smile breaking through, and skips after you. his arms return to hug your waist as he leans both your bodies sideways with a kiss—soon followed by an onslaught of fleeting smooches.

you blush. “cmon you big baby lets go to bed. you have an upcoming comeback and tour that doesn’t need you to fall ill again. i don’t need you to do that.”

he hums and sways your bodies, widely walking both of your feet in that direction like penguins.

he only hummed, not saying anything. you look at him for any other confirmation. he only beholds your eyes that swallow the rest of the world.

he knocks his head playfully with yours. “my baby.”

a/n: first uploaded fic please have mercy on my soul. also not proofread.

i have some works in the notes app but so far this is the one that is currently making me want to publish because i just got in the mood and it’s his bday. also this is totally not based off my own dog

if you made it here, congratulations! have a nice day/night!! 🫶

tag: @jacixbliss

[phoenixcatch7]

Asdfghjkl Damian, if asked about the blood son thing: My Time Has Come

Poor b, running through the first three stages of grief in the half second it takes for Damian to open his mouth: you know what? Fine. Fine. Go ahead. By the time I die I'm going to be a mythical figure. Why not.

Actually, the idea was that B would be taken in his human body. His doll form would be left behind in the wreckage, carried back the manor and patched together under cover of darkness. The connection remains, hut it's paper thin.

Time stream Bruce trying to sync his down time to match up with the whispers he can just barely catch on the edge of his hearing so he can try and listen to his kids talking to his body 🥺.

But the dolls sometimes get impatient. When Dick claimed the Robin and then later the Nightwing dolls he was the one to venture down to the Tea Party and meet them.

The night the batman doll is repaired, he goes to bed late. He's staying in the manor again, to keep an eye on the newly arrived and half feral Damian, he's being pulled in all directions, he's got bludhaven to take care of, his job he's clinging to by his fingernails, he's got a kid raised in a death cult who's just lost his father, the family is unbalanced and acting out without their lynchpin (and main adult), Alfred is taking it badly, Tim is hyperfocusing and about to do himself an injury, the league is about to start sniffing around - well meaning concern and offered aid, sure, but the dolls are an impenetrable layer of privacy and security against the darkness of Gotham that unprepared heroes lack. He can't decide what to do.

He's half asleep out of sheer exhaustion when the lock on his bedroom door clicks. He freezes. Subtly cracks an eye.

There's a dark, looming shape in the now open doorway, eyes blank and glowing. Dick bolts upright, catches the glimpse of poisoned spikes and bared, metallic teeth.

He screams.

The hallway light clicks on, voices swarm, and he hears the exact instant they spot the figure by the way it goes absolutely silent.

Tim edges around the figure, eyes wide. He places a pale hand on the elbow of the Batman.

The doll doesn't move.

Tim shakes it slightly, as the others try to sneak around the huge shape without touching it. His eyes are glassy.

The doll is empty.

Jason quietly takes him aside, then, as Dick slides out of bed and pads closer. Everyone is gathered in the room then, even Damian and Alfred, and he's ignoring any glint of weapons he might see.

The doll appeared, on its own terms, in his room. He's never been creeped out by his adoptive father's blank eyes in this form, but now he has the distinct impression it's looking right back, even as the ears remain still and unmoving, empty of an occupant. It feels like there's something crawling up his spine.

He reaches out a hand, presses it against the engraved symbol on the chest.

The world goes white.

He opens his eyes, eight feet tall, and everyone is staring up at him in horror.

Wayne doll house: demon children.

Idea: each of the batkids is theorised to have a different origin.

Thing is, there's so many of them. The oldest is actually the youngest in body. It seems to be able to share memories with those who follow. It changes design right before a new bat appears.

The hero in the town over is definitely one of them, but what's it doing over there?? Asking just gets non-answers.

What happened to the ones that the Joker tried to destroy? One - the oldest and smallest - came back, but different, whereas the other - the purple and orange one - came back for a while and then vanished again for good.

None of them seem to age??

The first, smallest, oldest, it seemed to be some sort of circus performer? It gave its acrobatics to the blue one when it arrived, grew clever and defensive. It gave that to the skull headed red one, focused on technology and detective work after the Incident. Then again, and again, and one time even the bat changed along with it, but though the bat returned to normal the little Robin didn't, and now it's just as stabby and creative as it is small and creepy.

It's a good sort of creepy now, after over a decade of beating up bad guys and comforting victims, Gotham has gotten used to it, but outsiders don't much like it.

The justice league have a different opinion.

They know, or at least can observe, that the... Souls? Brains? Programs? Switch around, that it's not memories but persons that bring the new bats to life.

They just don't know where batman gets them. The new one, especially, is very circumspect.

For all this talk of the blood son, all the bats calling it demon child with varying levels of fondness, the way batman doesn't deny the claims...

Thing is the bat doesn't have blood. Everyone's well aware of this by now. Whatever sulpheric black tar he and the bats leak probably-certainly isn't blood, or at least... Not anything with dna.

So... What blood?? If not the bat's, why does it tie the newest mind of Robin to him?

Captain marvel is the first to think of an idea.

A blood child of a demon for a blood ritual for a demon.

Constantine and Zatanna second the notion - it's perfectly possible. Reasonable, even. The bat admitted himself he had no way to procreate the way humans did, nor any interest in doing so. Wanting a legacy was perfectly normal.

Except he already had, what, seven, eight, nine kids? He loved all of them, it was clear, and he'd always seemed happy with them. He'd even sighed over how many he had, had rebuffed the teasing about getting more. The new Robin mind had been a surprise to everyone, and the old one in a new body had been a little salty about it.

So the new theory was that batman hadn't decided to get a new Robin. Maybe the old mind had been ejected unwillingly! It had happened at roughly the same time batman had gotten a new personality - maybe the incidents were related?

But if batman hadn't done the ritual... Who had?

Who would do something like that???

Cultists. Cultists would do something like that. But giving the bat a son unwillingly seemed... A very odd goal, even for that type.

So... Had they messed up? Had they tried to summon the bat with a blood sacrifice ritual, and summoned a demon instead? Had it partially worked? Was the bat susceptible to demon summonings?? Did the summoning damage his own mind/consciousness/soul in some way, and that led to the creation of the new demon child while the bat changed until he'd healed????

How kind of batman to take it in!

Tldr; the league thinks Robin V is a demon born/created through a failed summoning ritual involving blood sacrifice that made batman like puns until he healed. The truth is the canon events of Damian arriving at the manor only for b to get tossed into the time stream, becoming the Robin to nightwing-batman while Tim, who is much less annoyed about it than canon, focuses on getting him back. Lmao.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for 🦄 behind the cut; “a fake cryptid and a real romantic”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Hey, Boy Wonderful!” Superboy greets excitedly and with apparent full sincerity, giving Tim a quick wave before hiding both hands behind his back. Which as a result parts the front of his new jacket a little more and stretches the S-shield tighter across his chest and reflects more of the city lights off all those shiny studs and spikes and pins and also off the lenses of his glasses and– 

Tim needs a stronger word than “evaporates”, actually. What happens to something after it evaporates? Because this is definitely not a situation where he is going to be returning to a liquid form, much less a solid. 

Maybe he’ll just atomize or something. Superboy can already literally atomize him anyway; he might as well do it metaphorically too. 

“Suuuuuperboyyyyy,” Tim says, both incredibly grateful for the voice modulator hiding the way his voice attempts to crack and already resigned to his doom. Superboy beams down at him. He is . . . still shiny, yeah. Deliberately shiny. Deliberately shiny because he thinks Robin likes shiny.

Tim is not in any way an actual cryptid, obviously, much less in any way an actual bird, and “Robin” is but he thinks he might need to go lay down anyway. Like . . . just for a minute. Or twenty. Or . . . forever, maybe? Like, maybe just forever? 

kitten, the Batman repeats, narrowing . . . something that looks like eyes at Superboy. Superboy looks a little nervous, but not in the normal way that people look nervous when the Batman is perceiving them; less “existential terror” and more “a guy showing up to pick up his prom date from their parents’ house”, which is a whole thought process to be thinking right now, Tim thinks. 

“Um, hey, Mx. Batman! Is Robin ready to, uh, go hang out?” Superboy greets cheerfully, grinning nervously at him. Tim remembers the way that last time Superboy was fumbling between using “sir” or “ma’am” for the Batman, and realizes that Superboy must’ve actually gone to the trouble of looking up a gender-neutral honorific to use. Like–because Superboy is clearly still trying to make a good impression on the Batman. Because Superboy wants the Batman to approve of him, because he wants to keep seeing Robin. 

Oh, this is really not good, Tim thinks in despair as his actual heart flutters this time. That information is literally just a two-second Google search away, and his heart still fluttered over Superboy putting in the effort to do it. 

Tim is in so, so much trouble here. So much trouble. All the trouble. Even more trouble than that. Several new kinds of trouble previously unknown to humankind, even, which were clearly hand-delivered via Superboy’s Kryptonian side. Hand-delivered like the handmade diamond, maybe! Maybe like that! 

“Robin . . . rrrrreadyyyyy,” Tim confirms, because he can’t just go throw himself off however many roofs it takes until he recovers from the entire experience that he is at this moment entirely experiencing. That’s just not socially-acceptable behavior and Superboy would definitely take it the wrong way. 

. . . well, actually, since Superboy does currently think he’s a cryptid splinter of a city spirit, and specifically thinks he’s a bird cryptid . . . 

It’s tempting, is all Tim is going to say about that. Just–it’s tempting, that’s all. 

Very tempting. 

no net, the Batman says disapprovingly, the vague approximation of eyes he’s currently wearing still narrowed, which Tim’s pretty sure is the Batman’s version of saying Superboy isn’t ready. At least not to protection-spirit standards, anyway. 

“Oh, um, yeah,” Superboy says, glancing down at his own feet and the empty air beneath them. “It went away when I left Gotham last time. I kinda just figured you took it back or something?” 

“Tt,” the Batman says as a few tendrils of his cape string themselves into a net beneath Superboy again, like he’s even high up enough to get hurt if he fell. Tim just tries not to get a nosebleed at the sound of the Batman’s voice and hopes Superboy won’t get a migraine or anything. Or actually fall, because net aside, after the gala incident with Superman Tim really cannot expect Superboy to handle–

Superboy cocks his head abruptly, blinking hard enough that it’s obvious even with the glasses on. He doesn’t fall. 

“Shukran, nassībah,” he says. “Um–I mean . . . shukran, nassīb?” 

“Afwan, sihr,” the Batman replies as if by rote, and then . . . pauses. Superboy immediately brightens, visibly perking up. 

. . . well, that’s a reaction to the Batman’s voice that Tim hasn’t seen before. And also not a language he recognizes, either. 

“Speeeeeak?” he asks blankly, not sure what to think of the exchange. The Batman doesn’t answer; just narrows his not-eyes a little more at Superboy and strings a few more shadows through the net underneath him. He isn’t even slightly pretending to look human, but Superboy isn’t either averting his eyes or stubbornly making a point of looking at him, which is also a reaction to the Batman that Tim has not actually seen before. 

Well, except for every extremely unfortunate time that Talia al Ghul’s been in town, anyway. So that’s . . . a thing, yeah. Tim just hopes that thing is not coming from the monsterfucker tendencies, considering, though Talia al Ghul being the first person he thought of to compare the behavior to is maybe not a great sign for that. 

Robin cannot actually say “please don’t Stacy’s Mom me over my undying eldritch night terror of a weird neighbor,” but Tim definitely thinks it.

[ryoflix]

sukuna as your personal tripod | f. reader, s/h prns., crack 'n fluff, estb. rl ؛ ଓ

you realized it one day mid-selfie—mid-struggle, really—when you were holding your phone at a weird angle and trying to balance a compact mirror between your knee and a drink cup just to get that one perfect, glowy shot for your story. the sun was being a bitch, the shadows weren’t flattering, and your lip gloss looked grey somehow.

and then, out of nowhere: sukuna loomed over you like a judgmental cryptid. no words. no complaints. just clicked a switch, and suddenly—ring light. perfect soft glow. flawless highlight. zero under-eye shadow.

you blinked. “where did that come from?”

“don’t ask,” he muttered, eyes flicking anywhere but your face.

(but you saw the faintest twitch of pride when you checked the photo and whispered, “oh shit that’s actually good lighting.”)

now, it’s normal. almost too normal. you pull out your phone, and he’s already there, standing beside you, raising the ring light at just the right angle. he doesn’t ask, doesn’t even sigh. doesn’t pretend to be annoyed anymore—he just lifts it up with one hand like he was born to be your personal lighting rig.

“chin down a little,” he grunts. “you’re catching a weird glare.”

“who taught you that?”

“youtube.”

“…what were you even searching?”

he refuses to answer.

he keeps a foldable tripod in the back seat of his car. you discovered it after opening the trunk one day, expecting—idk, murder weapons or a gym bag—and found the sleekest little bluetooth remote-controlled tripod, neatly packed with a microfiber cloth and extra charging cables. you held it up slowly. 

“…what is this?”

he didn’t even flinch. just looked you dead in the eye and said, “emergency dance content.”

you lost it.

“emergency what???”

“don’t make me say it again,” he growled, ears red. “you keep dragging me into those dumbass couple dances. somebody has to think ahead.”

and oh, those dances.

you point the camera, start the music, and he tries. he really tries. but the man moves like a brick with emotions. he’ll get through the first three beats and then his knee clicks or he forgets which way is left. you can see his soul leaving his body every time the choreography involves body rolls.

but he does it. he never says no.

and when the comments roll in calling him “husband material” and “a scary softie,” he scowls at the screen and mutters, “bunch of weirdos.” but you catch the way he watches your laughing face while scrolling. the way he holds you a little tighter that night. the way he kisses your forehead and doesn’t let you say thank you.

because in his mind, this isn’t doing you a favor. it’s just being prepared. it’s just love, in ring lights and tripods and horribly executed tiktok dances.

preparedness, he says.

affection, you know.

[vigil-antes]

Do you like have any good comics recommendations or anything to do with the bat fam, I don't have many DC friends so idk where to start

hiii omg ive been WAITING for this. you didnt give me any kind of parameters for what kind of fics you want so im going to list some of those i like most. its going to be a long one so buckle up:

My DC Fic Best Pics:

Short & Sweet (Oneshots/Less than 10k words)

Send to All: Crack, the bats have a sex pollen release form

glucose guardian: Funny, Tim being the caped community's accidental sugar daddy

A Brief Interview: Sweet, Damian & Tim Ageswap

curiosity and the cat: Cute, Timbern Catlad AU

Dead Meme: Crack, Jason centric, Jason keeps referencing dead memes

Have I Told You About Minnie?: Sweet, Bruce&Steph

Multi Media Marketing Mistakes: Crack, Social Media AU

an inappropriate explosion: Funny, Superman calls Batman to reel in his unruly son (Red Hood)

though your eyes will need some time to adjust: so sweet GAH, Bruce&Steph

Girl what were YOU doing at the devil's sacrament?: Funny, Timbern after the disaster with the chaos cult

Tim Drake: Bisexual Awakener Extraordinaire: Funny, YJ experiencing the mandated Robin-Induced sexuality crisis

Brotherhood: Tim&Damian, Damian Time travels right into Jason's attack on Titans Tower

Priceless: Crack, Nightwing&The Bats messing with Bane

User SuperRob: TImBerKon. Need I say more?

The Mystery of the Superboy Shirts: TimKon, Tim keeps stealing Kon's SB Shirts

Thicker Than Water: Funny, Batbros slice of life-ish

Big Bird, Commence Attack!: Crack, Jason's revenge plan involves dressing up as Big Bird

World’s Saddest Breakfast Club: Sweet, Batkids Bonding

red chrome: Funny, Tim's health is concerning enough to stop Jason from attacking him in Titans Tower

Hot Dog, French Fries: Tim&Damian, Damian gets dosed with truth serum

#SoftRobin: Funny. Damian-centric Social Media AU

Hurry Up Don't Take So Long: Sweet, DamiJon through the years

Paris vs Gotham: Crack, Social Media AU Ladybug crossover (no ships)

Can I tempt you?: TimKon, Light angst, Sweet

Bedtime Stories (15-50k Words)

Baby Birds and Bat Caves: SO funny, genuinely one of the best fics ive read, Tim-Centric, Meta(?)/Cryptid Tim, inspired by Welcome to Nightvale

Gotham Knockoff: Tim-Centric, Alley Kid Tim pretends to be the Drakes' kid to get closer to the Bats

In This or Any Other Universe: Nightwing ends up in the The Batman (2022) Universe

Dangerous and Noble Things: Kid Tim gets kidnapped by the League of Shadows. No one realizes until, four years later, the Bats notices something wrong

In this Town We Call Home: Kid Tim attracts Batman's attention to get adopted

With Violet Light: Jason finds a ring of power and becomes a Star Sapphire

Little Birds’ Wings: Jason&Other Batkids, Jason comes back from the League to a drastically different Gotham

the pact of our youth: Reverse Robins Au, TimBerKon after Tim dies (and comes back different)

Pretty Boys and Identity Problems: Sweet, TimKon, To get away from his crush on Robin, Superboy gets entangled with Gotham pretty boy Tim Drake

let's get mischievous: TimBern, during the chaos cult ritual, Bernard gets possessed by Dyonisus

It Wouldn't Be Make Believe (If You Believed In Me): DamiJon fake dating AU where they don't know each other and meet while Robin is investigating a case in Metropolis (they're uni aged btw)

I’m Pretty Sure Tim Steals Clothes: An Elaboration In The Form Of A Long Fic: Cute, TimKon, Tim keeps stealing Kon's SB shirts

Into the Deep Dark Night: Tim-centric, Tim&Jason, Tim dies as a kid and loses a bit of his humanity

Alcatraz, But On Hardmode: Sweet, Tim-Centric, A YJ mission goes wrong and Tim has to rely on Jason to get him and his team out.

His Head is Bloody, but Unbowed: Jason-centric AU where he never stole the batmobile tires, but ends up meeting the Bats anyways after he saves Robin

A Good Place: Very soft, Damian&Bruce, Damian time travels to Batman's first year of activity.

Fairy Godbrother: Sweet, The batboys time travel to each others' pasts and help their brothers when they were younger

best laid plans: Tim&Jason, Tim finds Jason after he crawls out of his grave, bt they get goth taken by the league

Mystery Man: Cute, BirdFlash, The bats aren't known to the JL, Different first meeting

One Eternal Round: Super original, Bruce&Robins, My Hero Academia crossover where Aizawa, Midoriya, Kirishima, Todoroki and Bakugo remember their past lives as Gotham vigilantes

A Meditation on Railroading: Tim-Centric, Tim's dad leaves him stranded away from Gotham with no way back. Jason finds him and brings him home

the ship of theseus: Jason-Centric, Percy Jackson crossover, Jason and Percy are secretly twins

Why They Shouldn't Have Social Media: Crack, Social media AU

Cracked Foundation:Soft, Jason&Damian, They get stuck under a collapsed building together

Monolith: Bruce&The Batfamily, The birds aren't known to the JL, The JL meeting each member of the Batfam for the first time

Loading and Aspect Ratio: SO GOOOOOOD, Batfamily, The bats use wing prothesis but everyone think they're metas

Three’s a Crowd (But I’m Here if You Are): Cute, Funny, TimBerKon

A Softer Gotham: Steph&Bruce, Steph-Centric, Steph time travels to a time before Batman, becoming Gotham's first vigilante

greatest of ease: Dick-Centric, POV Outsider, Dick Grayson as seen in the eyes of the people surrounding him

Yesterday's Voices: Bruce&Batkids, Bruce's memory of the past five years gets erased leaving behind a softer man, one who doesn't remember Jason's death

show me yesterday, for i can’t find today: Jason-Centric, Jason&The Batfam, Robin!Jason and Red Hood switch places

Eat Your Heart Out, Social Life (50k+ words)

Vultures, Squirrels, and Other Flying Menaces: So good, AU where instead of becoming Robin, Tim hires Deathstroke to kill Joker, leading to the assassin adopting him and the other Batkids.

I’m alone here, I think: TimKon, Witch Tim, Tim is erased from everyone's memories and leaves Gotham. Kon finds him anyways.

You, Me, and the Humanity in Between: Soft and sweet, Bruce&His kids, Non-Human Batkids

cards on the table: Tim-Centric, Tim&Batfam, Tim's parents fake their death and leave Tim behind. He uses his stalking skills to become a fortuneteller scammer. Against his will, he ends up befriending the Waynes

Roasted: Funny, Cute, Dick-Centric, Talon AU, Dick&Batfam, Recovered Talon Dick opens a coffee shop that ends up becoming Rogue-Vigilante neutral grounds

Code Bat: Batfam, The bats aren't known, they have an emergency code to only be used in emergency case when revealing affiliation is inevitable (idk how to explain but its good trust me)

Minimum Height Requirement: SOFT, Bruce&His kids, Batfam, Batman doesn't let his kids become vigilantes before they turn eighteen

Running Headlong into My Arms: Soft, No Capes AU, even without Batman, Bruce finds his family

Liminal Space: Tim-Centric, Tim&Bruce, Tim&Batfam, Tim ends up in a softer and kinder version of his world

Robins and Other Flightless Birds: Bruce-Centric, Bruce&His kids, A Batman without kids is visited by another version of himself. He finds tha he, too, wants kids.

Laughter Lines: JayRoy, Soft, Jason helps raise Lian, before and after his death

Stars of the Forgotten: Bruce-Centric, Meta!Batkids, Bruce&His kids, on the search for a missing Barbara Gordon, Batman stumbles upon five metahuman kids in need of a home

Latchkey: Sweet, Tim-Centric, Robin!Jason, BatWatch!Tim, The Waynes get concerned with their lonely neighbor, Tim Drake

Ain't No Compass, Ain't No Map: Funny, Tim&Jason, Borderline abandoned Tim Drake gets taken in by Crime Lord Red Hood. CPS tries investigating, with little results

And that's it for today. If you're still here, thank you so much and seriously, some of these are so good, so read them, trust me!

Sorry i took so long to get back to you, i had to organize the mess in my AO3 bookmarks and compiling this took me ages.

Let me know what you all think, and if you ever want more!!!! (Yes i have more. It's a problem)

[nicngyu]

smau ; right place, wrong person.

pairing ; idol!beomgyu x gn!reader

summary ; in which a failed proposal at a txt send-off leads y/n to beomgyu, who can't help but meddle a little bit.

genre ; idol!au, strangers to friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff & crack, beomgyu being a menace.

featuring ; txt(ofc), sunghoon & jay and jake from enha, dino from svt, probably more enhypen and svt cameos.

warnings ; profanity, suicide jokes, attempt at humour, secondhand embarrassment, limited to no knowledge of an editor job, this plot started as a silly little joke in a conversation with my friend - fangs lu 4 da help!1

author's note ; this is my first fic pls dont eat me. also ignore time stamps pls the app is hard to manage T_T

start ; 24 june 2024 status ; ongoing! (IM BACK)

profiles

⤷ enha kidnappers ‼️ ⤷ TUBATU TEAM

zero ; hybe hates ME

one ; this is awkward (written 1.06k)

two ; i sent a spy

three ; pack your bags x

four ; dig a hole and rot in it

five ; he'd start barking and snarling

six ; hot enough to steal my girlfriend

seven ; JAKE and others

eight ; beomgyu's a loser

nine ; choi beomgyu in your dms

ten ; you div

eleven ; bro's begging

twelve ; just got scammed by enhypen

thirteen ; this y/n person

fourteen ; WHY IS THERE A TIGER IN Y/N'S HOUSE

fifteen ; y/n in da washig machine

sixteen ; i've lost the battle

seventeen ; seungcheol giving bias

eighteen ; ok alpha calm down

nineteen ; ok one direction

twenty ; we're lost

twenty-one ; the feelings were not funny haha

twenty-two ; a break well spent

twenty-three ; OH MY GOD HE SHAT

twenty-four ; get good at y/n trivia

twenty-five ; HEE SUNG LADIES AND GENTLEMEN

twenty-six ; who did you roll into

twenty-seven ; wasnt your gf technically

twenty eight ; we thinking HARD

twenty-nine ; why did i agree to this

thirty ; jake stand up

thirty-one ; elevator🦅⁉️

thirty-two ; little does he know its 2/5

thirty-three ; idols are truly a different breed

thirty-four ; can you take a fucking hint

thirty-five ; an idol's toughest war

thirty-six ;

current taglist ; @serenityism00 @choppedballoondetective @starchasing-cryptid @lun4kazumii @xoxobela @calx-bdo @junhuicosmo @noraimp @isa942572 @huethusiasm @miyawwn @kumabeom @darlingz99 @redsockssuck @woncheecks @flowzel @sugawara-levi @20-cms @paradiseoflosers @222brainrot @blossommi @stwq2439 @taysfairies @nshmurarki @thisrandombitch @missychief1404 @petralovesbonedo @channieismylove @bee-the-loser @nineooooo @luvvhaerin @t-102 @ranjupotato

[psychotic-nonsense]

"I'm sorry."

It's the first thing Steve says after everything.

After getting Vecna Cursed. After nearly dying. After a hallucination of Eddie saved him. After running through a looped forest. After finding sanctuary in Steve's memory of that Starcourt bathroom. After Eddie reveals himself as Eddie.

It's the only thing he can think of. It's not big enough to fit everything, but it's the only thing that fits in his mouth.

"Don't be."

Maybe that's the only thing Eddie can think of too. The only thing Eddie can bear to say.

Because don't be can't stop Steve's eyes from watering when he sees the vest in his closet. Don't be can't stop Steve's feet from dragging him to the cemetery every evening to clean Eddie's graffiti-covered tombstone. Don't be can't stop Steve from sitting beside Wayne and listening to him talk about the Eddie he remembers. Don't be can't stop Eddie's body from showing up in Steve's dreams, nor Eddie's corpse from his nightmares. Don't be couldn't keep the pain away enough, didn't stop Vecna from latching onto it while Steve was walking alone in the woods.

Don't be isn't enough for what Steve wants to hear. But even stuck here waiting, hoping, for someone to get Steve out, there just isn't enough time.

"I miss you."

"...Why?"

Eddie says it back so quickly, so quietly, like it's just unfathomable to him. Maybe it is, considering their last memories. But their eyes meet and he looks just as sad, just as longing, as Steve.

"You were my friend."

Steve can't help but say it like that. Like they were friends for years instead of days. Like Eddie was that important to him in their final moments. Like his heart really aches for Eddie every second of the apocalypse.

Can't help but say it like he means it.

"I wish we could've had more time..."

Steve's voice cracks a little there as he turns away, hiding. It's all he wants. It's all Vecna used to entice him with. It's all that's keeping him going, to finally fulfill the last request Eddie made. It's all he has left to feel close to Eddie.

The Eddie that's sitting right next to him, silent, his sight weighing on Steve's skin. Conscious and aware and the real Eddie. Trapped in Vecna's head as a backup power source, yet who still risked everything to come save Steve. Who Steve will never see again because killing Vecna means killing Eddie for good, and his heart doesn't want it, is begging for another solution...

But for once, his broken head overpowers his shattered heart.

"Maybe we did."

Eddie takes Steve's hand. Meets Steve's surprised look with his own small smile of hope. They're both suddenly tearing up, eyes glistening with life in this gray stall.

"Maybe in another world, we got a second first chance. A first second chance. Maybe even a third, or fourth. Maybe in a different life, we had everything we wanted. Because you, Steve Harrington, are too good for me to be doomed to meet just once."

And for a moment, Steve sees it. Feels it. Versions of them connected through the universe.

Little kids playing in the lake. One with bruised skin and shaved hair, loud but unfathomably lonely. One with a bruised heart and soft eyes, timid but stubbornly hopeful.

A rockstar with glittering chains, center stage in the spotlight. A set of eyes in the crowd or behind the curtain, watching only him.

A werewolf and a vampire, two cryptids of horror, meeting in the dead of a full moon night to feel safe with the only other one who understands.

A future where they won, where the only death was the one that mattered. A process of healing and learning, coming home to a family every single day.

A world without pain, without their hell, where two high schoolers found freedom from their shackles and company in each other. Hiding away together in the dark corners of the town.

Steve even sees other versions of them. Versions that he knows were originally never supposed to meet, yet forces so much greater than them pulled them together.

A metalhead drug dealer, constantly getting into trouble with one nail-bat-weilding cop.

A criminal's fugitive nature leading him to a rugged trailer park, and the dangerous owner within one such home.

An eccentric king in an old coliseum, always choosing one particular warrior as his champion.

A young programmer being pulled away from his work by sobs above his apartment, running upstairs to check on the law student that recently moved in.

Two actors, finding an easy friendship in the months of filming one season of a show that would change their lives.

In that moment, Steve's overwhelmed by the closeness he suddenly feels with the soul beside him. Falling into tears, he pulls Eddie into a tight hug, holding him so so close to convey everything he can't say. Feeling Eddie hold him back, hearing everything Eddie can't say in return.

Familiar music comes on outside the stall. Robin's voice calls out to him, telling him to come home.

And when he does leave, Steve hopes that someone out there will understand that he never can. Because here in Eddie's arms is the only place that will ever truly feel like home.

"Thank you... for everything, Eddie."

Thank you, Steve. For everything and more..."

--------------------

- List of AUs, in order, after, "Versions of them connected through the universe": Childhood Friends / Rockstar!Eddie / Werewolf!Steve & Vampire!Eddie / Eddie Survives / No Upside Down & High School

- List of Multiverse Steddie AUs, in order, after, "...yet forces so much greater than them pulled them together": Eddie x Gator / Baron x Michael / Geta x Sean / Keys x Eric / Quinn and Keery

[paige1722]

An Offering | Ch. 4 |

Pairing: Sleep Token x Reader

Summary: Cryptid, inhuman beings have spent their whole lives in Eden serving their deity, Sleep. What happens when one day you show up and no one can figure out why Sleep has delivered you to them? Should you stay with them or will you do whatever it takes to find your way back home?

Warnings: brief mentions of death. Slow-burn. implied past abuse, self-deprecating thoughts, some angst(Please, let me know if I missed any.)

Word Count: 7.1k

I am so sorry this took so long, I kept rewriting this chapter, but I decided to finally post this so I would stop deleting everything. Anyway, thank you so much for all the comments and likes; I really appreciate it. I hope you all like this chapter.

masterlist | Ch.1 | Ch.2 | Ch.3 |

Chapter 4:  ------------------

As you sprint down the stone path, your footsteps thudding heavily with every step, a mantra reverberates in your skull: ‘I don’t belong here.’  The adrenaline coursing through every part of your body is honestly the only thing keeping you going, and exhaustion creeps into your bones. 

 The sun peeking over the horizon makes you briefly wonder just how long you were in the room with Sleep. If the sun is already coming up, then it was more time than you first assumed. Everything that happened caused what little sanity you had left to become quickly disoriented. 

The warmth of the sun doing nothing to warm your skin, your entire body numb and tingling with anticipation at the thought of all of your struggles and pain finally coming to a close. You feel possessed like your body has been taken over by a dark and malicious entity, and suddenly, there is nothing you can do to stop it, but at this point, you aren’t even sure you would if you could.

The stone path you’re running down gradually becomes more cracked and in disrepair. Weeds peeking through the stones make it abundantly clear this is not the same path you ventured down with the others earlier. 

The further you run down it, the more you can tell it has been a long time since someone has ventured down this way. Getting lost is really not what you need right now; you have to get back to the abyss in iii’s cave. 

The stones beneath your feet quickly become unstable the farther you go, and the weeds and brambles peeking underneath the cracks make the path wobble with your every step. Your breathing comes out in fast bursts from the exhaustion of sprinting through the garden and from the thoughts that continuously plague your mind. 

Tears brimming your waterline blur your vision, making it hard to see exactly where you’re going. You're unaware of the impending danger forming before you as you continue running straight towards it. 

The world around you plummets into darkness, causing you to falter and come to a skidding halt. You can see nothing around you but pitch-black darkness, and due to the sudden lack of sunlight, a chill fills the air.

 However, Undetected by you, a mass of vile tangled tentacles and gore now covers where the sun previously sat high in the sky, blocking the light like a strange, unorthodox eclipse. The air becomes stale and pungent, making you gag slightly at the new scent around you. 

The unknown mass shrouding the sun begins to bleed and fall from the sky, dripping onto the ground into a puddle causing the grass and surrounding area to slowly decay a few feet ahead of your defenseless and unaware form. 

The light slowly comes back into the world, momentarily blinding you. A red tint covers the world. Confused at the sudden impromptu solar eclipse, you briefly look up, trying to find some sort of answer. 

You shake your head disparagingly. Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter. You need to find your way back to the place you first woke up. You have to end this now before you overthink it and end up backing out. 

Whatever fate awaits you in the neverending abyss of water is better for everyone here. It will keep them all safe, and you won’t bother anyone ever again.

Before you can go any further, you feel a heavy but not suffocating pressure wraps around your body, pinning your arms to your sides and pulling you up into the air and into the trees, disappearing into the pink leaves. Your body immediately stiffens at the sudden movement. An involuntary shriek passes through your lips but is quickly muffled by a hand covering your mouth. 

You rapidly blink away the tears from earlier, trying to clear your vision to see who or what currently has you in their grasp. As the tears fall from your eyes and down your cheeks, landing on the hand, you can see the brightest blue eyes you have ever seen in your life staring intently at you from behind a black mask with a white symbol carved on the bottom portion, though, unlike the other’s masks, this one covers his entire head and disappears underneath the black shirt he is wearing. 

His shoulders were stiff, pulled up to his ears. He brought his free hand to the front of his mask, making a shushing motion. The fear and urgency in his eyes made you pause all other thoughts. You shyly nodded your head in response, confused as to why you were suddenly lifted from the ground and pinned up in the trees with this man urging you to be quiet.

 This causes you to look down to see what was currently wrapped around your body, keeping you trapped. Flickering black tendrils cover your middle. It looks like smoke, but it can’t be because you can feel how heavy and cold the tendrils are against you. The smokey tendrils seem to be protruding from behind him, reminding you of spider legs.

 A past conversation flashes through your mind, mentions of a corporeal form and a shadowy dark void. So, this must be the aforementioned ii then, but it still doesn’t explain the position you currently find yourself in. 

The sounds of something sharp scraping against the broken path below you and low guttural groans and breathing sends fear straight through you, the realization that you are not as alone here as you thought you were, running aimlessly through the garden. 

Your eyes are open wide, staring at ii with fear evident on both your faces, he slowly removes his hand from over your mouth, his eyes silently begging you to stay quiet, but you know better than to scream or make any sounds because of the threat of whatever is stalking you both below. You know, whatever it is, finding the both of you would lead to nothing but pain and misery. 

A whirlwind of thoughts bounces around your skull. What if it’s Sleep? You don’t know if they are limited to that small room they spoke to you in or if they have a physical form, too. A cold sweat breaks out on your skin, making you feel clammy and sick to your stomach. The food you ate earlier threatens to come back up. 

 Sleep is probably so angry with you for ruining their plans and not agreeing to work with them. They probably decided to come and find you to seek revenge and punish you for your act of transgressions. As you slowly turn your head, images of unspeakable horrors and pain flash through your mind, scared as to who or what you will see.  

Looking down below you the best you can, your upper body is still wrapped tightly in ii’s unrelenting hold of smokey limbs, keeping you suspended high in the trees, hopefully, safe from whatever lurks below. The blood quickly drains from your face at the sight. A terrifying creature similar to the one from the fire but not quite standing underneath you, two large axes in each hand dragging loudly on the stone. 

In place of a head was a huge metal square helmet of sorts, the metal armor that adorned their body, clinking with every labored step. The heavy metal covering every inch of their body, along with the dual weapons the creature wields, impeded their pace. 

With every step taken, the ground becomes rotten and dead, the scent of death and decay filling your nostrils, not helping your nausea in the slightest. Their covered head moved around as if scanning the area, searching for something. You have a feeling that you are exactly what they are looking for, and you don’t want to find out what will happen if they do find you; the aura exhibited by them is nothing but malignant. 

You remember hearing stories from people wandering in the woods or forest about how when a deadly predator is nearby, all other sounds, animals, and even insects go quiet, and an uneasy, heavy stillness fills the air. You always thought they were exaggerating, trying to make the encounter seem scarier than it actually was, but now you know that in reality, the feeling is ten times worse.

 Everything is so quiet; you are certain you would be able to hear a pin drop a mile away. You are too scared to even breathe, fearing it will alert the creature to your presence, you know you won’t be able to hold your breath for much longer. 

Your lungs are burning, begging you to relent and allow yourself to take a breath, but you fight the feelings even as your ribs spasm in protest, and you become lightheaded. Any second now, you will be forced to give in, potentially alerting the creature to your exact location. 

Through some miracle or stroke of luck, the creature jerks forward as if in pain, twitching its head wildly and letting out a loud groan of pain from underneath the helmet, allowing your frantic gasp for air to go unnoticed.

You turn away from the creature, not being able to stand to look at it any longer for fear it will feel your stare and alert them to your position. Something about the actions of the creature convulsing in pain reminds you of how you reacted similarly when Sleep was speaking to you, digging around inside your mind and trying to force you to obey. 

You clench your eyes shut as you feel more of the heavy tendrils wrap around you before you feel the wind hitting your tear-stained cheeks.  --------------

Seeing the opportunity to escape ii manifests more of his shadows, securing you close to him as he sets off through the trees, hoping to get far away from the creature undetected. His body flickers between his physical and corporeal form as he takes you both to safety.

 The others would not be pleased if he allowed you to get hurt under his watch, and falling victim to the wrath of that diabolical demon was not a fate he wanted to witness happening to anyone ever again; the memory of Vessel screaming in agony still haunts his dreams. 

The physical and mental wounds Vessel sustained never have healed fully. No matter how much he tries to conceal his hurt, the others can see how much Vessel continues to suffer because of what it did to him. 

As ii dodges through the trees, farther and farther away from the creature and the decaying area, the air once again becomes light, a sweet scent filling the air. Allowing both of you to breathe easier, he feels your stiff body shivering against him as the cold air continuously hits your exposed skin. 

ii assumes that you probably do not want to go back to Vessel and the others just yet, especially after seeing the way you desperately ran out and into the garden in a frenzy, undeniably at the point of a mental breakdown. 

A reaction they are all familiar with after a bad encounter with Sleep, something he recalls has been occurring more and more recently. Lately, everything has been amiss with their deity, sanctuary, and, frankly, the whole garden. 

Though some places remain the same comforting spaces they have always been, in the heat of the moment, ii decided that you more than likely needed somewhere to relax and collect yourself before you ended up doing something that you will regret. 

He sees the opening in the trees now, leading to his favorite place in the entire garden. He gracefully lands on a large branch, looking down into the clearing before dropping all the way down onto the stone-laced ground with a soft thud. 

ii lowers you to the ground, leaning you against the rock wall, and crouches down a little bit away from you. Not wanting to invade your space and risk scaring you any more than you already are, especially after everything that has happened to you. 

During the entire journey, you kept your eyes firmly squeezed shut. When you felt his cold smoke appendages disappear into thin air, you slowly opened your eyes, zeroing in on ii. He crouched down in front of you, trying to make himself seem smaller, his head tilted to the side, eyeing you cautiously. 

“That was a close one, huh? Are you okay? You aren’t hurt, are you?” he questioned you, his bright blue eye showing nothing but warmth and comfort, a sight you are not used to seeing directed at you. 

His genuine concern being shown towards your well-being is your final breaking point; tears flow freely from your eyes, your chest constricting, hyperventilating the feeling as if the whole world is collapsing around you and there is nothing you can do about it. 

You bring your hands up to your head, tangling your fingers in your hair in frustration, screaming out in agony. 

“Why me?! I can’t seem to catch a break, not at home. Not here, it’s like I truly don’t belong anywhere; no matter where I go, there’s nothing but trouble.” your breathing is labored, your voice strained in a painful manner, but once you started, you couldn’t stop, “I am so sick of this, of all of this. I just want it all to end; I physically cannot do this anymore.” 

All fight and any sense of hope slips through your fingers, disappearing out of your reach. ii grabs your face, forcing your attention solely on him. His eyes stare straight into your soul, and his painted black thumbs rub your inflamed cheeks in a soothing motion. 

“You’ve been through a lot, not only in the short amount of time you have been here but your whole life, huh?” he murmurs solemnly before continuing, “Please, don’t give up. Don’t leave us, we need you, we want you here with us. Let us help you.” 

With every word he spoke, it was like he was casting some sort of spell over you, calming your nerves. Your cries have died down into small hiccups and sniffling, “I don’t know how. It’s so hard and becoming all too much for me to handle.” your voice is nothing but a mere whisper.

“That’s where we come in. You are not alone. We will always be there for you. All you have to do is ask.” ii removes one of his hands from your cheek, using his sleeve to gently wipe your face clean of tears and other bodily fluids. His eyes crinkle in a small smile beneath his hardened mask. “No matter the cost of rain, we will shelter you all the same.” 

Something about his last sentence instantly gives you a strange sense of calming nostalgia, a long-forgotten feeling that silences all other overwhelming thoughts and emotions, allowing you to finally feel the warmth of his touch seeping into your very soul. 

He leans forward delicately, placing his forehead against yours, his eyes fluttering shut at the contact. You bask in each other's company for a few seconds before pulling back, giving your cheek one last caress before dropping his hand back at his side. 

ii leans back on his haunches, observing you, making sure that you are as ok as you can be, with all things considered. He wasn’t good at consoling people, not the same way that Vessel is, but he still tried his best to reassure you that you are not alone. 

Taking a moment to actually catch your breath, you begin to scope out your surroundings. Instead of being in the midst of the trees, flowers, and everything else you have slowly become accustomed to during your time here, this place was vastly different. 

This area was more like a rock quarry, a drastic change of scenery. A hue of grey and blue fills your vision. Just over ii’s shoulder, near the back rock wall, stands a very small-looking monument, reminding you instantly of one of the old Gothic buildings you have seen in period pieces. The building is one of the most beautiful pieces of architecture you have ever seen. 

The once white stone it was made of was now grayed a bit due to weathering, but the beauty was ever-present. Due to the small size of the building, you are not able to completely make out any distinguishing features. 

“A majestic sight, innit?” ii lets out a longing sigh, turning to look out into the quarry, a peaceful aura flowing off him in waves. 

ii found this place when he was brought here by Sleep, stumbling around in pain, trying to figure out how to control his abilities. Ever since he first laid eyes on you relaxing within the spring iv and iii brought you to, he couldn’t help but see reminders of his past self within you.

 ii struggled greatly in the beginning, unable to consistently stay in this physical form for more than a few seconds, always reverting back into the shadows, scared and alone. He didn’t like it in the darkness at first, the cold shadows sucking the life out of everything they touched, persistently feeding on every lifeforce within a few feet of him. 

As a result, ii relates to how you feel, angry at the world for how it has treated you, bottling up everything not wanting to let anyone in, and constantly scared of getting hurt. 

In return, you isolate yourself from everyone until, eventually, the only person you feel like you can trust is yourself. But even then, in the night, lies floating around inside your mind, poisoning what little hope and self-love you have until there is nothing left. 

He remembers those feelings like it was yesterday, pushing away Vessel. ii was so angry at him seemingly for no real reason at all in reality, he was just scared of hurting his only other companion at the time. Oh, how he wishes that he could go back and accept Vessel’s help from the beginning; it would have saved them both a lot of time and pain. 

 Nevertheless, he knows that even through all the torment and harsh words ii put Vessel through, the taller man has never regretted helping him and would do it all over again for each and every one of them, you included. In fact, there is not a doubt in his mind that all of them would go through hell and back for you; he doesn’t think they could bear losing you a second time. 

Distant memories of the past make his heart clench painfully. He won’t fail this time; he won’t allow it. As he stands motionless, lost deep in thought, you take the opportunity to explore the magnificent sight before you. 

Standing, you make your way farther into the quarry. The loose rocks crunch satisfyingly beneath your feet. You look up at the huge rock wall sealing the area. It looks as if the ground just opened up one day, creating a massive chasm within this world. It makes you briefly wonder if this is the result of some sort of earthquake or maybe the doing of Sleep. 

You shake the thought from your mind, deciding it was probably best not to think about the deity right now lest you get sent into another panic attack. You really don’t want to create a new person best for panic attacks within a twenty-four-hour period. 

Etched into the rocks, you are able to make out more of those runes. You should really ask what’s the deal with them, since everywhere you go they are carved, painted, or drawn somewhere. However, the more you look at the ones here, you realize they look different then the ones from before. 

Whereas the ones before looked like they represented an alphabet-type writing, the ones here seemed to be more like symbols representing something entirely different. You aren’t sure how you would know that, but this isn’t the first time since you’ve been here that you’ve seen or heard something that you’ve felt you recognize from somewhere, perhaps in another life. 

This chasm isn’t completely barren of plant life, as you first thought. Strange brambles seem to peek out from underneath the rocks in the ground, leading straight to the monument. Every so often, out of the corner of your eye, you can see the bramble twitching and moving, disappearing from view. In spite of that, you feel an unusual sense of security emitting from it. 

When you finally reach the monument, you place a careful hand against the cold rock, tracing the ridges and designs with your finger. Even with the sun shining brightly behind the huge monument, it is still very cool to the touch, almost as if that is the way it is always meant to be. 

Standing in the shadow and away from the warmth of the sun, combined with the unexpected breeze that seems to appear from nowhere down here, creates goosebumps on your arm, but it is not an unwelcome feeling. 

A voice cuts through the silence, startling you, “This place has always granted me solace, and I hoped it would do the same for you.” 

You whip around your back, pressed firmly against the monument, a hand against your chest, trying to calm your racing heart. You never even heard him walk up behind you. Were you really that lost in admiring the markings that you failed to notice his approaching footsteps? 

“Apologies, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” 

 You gasp out, “How did you do that? I didn’t even hear you?” 

ii lets out a mischievous hum before you watch as his entire body fades into black, disappearing into the shadow cast onto the ground where you stand. You glance around frantically, letting out a shocked laugh, stepping out, trying to see where he went. 

“Boo,” whispers ii, his voice right next to your ear coming from behind you. 

You jump around to see him standing nonchalantly with his hands stuffed into his pants pockets, but if you were certain if he were to take off the mask covering his face, you would be able to see a sly smirk covering his face. 

“Are..are you a wraith or something?” 

He shrugs his shoulders in response, “You could call it something like that. The short version is that I can control the darkness to some extent, still working out the kinks and everything.” He rubs the back of his neck, his shoulders slumping forward, a wave of exhaustion oozing from him. 

“Oh,” you say, not really sure how to respond, not wanting to say the wrong thing. You get the feeling that sometimes their abilities aren’t what it is cracked up to be, like there’s something they aren’t sharing with you about everything. 

A somewhat awkward silence fills the air around you two as the movement of his fingers pulls your gaze. The rhythmic tapping of his fingers against his leg plays a familiar beat. Suddenly, you realize you’ve been hearing that same rhythm echoing down from the trees during your entire trek to Vessel’s place. 

You point an accusing finger at ii, “Was that you making that noise that whole time? Have you been following me?” You’re not mad or scared; you're just mainly confused. If he has been there this whole time, why did he wait so long to interact with you? 

“Yes, it was me. It is not what you think. I’m not a stalker or anything; it’s just...” He pauses, trying to figure out the best way to explain to you that he was just nervous that you would be scared and untrusting of him. He knows that he would not be able to live with seeing that look of pure terror in your eyes directed towards him, so he stayed away, observing you from his shadows until he had no choice but to intervene. 

His fingers continued tapping against his leg, the beat getting faster, a nervous tick, perhaps, you thought to yourself. The beat eerily reminded you of the song Vessel was singing when you first met him. 

You tentatively place one of your hands over his. " It’s okay. I am sure you had your reasons. I am thankful that you helped me; I don’t think I mentioned it.” 

“Like I said earlier, we will always be here for you.”

You give him a small smile in response, looking down at the ground, still feeling inadequate, with a lot of self-doubt and the weight of his kind blue eyes becoming too much, especially when he looks at you like that, the same way you saw iii and iv looking at each other with eyes full of nothing but love and contentment. 

As you stare down at the shadow, you notice the constant flickering behind ii, subtle rippling as if his shadow is alive and its own sentient being. You wonder briefly if it’s painful the constant shadow, the dark void waiting and calling you in, never to be found again, or perhaps you are just projecting your own thoughts and fears on the shadows. 

ii walks past you, placing his hand against the cool rock of the monument like you had moments earlier, a gentle touch as thick shadows spread out from underneath his hand, weaving through the carvings and cracks engulfing the entire thing in inky black shadows. It becomes an entirely new building standing in front of you, and a door has appeared underneath his hand. 

You let out a surprise gasp, astonished by the sight, the runes and carvings seemingly glowing now, “What do these sigils and stuff mean? I keep seeing them everywhere?”

He slides his hand down the door before letting it hang limply by his side, tilting his head back, his eye trailing over the glowing runes before turning to face you fully. 

“The workings of Sleep, most of them are their words and sort of commandments to us, their followers. Others are words and rituals we have written as offerings or prayers towards Sleep.” 

He glances down as if looking for the right words: "Things were not always like they are now. Something has changed. Vessel has been trying to fix it, make things go back as they were, but I fear it might already be too late.” 

Hearing him speak so pessimistically doesn’t feel right; you don’t like seeing him or any of them upset, so you take this as an opportunity to help to be one to finally provide some comfort, “don’t you give up now either, you never know things could work out and be okay in the end.” 

As you speak, you slowly walk forward, placing your hand on his, which once again begins frantically tapping against his thigh. When your warm skin makes contact with his colder-painted hand, he looks down at the welcomed contact, seizing the moment and intertwining his finger with yours. 

“You are right. We must have faith and continue to prevail.” He looks into your eyes, unshed tears brimming in his waterline, “come with me.” 

He pulls you along with him towards the entrance of the monument before using his free hand to push the door open with little to no effort on his part.  The inside was an almost exact replica of the outside nothing really on the inside, just flickering smokey shadows seeping into every corner. 

“I used to come here a lot. It was my safe haven. At first, it was the only place where I did not feel as if I had to be in constant control of what I was.” His thumb rubs your knuckles in a soothing motion. 

“So, I thought this would be a good place for you to relax until you feel ready to see the others again. I didn’t want to take you back to them immediately and overwhelm you.” 

It makes sense that this place would bring him a lot of comfort, even though at first glance, with all the impending shadows and tendrils, it could be considered an eerie sight. However, after taking a closer look and getting a better feel of the place, you realize how inviting everything is.

The room was no bigger than a very small closet, but it didn’t feel claustrophobic in fact, it felt quite the opposite. The shadows flowing around remind you of a tapestry swaying in the wind. The ground was covered in thick cushions and blankets; this place was his own personal safe haven, and he was openly inviting you inside with him, this thought warms your heart significantly.

You allow him to pull you into the tiny but cozy room before motioning for you to join him on the cushions, slipping your hand from his and placing them in your lap. You let out a small yawn, the events of everything catching up to you now that you’ve had a moment to decompress. 

The horrible talk you had with Sleep, running wildly in the garden, almost coming face to face with another one of Sleep’s creatures, and lots of crying. 

ii sits beside his shoulders, brushing against yours with every intake of breath. " You can take a nap if you want, or just rest your eyes.”

The thought of taking a short nap sounds very appealing right now. You have to admit you are still a little apprehensive because the last time you fell asleep here, you had terrible nightmares, and you do not wish for the same thing to happen again. 

ii must see the anxious look on your face because he adds, “I will be here with you. I won’t leave your side if you do not wish me to.” 

You once again find yourself staring into his bright blue eyes. Why does everyone here have the most beautiful eyes you have ever seen? 

“Ok, I think it would be better if you stayed, please.”

“Of course, here.” He says as he straightens his legs out, patting his thigh, indicating that you can rest your head in his lap if you want to. 

He makes himself more comfortable, leaning back against the wall. The shadows come to life once again behind him, making it look like he is about to be absorbed into the darkness. 

You slide your body so you are lying on your side, lowering your head onto his thigh. As you close your eyes, hoping that sleep comes fast, you feel ii slowly dragging his fingers along your spine, drawing different types of patterns.  ---------------

You have been asleep for a few minutes now, ii listening closely to your slow, even breathing, the sound reassuring him greatly. He knows that you are safe here, surrounded by his shadows, but he can’t help the nagging feeling deep within his soul that, sooner or later, it is all going to fall apart. 

ii is absentmindedly drumming his fingers against your back, careful not to wake you. He ponders to himself how different things used to be, even though Sleep was still a bit rash and cruel sometimes. The deity was much more loving and forgiving towards them all, then one day, it was as if a switch flipped for no real reason at all. 

It all started when he, iii, and iv were all attacked by Sleep’s main punisher, and if it wasn’t for Vessel stepping in and saving them all, they surely would have been killed. Though their rescue did come at a heavy price, something they all regret deeply, wishing there had been something they could have done to save Vessel from that terrible fate. 

Ever since that day, Sleep has become more and more malevolent and vengeful, acting as if they had all somehow wronged them. Even through all the pain and torment they have been put through, Vessel still remains ever faithful towards Sleep continuously praying towards him and offering different types of worship every day. 

Occasionally, ii will catch iii and iv doing the same, trying to potentially get back in their god’s good side, wanting things to go back as they were. 

ii does not know how they can all do that so easily, putting aside the way they have been treated by Sleep, followed relentlessly by the creatures waiting to pounce on them at even given moment, looking for any signs of weakness that can be used against them.

 He is angry at the suffering he has had to watch all of his companions go through, struggling to find out who and what they are. Isolating themselves, trying to do whatever it takes to pick up the pieces and put themselves back together from their past lives while also trying to navigate the new life they found themselves in.

 So, yeah, ii does find it a little difficult to want to go back to Sleep completely, and as devoted as he was before, he did not deserve this; none of them did, and he has grown to be a little resentful much to Vessel’s dismay. 

The sounds of the rocks crunching on the other side of the door pull him out of his thoughts. He watches as the door slowly cracks open, allowing more light inside the small safe haven. Vessel appears in the doorway, his large frame taking up most of it, towering over where he sits with you in his lap, sleeping soundly. 

“I thought I would find you both here; the others were beginning to get worried when you did not immediately return.” 

The sun, now having moved higher in the sky, appeared over Vessel’s shoulders in the doorway, giving him an ethereal glow and causing the gems on his shoulders to shine brightly, the feathers fluttering slightly in the breeze.

Vessel peers down at your sleeping face, seeing you look much more relaxed and at ease than he last saw you. He much prefers this look on your face rather than ones of fear, anticipation, and pain. 

“How are they?” Vessel asked, fearing to know the answer, wishing he had been there to catch you before you left his sanctuary. 

ii also looks down at you, “I was almost too late to save them not only from it but also from themselves. Vessel,”

 He looks up to stare into the multiple eye holes in his mask. " What are we going to do? It’s only going to get worse the longer they’re here with Sleep like this. Luckily, this place, the runes, offers some reprieve from the effects, but it won’t last for long.”  

“Do not worry, I have a plan, but for now, we should head back lest iii and iv get any ideas of venturing out here as well.” 

The sounds of voices breaking through the silence pull you from your slumber. Peeking your eyes open, you are momentarily blinded by the light shining in the doorway. You squint your eyes, allowing them to adjust to the sudden light before your vision focuses properly on Vessel. 

You sit up stretching as best you can in the small now cramped space with three people, your joints popping in protest as the movement. 

“Ah, good, you have arisen. When you are ready to travel, we should head back to the others they have been awaiting your return rather vehemently.” Vessel uttered nonchalantly. 

When the others were mentioned, your movements became stiff, and you jerked your full attention to the man standing above you. 

Quickly rising to your feet, a pleading look etched on your face, you said, “I am so sorry. I should have listened to you and iv’s warnings, but I just wanted some answers finally. And I just don’t belong…”

Vessel's hand silenced your rambling. “Do not fret over such matters. We were just worried for your safety, but alas, you have been in good company, " he declared, pointing a finger at ii, who now stood beside you and nodded in return. 

Vessel steps backward, allowing you to exit the small monument. You step out into the sunlight feeling so much better than before, your mind and chest feeling exponentially lighter. Something looks and feels different. You turn around to look at the monument, expecting to see it shrouded in shadow with the runes shining through. 

However, much to your surprise, the outside looks completely different from how you would imagine it to look if all of the magical power were to be drained from it.

 The runes now cracked and ruined, no longer look pristine, and the shadow that once covered them from ii can barely be seen. Only a subtle ring around the bottom gives any indication that they were ever there in the first place. 

“Come let go; there is much I wish to speak to you about when we arrive.” Vessel holds out his hand, smiling down at you. 

It stands beside you, staring at you encouragingly as you reach out. Place your free hand in Vessels, interlocking your fingers with his, feeling safe between the two men. 

You remain apprehensive of what Vessel wishes to show you, but you are willing to follow him anywhere if it means you can continue to stay in his embrace. 

You are curious as to how exactly you three are going to get out of this place, considering you are in a deep chasm of rubble.

 You did not have to wait long to get your answer, as the bramble that peeped through the rocks came to life slithering around on the ground and on the wall of the crater, tangling together and slowly morphing into a makeshift staircase leading out. 

You gasped at the sight before you, wondering just what the hell was happening. You heard Vessel laughing at your reaction, smiling widely with his canines on display, causing you to feel butterflies in your stomach.

 Something you have not felt in years, a feeling you quite honestly did not think you would ever feel again, the fear is back the fear of the unknown but you refuse to let it consume you again just when you finally began to feel like a person again. 

Vessel ascends the first step, stopping when he feels his grip on your hand lessen. He tugs you forward carefully. You look down at the step, the interwoven bramble looking very sturdy, but you can’t help but feel a little bit cautious, as you are, of course, not used to things like this happening all of a sudden. 

Plus, knowing the luck you have had ever since you arrived here, halfway up, the bramble would snap, causing you to fall, probably causing significant injuries and, more than likely, death. You glimpse up at Vessel. The everpresent smile is gracing his features as he awaits your decision. You can do this, you think to yourself. 

“Just don’t let go of my hand, please,” you whisper 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

Gradually, you step up on the first step, following Vessel closely behind, squeezing his hand probably more than you should be, but he didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. You chose to stare at his back, where you could barely make out his shoulder blades underneath his green cloak, the muscles flexing with every step. 

On his cloak, you can barely make out what seems to be two vertical lines that are parallel to one another on both of his shoulder blades, almost as if the material was not made sewn together at first but was, later on, a peculiar detail. 

The feathers swayed with the motion, looking sift to the touch. You had to refrain from reaching out to grab one, instead focusing on making sure you didn’t slip and fall, further embarrassing yourself.

You feel bad for Vessel for forcing him to hold your sweaty hand the whole time. The small staircase suddenly becomes neverending, or so it seems to you, at least. Every so often, the bramble beneath your feet groans and makes unsettling snapping noises. 

Your only saving grace now was that you could see top just ahead, safe, even ground that wouldn’t suddenly give out underneath you. 

You hop up the last remaining step, never more grateful to be standing on grass. You expect to see ii ascending the remaining steps behind you instead, you meet with nothing but air. 

Furrowing your eyebrows, you scan the area for the masked man only to find him leaning against a tree, his arms crossed over his chest without a care in the world. 

ii pushes himself off the tree, feigning impatience, “It sure took you both long enough. I have been waiting up here all by my lonesome for so long.” 

Your sweaty hand easily slips from Vessel’s as you stomp over to ii, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “How did you get up here before us?” 

“The same way I got down there,” he replies a tensing tone in his voice. 

An exasperated expression quickly overtakes your face, throwing your arms up in frustration, “And why didn’t you help us up here the same way? Instead, we had to take the stairway to hell!” 

ii simply shrugs his shoulders, “and miss out on the entertaining show, I think not.” 

The sound of the brambles moving, breaking down, and returning to their previous position pulls you out of your murderous fantasy. Vessel appears, clasping hands on both of your shoulders. “Come now. I know of a shortcut.”

 ii not realizing how lucky he is because you were about to throttle him right then and there if it wasn’t for Vessel stepping in when he did. 

----------------

The journey back did not take long at all, though you were zoned out for most of the walk, plotting revenge against ii for his most heinous act of treason against you. 

The white cathedral is once again in front of you. The doors slam open as iii and iv run out, making a beeline straight for you. 

The taller of the two leading the way, his long legs giving him the advantage, as soon as you are within arm's length, iii picks you up with little to no effort, shaving his masked face into your neck and pinning you against his chest. 

His red hair obscures your vision, and with your arms stuck to your side, you are left to awkwardly pat his side trying your best to return the unexpected affection. 

A sad noise comes from behind iii, causing him to put you back on the ground and mutter an apology that doesn’t seem very sincere: " I'm just so excited to see you again.” 

iv quickly takes iii’s place, but in a much more tame fashion. He wraps his arms around your shoulders, pulling you into him and letting out a quiet hum of contentment. 

As you wrap your arms around his middle, you think that maybe ii was right, that maybe you are wanted here.

[egg-but-with-style]

König is legit like a cryptid.

You're just like walking in nature, minding your business then be comes waltzing out of the woods, covered in blood with a deer over his shoulders, may I mention the deer has knife wounds, so he didn't even shoot it?? He's all like "Hallo, I did not know you enjoyed nature"

Now he's kinda hovering over you, looking like a serial killer with his very dead deer. Why did he even need to kill a deer? They fed him at the mess hall, and even gave him the right portions!

You weren't really intimidated by any men on base, except for him. He was just so..odd. now you have to make conversation or he'll start saying something strange. "Yeah..I..I like taking walks.." then, with a sickening crack, rips off an antler attached to the deer and hands it's to you. It was a big one too. "I have enough antlers. You should get some too."

Then he pats your head and walks up the trail, back to base, leaving you confused, holding a deer antler which actually was kinda cool. You wondered if he was human sometimes

[naffeclipse]

Desert Light

Cryptid Sightings/Signs of Life Crossover

Commission Info

My dear friend @jackofallrabbits commissioned me for a darling little crossover of Cryptid Sightings and their fic, Signs of Life, with @maudiemoods's permission, of course. If you haven't read Signs of Life, you really should and you can find it right here! I had so much fun writing both the cryptid hunter and the scientist interacting, and both monster boys are delightful here! I hope you enjoy <3

———

At nightfall, the desert is dipped in inky blues under a starry sky spilling over the entire expansion over your head. You forget how big the desert feels without trees or mountains to cut into its horizon as if the very heavens are staring down at you with twinkling eyes. The dry ground becomes darkness littered with muted sagebrush. The road is cracked and sunbleached, rocking your dark green truck and airstream. Along the lonely stretch of road, a convenience store with fluorescent lights cuts through emptiness like an oasis of gasoline, candy bars, and potato chips.

Moon hunches low in the passenger seat. Pale eyes gaze at you through the dimness within the truck's cabin. Patches along his nightcap catch on stray starlight, winking on the stitches you sewed by hand.

“It’s late,” he rasps in a low voice.

“I know, sweetie,” you sigh and rub your eyes while keeping one hand on the wheel. “We’re almost there.”

“You’re tired.” His hand strays across the seat to rest on your leg. His cool digits jolt you gently back to alertness.

“It’s only half an hour more,” you give ruefully. “Let’s stop here. I’ll grab a soda then we’ll be on our way.”

He grumbles, vibrating his animatronic vessel with displeasure. A word against caffeine is surely on his tongue, but the jostling from pulling the truck and airstream onto the cracked pavement underneath the almost neon-white light of the gas pumps cuts him short.

The desert hosts paranormal encounters ranging from the chupacabra to aliens. The latter is why you ventured here. Without F.E.I. providing you exact intel and evidence, it’s up to you to conduct your research and discover possible sightings but what you’ve unearthed so far has been solid.

This one in particular speaks of an alien. A towering but thin, long-limbed being spotted around a motel just as remote and lonely as this convenience store. You throw the truck in park and hop out. A lone car is parked alongside the building and another is parked further away, as if trying to hide away from the lights.

Soundlessly behind you, despite the bells tied around his wrists with ribbons, Moon appears like a metallic shadow. Hopefully, the convenience store attendant isn’t against animatronics in their store. He tilts his head for a moment towards the outermost vehicle, his pale optics narrowing before he follows after you.

If he sensed a heartbeat hiding in the darkness, he would have told you.

You pull open the door with a quiet jingle announcing your entrance. A small sign, old and worn, on the checkout counter promises the attendant will be back in a few. You deflate slightly. You had hoped to ask someone in this area about the sightings.

“There’s someone here,” Moon murmurs close to your ear like a breath from a ghost.

Quiet footsteps echo back beside the fridge section of drinks, concealed by shelves of beef jerky, peanut butter cookies, and chocolate bars. Curious, you strive forward. You might still have a chance to speak to the lone employee who may be restocking the cases of beer or soda, but when you round the corner with a cool presence at your back, you stop still.

A person straightens, clutching a few water bottles to their chest, their eyes immediately landing on you, framed in glasses. You look down to the hoodie they wear: dark fabric with a green alien face; a charming, stereotypical depiction of extraterrestrials. Do they sell those here?

“I like your hoodie.” You smile. “Do you work here?”

The person immediately fixes their glasses and beams. “Thank you. It’s a bit too warm for this climate but it’s cute. No, I don’t work here. Is that an animatronic with you?”

You blink but turn back to allow Moon more of an audience with the curious stranger. He regards them with a coolness but no malice. You give a slow nod.

“This is my friend, Moon.” 

The stranger steps closer, studying him with vim and vigor before adjusting the many water bottles in their arms. Underneath their arm, tucked into their armpit is a notebook. They lift a hand towards Moon.

“What model are you?” they ask, eager. “How long have you gone without maintenance? Your wires are exposed and your endoskeleton could use a polish.”

Moon stares. A slight twitch runs through his limbs. You step back between Moon and the stranger, your pulse jumping slightly at the spew of questions—many that have no good answers. Could they be familiar with where Eclipse found their half-burned, abandoned vessel?

You introduce yourself quickly, keeping Moon behind you and out of reach of the stranger. “What’s your name?”

They slowly lower their hand, disappointed. “Ah.” They’re silent for a moment, and you can see the gears working in their mind before decidedly saying, “You can call me Doc.”

That’s funny. Surely it must be a nickname though you have no qualms with a stranger giving you whatever moniker they please, but Moon’s hand falls to your shoulder. His digits curl slightly over your collarbone, as if in warning. Right.

“Alright. Doc,” you smile.

They smile back. “Is your animatronic—”

“I’m sorry,” you say, very apologetically but firmly, “but I was hoping I could ask you a few questions about happenings in this area.”

Doc grows still, their expression guarded. You catch their eyes flickering towards the door and then landing back on you.

“What are you referring to exactly?” they ask tentatively, almost nervously.

“There have been reports of unusual occurrences in this part of Nevada.” You wish you bought your book of cryptid information with you. If they’ve seen anything, you will need to write it down. Instead, you focus on slowly bringing them into your question. If you went around asking any person if they saw aliens right off the bat, no one would take you seriously. “Have you seen anything strange or simply unexplainable?”

“UFO sightings in Nevada are very common,” they say so bluntly, it causes you to blink. They set the water bottles down on a shelf occupied with chip bags and shift the notebook closer to their chest, holding it like a shield. “Did you know that Nevada has the highest rate of UFO sightings per capita in the U.S.?”

“I did know that,” you say, impressed that they know it as well. You lean closer in your curiosity. Do they believe in cryptids? “Have you researched such things before?”

They fix their glasses and lower their hand back to their book only to lift it again and fidget. 

“Recently I have,” they admit.

A coolness radiates behind you. In the corner of your vision, Moon tilts his head. The bell on the end of his nightcap falls over his shoulder. What doesn’t he like? Surely they can’t be a rulebreaker. Moon would have reacted much less pleasantly to such a person. 

They touch their glasses again, and the frames fall slightly askew on their face. “Have you heard anything about an alien?”

You brighten with the question. At last.

“Yes. That’s why I’m here,” you hold a hand to your chest, “to locate any confirmation or evidence about an alien sighting near a motel a little ways from here. Nothing has been reported as violent, but it’s most likely an incident will occur soon unless properly dealt with.”

Their hands furl and unfurl, anxiously touching their glasses, pushing them up the bridge of their nose, and shifting. Are they alright?

“Most of the time sightings of cryptids, including aliens, are just everyday objects seen from a weird angle,” they ramble slightly. 

You pause, watching them. Are they afraid to tell you what they saw? You’ve encountered poor, terrified people who fear even speaking a word of what they’ve experienced will mark them as unstable and insane. Even worse, it might somehow lure the presence that frightened them in the first place back.

“Yes, that’s true,” you admit, but only half of the time. There have been a plethora of hoaxes, pranks, misunderstandings, and of course, misidentifications of objects that have been spun into debunking the cryptic world, but you carry the scars from a true encounter at the base of your thumb. “But have you witnessed anything you would consider to be unearthly?”

Do they know something they can’t seem to tell you about?

Doc shifts again. Their hand strays to the notebook they carry, and touch the well-worn spine. Is it as important to them as your cryptid book is to you?

“No,” they fidget a few times anxiously, “Is there anything I can do to help you with your animatronic? I am an engineer.” 

Moon twitches behind you. Their eyes immediately fall to the movement and frown.

“Are you experiencing a malfunction?” they ask, and start to reach out again. Moon clenches your shoulder tighter.

“No, no!” You hold up your hands defensively. “That’s very generous to offer, but Moon is fine, thank you.”

They frown. Unconvinced, they continue to pry around your person to stare at the cryptid possessing a vessel. You’ve never had this problem before. So many people are put off by the strange, inexplicable presence of a demonic cryptid—a sixth sense warning of danger, but Doc heeds no such deterrents.

“He is experiencing micro spasms which may be a symptom of a conduction failure in his wires or a deeper issue within his processor.” They face Moon entirely, and he stares back unblinkingly. “When was the last time you went in for routine maintenance?”

“We don’t need maintenance,” he rasps. You cover his hand as it clenches you tighter still. A coolness swells around him and you hope Doc mistakes it for the coolness of the fridges.

Confusion twists their brow. Doc parts their lips to offer a rebuttal to a clear inconsistency with their framework and the fact of the matter, but Moon twists behind you. His grip never leaves your shoulder, his fingers digging into your collarbone as the jingle of the bell at the front of the store rings.

Then the lights flicker. A sharp fade of every light bulb overhead and even the light within the fridges drops the convenience store into darkness. Your heart tumbles in your chest. You didn’t bring your crossbow or your detector. Only a knife sits strapped to your hip, hidden by your patched, green jacket. 

Your eyes flash to Doc. You take them by the arm and their expression shifts to alarm behind their glasses.

“Move,” you whisper sharply. “Stay with me and be quiet.”

“I need to leave,” they say, strangely focused, but they don’t struggle when you guide them down the row of fridges to the last column of shelves in the back of the store. They don’t understand. Something else is here. Something not of this world. You must protect them from it.

Moon follows quietly behind you, his fingers spasming as they curl like claws. His pale eyes dip into crimson, alert and vicious. 

“Not a heart,” he mutters, and you glance at him. “Something else… Something strange.”

He stands between you, and your entire body clenches. A towering being begins to prowl under the flicker lights, slipping in through the door. You used to fear your dear friend placing themselves between you and the threat, but they are far more terrifying than any cryptid you have hunted.

The sharp contrast of the fluorescent light bulbs and the sudden darkness spears a sharp ache into your eyes. Carefully, you place Doc behind you, but they offer another protest again. 

“Be quiet,” you murmur firmly, “It’s going to be okay.”

“Ah, you don’t understand.” Doc’s eyes fall past you, towards the frosty doors of the fridges. “He’s—”

A sharp scratch of nails cutting over glass causes your shoulders to hunch up and a grimace to twist your face. You free the knife from your hip. It is the only defense you have for you and Doc. You should have been prepared for the alien to strike here, so close to the original sighting site, now creeping in close to find more precious victims to devour.

Doc reaches out, past you.

“You have to let me pass,” they say calmly. “He wants me.”

You turn to look over your shoulder, confusion painting you in flickering lights.

“Who does?” you ask.

The glass scratching stops. You stiffen, reading your knife as Moon tenses. Creeping from the row of fridges, a figure straightens. Tall and spindly, but with an unnerving aura of strength to his long limbs, an alien stands before you. Deep red and galaxy-speckled skin coats him, and you catch a strange symbol on one of his hands, like the moon eclipsing the sun. A dark hoodie with an alien ship covers his lanky form poorly—not unlike Doc’s. A sharp crown of jutting adornments sits upon his head. A waving veil of starlight falls behind his skull. 

His three eyes, bright and glinting, like a predator about to bounce, immediately find the person behind you. One eye is dark. His grin splits into a wide, hungry thing with razor-sharp teeth.

“My light,” his voice is low and dangerous, “I have been waiting for you.”

Behind you, Doc looks up at the towering, otherworldly beast, but there is no fear in their eyes.

“Stay back,” you immediately brandish your knife. Moon spreads his arm, ensuring that there is no passing him without going through him.

A dark chuckle falls from the creature.

“You dare think you can keep my light from me?” He spreads his arms, four limbs of sinew and bone, claws flashing with a desire to rip flesh from a body. “I will give you one chance to let my light go.”

Moon stands tall between him, silently gauging him like a proper opponent. Is the alien taller than your sweetie in their true form? You’re afraid he is.

“No,” you breathe, “You’re not taking them.” 

A soft sound arises behind you, distress mingling with breath. Doc must be terrified of the abrupt encounter. How could they have ever known an alien would mark them as his quarry?

A snarl rips through his chest, deep and vicious. His hands grope the surrounding shelves, fitting between cookies and candy bars. His hand swipes a few basic camping supplies, spilling ropes and canisters onto the ground. He catches a stainless steel one in his lower set of hands. In effortless brutality, the alien concaves the metal before his claws pierce the container entirely, crumpling it as if it were a soda can. Your gut clenches. 

“I will paint this tasteless floor in your blood,” the extraterrestrial growls, gnashing his teeth.

In response, a sharpness erupts from the sides of Moon’s chassis. Shadowy appendages, seeping black ooze over bony limbs with hands and claws of crimson, stand at the ready. You suck in a sharp breath.

“You will not touch a hair on our heart’s head,” an abysmal sound leaves the animatronic, layered and demonic.

The alien tilts his head, eyes widening at the challenge. 

“My, my, and what are you? No matter, I will tear you apart.” He laughs again, echoing with chilling amusement. Dread hooks deep into your belly.

“Eclipse, it’s okay.” Doc moves underneath your arm. 

Your knee-jerk reaction is fierce. You catch them by the back of their hoodie, scrunching fabric in your fist to keep them tethered close to you. They stop and look back at you. When they smile, it’s heavy. Guilt touches their edges, anchored by worry. 

“Ah. I know he’s frightening, but he’s not going to hurt anyone.” They tug on their hoodie, trying to loosen your grip. “You can let me go.”

“Yes, let them go,” the alien licks a dark tongue over his teeth, “and I might spare you all.”

“What—no, he’s…” you stumble over your tongue then stop, confused. “Do you know this cryptid?”

“Ah. Alien,” they correct you. “Yes. Eclipse would like me back now, please.”

Moon glances at Doc. Confusion pulses in his crimson gaze. The end of his nightcap falls over his shoulder. 

“They’re not afraid,” he rasps. He stares down at Doc’s chest. He can sense a heartbeat, the rhythm of it, and how fast it gallops in a person’s chest.

Your lips part wordlessly. 

There was a time when you believed cryptids were only monsters. Machines capable of great destruction and horror. You never dreamed a demonic cryptid would be capable of kindness and goodness, and care so much for little ones.

Your fingers slip from the fabric. Moon allows Doc to sweep underneath his arms. Their eyes fall to their shadowy limbs, and their hands shift to their notebook. Your heart clenches, caught in the camaraderie urge to take notes of your sweetie’s true form and fearing what Doc would do with such information. F.E.I. is still out there. There are other cryptid hunters. 

But they stop themselves. Fixing their glasses, they quickly step back into the alien’s reach. You clench the knife tighter, afraid as four pairs of hands descend upon them.

“We need to leave quickly,” Doc says as the alien kneels and hunches lower to look over the human, combing for harm or mistreatment. “We’ve already made a mess and stayed here for too long.”

“This isn’t a mess. Yet,” the alien answers, his voice murmuring like a lover in the night. The threat is not lost on you as Moon growls a warning. The alien flashes a smug smile, all teeth, and arrogance before he concludes his checkup on Doc. “Let’s go, my light.”

Doc nervously looks back at you, almost as if they would look to say more, explain, or even ask you about Moon’s extra, shadowy arms. Instead, they weakly wave, like this is a goodbye they wish didn’t have to happen.

The alien lifts them into his arms as if they weighed as much as a feather.

“Wait,” you step closer. Two arms, one metallic and blue, one shadowy and crimson, stop you. He keeps you back from the otherworldly being. “Are you safe?”

The alien scowls at you. Doc only smiles softly. 

“Yes, friend.” Their eyes linger on Moon. “You’re so impressive. I would love to know more about you.”

A ripple of what you think is jealousy takes over the alien. He turns away with a flash of teeth, and steps quickly, sweeping through the store and out the door with a sharp jingle. In moments, the alien carries the small human out into the night. You stand there, stunned. 

Moon straightens. “Their heart is still steady. They feel safe with him.”

Oh.

Moon slowly faces you, two arms touching your sides and holding you close. You lean into his embrace.

“I hope they are,” you murmur. The lights stop flickering in the gas station and the stars outside shine brighter in the darkness. A car speeds away, down the desert road.

[athenagc94]

Dear Daddy Long Legs - Chapter 20

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Some 18+ Content - MDNI - most of it is SFW and it is pretty obvious when NSFW will begin.

TW: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Body Dysphoria, Nipple Play, Making Out

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Chapter 20

Dear Brucie,

Did you know that’s what people call you?

I assume you do. How could you not? But I find it hard to believe you revel in the idea of people calling you “Gotham’s Favorite Himbo”. Not that being a himbo is a bad thing, but I want to believe you have more substance than that. A man is more than how many times he falls into a fountain, after all.

Twelve times, in case you were wondering.

You probably weren’t wondering.

I have some exciting news, and no, it has nothing to do with giving up my academic pursuits to live in rural Appalachia (though I stand by the argument from my last letter. The world needs more cryptids, and I could totally pull it off).

If you recall, I entered a writing competition in December. I never thought anything would come of it, but I just got a call saying I was a finalist! Your faith in me hasn’t gone in vain, and now, I have proof.

There’s a showcase in March. More details to come, but I’m allowed to brin two guests, and I think you should be one of them.

Only if you want to, of course.

Don’t feel pressured to come on my behalf, though it would be a good opportunity to properly thank you for your generosity. I don’t make it a habit to thank rich people for doing the bare minimum, but I also recognize that none of this would have happened without you.

Just a thought.

Actually, forget I mentioned it.

This is more than enough.

Jason sighed as he shoved your latest letter in his pocket. His head fell back against the gargoyle that loomed over him, serving as a quiet sentinel that overlooked the city. A rare blue sky stretched on as far as the eye could see. Normal people might bask in a nice day like this, but Jason preferred an overcast sky that carried the promise of rain. Perfect reading weather. But, alas, the sun was the least of his worries.

He should have expected a letter like this one sooner or later, but that didn’t make it any easier to stomach.

This web of lies had grown more complicated as the weeks wore on, with Jason was trapped at its center. Each tug and pull created a hopeless knot and a bigger mess. He wasn’t entirely sure how to break free, but he knew one thing for sure. While you might pretend like it wasn’t a big deal, having Bruce at your showcase would make you happy.

Jason wanted more than anything to see you happy, but Bruce had no idea you existed.

If you approached him at the showcase, his vapid attempts to placate you would sever the web of lies, leaving him in free fall. Jason convinced himself that wasn’t a fall he’d survive, but making Bruce care wasn’t a string he could pull. If it were that easy, the Joker would be dead, and Jason wouldn’t spend his holidays alone.

Maybe he could convince Dick to show up dressed as Bruce?

No, that was stupid. That only worked under the cowl.

He would figure something out before the showcase. Preferably a plan that didn’t involve someone prying into his personal affairs. The fact that certain members of the Bat-brigade knew you existed left him irritable.

Asking for help wasn’t his strong suit.

In fact, he loathed it with every fiber of his being.

Luca was right. Black Mask had enough men that allowed him to move at all hours of the day. Jason’s henchmen were good, but they weren’t detectives. Admitting to you that he had no one else to fall back on should the need arise opened his eyes to the gaps in his plan. Splitting his time between vigilante work, crime lord business, and spending time with you had spread him thin. Something had to give. Black Mask might not be a threat to Red Hood, but he didn’t want innocent bystanders to get hurt because he let something fall through the cracks.

He needed someone smart—both book and street.

And preferably someone with a neutral opinion of Red Hood.

That left him with fewer options on the list of willing vigilantes than he would have liked, but at least there were still options.

Jason rarely operated during the day, but he would grudgingly admit that Bruce trained him well. He knew the patrol routes by heart. All of them. He could pinpoint where a Robin would be down to the minute.

But Signal wasn’t a Robin.

He did things differently. Good on him for breaking away from the Bat-shaped mold. All of them did at some point, but his patrol routes didn’t make a lick of sense. One would think finding a guy dressed in neon fucking yellow would be easy, but it took the better part of the morning to track him down. Stooped in the shadow of the gargoyle, Jason felt oddly exposed with this many people milling about on a sunny day.

Signal came to him, landing at the feet of another gargoyle a few feet away. His uniform reflected the light in a way that left Jason squinting behind his visor.

“What the hell? Day patrols are my thing. You don’t see me stealing your thing, but I totally could. Watch me shred through Crime Alley waving a gun around like a dumbass.”

Maybe neutral wasn’t the right word for Duke’s opinion of him.

Jason pivoted to face him, still huddling between the feet of the gargoyle. “Good to see you too, Signal.”

Duke clucked his tongue. “What do you want? Your territory is on the other side of the city and it’s about…” He checked his wrist. Except he didn’t wear a watch. “…a lot of hours past your bedtime.”

Snarky fucker.

Jason respected it.

“I come in peace.”

“Yeah, no shit. Tim always said you were dramatic, but I hope you’d pick a more practical fighting ground if you wanted to jump me. You also wouldn’t wait for me to come to you.” He smacked his lips. “So, if you don’t want to fight, what do you want with me?”

“I need—” He gagged. Admitting he needed help out loud made him want to vomit. “I need some help.”

A tense beat passed between them.

“And you’re asking me?”

“Yes.”

“No offense to myself, but why?”

“Because you’re smart and you grew up on these streets like I did. You know them as well as I do.”

“I would argue Steph knows them better.”

Jason gritted his teeth. He had a point. Duke grew up in Gotham’s Narrows whereas Steph was born and raised on Park Row like him. While she was the logical choice, she’d be unbearably smug about the whole thing. Involving her would inevitably lead back to Tim and Cass. Cass, he could tolerate fine, but Tim was still on his shit list for telling you someone was reading the letters. His skin crawled just thinking about it.

So, no, he would not be asking Steph for help.

“But I want your help,” he insisted.

“Because if you asked anyone else, they’d involve the others.”

“See. I knew you were smart.”

Duke rolled his eyes, emphasized by the exaggerated flick of his head. “Right. I’m the chosen one because you think I won’t snitch. Thanks for that vote confidence, I guess, but whatever you need, I’m gonna have to pass. I already do day patrol alone. I don’t need your shit too.”

“I’ll make it worth your while.”

“I thought you didn’t sell to kids.”

Jason was ready to whip out a lecture on drugs and the lasting impacts they had on one’s life when he noticed the mischievous turn of his mouth. Duke was fucking with him. Wind stolen from his sails, he slumped and said, “I was going to offer to proofread your English papers for the rest of the semester.”

“Bold of you to assume I need help in English.”

This was going about as well as he expected. Unfortunately, Jason didn’t have a lot going for him that Bruce or one of the others couldn’t give Duke already.

“What do you want?”

“College essay topics. Apparently, the admission offices won’t be moved by the whole my parents were jokerized sob story. It isn’t unique enough to make me stand out, according to my advisor.” He heaved a heavy sigh. “I hate this city sometimes.”

“Preach.”

College essays were his bread and butter. Not that Jason ever made it that far, but sometimes, when he was feeling particularly spiteful about his lot in life, he’d start a college application knowing full well he’d never hit that submit button. It didn’t stop him from drafting dozens of essays that would bring a whole admission board to tears.

Fuck, maybe Tim was right.

He needed to get a life.

Or at the very least, a new hobby.

“I can think of a few topics that’ll help you stand out from the rest. We can workshop it.”

Duke shook his head in disbelief. “I expected more pushback. You must be desperate.”

“I need someone to watch my territory during the day. Black Mask is prepping for a comeback, and I don’t know what he has planned, but I’ve heard it’s going to be big. It’s possible he’ll try to make moves during the day to throw me off his trail and I physically can’t keep tabs on him at all hours of the day. You don’t have to do anything about it, but if you happen to see something—”

“Say something?” Duke cut in with a smirk.

“How are you more insufferable than the others?”

He shrugged. “You came to me, man. I’m entitled to make you work for it.”

This was precisely why he hated asking for help. He jumped in on the rare occasion they exhausted their list of eligible vigilantes, but when Jason needed something, he had to grovel like a dog.

But he was desperate, so he plastered on a smile and barked.

“Does that mean you’ll help me?”

“Sure. Fine. Whatever. I’ll add Park Row to my rotation.” He waved him off. “Now, can I get back to my patrol? I’ve been tracking a couple of Falcone’s guys all morning and I don’t want them slipping through my fingers because we decided to get chummy.”

“Want some help while I’m here?”

Duke smirked. “Only if you can keep up.”

Jason caught himself smile for real this time. “I’ll be running laps around you in no time.”

“Whatever you say, man.”

“And…” His throat tightened before he could finish, rejecting the words that gathered on the tip of his tongue. He cleared his throat and tried again. “And thanks for your help. I appreciate it.”

“How much psychic damage was that right now? 3—no, 6D6?”

“Fuck off.”

***

Jason landed outside your window a few hours later, joints aching and feet dragging across the icy grate. After helping Duke nab Falcone’s guys, he decided to follow a few weak leads to find Black Mask before his regular night rotation.

Nothing came of those leads, no surprise there, but now he had a few hours to rest before he headed out again. He could have gone to one of his safehouses, but he ended up outside your place instead.

Weird, he thought idly as he fiddled with your window.

He balked when it slid open, unlocked despite never mentioning he planned to stop by. Either his appearance had become so routine over the last few weeks that you expected him to come, or you never locked your window. Both options were bad, but one was arguably worse.

Glancing around, you were noticeably absent despite your bag and keys sitting on the kitchen table. Panic sparked in his chest as he stepped further into the room and called out, “Hello?”

“Wha—”

You popped up from where you sprawled out on the floor in front of the couch, a sheet of loose notebook paper stuck to your cheek. “Shit,” you mumbled as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes, “Is it that late already?”

He frowned. “You fell asleep with you window unlocked?”

“I was working on homework with the window unlocked,” you said around a yawn, “The nap took me by force, but would you look at that. No one broke in to kill me. Joyous day.”

Your blatant disregard for your safety would kill him.

Again.

Jason began the arduous process of removing the various layers of his uniform. Boot first, helmet, and so on, each movement automatic and practiced. “Has your workload gotten better yet?”

You laughed hollowly as you peeled the paper from your cheek. “I finished one of my readings before my nap, but I still have, uh, six more to go before Monday.”

He nodded along, listening, but only processing every third word or so. Now that he had finally slowed down, exhaustion settled over him like a wet blanket. “A nap sounds nice.”

You hopped onto the couch, arms resting along the frayed cushions as he fumbled with the various clasps and buckles on his harnesses. His coordination wasn’t nearly as fine-tuned as he would have liked. “It’s a little early for the full Hood getup, isn’t it?”

“Had some business to handle this morning, so I decided to stay out. I’ll head out again later.”

“Why would you do that to yourself?”

“Because I hate myself, apparently.”

You were quiet for a moment, the soft clack of metal buckles filling the empty air before you asked, “And you decided to come to my place because?”

Jason stopped, your question bringing a sudden burst of clarity that put everything into razor-sharp focus. He broke into your place and started stripping like he lived here, didn’t he?

“Because…” He wracked his brain, but there was no gas left in the proverbial tank. His hands fell from the buckles on his chest. “I don’t know why I came here.”

“Not that I’m complaining, mind you, but you look ready to keel over any second now.”

“It’s been a long week.”

A long month, a long year, a long life. He really should have asked for help sooner, but stubborn pride got in the way of things that ultimately helped him. Asking Duke had taken a lot out of him. There were a million ways involving Duke could go wrong, all of which he’d considered, but there were also a million ways it could go right. His bruised ego would survive, but for now, he was still feeling a little raw.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt. I can go if you need to focus.”

Your expression softened. “You’re welcome to nap in my bed while I work.”

He blinked. “You want me in your bed?”

“You make it sound like I have nefarious motives. I am a gentile English lady of the softest constitution, Mr. Darcy. Consider my modesty.” You tried to look offended, but the subtle crinkle around your eyes betrayed you. “I’m trying to be considerate. It’s more comfortable than sleeping on my shitty couch.”

Anything was better than the lumpy brick at his place. He woke with more knots on his back that Batman had batarangs. It was probably wiser to invest in a nicer mattress. He wasn’t getting any younger, and his work demanded he be in peak physical form, but he also had a bad habit of going with the cheapest option—side effect of always watching his money and all that jazz.

Again, when he tried to come up with a compelling argument as to why he shouldn’t, he came up short. “Fine,” he said with a shrug.

Once he discarded the rest of his things, he turned back to you, dressed in the thin underlayer of his uniform and his cargo pants slung low around his hips. “Can I wear this in your bed? I don’t want to get it dirty.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I had a problem with what you were wearing,” you said as your attention returned to your homework.

He took that at face value and staggered over to your bed, fading and fast. You decorated the queen-sized bed with pillows of varying shapes and patterns that seemed impractical for sleeping. It was, however, warm and inviting, like everything in your apartment, even as Jason hesitated at the foot of it.

“It won’t bite you, I promise.”

“I know that,” he shot back, sharper than he intended. His fuse shortened considerably when he was tired, but that was a him problem. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. It feels wrong.”

“Elaborate.”

“Sleeping in your bed.” His other hand curled and uncurled at his side before he added, “Without you.”

Mind to mouth filter?

Ha.

That didn’t exist now that he’d passed 36 hours without sleep.

You sat with that for a second before responding. “Did you want me to lay next to you?”

Ever the problem solver.

You made it sound like a reasonable request when reason played no part in his sleep-addled musings. This was purely selfish on his part, but now he felt less awkward saying, “Yes.”

The springs in your couch groaned as you stood, your sharp exhale sounding suspiciously like a laugh. He sensed your presence over his shoulder, still keen despite his exhaustion. You flopped onto the bed, a finger pressed between the pages of Shakespeare’s Titus Andronicus.

He chose to focus on that as he sprawled out next to you. “That’s one I haven’t read yet.”

“Really? I figured you’d be all over it given the plot.”

His brain was too muddled for the mental gymnastics it would take to figure out what you meant by that. A problem for later, he decided as he buried his face in one of your pillows. He all but moaned. They smelled like you—your shampoo, your laundry detergent, all the scents that created a potent concoction that left his head spinning. He pressed his face more deliberately into the velvet pillow edged with string tassels.

Mercifully, you didn’t comment on how weird he was being. “You’re welcome to read it when I’m done.”

“I’d like that,” was his muffled reply.

Silence followed.

One minute passed, then two. Jason adjusted and readjusted half a dozen times to get comfortable, but nothing felt quite right. He peered up at you, nose still buried in the pillow. You seemed content to sit beside him, fingers pressed to your temple as your eyes darted across the page. With his initial reservations falling by the wayside, Jason came to the startling conclusion that simply laying beside you wasn’t enough and he wanted more.

He rolled onto his side. “Did you want to read on my chest?”

You looked up, a bemused smile curving your lips. He tried to look indifferent, though he could already feel the mask slipping. “Did you want me to lay on your chest to read? Like a weighted blanket?”

He softened like butter. “If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind.”

Permission was all he needed. His arms hooked around your hips, dragging you with him as he rolled onto his back once more. You pinned him to the mattress, leaving him feeling less like a sailboat fighting to stay afloat during a tumultuous storm. He closed his eyes as his hands settled on your back.

You chuckled as you opened your book on his chest. “Better?”

He hummed. With his eyes still closed, Jason sank back into your collection of pillows as if they were cumulus clouds instead. Alright, he now understood the appeal of the pillows.

Soft instrumental music filtered from the speaker on your phone a few seconds later. A combination of strings and the soft trickle of a piano that reminded him of rain drops on windowpanes. He purred with approval. Minutes passed. Jason teetered on the edge of consciousness, almost, but not quite ready to take the full plunge.

His hand slid under your sweatshirt, seeking the warmth of your skin. Nimble fingers traced the length of your spine, a bra noticeably absent this go absent. His second hand joined the first, tracing intricate patterns on your skin in hopes of lulling himself to sleep. You squirmed a little as he ghosted over a ticklish patch of skin, but you seemed content to let him continue as you flipped to a new page.

Eventually, he found a sweet spot somewhere between lucidity and contentment. His breaths evened out, muscles going loose as his hands came to rest on the small of your back once more.

“Holy shit,” you breathed.

It barely crested a whisper, but it was enough to startle him awake. His eyes snapped open, vision clearing after a second. “W-What?”

You hid your face behind your book. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I wasn’t really sleeping. Don’t feel bad.” His arm curled around your waist. “What’s up?”

“It’s just, well, I knew Titus was one of his bloodier plays, but damn, I wasn’t expecting it to pan out like this. I just got to a scene about Lavinia, Titus’ daughter, and the most horrendous—”

“No spoilers.”

You rolled your eyes. “This play is over 400 years old. It’s a tragedy. I don’t think spoilers apply in this—”

He pressed a finger to your lips.

You froze. His surprise followed a half second later, breaths turning shallow as he traced your bottom lip. It was soft under the pad of his finger. He knew he shouldn’t. Kissing you was an act doomed by the narrative, trapping you both in a hellish limbo whenever he tried to close the distance.

Undeterred by the odds, you dipped your head to capture the tip of his finger in your lips and sucked. Pleasure ripped through him like a crack of lightning, tightening his groin and curling his toes. Jason was a goner from the start, but this sealed the deal.

When he looked back on this moment, he could never remember who closed the distance first, only that your lips eventually met his. It started sweet. Tender in all the ways he imagined a first kiss should be, even if this wasn’t the setting he envisioned for it. He cradled the back of your head, a soft groan rumbling deep in his chest as he slanted his mouth over yours.

Your lips parted on a sigh, warm and inviting. His tongue pressed inside, desperate for a taste. He had, admittedly, imagined this moment a million ways, but the reality was just so much more satisfying. You tossed your books aside and curled your fingers in his collar, pulling him closer with unspoken intent.

Message received.

Jason sat up as you slid comfortably into his lap, the kiss never breaking. He was certain if it had, it would have felt like breaking the surface of water, but he was content to drown in everything you. His hands slid under your shirt once more, roaming with newfound purpose as your lips worked fervently. His thumb brushed hesitantly over the peak over your breast. You shuddered, arching into it. Encouraging. He kept going, circling your nipple until it was a hardened nub while his other hand massaged the other, soft and malleable like clay beneath his fingers.

Your fingers carded through his hair. Pleasure twined with affection as he broke away, vision swimming as he took in the sight of your flushed cheeks and swollen lips. You pressed hot, open-mouth kisses along his jaw and down the juncture of his throat. The smooth enamel of your teeth grazed his pulse point and—

His hips bucked involuntarily. “Fuck.”

He could feel your smirk on his skin as your thighs tightened around his hips, anchoring him in place. His reaction was immediate and visceral as he fought the urge to buck again.

“Patience, Mr. Darcy. I want to savor this moment.”

His head spun. “You’re going to kill me ag—”

That thought died on a whimper when you kissed his pulse point instead. Soft enough to steal the air from his lungs. He melted beneath you.

You tugged at the zipper on the front of his underlayer, its slow drag drowning out the soft music coming from your phone. Your hands slid beneath the flaps to explore the broad planes of his chest, ghosting over scars old and new. His skin prickled faintly, the current trajectory of your lips promising.

He wrestled with the sleeves on his uniform, peeling them back until the excess fabric fell around his hips. He wound his arms around your waist and fell back onto the bed, lips molding with yours once more.

He tugged on the hem of your sweatshirt, hoping you would get the hint. You caught on quickly and drew back to pull it over your head, eyes roving over his bare chest. Your lips glistened in the dim light. He gripped the sheets to keep himself from capturing them once more.

The fluid motion of your hands stuttered and fell, lust-filled eyes clearing. “Is that a…”

His grip loosened as he glanced down, already knowing what he’d fine. An autopsy scar spanned the length of his heaving chest and down his stomach, stark against his pale skin. His jaw worked as he grappled for an excuse to soften the blow, but there was nothing to say. He wasn’t going to insult your intelligence by pretending this was anything other than what it was.

Hard as he tried, there was no escape from the tragedy of Jason Peter Todd. It was one of many reasons why he never corrected you when you called him Jacob. At least as Jacob, he could pretend he wasn’t nearly as broken. His body was an exhausted story fixed in time. A constant reminder of all the things he lost. His shortcomings, his failures, all that he wasn’t ready to share. Not with you, not with anyone. He feared something like this would happen, and now that it had, he wanted nothing more than to turn back time.

He stumbled over his words as he shoved his arms back into his sleeves and zipped his uniform to the chin, hiding the offensive scar from view. It wasn’t enough. Under your discerning gaze, it was worse than being stripped bare. You’d already seen the secrets hidden beneath.

Jason could handle a lot, but he refused to accept your pity. It swam with the sadness and heartbreak in your eyes, snagging on his resolve. His nails bit into his Kevlar sleeves as he fought the urge to peel back his skin until there were no more scars, leaving nothing to pity.

“Don’t—please. Disgust, anger. Anything but pity.”

“Jacob, I don’t—”

He recoiled when you reached for him, scooting back until there was nowhere left to go. Cornered like prey. Tears burned his eyes. He wiped them away, cursing the annoying habit of crying when overwhelmed.

“Oh, sweetie. You don’t have to be afraid of me.” You wrapped him in a tight embrace. Jason faltered, unsure whether to shove you away or bury his face in your neck and sob, so he just sat there with tears streaming down his cheeks. You kissed his temple and whispered, “I don’t know what happened to you, but I’m sorry it did.”

Your words hit him like a freight train. The ones who’d taken from him would never apologize. He was a child. Yeah, maybe he’d gotten drunk on the thrill that justice provided, and he felt invincible, but he was still a child that wanted to be good and make the world a better place.

His sacrifice didn’t matter.

Life went on. Jason remained unavenged. It was a bitter truth that hung over his head every hour of every day. He could never escape it. Even when he tried to make a difference now, the people who should have been on his side turned their backs on him instead.

When they looked at him, they saw an angry boy who had turned into a violent man. Someone who was irredeemable. A lost cause. He was so much more than that.

Why couldn’t anyone see that?

You smoothed his hair. “You didn’t deserve it.”

Something inside him shattered. Jason collapsed in your arms with a shuddering sob. Between your soft assurances, you kissed his hairline, his temple, the scar on his cheek, showering him with affection until he had no more tears left to shed. He clung to you, worrying the fabric of your sweatshirt between his fingers.

“Sorry for ruining the moment,” he mumbled, shame burning at his cheeks.

“Never apologize for something like this.” You squeezed him tighter.

“But I’m a mons—”

“No. Stop that thought right in its tracks. That wasn’t an invitation to tear yourself down, You’re not a monster. I never thought that about you, and I still don’t,” you muttered against his hair, “If you really want to talk about this, we can do that later, but tonight, you’re tired and emotions are high. Just sit here and let me comfort you.”

His fingers curled in your shirt, fearing he’d fall to pieces if you let go of him before he was ready. He dipped his nose toward the slope of your neck, forcing himself to breathe as he pulled himself back together.

-------------------

A/N: So... there was your kiss, but at what cost?

Anyway, welcome to Duke Thomas, we're happy to have him on the team. Thanks so much for reading and interacting. It's always fun to chat with people!

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