#I considered removing them (not something you can do with scars though)

[evilminji]

You know... >.>

My Dad always used to tell me, if I get a Genuine Genie(tm)? Get a lawyer first. Before I make my Wishes(tm), so they can help me word them correctly.

Obviously, a human lawyer would not be foolproof... BUT! What about a Ghost Lawyer?

Like? Obviously Desiree would be PISSED. How DARE you twist HER wish twisting! Her THING is "what you believe is your heart's desire always comes at a terrible cost" which is what she DIED to learn.

So obviously she would NEVER, willingly, bend her Obsession for ANYONE. And you'd have to make a DAMN good case to that Lawyer for why he ISNT breaking the law by helping you. Probably some "you can: save the life of an unconscious person against their will/shove an unobservant person OFF the train tracks, even if they get hurt, to save their life" clause.

Like? Using a ghosts Obsession against them? Bad. Illegal.

Using it against their will, to save OTHER ghosts, who are in immediate danger? Not illegal, but they will be PISSED. Still not great though, you will want to apologize and fast.

So like??? Reality Bending Power. Patrick Star Method of "what if we MOVED the city... somewhere else?" Considered at 1am. Team of Ghost Laywers, acquired.

Amity and all Limnals are REMOVED from the DP-verse.

Wish worded juuuuust so. Any ghost that forms there? Yoink! Instantly removed to the Zone. Natural Portals? Cut off. Let the whole Reality fade out at an accelerated rate, as no NEW energy is fed into the system. Entropy will do, what entropy does. Exactly as they wished it.

They hated Death so much, they speed up the heat death of their ENTIRE universe by Eons. Congratulations, you guys "Won". Enjoy the wildly more fragile flora, fauna, and general ecosystems. Now that none of you have that ambient Ectoplasm strengthening your bodies. Yeah, the things you used to shrug off? Those are gonna maim or kill you now.

Doesn't MATTER if you "learn your lesson" though! Cause this is WAY past that point! This is "cutting off the tumor before it kills us" territory, and buddy? Amity ISNT the tumor. Go forth a grow, just like you wanted.

They won't be here to fix your messes anymore.

Because Danny got himself a dictionary thick "I Wish..." contract. Which was worded, as it needs to be, in one loooooooong run on sentence. Shouted "I Wish what's written on THIS, as it is currently, and without any form of editing or negotiation!" As fast as he could. Yote the document in Desiree's direction. And Flew like an INCANDESCENTLY pissed off Genie was trying to set his everything of fire.

Which she was.

Thankfully, Paulina came in clutch with her History of all things Jewelry, world fashions, and Make-Up knowledge. That, coupled with the Power Of Rich Friends(tm)? (Sam. Her mother was THRILLED to take her Jewelry and clothing shopping for something other then blacks and dark purple. They went on a jet setting whurl-wind tour. Sam actually kinda liked a some of what she found.)

They have Apology Bribes.

They shamelessly HIDE behind the mountain of Apology Bribes, while they explain themselves. Is Desiree HAPPY? No. But those bracelets are magnificent and she DOES deserve nice things. Those silks will really bring out her eyes. And she... DOES... admit...

Maybe...

That things are not... SAFE. Any longer. Danny TRIES. Everyone else can see it. And he's made incredible strides! Even convinced his lunatic parents. Though they're still not quite POPULAR. (WAY too pushy and invasive with their questions, for most people.) But the fanatics in white?

They nearly killed Box Lunch. If her father hadn't BEEN there...

And the poor man will have that scar on his back for the rest of his afterlife. Desiree can see why Danny is pushing. Does she LIKE it? No. But...

She supposes she will content herself with the suffering of the Fanatics in White and all who support them. THEIR wishes, twisted. Their ugly heart's desires.

Fine.

"SO YOU WISH IT. SO IT SHALL BE!"

And? The ghost town of what WOULD of one day grown into Amity, had the witch's there not been found by those they had fled from, which sits in long rotted ruins, amongst the trees in nowhere Illinois? Poof! Two "Towns" are switched.

The roads out of town coming to a clean line stop, meeting not even goat paths. Just trees. Old growth.

But it's not ALL of Town, is it? Faces missing. New, confused, faces from every corner of the map, taking their place. No Limnal left behind. No supporter of the GIWs genocide, brought along. Family's kept together where they could be. But by the few, scared and upset, green flashing eyes of children in the crowd?

It seemed for some, it was easier to fear and hate, then love their children.

Already they were being gathered up by school teachers and PTA parents. As everyone tried to figure out what had happened. Concerned, quite muttering a dull roar as everyone tries to coordinate.

Red Huntress joins Danny and Dani in the Sky. She doesn't get a word in. Wanted to know what the HELL was going on. She was with her dad in Chicago! Dani was in Taiwan! Literally! As in, sitting in a SUBWAY station one second, the next? Outside!

But they don't get to demand those answers. Because there is a sonic boom on the horizon. And then? Floating... weird... not ghosts?

Uuuuuuhhhh?

Hi?

That much blue... sure is a Statement. Like the cape and... bloooomers? Shorts. Bikini bottoms? It.. it's a Cool Look, dude! No, really. They are being VERY supportive here! If YOU like it? That's the only thing that matters!

Red Huntress smacks the Danny/i's Repeated upside their heads and demans to know what the Not-Ghosts are doing in their airspace.

Oh YEAH. Good point! What she said! And can it WAIT? They're kinda going through A Thing right now...

Kon? Wants it on record he loves these guys. They're hilarious. The LOOK on Clark's FACE?? He wishes he could frame it. Preserve it for future generations. Thing is? There was NOT a town here a second ago.

Well, bout 30 minutes or so, but you get the idea. One moment? Tree noises. Bam! Thousands of people! Obviously the checked it out. Only to be met with two... three maybe? Heros who have NO IDEA who they are.

Clear Reality warping shenanigans. Might be time travel or multiverse. Question is... are they STAYING? And if SO? What now...

@hdgnj @ailithnight @the-witchhunter @nerdpoe @dcxdpdabbles @mutable-manifestation @hypewinter

[onyourowndaisymae]

seventy-two pacts

have some sol thirst (i would go feral if this were me)

content + warnings: suggestive, solomon x reader, solomon has visible pact marks and reader does too

word count: 462

"damn."

the word comes out quickly, before you can even think. you cover your mouth in embarrassment-- justified, considering you couldn't keep your reaction in-- but you can't peel your eyes away.

solomon's peeling off his shirt. in the midst of joking around and pouring some for you two to enjoy, he'd knocked the rim of one of the glasses against the bottle, spilling it all down the front of his shirt. so, to avoid soaking himself further, he immediately began to take the long sleeved garment off.

then you said it, and now he's frozen, shirt halfway off.

can you blame yourself, though? you've seen your fair share of shirtless men, as is expected when living in the chaos of the house of lamentation. but they're all smooth-skinned and flawless. some of them have a couple of scars here and there from the great celestial war. their muscles were obviously impressive in their own right. but they all missed something that solomon had-- something you're just now seeing for the first time.

swirling black lines run across his pale skin, curling around muscles, decorating the smooth planes of skin in intricate designs. from across the table, you can make out little latin characters. pact marks. a lot of them. the ornate symbols decorate the exposed part of his lower abdomen, luring you in with strange words and beautiful lines before disappearing beneath his beltline. do they-- do they follow his v-line? holy shit, you're about to start drooling--

"haha, mc, my eyes are up here!"

his charming, light laugh catches your attention. his eyes are sparkling with mirth, lips curled into a cheshire grin as he removes the rest of his shirt and bunches it in his hand.

the pact marks dance up across his broad shoulders and down his arms. they're gorgeous, arcane and mystical as they sprawl down his biceps and spill onto his forearms. you've seen his sleeves rolled up before, so you knew he had a few pact marks, but-- 72 pacts never looked so damn good.

the seven pact marks on your skin had always been a point of your own fascination. but seeing the sigils on solomon's skin made you wonder if you'd ever be covered the same way.

"i need a new shirt," he declares, smirking at you. he take a couple steps towards his room, then stops when he sees you still at the table. "c'mon."

"huh?" you feel like you've missed something.

"you think you've seen all of my pact marks? no, my dear apprentice, i have plenty more where that came from. and since you're so curious, i figured i might as well show you."

you scurry up from your spot and follow him like the obedient little apprentice you are.

[icallhimjoey]

writing idea: group hang at a rage room/smash room that ends up in a meet cute.

eeeeeee thanks for this request! it's a quick lil thing, hope you enjoy! tw: mention of blood and a cut in your face Wordcount: 1.7K

---

Not His Thing

Joe hasn't stopped feeling the uncomfortable flush of guilt in his face for the past half an hour. He feels awful.

Smash rooms, as so it turns out, aren't really his thing.

"Stop saying you're sorry."

"Yea, sorry. I'll stop. Sorry. Sorry." Joe jokingly takes all blame immediately, because he is obviously an idiot who can't do anything right at the moment.

You smile through watery eyes, your nose tinged red and half your face numb from the cold. You've been pressing a towel-wrapped ice pack to your cheekbone for over twenty minutes now, and it's done wonders for the bleeding and for the pain. Not so much for the panic and the lightheadedness that followed though, but all things considered, you feel fine.

Your fun day out with friends has been cut short, though.

"Does it hurt still?" someone asks you, and you expertly control your voice, give them a steady, "No, it's just cold, now." but your eyes are still watery.

When you remove the ice pack for a member of staff to have a look at you, they tut worriedly and tell you to just hold it in place a moment longer.

Joe did this. This is Joe's fault.

Joe tries his best not to wince at the swelling he can see. At the size of the cut he left in your face. God, your face. You are likely going to need stitches. He remembers getting a cut in his own face, right in the middle of his forehead, and how that bled for hours. The worst part though, is that it'd left him with a scar.

Joe can't believed he scarred someone.

"But I am sor–" Joe tries, not overly loud, he doesn't want to make you jump.

"Stop it. It was an accident. Accidents happen, don't worry." You reassure him once more, and you really mean it, but it does nothing for Joe's culpability.

He did this.

Joe had swung a bat at porcelain, and you'd been in the wrong spot at the wrong time. A shard of vase had gotten stuck in your cheekbone, just below the protective glasses you'd been wearing.

You imagined it'd just been a scrape, had only let a small, "Ow," pass your lips upon the impact, but then you'd gone to touch it, and felt something solid there still.

Stuck.

Skin wet.

The liquid warm.

Something solid.

Something sharp.

Your fingers painted red, and the sight of it had nearly made you faint. Joe had never seen colour drain from someone's face quite so fast.

Joe already knew that his fight or flight response was freeze, but being confronted with this cowardly personality trait like this was terrible.

Joe hadn't ever seen a girl panic the way you had from something he was responsible for.

He'd just stood next to you in his protective gear, big shocked eyes behind his plastic safety glasses, entirely unsure of what to do.

And then you'd wobbled on your legs, and he had just shot an arm out.

For the lack of strength you'd held in your legs, Joe was surprised by the death grip you had on the sleeve of his overalls.

Your blood covered hand went back to touch at your cheek again, but Joe was able to grab hold of that wrist just in time. And then, with weird tensed upper bodies that held onto each other, Joe'd lowered you down onto the ground because everyone around you kept repeating for you to sit down, to get onto the floor.

You sat down, and then only seconds later, lied down before you could lose consciousness all together. Your friend lifted your legs up and even though your eyes looked scared, the two of you were giggling. Laughing at the silly situation.

And Joe had just stood there.

Useless.

Your skin looked extra pale next to the bright red of the blood that dripped down your cheek right into your hair and it was... sort of beautiful. Awful thing to focus on when he should've actually been doing something helpful, but Joe just... looked at you, and thought you looked lovely.

Looking at you now, still teary, but smiling, he's still scared it'll flare up again. Your panic. It's unlikely, you're sat on the floor, leaning against the wall near the exit, but your cheek doesn't look good. He feels bad going back in to launch a hammer at a printer, or whatever, so he's hovering. Some of his friends are too, just like the staff is, making sure you're drinking your water, telling you to stay seated until your breathing has returned to normal.

Your friend has gone to get the car, and she said she'd be quick, but the second she was out the door, you'd cracked a joke. Said you'd see her in an hour if you were lucky.

You shudder through another inhale, and it makes Joe's eyebrows twitch up a little. You see it happen and release your breath in a laugh.

"If I were to go with just how you're looking at me, I'd believe I was actively dying," you joke, and everyone around you politely smiles through worried grimaces.

"I feel fine. I'm fine, honestly. It's just a minor cut. It feels," and like an idiot, you remove the ice pack and shove a dirty finger right into the cut on your face.

You feel how wide the cut is, and how deep into your cheek your finger sinks.

"Fi–..."

The wave of nausea is a surprise to you, and the way Joe shoots into action when you sag to the side because your head is suddenly too heavy is a real surprise to him.

"Hey, hey, okay, careful, careful..." Joe holds you by the side of your face that hasn't got a huge gash in and curls his fingers around as he carefully tries to hold you up.

"Maybe you shouldn't..." he starts, and finds the ice pack you've dropped with his other hand. "...play with that."

You kind of want to go to sleep.

Close your eyes and have a nap.

You lean into the hand that holds you and the instant comfort after shooting pain is nice.

But then the ice pack gets softly pressed against where your skin's broken and your eyes laser back into focus.

"Hi," Joe says when you make eye-contact. He smiles, though it's wobbly.

Maybe you aren't as fine as you thought you were.

"I'm fine?" you ask, feeling panicked like a real loser.

"You're fine." Joe assures you, voice soft but level enough for you to believe it. That's what's important, he thinks. If you believe it, you'll calm down enough until your friend gets back and she can take you to hospital.

"You're okay, focus on breathing, all right?" Joe redeems himself. This is what he should've done half an hour ago, when all hell broke loose. "That's all you've got to do. You're fine."

"I'm fine." you repeat after him, and force yourself to take a deep breath. "I'm fine." you're reassuring yourself now, and with one hand cupping your clammy face and another cooling where you're hurt, you press your own hands to your chest and ground yourself with your eyes closed.

It's awkward because there's other people there, but Joe's glad he gets to hold you for a bit. It's admittedly an unconventional way of being close to someone he's just met, and he still feels mortified, but... you're pretty. Even with dried blood covering half your face.

If this is how he meets the love of his life, it can be an embarrassing story he will gladly listen to at every single birthday party until he dies.

"That hurt." you say after a moment, and smile, eyes still closed.

"You're fine." Joe says again, but whispers it now.

"I'm sorry," you say like this is your fault. "I should've known not to agree to come to this," you confess, eyes blinking open now, and if you're startled by how close Joe is to you, you don't show it. "I'm not really angry enough for this. I don't think smash rooms are my thing..."

Same, Joe thinks, and he smiles, gets some of his confidence back when he sees the flush returning to your face. "Maybe there's some anger now?" he asks, because you should be angry. At him. Look at what he's done to you.

You don't understand what he means, this handsome stranger, and you frown in confusion. Before you can ask, and before Joe can explain, the door opens and your friend barges in, completely out of breath.

"Quick! I've stopped right in front and I'm holding up traffic!"

And just like that, Joe and staff help you move back up onto your feet.

You're fine.

You're helped out to the car, but halfway down the pavement, you're walking by yourself and are getting into the car without any help.

It is just a cut on your cheek.

"Can I, em," Joe starts, staring through the glass of the door at where you cup a loose hand over your cheek to protect it when you put your seatbelt on with the other. "Can I get her details?" he turns to a member of staff.

"Huh?"

"I'd love to send a card," he explains, and from behind him, he can hear one of his friends softly chuckle.

Joe'd forgotten he was even there with anyone.

"A card, or a bunch of flowers?" one of them starts.

"He's going to write her a love letter," one groans, already annoyed by the idea of it.

"Gifts her ten grand, just because he feels bad," another jumps in, and they're laughing, slapping shoulders. They're making fun, pretending to be Joe, mimicking the face he made, how he'd helplessly stood there, joking about how the one time Joe joins them for something, this happens. It's all shit they'd held in whilst you were there still, and it's all spewing out now, no holding them back. Joe doesn't even try.

"Come on, we've spent long enough not smashing TVs in."

And bats, hammers and axes get picked back up.

"You coming?"

And Joe smiles, though it's not very convincing.

"Nah," he says, and walks over to that staff member. He needs to get your details.

"I'm good."

There was no way he was going back in there, because smash rooms, as it turns out, aren't really his thing.

the end

---

The Taglisted

@ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson,

@choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @djoseph-quinn,

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@werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @witchwolflea, @yelyahcardella, @yunirgo

taglist currently full, sorry

[star-hoon]

VERSION OF ME — (p. sunghoon)

"CAN YOU LOVE THE VERSION OF ME, I DON'T LET ANYBODY ELSE SEE?"

— MASTERLIST

pairing: sunghoon x fem reader (oneshot)

includes/warnings (16+):  comfort/healing from dark past! au — fluff, angst, profanity, comfort, implied reader has scars, mentions of food/eating  (let me know if i missed anything!)

word count: 1.8k [not proofread]

synopsis: you and sunghoon have been dating for a few months now and he is the definition of your prince charming. but you are finally forced to uncover what you've been hiding from him, and it makes you fear you’ll lose him.

DISCLAIMER: this fic does mention/imply reader has SH scars. it is mentioned without detail and sunghoon is comforting reader about them. *as someone who used to SH, i would never ever mean to trigger anyone. so if this could potentially trigger you, do not read/please proceed with caution.*

author’s note: omg thank you to everyone who read my 'obsessed' & 'intermission' AND for over 110 followers!

i hope you're all okay with this fic idea even its a little on the darker side. but i promise its fluffy n hoon is a sweetie. this one is dedicated to all of you out there who have overcome hardships in the past or dealing with hardships right now, with physical or mental scars. you are so strong, beautiful, and loved!! <3

VERSION OF ME SOUNDTRACK

it was yet the end of another long and arduous day at work. you dragged your feet into the doorway of your apartment, hanging up your bag on the hook in the entry way and removing your shoes that you could feel were forming blisters on your heels.

sighing, you make a beeline to your bedroom. nothing sounded better than a hot shower to change into some comfy clothes. well, maybe one thing sounded better.

cuddling with your boyfriend sunghoon. and his deep voice and hearty laugh. and his silly puns and dad jokes. and him getting so excited talking about film cameras. just—him.

you had never been one to be very clingy nor dependent with your boyfriends. you just valued your own time and pursuing your own goals, but that doesn't mean you care about them any less.

that's why when you and sunghoon started dating 4 months ago, you felt something click in that regard. he fully understood your introverted ways and wouldn't be like the previous guys and complain about feeling 'neglected' or that you were too cold because he knew exactly how it felt to need alone time/your own space and he respected it.

but even still, when you are together he treats you like an absolute princess. carrying your purse for you when you go shopping, opening the car door for you, standing on the side of the sidewalk that faces the street. he also emotionally cared for you, listening to you rant about things big and small and always reassuring you the day before you have a big presentation at work. you felt so deeply cared for and understood, it made your affection for him blossom even more every day.

today was a day that both you and sunghoon had busy schedules so you weren't going to see each other. but you missed him and wanted nothing more than his comforting presence to fill your currently empty apartment.

you made your way to the bathroom, removing your uncomfortable work clothes. as you stood there uncovered you caught sight of yourself in the mirror. you stared down at your arms, the dark marks that littered your skin. you knew you couldn't hide this from him forever.

before you could let any more negative thoughts consume you, you hopped into the shower hoping the hot water can wash away your stress and worries.

after your shower that probably lasted a little too long in some water that was probably a little too hot, you heard a knock at your front door. you peeked to the corner of your phone amidst the tik tok scrolling 10:38 pm.

considering how late it was you were suspicious so you tiptoed to the front door, glancing through the peep hole. it was sunghoon. even though you should feel giddy and excited at the sight of your boyfriend, a twinge of panic arose. you were just wearing a tshirt so your arms were fully exposed, not expecting company. you ran and grabbed the first hoodie you could find. it happened to be one of his.

you opened the front door and there sunghoon stood as handsome as ever, with a bouquet of flowers and a takeout bag. you pouted at the sight in front of you—you were the luckiest girl alive. this was exactly what you needed after a day like today.

"hi hoonie" you softly greeted him, gently hugging him and he leaned down to give you a peck on the cheek. "...what's all this?"

he spoke as he took off his shoes and made his way into the kitchen. "sorry for dropping by so suddenly, i knew weren't planning on seeing each other today but i knew you had a long day and you were gonna be home late so i thought you would want some food. it's your favorite from the restaurant downtown." you nearly started crying, how could be so sweet?

"don't be sorry. thank you, you are seriously the best hoon i missed you a lot today."

"i missed you too. just sit and relax baby, i'll plate everything up for you" sunghoon always insisted on plating food even if it was takeout. he believed it made it taste better, the notion always made you laugh.

despite offering to split the meal with him, he insisted he didn't want any saying he ate dinner earlier. but as you two sat at the dining table chatting about your day, you fed him forkful after forkful anyways.

after finishing the meal you convinced sunghoon to let you wash the dishes. he eventually complied, standing next to you at the sink drying the 3 total dishes you had to wash.

no matter how small the gesture sunghoon was willing to do anything and everything to make it easier for you. you were convinced he came straight out of a fairytale—but your fantasy was going to come crashing down.

"y/n...why do you never roll up your sleeves when you wash the dishes? they're gonna get all wet!" his tone playful.

"i-its fine hoon, these are just a few dishes anyways" you try force a small laugh as a chill runs down your spine.

"come on sweetheart lemme roll 'em up for you..."

"i said it fine-"

his hand reaches towards your sleeves, pulling them up your arm slightly. you reflexively move away from him, your mind went into overdrive.

"SUNGHOON STOP! I SAID IT'S FINE!" your arm harshly shoved his body away from yours, the glass you were holding flying out of your hand. the sound of the glass shattering on the kitchen floor seemed to echo in the room.

silence fell between you two. your eyes wide and brimming with tears, your chest heaving from your heavy breathing. all you could was cup your hands over your mouth, your eyes looking at the broken glass a few feet away from you and then to your boyfriend. his expression made you sick. he has never looked at you this way. you couldn't tell if he was scared, angry, sad. it didn't matter.

"hoon i-i'm so so sorry, i didn't mean to push you. fu-fuck the glass i'm sorry i'll clean it up" large streams of tears flowed down your cheeks and you managed to get the sentence out in between sobs.

you felt yourself spiraling. you dropped to your knees and crawled towards the broken glass. the sight of the the pieces blurry from your tears and you picked up the pieces with your hands and putting the shards in your palm.

sunghoon was more confused than angry at you, it all happened so fast he barely had time to react. but seeing you pick up the shards of glass with your bare hands snapped him back to reality. he dropped down in front of you on the floor.

"baby stop! what're you doing?! you'll hurt yourself" his voiced laced with concern. he put a hand on your arm and cupped the side of your face with his other hand, wiping the tears away with him thumbs.

you couldn't stop the tears from escaping you. you couldn't believe what you just did. sunghoon was just trying to do a sweet, innocent gesture for you and in the end you hurt him. you didn't deserve him. you knew you couldn't hide it from him forever but you didn't think it would all end like this.

he leaned his forehead to yours, searching to meet your eyes. you just couldn't look at him.

"please y/n, what's going on?" his eyes wide and he pleaded for an answer. catching your breath after what felt like countless sobs, you gently placed the shards back on the floor.

"i need to tell you something hoon."

you followed sunghoon's order to meet in your room as he swept up the broken glass. you sat on your bed as you prepared how you were going to explain all of this.

you didn't want to lose him. he was the best thing that has ever happened to you. all you could imagine was his mortified or disgusted face when he sees your arms. the thought made all your tears resurface. sunghoon sat down next to you on your bed.

"i'm sorry for pushing you hoon. i shouldn't have done that." you took a deep breath before continuing.

"i-i've been hiding something from you since we met. i knew i couldn't h-hide it forever, but i never knew how or when to tell you." you didn't know what else to say to explain. you silently pulled up the sleeves of his hoodie you were wearing.

your arms illuminated by the lamp on your bedside table. silent tears ran down your face as you exposed yourself to him. you have never felt so vulnerable, bare, and scared in your entire life.

"sunghoon i-" before you could say anything else, he pulled you into a silent embrace. one hand pushing your waist to be flush against him, and the other to the nape of your neck.

you eventually muster up the courage to pull away to look up at him. silent tears flowed down sunghoon's cheeks. your eyes widened, sunghoon never cried. your lip quivered at the sight. it was your turn to wipe the tears from his cheek as he did for you earlier.

"um i don't really know what else to say but this explains why i've always covered up my arms around you, why i never was intimate with you...even though i really really wanted to..." you let out a chuckle through your cries trying to lighten the mood.

"...i-i'm sorry i'm such a mess. i know you probably didn't want this going into the relationship. i just- i'm so sorry hoon... i get it if this too much for you."

"you don't have anything to be sorry for y/n..." he grabbed your hand to lace it together with his.

"...this is definitely not an easy thing to share. it just breaks my heart to see someone so kind, smart, and beautiful could do this to herself" he kissed your lips, one of his salty tears landed on your lips.

he used your currently intertwined hands to lift up your arms, placing gentle yet tender kisses to each mark on your arms, your breath hitching at his every touch. this was the first time anyone has been so close, seen you at the most vulnerable. and yet he is treating you like you are made of porcelain.

"this isn't too much y/n. i still think you are the most beautiful person i've ever met—inside and out. this is just a reminder or how strong you are and you overcame whatever you faced in the past. i hope one day you can open up and confide in me because i'm here for you baby. through the good and the bad, especially the bad. because i love you."

your heart melted at his comforting and sincere words, now shedding tears of joy.

"i-i love you too hoon, thank you"

taglist (open!): @laylasbunbunny @blackberryrains

ramblings: this made me so soft and healed my past self 🥺 would you guys like to see more full fics/series or oneshots like this?

thank you so much for reading, please let me know what you think <3

reblogs, likes, & comments are always appreciated!!

[weepynymph]

I gotta talk about this moment even though it's been discussed a million times

Zuko, opening up to someone about his scar for the first time (from what we’ve seen in the show at least, but we can reasonably assume he hasn’t spoken about it like this since he got it) and explicitly stating that whilst he's always associated it with with failures ('the mark of the banished prince'), he's finally ready to take control and change his life for the better. And whilst he has accepted that he can never change his scar, it’s ok because he still has the power to change his destiny.

And despite this assurance, Katara, the healer, still jumps in and offers to heal it anyway, understanding that this is still a burden she could lift from him - 'What if you could be free of it?'

She knows it won't change his life in the same way taking control of his own destiny will, but still, it's like she can't help but try to ease his pain. Even if it's a pain that's long since become a permanent part of him, something that might seem surface level or cosmetic to others - 'It's a scar, it can't be healed.'

And then we have this

'I've been saving it for something important.'

This. Healing Zuko's scar. A wound that has, for all intents and purposes already healed and is not longer a threat to his life, but still burdens him emotionally. That has come to represent all of his trauma. This Katara considers important enough to use her limited and precious supply of spirit oasis water. In the middle of a war. In the middle of a dangerous journey to save the world in which she and her friends might be seriously injured at any time (including in this scene, where Ba sing se is literally under attack as they speak).

And if that weren't enough

'I don't know if it would work'

Now, I don't know the mechanics of spirit water in the atla universe, but it seems to be pretty heavily implied later in the episode when she uses the water to heal Aang, and for a moment thinks that it hasn't worked, that it's sort of a one-time deal.

Which means that she's willing to potentially waste the spirit water just on the off-chance that it might remove the scar. Which in the context of the wider story seems utterly insane.

But Katara thinks it's worth the risk.

And presented with this opportunity, this beautiful, selfless offer to ease his suffering, even on a purely physical, surface level, Zuko wordlessly submits, and lets her touch his scar.

Now, Katara doesn't know quite how significant this touch is (although she's very emotionally intuitive so I'm sure she has some inkling of the gravity of this action) but we do. We know that Zuko doesn't let anyone touch his scar, ever. So what this communicates to us as an audience is that Zuko is allowing himself, for the first time, to put his complete trust in someone. To be completely, 100% vulnerable with them.

And the moment of touch is all the more significant because, in many ways, it isn't even strictly necessary.

Katara's hands are empty, she isn't putting the spirit water to his face, to attempting to heal it here. And while I'd argue this touch could be a practical one - assessing the damage of the scar with her hands to see how to proceed before she uses the water - the moment after, right before they are interrupted, isn't one of practical, medical assessment, but of intimacy.

The way Zuko waits, patiently, eyes closed, and the way Katara pauses, just for a moment, doing what I can only describe as gazing at him, and that slow blink in the middle- Again, not examining his scar or reaching for the spirit water to begin, but just taking it all in.

It's so breathtakingly intimate and vulnerable - a point of connection between these two people who are supposedly so completely different but are, here, somehow so alike in their openness and understanding of one another.

That Katara offers to heal Zuko's scar even when he's said moments before that he's made his peace with the fact that he's never be free of it. And the way he accepts her offer without words because she's right, part of him does want to be free of it.

It's just an absolute masterclass in creating an immediate and powerful connection and bond between two characters in an incredibly short space of time from a start point of complete opposition without rushing it or making it seem implausible.

[quinnydoll]

Through The Thicket

A doll has been sent on a very important task today: gathering mail. It asked its witch for something it could do for her, and she told it to head out and get the mail for her.

"This one can't find its shoes! What is it to do?" Asks the doll, looking around the front of the house, curiously.

The witch smirks some, and jokingly speaks, "I guess you'll just have to go out barefoot." The doll of course, takes this seriously, and heads outside of the house without shoes before its witch has a chance to stop it. It crosses the threshold of the stone-paved path into the soft grass on the surprisingly long past to the impractically distant mailbox. Soon, it reaches a path in the sun, with overgrown old tracks which a wheeled vehicle once rode. The grass is dry, and a sparse thicket peppers the ground where it considers stepping.

It hesitates, but slowly and carefully, it takes a step forward in the brush dried by the harsh sunlight. Luckily, its first step is into a patch of still soft grass, which grants it a little bit of confidence as it takes another step. This step lands directly into a spot of goathead stickers, which plant themselves sharply into the balls of the doll's left foot. It lets out a sharp screech, to rival the texture of the barbs that have now buried themselves within its foot, trapping themselves between its toes, and the sting permeates through the area.

The doll collapses, doing its best to relieve the weight from the bottom of its now thoroughly pinpricked foot. Carefully, it pulls the pointy intruders out from their space, feeling them largely pull free, but on occasion, the points seem to snap off into splinters inside. The realization dons on the doll that the walk is going to become increasingly painful. It quietly curses its witch for sending it on such an arduous journey, as it slowly lifts itself back up to its feet to try and continue towards the mailbox.

The process repeats itself a few times as the doll takes a few more steps forward, but it eventually figures out where to step which doesn't hurt as much. Slowly but surely, as it carefully places its feet, it figures out where it doesn't hurt as much to walk. It finds a way to safely traverse the path, and finds its way to the mailbox and back without much more issue.

"This must be the lesson Miss wanted to teach it!" The doll realizes, as its stride begins to resemble a dance through the safe portions of the path, each step following a rhythm and order as it reaches the door, with envelopes in hand.

As it opens the door, it's quickly snatched up by its witch, "I was joking when I said you'd have to go out barefoot! Are you okay? You didn't hurt your feet, did you?"

"It did, but it learned something! It first found the-" The doll is cut off as it's pulled further inside, and sat down on a comfy chair while its witch retrieves a pair of tweezers to remove the fibrous needle-like natural pins.

The witch sighs as she carefully begins the process of removing the painful intrusions, "I appreciate you for getting the mail for me, but you didn't have to go out like that. Now, tell me about the lesson you learned." "It initially found the path hard to navigate without hurting itself, but when it slowed down and treaded carefully, it began to notice wherever it could put its feet that was safer. It slowly learned what to look for to avoid hurting itself any further!" The doll doesn't even seem to wince after every little pin pull as it tells its story to the very worried witch.

She smiles some as she looks at the doll's eyes, "Good doll. Though, you really didn't have to learn that like that."

"O-oh! before it forgets, it cursed you under its breath the first time it hit the painful bit, and it wanted to let you know so it can dispell the curse..." The doll's gaze is now downtrodden.

The witch raises an eyebrow, "A curse, you say? What exactly did you say to curse me?"

"It said... 'F-fuck you...'" The doll looks even more dejected and scared as it quotes its curse from earlier.

At this, the witch throws her head back, as she erupts with laughter, and pats the doll on the head, "I'm sure I'll survive your curse, little one. You don't need to worry."

The doll pouts as it begrudgingly receives the affection from its witch. It's glad that she's confident that she'll be okay, but it does wish she would take it more seriously...

[gunsandspaceships]

Have you ever digged into the science surrounding Tony's heart condition? What Yinsen managed to achieve? How Wu repaired Tony's heart Magnet and shrapnell aside what I am particularly intrested in is damage to Tony's heart. There is something intresting about Tony's heartbeat in the Obaidiah scene after reactor is removed. You would expect it to be rapid considering the stress but is is super slow, indicating that he may actually need a pacemaker.

Hi! I have this in my queue (I have about 600 things to write) and some of them concern his health and heart in particular. This will be very important for something big I want to show, but not today/in the near future. Maybe in a few months.

I can answer your questions though (but not in detail):

What Yinsen managed to achieve? Well, he said that the remaining shrapnel was heading for Tony's atrial septum, which is the muscular wall that separates the two upper chambers of the heart. This means that the shrapnel was heading towards his heart not from the outside, but was already inside. The purpose of the magnet was to prevent damage to the walls of the heart. And here we have some problems with the magnet (and with reactor) - it would pull shrapnel to another wall of the heart (between the shrapnel and the magnet). So I'll need to do more research on this to understand how this might actually work (if at all). How could the shrapnel enter the heart in the first place? It could penetrate his heart from the outside, but we would have extensive damage, or it could be carried in by the bloodstream. And with or without the magnet, it couldn't stay there without moving, hurting his heart more and more over time. In any case, his heart was already damaged.

How Wu repaired Tony's heart? They used Extremis.

It is assumed that it repaired his heart and all the damage to his chest, leaving a thin scar on his skin from reactor. Although there is no information on how his version of Extremis actually works. I mean, if it leaves a scar on the skin, it doesn't repair all the damage, but instead replaces some of the tissue with fibrous connective tissue. Another topic for in-depth research.

There is something intresting about Tony's heartbeat in the Obaidiah scene after reactor is removed. You would expect it to be rapid considering the stress but is is super slow, indicating that he may actually need a pacemaker.

Well, yes. His heart was damaged. And the shrapnel made sure that it continued to be damaged. This means scarring of the organ, which in turn means high risk of heart rhythm problems, heart failure and sudden cardiac death. A reactor is a source of energy that can produce electrical discharges. And with some additional tech, he used it as a pacemaker. There was a lot of stuff in his chest.

[bearlytolerant]

Fandom: Star Wars: The Acolyte

Pairing: Qimir x fReader

Chapter Rating: M

AO3

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

EIGHT

You dream. The fire no longer blazes. It’s just logs in a small clearing surrounded by a field of wildflowers that sway in the breeze. The light is low and the sky is streaked in ombre pastels. Your master sits with his helmet on, upper half disrobed again and back turned to you. The temptation to touch his scars eats at you and you close your fist, dissipating the desire. He raises a hand and beckons you over with two curled fingers.

“What is this place?” he asks you, when you sit down next to him.

He angles himself towards you and you mirror him so that you’re facing one another. There’s a speck of dried blood just under his chin and you reach out to scrape it away with a fingernail. He grasps your wrist and tugs your hand into his lap. Next to him is a bowl of soapy water and he reaches in with his other hand, wringing out the excess water and begins to run the warm, wet cloth down your forearm. The grime from the day wipes away. Where the rag and soapy water came from, you couldn’t say. But it feels so good you don’t really care about its origins.

Your eyes dart around, taking in the dream scenery. A waterfall rushes behind you and your bodies are close enough to the riverbank’s edge that one small push would tip you straight into the water. You reach out beside you and pluck a pink wildflower. Spin it between your fingers. You swallow back your nostalgia, knowing better than to get emotional about dreaming up your homeworld now.

“I don’t know. I thought it was just a place my mind conjured just like last time. Just a dream.”

Though it’s real, what this place was for you is a dream. It holds everything you will never have again. What you tell your master is a half truth only. You know this place well. But don’t dare think the name of it. There are some secrets you still wish to treasure for yourself.

“Hmm,” he hums before dipping the cloth back in the bowl and wringing it out again. Fingers carefully clasp your chin and he tilts it upward, wiping away the grime on your neck.

“I thought you were just a figure I made up in my dream too, but—”

“I’m very real.” He thumbs the line of your chin, then trails upward, tracing your bottom lip. “Does that bother you?”

“Not at all. You’ve helped me.” His thumb traces the full outline of your lips. “Thank you for today, by the way.”

He removes his hand but you grasp his wrist and draw his thumb back to your lips. “I couldn’t just let my pupil die,” he says.

You kiss the pad of his thumb, so soft and tender before releasing him.

“He wouldn’t have killed me.” Your master dips the rag again then drags the cloth up to your ear. “But I have to ask, why did you spare him?”

“Why do you think?”

Your heart is already erratically beating in your chest due to your master’s touch but readjusts to a frenetic pace at the thought of what will be required of you. “I need to kill him.”

“Should be easy,” he replies. He continues to clean your body as you consider his words.

It should be—should be—should—

You swallow, your mouth now dry and desperate for moisture. The thought of killing your father is difficult enough to consider. His power over you is something you can’t seem to shake and there’s still immense hesitation on your part. You might prove to be a useless pupil after all. What would be your options then? Run? You would have to spend the entirety of what remains of your life on the run. You’ll be running regardless, but what your master asks of you is too much.

“I can’t.”

“You can. You will. You just need to find your purpose. Which is why you’re here. With me.”

“I think I need more than purpose. I watched you snap a neck with your bare hands.” You lift your own hands and flip them back and forth, staring. “I don’t think these hands are capable—not when it comes to him.”

“Why do you continue to lie to yourself?” Your master stills, tilting his head curiously.

“I’m not.” Your hands fall to your lap and you pick at your cuticles. He stops your picking, covering both of your hands with one of his.

“You and I both know what you felt when you had your hand around my neck.” His modulated voice dips low as he squeezes water from the rag with his other hand and you watch it stream in a wobbly line into the bowl.

“That’s different,” you whisper.

“Is it?”

“I like the power but I couldn’t kill you—wouldn’t want to.”

“But you want to kill your father. We both felt that too. And you have great strength in the force.” He begins wiping the skin of your right arm free of dirt and grime. “He has never been loyal to you. Easily discarded you. Disrespected you. He is incapable of loving you. You’ve seen it. I’ve seen it. And don’t you want that? To have someone learning to love you? Willing to learn?”

“Is that what you’re offering?”

The cloth falls into the bowl and he presses his palm to your chest. Your heart thuds against it. “It’s what you are offering yourself.”

“I will need your guidance.”

“You already have it.”

You sigh. “Is this supposed to be the lesson then? Gentle cleansing?”

He stills. Slightly pulls away. “Yes. I am helping you learn that by caring for yourself and seeing who you really are, you will stop abandoning yourself. You need to accept yourself. Every time you do that, a piece of you can find your true purpose. And it is in knowing your true purpose that you will find victory.”

“That’s a lot of words just to say you think I stink and need a shower.” Your attempt at humor falls flat, unlike last time you met with him.

There’s a heavy, modulated sigh as your master runs his hands up your arms, digging his fingers deep into your muscles. All the jokes, conflicting thoughts and tension leaves your body with the way he handles you. Your mind drifts in an ever revolving reverie of just how good it feels to have his fingers on your skin. Pleasant pain is pulled out of your weary body by the stroke of his hands. You don’t know how long you stay suspended in time as he rubs every ache out of you while your eyes flutter closed, experiencing a peaceful bliss you haven’t ever before. Though you’re not sure you deserve this. You’ve done nothing to earn it.

“You deserve this,” he says, “to feel good. I’m teaching you to realize that. You’ve lost yourself.” Fingers dig into your neck and you let out a small moan. “But you will learn to grieve the person you lost and accept who you are now.”

At this point, as he massages at the base of your skull, you will believe anything he wants to say.

His fingers still again but you keep your eyes closed, reveling in his phantasmal touch that still lingers on your skin. You feel the warmth of his hands again as they curl around your shoulders and then the cool contact of his helmet against your forehead. It’s almost impossible to believe that he’s capable of killing so many Jedi when he is so gentle with you.

You slowly glide your fingers up and down his forearms. Crawl them up his biceps and wrap them around, squeezing. Dust your fingers back down and toy with his hands. You touch your fingertips to his knuckles and then lift one of his hands to cup your cheek. You show him a brief glimpse of what it means to love you as you press your cheek into his palm, soaking up every last bit of warmth from his hand. As if you could imprint the entirety of his essence into your skin. Barely rotating your head, you press your lips to his palm because you can’t kiss his lips. It’s a shame he wears that helmet.

“Why won’t you show me who you are?” you ask after some time, linking your fingers together in your lap. The desire to kiss him everywhere becomes overwhelming with each passing minute. “Is it because you don’t think I’ll like the sight of you?”

“It’s because you already know me.” He pulls away and gives you a gentle shove back into the grass. He crawls over you, the muscles of his arms flexing as he holds himself above you. “And you’re taking forever to figure it out. But for now, you should wake. Qimir is waiting for you.”

Your dream world crumbles into a million blurred fragments as you’re pulled from slumber.

[rooksunday]

“they’re looking at me funny.”

thorn levelled a flat look at hound. thorn had a good line in flat looks, but unfortunately his latest effort went unappreciated, as hound’s attention remained locked on the occupants of a table at the other side of the mess.

thorn followed hound’s gaze and sighed. the shinies again.

he tapped the toe of hound’s boot beneath the table.

“eyes front, sergeant,” thorn said, the snap of command in his voice.

hound came to abrupt attention, only to immediately slump when he realised what thorn had done.

“that’s cheating!”

“stop sulking. you look like a tubie.”

hound exaggerated his pout and did something with his eyes that—

“are you trying to cry?” thorn asked, appalled and impressed at once.

“i saw a nattie kid get extra snacks after they started leaking from their face. what do you think, sir? second helping of rations for your favourite sergeant?”

thorn snorted. “i don’t think grizzer is hurting for snacks, do you?”

the massiff had the best fed stomach on base. possibly in the GAR.

hound laughed sharply, slapping his thigh, and flashed a grin that made his scars crinkle.

“i can’t even call you a no-fun shabuir for that one!”

“you can’t call me that anyway, sergeant,” thorn said drily, stressing the final word.

hound waved the reminder of their respective ranks away, his mouth already open—undoubtedly to receive his other foot—but his gaze again alighted on the shinies’ table and his expression soured. he hunched his shoulders and leant in. hound’s line were nearly as big as alphas, and hunching did very little to disguise his bulk, and was rendered entirely pointless by the armour piled on top.

“i don’t like them.”

thorn made his voice firm. uncompromising. “you don’t have to like them, but they’re fellow coruscant guards and you will respect them. understood?”

if hound chose to cause trouble, it would run through the ARF troopers like last taungsday’s meat, and from there the rest of the guard. personal dislikes could be borne. disrespect—disunity—would get them all killed.

vode an, and all that.

but to thorn’s relief—though not surprise—hound nodded. he’d been on coruscant as long as thorn, and he knew the dangers just as well.

“understood, sir. but…”

fierfiek.

“sergeant?”

hound chewed the inside of his lip, as if uncertain, but continued. “if they come near grizzer…”

thorn exhaled in relief. “grizzer and the massiffs are safe. they’re not… they’re not palatable. from what i understand. just—“

“just us.” hound brightened, bafflingly. “then that’s all right.”

“i will never understand you, hound.”

hound grinned. “that’s all right, too.”

thorn figured it would have to be.

a more resilient strain, the order had read. less complex nutrition requirements.

fox scoffed at his datapad. blood wasn’t difficult to acquire, sure, and certainly simple enough to store—especially fresh—but ‘less complex’ wouldn’t have been fox’s choice of terminology.

but then, he wasn’t a cold blooded shabuir longneck.

… did longnecks even have blood? maybe just saline. little wonder they weren’t bothered about the nutritional requirements of fox’s new shinies.

setting the datapad and his new orders aside, fox considered the new medic, attached to the two dozen shinies that kamino had delivered to coruscant. they were rangy, leaner than the standard model, and their eyes were a swallowing void. like they’d seen some osik despite never leaving kamino before.

fox knew that look from a thousand identical faces.

“you’re confident you can take care of this group, gristle? as well as any other patients that come through medbay. we can’t afford you to specialise exclusively, even with the new influx of staff,” fox cautioned.

gristle nodded smartly. “i’m trained in all aspects of clone care, sir.”

that phrasing was odd, but so was gristle. even in their short acquaintance, fox had noted that gristle seemed to view the world from behind a helmet, despite not wearing one; that distance in their eyes, the one step remove that medics needed while treating vode, but applied to existence at large. further to that, the reports from kamino were practically glowing. fox made a note for shiv to keep her single eye on gristle, and to count the scalpels at the end of each shift.

expensive things to replace, scalpels.

“very well. i look forward to working with you,” fox said, for lack of any reason not to. “cmo shiv will show you around. you can come to me with anything, at any time, understand? coruscant is a shabla posting but we’re all vode here.”

“all, sir?”

fox made his voice firm. “all.”

for the first time, gristle’s expression lightened. they quirked a lopsided smile, and nodded.

“understood, sir.”

the first time fox found a calendar item instructing him to medbay to ‘donate’ to the shinies, gristle reminded him of that conversation, wielding the memory like it was a weapon. or maybe armour, to defend themself with.

fox rolled up his sleeve without complaint. he flashed his fangs; they weren’t as sharp as the shinies’, but that just meant he’d had to be smarter about how he used them.

“all,” he repeated. vode kriffin’ an.

the first time one of the shinies—they couldn’t really call them that anymore, but the preternatural gleam had yet to fade—had ripped through a threat to the senate, fangs and claws bared, innards and outards splattered over their armour, fox had grinned all the way through dictating his report, both arms occupied with donations.

when the shinies tore palpatine apart, led by thorn, who had gleamed like a knife since returning from scipio, fox liked to think the whole guard had contributed to the cause.

“and to think, you didn’t like them in the beginning,” he said to hound.

the gathered guard were watching the treason happen live over security holos, after calling a senate lockdown. stone had brought bangcorn. thire kept tossing it in the air and catching it in his mouth with obnoxious crunches.

hound shrugged. “i can admit when i’m wrong.”

“ha! you never— look at thorn go! he tore that raisin’s leg clean off!” fox cheered. he felt like a tubie.

gristle grumbled and grabbed fox’s arm. “stop moving, sir. you’ll dislodge the needle.” they suddenly delivered a stern look at him, more fierce even than shiv’s. “you didn’t have any caf today, did you sir? it alters the flavour.”

thire nearly choked on his latest kernel, cackling too hard.

“you made fox give up caf? forget the shinies, gristle, what the kark did they put in your tube?” he asked, wheezing.

“commander fox has a commendable sense of duty, commander thire,” gristle said, primly.

fox helped himself to a handful of bangcorn and tried to ignore the headache behind his eyes. no one said revolution would be easy, but as he watched his feral shinies tear chancellor palpatine to pieces, he knew it was worth the sacrifice.

“vode an,” he said.

the room echoed the refrain.

it was a very good day.

[myechoecho]

The Double, ep 18-19

I love that the Duke knows Li well enough by now to that he can tell she is gathering her courage to tell him something. There's part of her that desperately wants to tell him because she trusts him. However, when she says to ask her anything, he immediately gets to the point and asks who she is. She can't quite let go of that information but she will relent enough to say that she is not Jiang Li, which he already knows.

Yet he teases her and gets a smile out of her. He backs off, because just her admitting to him that she is not Jiang Li is huge. The rest will come. He reassures her that she is right to see her justice and that she is not just a ghost; she is real and alive. She does not have to be defined by her past.

I WAS SCREAMING AT THE CONTEXT OF THE SHIRTLESS RAIN SWORD PLAY.

The Duke stripped off his shirt in the pouring rain and... uh thrust his sword while thinking of Li. At the same time, Li is leisurely taking a bath, stroking bright red rose petals thinking of the Duke and smiling. And Li has a self satisfied smirk the next morning. Girl, what are you going to do when he really wakes up next to you?

Not sure how exactly they will top this.

The flower scene was so amazing! He says the flower is pretty and suits her so Li says it's ugly. Which leads him to pull her closer under the pretext of "fake" lovers. But Li dislikes being called lovers as that was the fake accusation that destroyed her before. The Duke though simply says when she's more open, it won't kill her. Meaning she is his beloved, and he would never betray her.

I adore that she stuck the flower in his hair. AND he kept it there the whole time, even when threatening the thugs. He only removed it when she left.

I think my favourite scene from ep 19 is the argument they had. She lays the out the entirety of the Duke's plans so accurately that he's a little stunned. He's always admired her intelligence but I don't think he realized how clearly she saw everything. However, he doesn't want her part of this because he doesn't want her hurt.

And here she calls him Xiao Heng, as she's starting to do whenever it's actually personal and important. She knows he's afraid for her; that he's unwilling to risk her life for the sake of the country. But their paths are converging. They may have differing angles and goals, but the end result is the same. She needs to be a part of this. She will risk her life for the justice of her father, brother and herself. She needs his help, because without it she will likely die.

The Duke relents, reluctantly. Because even if he refuses, she will go about her plan anyway which means more danger for Li. She's forced him into a corner and they both know it. So he lets her in, knowing that while it's still dangerous, he can protect her better this will.

But he still has rules! If she wants to go to the cave then she'll need to figure out a distraction plan for them. And so she does, and the Duke thinks it's brilliant. Plus he had full confidence she could do it.

When they are in the cave, I love how he recognizes that she has some kind of trauma (and expected since the caves remind her of being buried alive) so he takes her hand firmly without asking any questions to help her. He doesn't even consider asking her to leave if she has an issue.

Was the Duke showing off when he took of his shirt and gave his undershirt, which probably smells clean and like him and is warm from his body. Yes.

Did Li watch shamelessly and was turned on by this? Yes. (It gives her more to think about while bathing teehee). She's also curious about the scars on his back.

When Li and the Duke find the mining going on, Li finally has some of the missing pieces about how she and her family, Yurong, and the princess are all connected. It's one of the things the Duke was trying to protect her from but now she'll have a better idea what they are up against.

I didn't think I'd like the Third Uncle at first but he and Li are chaos together and feed into each other's chaos. I love them.

[obliqueblade]

DDVAU- Chapter 5: You're too full of yourself, Pretty Boy.

HOT GUY’S POV 

“For the last time, Cub, No,” Scar stated for what felt like the millionth time. He wasn’t sure how many times exactly it had been said over the past months, having lost count around 100 times. 

That was a month in. Now, over a year later- suffice to say Scar had heard this lecture closer to a million times. 

“But if you just..”

“Just nothing Cub. It’s not her fault the HA can’t get their heads screwed on right about her. I won’t turn my back on her just because some big wig doesn’t like it.” Besides, they both knew the only reason the Hero Association was so against her was merely because they knew they couldn’t control her. Her public image, yes, but not her actions. Cute Guy was probably the only person in the entire city that could be considered free. And the only person, not considered a person.

“It’s not just that Scar. The HA could remove you from duty and..”

“And have a riot on their hands? I think not.” Scar wheeled himself through the lab nearing Cub's room where his suit lay ready for him. That and his legs. His very necessary legs. Public opinion was part of the reason they wouldn’t let him retire- even when his health practically demanded they did. It would’ve caused too many bureaucratic nightmares for them to do so. That and Hot Guy was a good look for them. A way to instill propaganda into the population without doing so actively.

“If you keep this up, they might decide the riot is less work than managing you,” Cub muttered trailing behind his wheelchair. This conversation had started in the lobby before Scar was even fully inside the building. 

Then continued into the elevator.

Then continued in the elevator. 

Then continued while leaving the elevator. 

Then continued through the hallway. 

And has continued through the Research and development of the HA headquarters. 

Let's just say, Scar had grown tired of the nagging. As if the overbearing fluorescent lights weren’t bad enough- Scar had to manage an overbearing scientist. Scar was beginning to see a pattern. A familiar throbbing began behind his eyes, overwhelmed by everything. He was used to this headache at least, so he pressed forward.

“Cub,” Scar stopped his wheelchair,” when have you ever been able to convince me to change my mind.” It was a rhetorical question. They both knew that once Scar had decided on something that was it. 

“I can still hope that one day you’ll gain self-preservation skills,” Cub responded nonchalantly, moving past him to swipe his keycard against the sensor next to the door. Smoothly the door slid up and out of the way revealing the cool lab Cub called home. Half styled fitting the aesthetic of the frazzled scientist Cub pretended he wasn’t, and the other outfitted like a hospital room for Scar. After all, having your number-one hero in the hospital was bad publicity. Wheeling himself in, Cub’s words seemed to dawn on him.

“Hey! I have… some self-preservation skills.” 

“Aside from facing Jellie?”

Scar decided it was best to not comment. However, Cub was not the one who would have to feed her after being late. Scar would rather face the Hero Association any time instead. Scar wasn’t sure what he had more scars from- surgeries, Hero Work, or simply trying to feed the little heathen he adopted. She was a Queen though, so Scar could not complain too much. Scar really only had himself to blame for how spoiled she was, but she deserved every moment of it.

“Anyways, how are they holding up?” Scar quickly changed the subject. Cub’s eyes widened as he slammed his lab door back down to ensure their privacy. It was one thing for Cub to have Scar's legs concealed in his office—it was another for him to address them directly. You never know who might be listening.

“Scar you know…” 

“That they don’t want me talking about them? Cub I’m in a wheelchair. If anyone looked at me right now they’d just assume I was one of your research subjects. They would never think I was Hot Guy,” Scar said flippantly cutting off the upcoming admonishment, but he knew Cub would see through the nonchalance. Technically, Scar was one of Cub’s research subjects- something Cub did not appreciate being pointed out. Their friendship had long since changed from what it once was- all for the ‘greater good’.

“Scar, you know you could quit. No one would fault you.” Cub mumbled turning his back to Scar and leaning forward against his workstation. It was a nice sentiment- but they both knew that wasn’t an option. It existed, sure, but no way would the Hero Association allow their #1 to retire. Scar had known for a long time the job would probably cost him his life. 

“Yes, they would.” 

Scar did not need to elaborate. Cub was far smarter than he showed half the time, he’d understand. 

They both knew who would blame him. 

“Besides, it’s not all bad. Insurance isn’t a problem anymore at least.”

Cub turned and flung one of the bolts he had on his table at Scar’s head. Scar laughed while deflecting it. Thankfully, even without his robotic legs on- Scar’s reflexes were always on point. So long as he didn’t have to use his actual legs. Then he would be in trouble.

“Besides, I’ve got someone to keep an eye on now,” Scar said dreamily staring off into space. He wasn’t sure what Cute Guy would do if Hot Guy up and disappeared one day. Probably celebrate. Or track him down and demand an explanation. Probably both, and depending on the day the order of that may vary.

He was not expecting the quick whap to the back of his head.

“OW!” Scar ducked down rubbing the spot,” What was that for?” Scar exclaimed as Cub retreated to the table. Apparently, reflexes didn’t work on anything larger than bolts, because of course, that is how Scars’ brain worked. 

“No simping in my lab,” Cub stated glaring and pointing at Scar before turning his attention back to the table. Scar wanted to argue that he had not been simping but knew that would only result in another whap to the back of his head. The spot was already tender enough, thank you very much. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Scar muttered still rubbing the spot softly. Judging by the strength of that whack, maybe Cub should be the hero- though Scar knew he wouldn’t be able to do Cub’s job in return. 

“Alrighty Mr. Simp, let’s try these on for size,” Cub stated, turning with his arms full of Scar’s robotic legs. The material looked slightly different, more compression around his thighs, and calves. 

Cub noticed his glances at the newer modifications, “I was reviewing some of the recent footage. You were having a hard time moving in the other design, so I added more sensors into the major muscle groups, and a better neural interface here. I will need to see the one on the back of your neck before you head out and make sure the signal is still connected,”

Scar glanced from the legs, up to Cubs' faces, and then back down to the legs. 

“These sensors are going to hurt aren’t they,” Scar asked, but he already knew the answer. To get his fake legs to work with his real ones, they had to connect deep into the muscles and his nervous system to receive messages from his brain, and the special implant there, on when to move. It took them several years, and numerous prototypes to achieve it. Even now, Cub still has to make consistent improvements to the sensors. There were options that wouldn’t have caused so much scarring, but the response time and strength of his legs would have suffered. That was a risk the HA wouldn’t allow. 

Cub was proud of them at least. Every time Scar busted them up, Cub ripped him a new one about destroying “his babies”. Scar had earned a nice whack on the head when he shot back that his “babies” clearly weren’t good enough for the hero. He hadn’t made such comments since though.

Scar appreciated the HA’s push on making the legs as strong as possible, though. During every fight, Scar had to worry if one misplaced kick would cause the whole thing to fall apart. So far, though, they’ve held it together.

His legs and their lie. This overwhelming, heavy lie, he had to ensure they both held together.

Something on this scale would have been impossible a hundred years ago. Even a decade ago it had been near impossible. It was only thanks to Cub that things like this existed for him to begin with.

Cub had tried arguing with the HA when they insisted on the new legs, saying Scar didn’t need them. When his disease had started rearing its ugly head, the HA had to scramble to keep such a promising recruit. He was a sniper, he could just stay as a sniper- was the crux of Cub’s argument. The HA denied this- citing that Hot Guy could be needed in the middle of fights. As with everything in the City, if the Hero Association wanted something- they got it.

As a result, Scar had bruises, scars, and prick marks up and down his legs. Not the mention the various drugs they kept him on, and the testing they had put him through. The scars he knew if anyone saw he wouldn’t be able to explain away. Scars that nearly encased his legs entirely, as well as the ones on his torso and the base of his neck. Funnily enough for as much of his skin, as his hero costume showed- his scars were entirely hidden from the public. 

Of course, they were. 

Scar and Cub knew the real reason they had demanded he get prosthetics in the first place. It wasn’t a good look on them. Back then, Scar had just been excited that he could still be a hero. The HA needed him to look as normal as possible. He hadn’t known the cost until it was too late to back out. Perhaps it had been too late to back out even before then. The HA was never really known for their level of tolerance. Sometimes, Scar had to wonder if Cub ever regretted joining in on his dream to become a Hero. If Scar was restricted, then Cub definitely was. Scar could go out and pretend to have another life- something Cub had been deemed too dangerous to be allowed to do. It wasn’t really a joke that Cub’s lab had become his home. So, here they were trapped- trying to live up to two kids' impossible dreams.

It wasn’t all bad though, and Scar could never bring himself to regret it. No matter how much he hurt some days- every day he remained a hero, he was able to save someone. 

That’s all that mattered to him, though he did feel guilty he had dragged Cub into this mess.

Cub was less than pleased they were treating Scar as nothing more than a machine to test neuroprostheses, but he was not in a place where he could speak out against it. If Scar was trapped, Cub most definitely was. Cub was the only human alive who could keep the machines working, as well as improving them. Plus, he was the only one Scar was willing to work with. Thus they were stuck.

“Have you had time to review the footage from the alleyway yesterday?” Scar questioned, wheeling himself closer to the medical bed readying himself to move up to it. 

“Yes and no,” Cub said moving to grab his tablet from the desk,” I got all of yesterday's footage, but there was nothing of note that occurred,” Cub explained while pulling the footage up and onto the large screen behind the lab table. Scar frowned at that.

“Cub a building collapsed,” he pointed out, wondering if Cub was losing it for apparently having not noticed. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” Cub responded dismissively waving his hand as if to brush that part aside,” but other than that I can’t find anything that would have caused the building to just fall like that.”

Scar sighed and rubbed his face harshly. He had asked Cub to review the cameras from the area 24 hours before the accident because no matter how many times he ran it through his head, there should have been no way for the building to have fallen the way it had. 

Scar should know. The University had designs for all the buildings constructed in the past two hundred years in Upper City. A normal creeper explosion would have been planned for in the building process- a fact Scar knew it had been. That could only mean-

“So then there was something wrong with that creeper,” Scar stated, strapping the new legs over his own and starting the synthesis to the neurological communicator. As they synced, Scar grabbed the top for his hero outfit and made the valiant effort of pulling his shorts on while remaining sitting.

“Well, we don’t know that either,” Cub started pausing the footage as Scar entered the alleyway. Yes, as creepers had that nasty habit of blowing themselves up, it wasn’t like they left clues as to how they did it. All the evidence that creeper had, died with it. “It’s possible that I missed something or the building had been tampered with prior to yesterday.” 

“That doesn’t explain why the thing exploded 20 feet away from myself and Cute Guy, Cub.” Scar pointed out placing his tinted glasses over his face. They were enhanced and tied to his bow, giving him a sharpshooter-like skill with it. Cub had been particularly proud of the design all those years ago when they had begun to design just how Scar would fight.

“There’s… also the possibility that,” Cub trailed off looking pointedly away from Scar. Scar had a feeling where this was going.

“That what Cub?” Scar froze, his voice colder than it had been in a while. The silence that followed weighed heavily on them both, only breaking when the prosthetic legs beeped to confirm they were connected and functioning properly.

“Scar you have to understand there is a possibility that Cute Guy led you into a trap,” Cub began but Scar cut him off.

“Nope, not a chance. No way.” Scar stated shaking his head. He got up off the bed, testing his weight on the legs before moving to the door. Cub rushed in front arms thrown wide to stop him from leaving. Scar was distinctly reminded of their conversation from earlier, only now, Scar was looking down at Cub instead of up.

“Scar, you know-” Once more Scar did not listen, choosing instead to take advantage of the height and strength difference. Picking him up, Scar moved him aside. Cub squawked indignantly at the action, interrupting his tirade briefly. But that’s all that Scar needed. 

“Right now the only thing I know, Cub, is that Cute Guy saved my life yesterday. That’s a debt not easily repaid, and I will not stand here and allow you to talk badly about her. Especially when they are not here to defend themselves.” Scar walked out the door and towards one of the secret passageways that would lead him secretly out of the Heros building. 

“Scar you know-”

“It’s Hot Guy, Cub,” Hot Guy corrected over his shoulder as the door shut in Cub’s shocked face. Ignoring the pang of guilt that coursed through him, Hot Guy walked forward into the eerily yellow light tunnel.

Hot Guy didn’t bother to turn back around as he faced forward into the tunnel system. A massive spherical tunnel, with the only light coming from storm lights every six feet. It was by far the creepiest area in Upper City, and the first couple of times Hot Guy had used the tunnels he was amazed there had never been any monsters in them. Eventually, he stopped jumping at every noise penetrating from the city above, expecting it to be a monster, but he usually stayed on alert in them. 

However, today, Hot Guy's mind was otherwise occupied. 

Stomping through the underground tunnels to the opening onto 3rd Street where he could begin his patrol. After about 30 seconds, Scar did feel extremely guilty about snapping at Cub like he had. It wasn’t like him to just, snap like that. Deep down he knew that it wasn’t Cub’s fault, and on any other occasion, Scar would never. 

Cub had been to hell and back with Scar. Always there, believing in his dream and creating the very legs he stood on. 

Yet, Scar yelled at him. 

For Cute Guy. 

Pausing in the ambient tunnel, Scar considered what this meant. Could Cub have been right? Not about the buildings collapsing, Scar knew there was no one else he could blame for that other than himself. Yet, since the very moment they had appeared, they seemed to occupy Scar’s every thought. Moving to the side, Hot Guy released a sigh and leaned against the slopping wall. 

They knew she was powerful… was it possible though? And why? What possible motive could she have had to put them both in danger?

Scar shook his head of the thoughts. All of that was assuming Cute Guy meant some sort of harm, and Scar’s very soul seemed to reject the very notion that Cute Guy was the enemy. 

“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same." 

Scar couldn’t remember where that saying had come from, but from some deep recess of his mind, it came to him now. 

Was that it then?

Hot Guy's eyes widened underneath his visor as his breathing picked up. Leaning against the curved wall of the tunnel, he tried to calm down. He knew he liked the avian, but this, this wasn’t just a crush. Hot Guy had crushes before ever meeting the hybrid, but all of those seemed to pale in comparison to whatever Scar was feeling now. Hot Guy wasn’t even sure if love was enough to encompass this overwhelming feeling.

A hole that Scar hadn’t even realized was there, suddenly filled. 

Scar felt whole. 

“Shit,” 

The word seemed to reverberate in the eerie silence of the tunnel and startled a laugh from Hot Guy. He had never been one to let out explicit language, usually it was when he was trying to say another word entirely, but that one felt deserved all things considered. 

Hot Guy pushed his visor up and pinched his eyes shut. 

“Okay, then,” 

Pushing himself up off the wall, Hot Guy smirked to himself as he reopened his eyes. Clearly, there was something else going on, and Hot Guy was willing to bet Cute Guy knew all about it. Scar believed the moon would crash into the planet before he actually got answers from the hybrid.

That was okay though, Hot Guy took pleasure in never really knowing what was going on. Everything happens as it will. Resigning himself to at least apologize to Cub for the way he had acted, Hot Guy pushed himself off of the wall. 

Continuing down the hallway, Hot Guy whistled to himself, to pass the time. After what felt like a millennium, Hot Guy reached the exit door. Camouflaged into the side of the tunnel, there was a faint indention. It was only after using this exit a million times, Hot Guy was able to remember where the cover for the keypad was. 

Slipping the cover off of the keypad, Hot Guy entered the password 02192011, waiting just a moment to hear the beep of confirmation, Hot Guy slid the cover back on and watched as the door opened up. Revealing a dark basement, Hot Guy poked his head through the entranceway to check for anything. 

Seeing no one, Hot Gut exited the tunnel completely, not bothering to turn to watch the door soundlessly close behind him. Forcing the new revelations into the corner of his mind to be dealt with on the walk home from the tunnel, Hot Guy bounded up the stairs that would lead to the ground floor and another staircase that could lead up to the roof. 

When looking for a being that can fly, best do it from a vantage point. 

Hot Guy shoved the metal door open to the roof. Hot Guy whistled as he walked, some tune he couldn’t remember where he had heard, and casually surveyed the sky. 

The empty skyline. 

Releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, Hot Guy sighed in disappointment. Placing his hands on his hips, Scar stared at the concrete and tile on the building. Quickly checking the sky once more, just to make sure he hadn’t blinked and missed the hybrid, Hot Guy was met with the same empty blue. 

Sighing again, the sky turned his gaze down to face the city streets properly. While it was fairly uncommon for him to spot Cute Guy this early, Hot Guy never stopped trying to spot him the second he hit the streets. Scar couldn’t even be sure that she would show up today- she had taken a massive hit yesterday. Who knows how long she’d be out of commission? That was probably the part Scar hated the most. The not knowing, and having no way to check on them. Besides, until then there was always the view. The city skyline had long been one of Hot Guy’s favorites- even before meeting Cute Guy. The tall skyscrapers of the city proper were exhilarating to traverse, and so far up, some of the noise from down below was dampened. It was one of the few places that didn’t remind him of just how enclosed they were. At least until he saw the edges of the wall. Calling it a wall was a bit of an overstatement. The entire thing worked as a large circle, extending 50 miles from one side to the other. Within it, nearly 1.5 million people lived and worked. 

Normally, humans weren’t able to see the wall from the city center, but Hot Guy’s glasses allowed him to see the base of it from his position at the center's edge. No matter where you were within the city, the walls extended so far up they were impossible to not notice. Always serving as a reminder. 

The population was a record high, and of course, many people were concerned with just how they were going to continue to sustain themselves. Food shortages had begun to grow for the poorer communities, and more and more people were finding themselves without. It had led to many people returning to the Old Religion- as if all of this were a punishment from the Gods. Or perhaps they just hoped they could grant their disciples a larger cage. 

It was no wonder many people viewed Cute Guy as either a harbinger of doom or the last hope for change. Although, for most, it was the former. Speaking of thought, Hot Guy was reminded of his self-discovery within the tunnel.

It was almost insulting just how bad Hot Guy had let his feelings get before he even recognized them, but he had shoved that revelation to when he could complain to Jellie about it, and have her judge him. 

As is the cycle of having a cat. 

Acknowledging the fact that Cute Guy did not want to make a bright and dazzling appearance, Hot Guy resigned himself to a boring patrol. Sometimes, Hot Guy wondered why the Heros needed to patrol so frequently. Between 40 heroes, they split the shits into four with 10 heroes working per shift. No hero was allowed to abandon their post before they had met and briefed the arriving hero. 

Hot Guy could see this as necessary if the city was wracked with crime. But other than the occasional monster, the worst thing Hot Guy seemed to encounter was purse snatchers and handsy civilians. Every once in a while it was a house fire, but even that was rare.

Hot Guy could also see that the number and steps made sense if the heroes were weak and required backup. Yet, Hot Guy knew that was not the case either. The other Heros were strong, some stronger than Hot Guy. 

So, why this patrol schedule? 

Maybe it was just to make the civilians feel better, was the best guess Hot Guy had been able to come up with. Though, it wasn’t like Hot Guy would ever know for sure. It wasn’t like the Hero Association was rushing to explain their decisions. Hot Guy was expected to be a good Hero- a good soldier- and not raise those types of questions.

Taking a running start, Hot Guy leaped over to the next roof, only breaking his line of sight from the horizon to ensure he landed on the roof. He’d only ever missed once, in the early days, but the earful he had received after ensured he always at least checked. Hot Guy wasn’t really in the mood to give Cub another reason to fuss at him, upon his return to headquarters.

Hot Guy continued leaping from roof to roof as the sun descended behind the wall and coated the city in dusk. Still with no sign of Cute Guy. No sign of any monsters either, which Hot Guy wasn’t really surprised about. 

Hot Guy plopped down on the edge of a roof neck bent so he could watch the still-illuminated sky. In moments such as this, it was all he could do to wonder what the world was like without the wall. He knew realistically, it wouldn’t be this peaceful abode the citizens needed, but it would be free. Security vs freedom. Even after all these years of looking up, Hot Guy wasn’t sure which one was better. Though it did him no good to wonder, the walls were there, and it wasn’t like there was anything Hot Guy could do to get rid of them. Pretty pointless to envision a future based on something he had less than no control over. 

Huffing out a breath, Hot Guy closed his eyes and let the city ambiance run over him. 

“I think you’re getting a bit lazy over there Hot Guy,” a voice said, amusement peaking through. Startled, Hot Guy's eyes shot open to meet shrouded purple eyes. 

“AH!” Hot Guy yelled falling back to land on the roof. Cute Guy laughed as he flew forward, extending his arm to help Hot Guy off his back. 

“Ya know that’s not exactly disproving my point,” she continued to laugh as Hot Guy grabbed her hand. Using their wings, Cute Guy pulled the hero up, before softly landing next to him on the rooftop. 

“Hey, I was taking a brief moment to… listen to my surroundings,” 

“Uh-huh, and then how was I able to scare you?”

“See, I was actually just testing you… and what you might do in this … situation…” Hot Guy assured, ignoring the fire that spread across his face,” Anyways, I wouldn’t be one to start throwing around the laziness accusations Ms. Three-Hours-Late,”

“How can I be late if we didn’t have scheduled time to meet?” Cute Guy tilted her head to the side as she asked.

“Please, we both know that you’re usually out on the same days I am. I’m just your favorite like that!” Hot Guy exclaimed holding a hand under his massive grinning face. Cute Guy just stared at him blankly until Hot Guy dropped his hand down to rest on his hip. 

“Were you busy with something though?” He asked hesitantly. He knew better than anyone, that Cute Guy didn’t share personal information. Yet, today, something seemed off. On the surface, Cute Guy looked the same as he always did, but Hot Guy could tell the difference. His wings seemed puffed up more, and the darkness obscuring his eyes seemed to be dripping further down. Even the shade of his eyes seemed to be a deeper purple than usual. Wherever they had been, clearly something had happened.

Instead of a response though, Cute Guy sighed and ran a hand through her hair. Hot Guy couldn’t help but track the movement, only noticing as her hand dropped back down, subtle shaking of her fingers. Turning around she faced the direction of the setting sun. Hot Guy couldn’t help but glance down at his wings. After all, it had only been yesterday since the buildings collapsed, one glance and Hot Guy couldn’t see a single mark on either her wings or back. It was like all evidence of the event was erased. Expect, of course, the still destroyed area in the city. 

“I can feel your eyes, Hot Guy. What is it?” 

“There’s not a single mark from yesterday.” Hot Guy murmured without thought, so focused on Cute Guy's back it would have been impossible for him to miss the tensing of her back. 

“And?” Cute Guy questioned tersely, their wings seeming to puff up even more. Hot Guy may not have studied birds, or animals for that matter, but he knew Cute Guy. Something was wrong.

Scar shook himself out of his mini trance. Nothing good would come from scaring her off, because he was incapable of making conversation like a normal person. 

“I’m just glad that my mistake didn’t leave permanent damage. Don’t know if I’d been able to forgive myself for that one,” Hot Guy said turning his gaze from his back towards the skyline once more, not wanting to overwhelm her any more than he already had. For whatever reason, Hot Guy seemed to be fumbling every social interaction today. 

“You’re too full of yourself, Pretty Boy,” 

Hot Guy froze the words echoing in his ear.

Pretty Boy

Be still my beating heart.

Hot Guy fought in silence against the rising heat in his cheeks. Cute Guy leaned over the railing- staring out over the city. With his back to him still, Hot Guy realized something. He moved to lean beside the vigilante. Resting his back against the railing, he turned his gaze directly skyward.

“Can I ask you a question?” 

“I mean that was one, but I suppose I can afford you another.”

“How do you- ya know hide your… features?” Hot Guy fumbled, wincing as he did so. Eloquently said. He really should have planned this out better, Cute Guy was already in no mood to talk about personal things, and Hot Guy himself hadn’t exactly proved himself to be an expert off conversation today.

Cute Guy didn’t respond. Didn’t even acknowledge the question. Hot Guy allowed the silence for a moment before his mouth moved again. No matter how old he got, Hot Guy always felt the need to keep talking when he got uncomfortable.

“I mean, I know that hybrids are based on animals or monsters I guess,” Cute Guy tensed at that but Hot Guy pushed on, “But I can’t think of a single creature with fluffy pink wings.” 

Cute Guys hands tensed around the railing, before he smirked up at him, “Like I’d tell you, Cop.” Hot Guy smiled back, before realizing something. In all the years he’d been a Hero there was something he hadn’t thought about before.

“Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever even seen another hybrid with wings.” It wasn’t a question, and Cute Guy glared at him in response. 

Abort.

Abort.

Abort.

For a moment tense silence passed. 

“And?” Cute Guy said tersely. It wasn’t a question. 

“I just meant…”

“No, please, please continue to tell me how as an expert on all things monstrous and you’ve not seen a monster like me before. Please continue to fish for your beloved Hero’s Association, information about the new threat till they know how to kill it! Did they tell you to ask that? Is that why you’ve been pretending to be nice to me?” Cute Guy shouted, letting go of the railing and jabbing his finger into his chest. Hot Guy backed up from the accusation raising to wave his hands in front of him.

“No, Cute Guy that’s not-”

“Not what? Not exactly what you’re doing right now?”

“I’ve known you for nearly a year now! And I know almost nothing about you in all that time. I just wanted-” Hot Guy persisted, but it was clear Cute Guy was no longer listening. 

“CG, I wouldn’t share what you tell me with them, I just wanted to know more about you and-” 

“And what? To sate your curiosity on the monsters you people hate?” Cute Guy's wings puffed up more, her eyes radiated a deeper purple, and Hot Guy could swear her irises made some sort of shape, as the darkness around his eyes grew larger. It creaked down his cheeks in streamlike rivers. 

Like tears, Hot Guy realized. 

“Cute Guy I -” 

“No, no, clearly this was all a mistake,” Cute Guy said hollowly, her face entirely blank, “Goodbye, Hot Guy.” Cute Guy turned and rose into the air. A weight fell in Hot Guy's stomach as a chill passed through his entire body. 

“Wait!” Hot Guy lept forward grabbing her hand before she would fly off. As he did, a burning sensation went through his body from his hand. Glancing down at his hand grasping hers, he noticed some deep purple-like smoke emitting from their joined hands. 

Burning him he realized.

Cute Guy looked down as if only now realizing the smoke. Roughly, Cute Guy retracted their hand staring down at the escaping smoke still emitting from his now open palm. Hot Guy didn’t spare a glance at his own before trying to grab Cute Guy once more, uncaring of the new wound, so long as she didn’t leave him. 

“Please, I didn’t mean-” but Hot Guy knew Cute Guy wasn’t listening. Instead, she stared at Hot Guy's hand, the one that had previously grabbed her. Glancing down, Hot Guy realized the glove covering his palm had burnt away, leaving deep red marks ingrained in the skin there. Hot Guy barely felt it- training had left most of the nerves practically numb. He was fairly sure he could reach into boiling oil and only feel it on his wrists. But Cute Guy didn’t know that. Glancing back up, Hot Guy watched as Cute Guy backed further away, before hovering over the edge of the roof, just out of reach. All Hot Guy could do was watch as the black marks dragged further down his face, reaching her jaw.

“I’m sorry,” Cute Guy brokenly whispered, almost looking through Hot Guy as if seeing something else in his place. Her eyes vacantly stared just to the left of Hot Guy's face, horror and grief etched deeply in her expression. It was almost more heartbreaking than the previous vacant look.

Hot Guy opened his mouth to try and fix what he did wrong, but before he could, Cute Guy turned and disappeared in the blink of an eye. Hot Guy stared at the space in the air that had just been occupied before falling to sit on the roof. 

So, in total, Hot Guy had been short to his childhood friend for insinuating that his crush was actually evil. Not great. Then he turned around and called said crush a monster when they were clearly already upset. Rubbing a hand over his face, Hot Guy let out a low groan.

“Great job, Hot Guy. Really one of our better days of social interactions,”

[imtrashraccoon]

This is based off of a real life story

Aka 2 year old me

😌

For UT!, UF! And US! Sans and papyrus

The skeleton is in the kitchen and turn around...only to see their 2 year old walking with their blanket in one hand and the cats tail in the other. They're dragging the cat by the tail.

The cat is fine, but its still weird.

It took me a hot minute to write this one but we're here now! This headcanon assumes the skellie in question is the father but they could probably also be the supportive uncle as well. Also, I hadn't considered that each of them would own a cat beyond the Underfell brothers but if that's something you're interested in, I could make another post.

The Tale brothers don't own a cat so it's likely a stray they've been looking after. Technically, the Fell brothers own a dozen barn cats but only Doomfanger and Tux are pets. (Tux is the pet of Violet, the protagonist in the fic they'll be featured in.) The Swap brothers also don't own a cat but it looks remarkably like the cat that's been hanging around them since the Underground.

Undertale: Classic (Sans) & Vanilla (Papyrus)

Classic

He was just poking around in the kitchen for a snack when he heard the familiar footsteps of the little tike. Didn't you just put them down for a nap? He can't help but chuckle when he sees the way they're dragging the stray cat you've been feeding for months around by the tail.

Even though the cat doesn't seem too bothered by the predicament it's in, Classic doesn't want it to get hurt or hurt their little one. He gently separates the two, although he may have snapped a quick picture before doing so to show you later. He quietly scolds their child but he's not actually upset with them since he knows they really like the cat.

The cat in question does seem a bit miffed to have been dragged around like a toy and fixes the fur on its tail as soon as the toddler lets go. It doesn't immediately leave the house though so you might have a cat now?

Vanilla

It was his turn to watch the kid while you got some much needed rest and since they seemed content, he'd left the house for one moment to bring the trash out. He came back to find their child playing with the stray cat who must've snuck inside while the door was open. He's more than a little worried when their toddler decides the best way to show him the cat is to drag it over by the tail.

Luckily, this cat is used to their toddler since you've been feeding it together for months and doesn't scratch them. Vanilla is quick to remove their tike's little fingers from its tail and scoop them up into a hug. He tells them in no uncertain terms that it's not nice to pull on a cat's tail and makes them promise not to do it again, even if they don't seem to understand him and end up laughing instead.

He is startled when the cat begins purring and rubbing up against his femur. It's doesn't seem upset nor like it wants to leave anytime soon. He'll put it outside until you wake up so you can decide together whether to keep it or not.

Underfell: Crimson (Sans) & Scar (Papyrus)

Crimson

He had just about dozed off when the pitter patter of tiny feet woke him up. He's more than a little amused when the kiddo drags your cat into the living room by his tail. While he's hesitant to move, he can already picture how mad his brother would be if Tux clawed up the carpet and how worried you would be if their child got scratched.

He uses his magic to pick up both the rascals, which serves to distract their child enough to let go of Tux's tail. After teasing them about how they might not be so lucky if they tried that with Doomfanger, Crimson manages to get them to fall asleep in his arms and returns to his own nap.

Unfortunately, Tux is more than a little freaked out by being picked up with magic and immediately darts out of the room. He'll be sulking in your room for the rest of the day but is fine otherwise.

Scar

It was his turn to watch the kiddo and he brought them down to the barn so he could look after his animals at the same time. After ordering his wolf, Whitefang, to keep them from wandering off, he got to work. He had just finished feeding the chickens and stepped out of their pen to be confronted with the sight of their toddler holding Doomfanger by her tail.

He stops the kiddo from trying to drag the cat around and guides them to go sit with Whitefang again. Scar gently explains to them that no one likes having their tails pulled and tries to get them to promise not to do it again. He gives up when they only end up giggling at him as they don't understand why he's lecturing them.

Doomfanger is fine, although by the way her tail is flicking, she seems a bit put off that a strange creature just grabbed her gorgeous tail. That, or she's annoyed that she hasn't been fed yet.

Underswap: Dell (Sans) & Saffron (Papyrus)

Dell

He was changing the oil in his motorcycle when he heard the rascal toddle into the garage. He asks them a few questions in an effort to keep them entertained until he can get out from under his bike. Only then does he realize that their child is holding onto the tail of a familiar white cat.

He gives the cat a suspicious look before carefully removing their toddler from the troublesome feline. When it only gives him an innocent meow, Dell breathes a sigh of relief before turning his attention to their kid. He explains that this particular cat is extra mischievous and has a history of messing with him back in the Underground. He's oddly serious for once and tells the child that this cat isn't to be trusted.

The irritating cat seems content for the moment, although it has a slightly mischievous look in its eyes. Hopefully it doesn't decide to knock over everything on his work bench later.

Saffron

He was relaxing in the living room with a book when the little rascal wandered in. He nearly does a spit take when he sees them holding onto the tail of a white cat that looks incredibly familiar. It's actually a pretty funny sight but he doesn't want to risk either of them getting hurt.

After putting down his book, Saffron starts to record on his phone as he separates their kid from the cat. He knows neither you nor his brother will believe him otherwise and he's already chuckling at the thought. He does scold their child about pulling the cat's tail but he has a big smile on his skull the entire time and isn't upset at all.

The irritating cat doesn't seem hurt and, if anything, seems a little amused by the interaction. Maybe it'll end up sticking around now that it's got a new friend?

[breached-containment-script]

So the scarring discourse is still going.

No, characters keeping scars does not automatically equate to that being torture porn. In this context, fans clearly intend it in a way that says "even if you end up with physical marks, it doesn't diminish you". Or is Aang getting scarred torture porn too? Or do you think things like Mortal Engines movie shrinking the female lead's facial damage to a minimum "spared her of physical trauma"? No, it was afraid of depicting something deemed "ugly" and it's a huge disservice to real people who look like she was described in the book.

The topic was not handled super well in ATLA. Katara's wounds got healed leaving no trace on her, on her psyche nor on how she views Aang which is not just unrealistic, but you can literally feel in the show Katara having to go "no Aang it's ok, I'm fine, you don't have to beat yourself up over it, I'm healed, let it go Aang, it's not your fault," it is too much. It would have been much stronger had the burns left some mark, even a tiny one, because then Aang's reluctance to practice firebending would have made more sense and all characters would have gotten a more solid demonstration that the Avatar can be dangerous too. It would have been a wakeup call to Katara that Aang isn't a completely harmless kid she can always shield and protect. That's character development! This would have been a more powerful moment in the progression of their relationship, especially after they sort it out and Aang learns safe firebending later on, because they'd have a more real problem to overcome rather than just Aang's guilt.

Again, show didn't frame things too cleverly - there's no heightened moment of perhaps Katara being extremely happy that she discovered a part of her lost Southern waterbending heritage (just remember her behaviour with Hama, there's none of that here). The show just removes her wounds, she's confused about the ability, and this leads to Jeong Jeong making a point about how fire is wild and destructive. The whole segment ends with removing the source of the problem (wounds) and is about how evil fire is. Aang ends up being traumatized anyway, he isn't less traumatized because Katara's wounds didn't scar.

The point is - Katara gets nothing character-building out of this event, even though it made her cry and cradle her arms for several minutes on screen. Because of this her burns could be considered torture-porn (slightly). Her discovering healing abilities is not a reward she got exclusively because she suffered the burns, she could have discovered it by accidentally hurting herself, or healing someone else. Imagine if Aang hurt himself by being reckless and Katara discovering she could heal him? What she should have gotten out of specifically being burned by Aang, is a changed view of him. I don't mean her viewing him negatively, but taking a step back and both learning they should be more careful. Who said zutara stans want Katara getting scarred by Aang in order to make Aang a villain in this? He literally cannot be a villain here, he made a big mistake by being careless. It's got nothing to do with zutara. It's not helpful to misinterpret some storytelling tools that have nothing to do with shipping, just to prevent them from creating some later story hooks which could potentially be used in shipping a NOTP. Heck, Katara getting scarred could even be used (with skilled writing) in shipping her with Aang - like zutara fans use Katara being angry at Zuko and expecting him to demonstrate that he wouldn't betray or hurt them again.

And if you have a distaste for two happy friendly characters hurting each other on accident, that's fine, but well I have a scar on my arm from my brother's scratch that happened on accident. These things happen and stories shouldn't be scared of portraying it, especially if later on they show how to make ammends and overcome the problem. I'm not saying "Katara should definitely have kept her scars!!!" I am showing narrative weak points and suggestions how things could have been done differently, what benefits it could have had character-wise and what that might have changed.

[livingdeadmlm]

Hey dude do you do yandere/possesive fics? And if you do can you do one about Skwisgaar x male reader lol💀🙈

Gets NSFW but not all the way, he gets a tad freaky with the branding kloakateers go through, also slight power play.

Very much implied that you the reader like him as well but I wasn’t able to represent that well, also I'm working on being more descriptive.

After going through so much in the last few days when he got a semblance of normalcy with you he refused to let go. You began to work for the band as any old kloakateer nothing made you stand out, especially with the basic uniform you all wore. The only thing that made you stick out was how often Skwisgaar wanted you to help him. So much so that whenever he called out for help no one else would make a move if you were on shift.

One thing about the job was you weren’t to take your cloak off around the members, it was to remain on for some odd reason Nathan came up with years prior. You assumed that it was because they wanted to distance themselves from you guys due to the death rate the job came with. However, this did not stop the blond from remembering you and begging to see your face attempting to lift your mask now and then. He would relentlessly flirt with you and use whatever power he has over you to have you become his kloakateer being in charge of standing outside of his door for most of your shifts. He’d be purposely not wearing much clothes any time he’d need you for something which was very often knowing him. He would play it off but being so pale the redness in his face was clear across the rest of his body.

At one point he was able to convince you to be in his room at night, which you were resistant to due to the guests he has every night but they seemingly came less and less often. It completely stopped when you gave in to sleeping in his bed with him. What better way to protect him? At least that’s what he said to convince you. However each night he held you close tucking himself into your arms head resting under your chin. You began to enjoy the attention, especially the perk of getting paid to sleep for most of your shift. At some point, he discovered your name, and he’d sing it across the large mansion-like building they lived in. On tour, you’d never be far as he demanded you always be close.

He’d refuse the other members from asking you for things, they will do it to annoy him and it truly gets under his skin when you agree to make the others a quick snack or run an errand for them. Fans of the band would attempt to hit on any kloakateer in an attempt to sleep their way to the band which made his blood boil. To see women and men alike press against you even for a brief moment. It made him feel helpless on stage to watch other men press against you like it was some sort of club and they wanted to take you home. They were taking you away from him as he performed on stage. Skwisgaar pulled you into his dressing room, long hair pulled into a ponytail as his makeup dried. He pushed his body flush against yours, hands running up your torso and resting on your chest. Your own hands rested on his hips as he began to speak.

"Lifts yours kloak." Your hands didn't dare move, though you guys have been in this intense relationship for almost a year you still abided by the contract of your job and refused to remove it. Your eyes being slightly visible through the mesh mask stared him down. He groaned lifting his hand to bring the cloak up to reveal your neck, and just like that he launched his attack on you. Bitting and stucking on any exposed skin he could reach. He pulled you in by the back of your neck feeling the scar left over that you had gotten just like every other kloakateer. The scar has long since healed but his cold hands grazing the raised skin on your neck.

It meant you were bound to the band and the contract you signed but he considered it a binding to him. You weren't going to leave but it felt now you couldn't. Your legs shook a bit as the sucking got more desperate. His moaning mixed with yours in the small room. Unconsciously his hips moved against your slow thrusts against each other felt like electricity with the biting on your neck. Your hands begin to take his shirt off in an instant he each for your belt buckle, the metal clinking gently.

A knock at the door stopped your movements but Skwisgaar kept going, tugging at your belt to get the thick pair of jeans off.

"Hey dood its like 5 minutes till show time so uh make sure you're ready."

Pickle's footsteps were muffled by the door as he walked away, Skwisgaar had an angry look on his face which made his smudged makeup look much more intentional. The hand that was once teasing your scar was already shoved in your pants as Pickles was speaking.

"Save this for whens amnst comes back." He took his hair down from the ponytail, as he made his way out of the door. You took a moment to catch your breath the feeling in your crotch practically burned and pulsated.

[jolalibrary]

i and love and you

simon 'ghost' riley x f!reader (helen!reader) wc: 2.7k || warnings: ghost in his feels, fluff, ghost!fluff. summary: her eyes meet his, and he doesn’t drop his gaze. his brain goes silent, just like the night around them. from here, he’s reacting. he’s listening, even if words aren’t being spoken—wishing he could remove his mask instead. an: for helen lovers, this a cute, fluff flashback. and is before the proposal. dedication: for @guyfieriii, the one i'd sit on a rooftop with and take out a sharpie to write words on.

simon ghost riley masterlist

Normally, Ghost seeks her. 

A need that throbs until he does so. Usually, he finds her near a patient or bent over paperwork, sometimes even decompressing in a small space—most often her office.

It’s been that way since the very beginning, a calling he struggles to ignore.

There have been times when he’s been able to shove it down, but as of late—fuck, since she came back into his life—it’s something that grows in intensity until he sees her. A pull he cannot ignore, if he's able to answer it.

Here, in the makeshift base, one that’s housed in some crumbling family home, it's harder.

She has no spaces to hide. No small cupboards to escape to, no patients to fret over and even less paperwork to busy herself. And so, he has no reason, no real excuse to find her, to hide with her and let her lift his mask until he only breathes her.

Ghost has considered visiting her room. Sliding into the cot, lifting her until she's over the top of him, sliding his fingers past her cheeks into her hairline. But, the walls are thin. Too risky for either of them. She's too loud for such secrecy, meaning they’re only allowed minimal hand brushes and heart-stopping gazes. 

It could be worse, she could be miles away. Too far away to check in on, too perilous to try and radio or contact. 

For those reasons, Ghost should be glad she’s here. 

He isn’t. 

It’s one thing that she mops up their missions, eyes bouncing, assessing the damage they’ve come back with as she triages them quicker than anyone can explain the ailments. But, this is different. Her being here, properly, fully. It means she’s at risk, in the eye of the storm—one he can't protect her from. 

She doesn’t have a strong track record of walking away unharmed. Each time in the past, one of them has walked away with a scar that tells a story. Sometimes, they have an array of memories to haunt their nightmares. 

He’s thankful Price makes her do recon at this base. 

You’re too valuable. Can’t have the only soul who can stitch us back together riddled with holes, can we, hmm?

Ghost had clenched his fist at that thought, though. The image alone prodded and twisted its pointy edge inside of him.

But, it falls down the list of things to concern himself with, especially when he learns that she enjoys night watches, requesting them—practically demanding them each morning when they re-brief. 

It’s something he hadn’t known before but finds himself intrigued by. 

He wonders if it’s the solitude. The fact that it’s quiet and calm. The night tends to blanket worries, providing the chance to think—something he suspects she has little time for when people are always rudely bleeding out. 

Each night, he watches her slip upstairs—the sounds of her footsteps often easing his bones until she stops, likely sitting, taking the weight off. He fights following her, forcing himself to retire for the night out of fear he would. 

On the first night, he doesn’t sleep at all. Just listens.

The second he finds he’s able to steal an hour, able to nod off to the sound of her pacing.

By the third, he’s able to sleep more—waking to silence, dread filling him, chest tightening, only relieved when he hears her footsteps sound. 

By the fourth, he’s tired of battling with himself. Even if he knows there’s little need for two of them on the roof, he goes all the same.

It takes him a moment—a moment too fucking long—before his eyes land on her sitting, back against the wall of the roof, her head dipped, hand drawing in some book with one of her sharpies.

So, he sneaks a moment. 

One which he won’t have to shift his face, ensure his eyes haven’t softened and his body isn’t fully turned towards her. He allows himself this moment, moonlight on her skin, jaw tight in concentration, hair down as the breeze teases its ends. 

He knows he gets to see her like this often, but it has been sparse as of late. The mere thought of which almost disarms him—trying to recall the last time he was able to see her without a cause etched into her features, without an axe to grind. 

“Y’know, being on watch means watchin’, Helen?”

She doesn’t look up, not that he expects her to. But she does smile. One of those Achilles heel kind of smiles—fuckin’ Helen. 

“Oh. And there was me thinking it was to sit here and look pretty?” 

He snorts, leaning against the wall as he slides down to sit beside her. “Y’do that well. Look pretty.” 

“Charmer.” 

“Sh. They’ll hear you.” 

She chuckles, light and airy—he wishes he could bottle it. Slide the vial into a vest pocket, and listen to it when the edges darken, unable to find the light. 

“Do I dare fuckin’ ask what y’doing?”

“I’m drawing the roofs,” she says, pausing her drawing to show him the other pages before it. “Done it every night I’ve been up here…” 

He sees that.

Observing it as she shows him a similar drawing, each page going and going, the lines sometimes thicker, sometimes thinner. Her hand stops eventually, offering a half-smile he knows is painted on purposefully: don’t worry, I’m fine.

But, he will worry.

And she isn’t fine. 

Ghost knows she’s capable. Hasn’t had one single doubt about her being here. He knows when given the chance, she doesn’t miss—when shit hits the fan, her brain thinks quickly, feet acting. 

But, in her beautiful, self-hating mind, she writes a different story. It irritates him, and makes his piss boil that she can’t see it—can’t see how fucking good she is. 

But, then, they both have their struggles—their own demons they have to face in the mirror and live alongside. He wishes he could rid hers, though. Wish he could banish them, drive them away with each brush of his fingers and each whisper of her name—her real name. The one which feels momentous when he’s able to speak it. 

“I do it because it’s easier.” 

But he knows it means, ‘so I can show myself I didn’t fuck up’. 

He’s slept beside her, he’s held her close when she’s lost in some dreamscape that tries to burn her for a mistake she thinks she could’ve prevented. He’s watched her eyes dull when she’s lost, he’s watched her fist clench when things go wrong. He’s heard her fucking mind go into overdrive the moment their breaths are caught before he’s even wiped a wet cloth between her thighs. 

His hand twitches unknowingly, knocking into her knee. And it forces her eyes to meet his, holding them for a moment—spilling all of her secrets into the space between them. 

Some he can understand with ease. Some require more of an explanation he knows she doesn’t have the words quite for. 

The air brushes past them, proving the moment isn’t frozen—that time hasn’t stopped and stilled. It smells of spices and salt, it kisses the pages of the book as the pages rattle in the soft breeze; it blows through the house they’ve commandeered. It’s all he can hear, that and the beat of his heart—one which thumps in his neck and ear. 

It’s why he runs a gloved hand up the back of his mask, scratching at his scalp, staring at her as he wonders what the fuck to do with her. But, all he can think is his hair is long, he feels it as he tugs it between his fingers. 

“Hair too long?” 

“How’d you know?” 

She shrugs, light and innocent—as if she can ever be the latter. “Call it a hunch.” 

“Shoulda got you to cut it when I got back last time.” 

And fuck, the stern look she shoots him almost makes him snatch the book from her and kiss it from her face. Mask still on, and all. 

“No.”

“No?” 

She laughs, shaking her head. “Ask Soap.”

“m’not asking Johnny. The man has a fuckin’ hawk by choice, Helen.” 

It paints the air, the rest of her laugh. It having grown, becoming something bigger—shifting the dread in his chest and making her eyes twinkle like the stars above them. 

“I’m not cutting your hair.”

“You cut Johnny’s!”

Brows arching, lip curled. “Because he doesn’t bitch and moan that I do it wrong, Simon.” 

“Y’almost scalped me!” 

Rolling her eyes, she leans her head against the brick, lips rubbing together as she tuts. “You moved! Fuck, I hate you sometimes.”   

But she doesn’t. 

He knows she doesn’t. She’s told him as much, each one of them stored in his mind, hidden away, kept just for him when he feels himself shrinking away.

“No, you don’t.” 

“No,” she sighs, closing her eyes. “I don’t.” 

Silence greets the air, and it’s welcomed. It sits comfortably, blanketing them both, even as he wrestles with it—debates it. Permits the thought and the words to scald the tip of his tongue. 

It’s not that he doesn’t think it, feel it. He does. It fills him, head to fucking toe. But, the words themselves leaving his tongue? It’s… They're hard. Laborious. Knackering.

He puffs out a breath, all dramatic and over the top. Just like her.

Smirking to himself as he slides his glove from his hand with his teeth. Her eyes meet his, and he doesn’t drop his gaze. His brain goes silent, just like the night around them. 

From here, he’s reacting. He’s listening, even if words aren’t being spoken—wishing he could remove his mask instead. But he can’t, not with the possible risk of watchful eyes, and the danger of needing to move into action at any moment. 

Ghost hears her swallow as he slides up her sleeve, exposing her skin to the moonlight and the stars. And then he takes the pen from her hand as she holds the cap, dropping the book between her bent knees. 

He holds it, her special pen, the one she never lets anyone ever use—holds it, rolls it between his gloved fingers. 

But, it’s the feeling of warmth in his bare hand that makes him almost smile. The way her hand is dwarfed by his, that it fits so perfectly—all long fingers and softness aside from the plasters and dry calluses. Hands as soft as hers are hard to find in this line of work, and he holds her hand like it’s the prize it is—stretching out her forearm. 

Neither of them speak, both their eyes dropping to her forearm as he slowly glides the nib of it over her skin. 

It leaves its mark with ease. One letter, then four, then three. Her head remains down, even when he places the pen back in the cap, still in her hand. 

“So, y’know I don’t either.”  

Her lips twitch, and he watches them. 

“Know y’can be forgetful, Helen.” 

She lifts her eyes, staring at him as she scrunches her nose. “It’s nice that you can write it, but not say it.”

“Leave it.”

She does. 

Her eyes observe him as her thumb circles the space under his words—his writing. His own personal branding, the only one he can currently get away with. 

“We should make that our new sign,” she whispers, and his eyes narrow in confusion. 

She touches her forearm, before holding one finger up, then four, then three—smirking at him, in that wicked way she always does. 

“Can add it to our secret code—our two-tap ‘miss you’ and our flat palm ‘be safe’.”

“Your secret code.” 

“He says as if he doesn’t freaking love putting me off in the middle of a briefing” she teases. 

And fuck, if she isn’t right. 

He loves catching her eyes, brushing past her, letting her know—in a room full of their colleagues—that he’s thinking of her. That she’s his. “I’m not doin’ it against my chest, or anythin’.”

“The very fact you suggested that Simon, tells me that is very much what you’re going to do.” 

“Helen.” 

“Yeah, yeah, ‘enough’,” she smiles, almost resting her head on his shoulder. “Your warning tone has little effect on me, Ghosty-one.”

“Don’t I know it.”

She smirks, shaking her head, twisting her pen, “My turn—“

“No need,” he says, quickly. Watching her confusion weave into her brows and forehead.

Releasing her hand, he slides up his own sleeve, fingers sliding over his inked arm until his finger stops, pointing, gesturing. 

There, in all of its inky goodness, a stethoscope hanging from one of his skulls—one she has so often traced with her nail when she has been lying on his chest, breath dancing over his skin. 

“I wish I could hug you.”

“I know.”

She sighs, rolling her head as she twirls the pen in her fingers, his own pulling the glove back over his hand. 

“I also really want a shower. And, a Chinese…”

Tugging his sleeve back down, he watches her as she stares off to the side of them. Nothing, not even a sound albeit the wind in between the branches of the tree. 

“Yeah? What y’ordering?”

“Some noodles, rice, maybe a curry? Duck, probably. That place near yours does a nice duck—“

“No. Not again.” 

His hand nudges her, pulling her gaze back to him, watching her fighting a smile. “What do you mean?” 

“You hate mushrooms.” 

“And?”

“Y’fuckin’ made me pick them all out last time.” 

She laughs, and he’s sure it paints another part of his world in colour. Watching in awe as her giggle touches each corner of her face, leaving evidence of it on her cheeks and lips. 

“I think you did that all on your own, Simon. I am a big girl, I can scoop out my own shrooms.”

He grunts. “No. Can’t have tha’. Wouldn’t be gentleman-like.” 

“Well, my hero.”

“Oi. That’ll do.” 

“Y’know what else?”

He sighs. 

Not because he hates listening to her, or all the things she wants. But, rather because he hates that he can’t give her a single fucking one. Especially when she asks for nothing.

Not a single thing.

Just stay alive. Come back.

Two things he can’t even fully promise her. 

And that turns in his mind sometimes, shifts between the thoughts of plans and briefings. Makes his insides knot, because how can her eyes catch his across the room, make his lips jerk behind the mask in a sea of so many—and yet she never truly asks for anything from him.

Just need you, Simon. All of you. Nothing else.  

No one else could get that from him.

Not all his past, present and future. But, she makes him do a lot of things with ease, without thought. He suspects it’s why he knows she’s the one. 

“Go on.”

Her head leans against the stone wall beside him, eyes trained ahead, likely focusing on some roof as she releases the words, “I also really wish we could fuck, y’know. I’d even take a quickie, one where you don’t even fully undress…” 

It slides into the air and drips into his ear. And, if he wasn’t already thinking the same, her head turns on the stone, eyes landing on him with an intensity that makes him hard. She doesn’t smile, doesn’t smirk. But her arm comes across her chest, clutching her elbow as she bites her index finger—knowing exactly what she’s fucking doing.

“... Just wish you could fill me up right here, right now—chafe my bloody thighs with your ridiculously wide hips and horrid scratchy belt. Fuck, I’ll even take you scratching the shit out of my cheek with that sharp bit of your mask again. Just so, even when I’m lying in my empty, cold cot, I can feel you.”

He says nothing.

Does nothing.

Using every fibre of restraint not to shove her to the ground and rip her fucking clothes off. From the way her eyes are aflame, he assumes she’s praying for him too. 

“Y’really miss me that much, Helen?”

“Simon, I miss just being next to you more than I miss your ridiculous bed in Manchester.”

He snorts. “You do love my bed.”

“It’s the only reason I’m with you, personally.”

He nudges her and she rolls her head closer, barely a space between the two of them. He can almost see the moon reflecting in her eyes, and can even smell the vanilla body wash mixing with the air. 

All he can think is, if he’s quick enough, he might be able to kiss her.

May be able to run his tongue across her bottom lip, pull her close, right over his lap, and her knees apart, spread all for him—

“Shame Price’ll be up in a second,” she says, dismay warped around each syllable. “I want you quick, but not that quick.”

“Have to settle for a joke, then.”

She uncaps her pen, and the pop sound is so loud compared to everything else. “Go on then, Simon. Gimme your best line—make me laugh so hard it pulls a muscle and I have that to keep me company tonight.”

an: couldn't bow out 2022 without some roof top sweetness with the main man. right? happy new year, team ghost. i can't put into words what you all mean to me, or how happy you've made me feel. j'adore.

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

Shun the Light - Ch 15 - The Bunker

Slow Burn | Refuge | Decision | Mend | Hunger | Thin Mints | The Garden | Philip | Moments | Full Moon pt 1 | Full Moon pt 2 | Tend | Absolution | The Talk | Scars |

Author's Notes: Consider....vampirism and lycanthropy as disability? If you take a less fantastical and more naturalistic look, both are changes to the mind and body that make existing in a society difficult. Just something I've been thinking about.

Some more bonding, some #justvampirethings, some full moon dread. Thanks to everyone who has read this far. <3

Content Warnings: werewolf whumpee, vampire whumpee + caretaker, not much else just some angst, dread, mentions of blood

----

Sometimes, when he wakes at dusk, Dante forgets that he isn't alone in the house.

Dante learned early on that being mostly-dead is pretty hard on the body. Many of the systems that keep people alive also keep them comfortable, and so he has built habits to deal with the discomforts.

His throat is always parched, so he keeps a little cup of blood by the bed to get moving. His body is stiff from sleeping very still, so he does stretches.

And then there's thermoregulation, or the lack thereof. On cold days his skin becomes tingling, oversensitive, even numb, and in the summer he frequently suffers from heat exhaustion. Both make hunting difficult, so on mild days he stocks up on blood for his fridge, and he keeps his bedroom at a consistent temperature year round.

After his stretches he exits his bedroom wearing Philip's old silk robe and slippers, grabs a jar of blood from the fridge - calling it a 'cup of Joe' like Mr. Townsend used to - and settles into his chair for an evening gameshow.

That is usually when he remembers he has a guest, in the form of Matteo sprawled on the couch with the remote control already in his hand.

Tonight he is there as expected...but something is off. Matteo is sitting at one corner of the couch with his arms around himself, staring straight ahead. When Dante greets him he barely reacts.

"Matteo?"

"Mm."

"What's wrong?"

"Just a few days left."

As if to prove his point, the waxing moon peeks out from behind a cloud. Dante pulls the curtain shut.

"It never gets easier," Matteo says softly. "I get so anxious that I can barely eat or sleep, which only makes things worse..."

It's been hard to shake the memory of seeing Matteo's violent transformation, he can't imagine living it.

"I can make you do both of those things," Dante offers, realizing too late how creepy it sounds.

Matteo only smiles, though it doesn't reach his eyes. "Thanks."

"Do you want to see the shelter? Maybe that will help."

"Yeah, sure. Why not."

-

It's a bit like opening a time capsule. The bunker hasn't been touched since the 1960s, everything exactly the way Mr. Townsend left it the last time he went down to check expiration dates.

Against one wall is a shelf stacked with supplies, books, canned food and water, a radio and a box of ammunition. Cot-style beds line the other two walls, one a bunk bed and the other a single.

"Only three beds?"

Dante shrugs. "They didn't like me and dad that much. So, what do you think?"

Matteo steps inside and looks around. "We should probably remove anything that isn't attached...the wolf will just wreck it all anyway. You'll find me covered in canned peaches in the morning."

"Those probably need to go anyway. Okay, we can do that. What else?"

"I guess that's all." he still seems uncertain.

"Matteo..." Dante joins him in the small room. "You don't have to do this if you don't want to."

"No, it's not that. This is a good idea. I can't hurt anyone here. It's this or chain me out back like a dog."

The resignation in Matteo's voice is all too familiar. In his early days of vampirism Dante had tried to find ways to still be part of the world, spending time in bars and 24-hour diners, taking long drives at night, he even tried taking a night shift in a stockroom. But eventually fear won - fear of sunlight, fear of discovery, fear of hurting someone or being hurt. It drove him into the shadows, and there he has remained.

"I had a dog once. He slept at the end of my bed."

The new information pulls Matteo from the brink of despair.

"Yeah? What was his name?"

"Porco. It means pig. It started as an insult when we found him as a stray. He would eat anything and everything. But I got attached to him and dad was bad at saying no if something made me happy. He always said joy was in short supply and we should stock up whenever we could."

Matteo smiles in this warm, endearing way that Dante finds impossible to look away from. Sometimes he tries to smile back but it's as if the muscles of his face have forgotten how.

They get to work moving everything out of the bunker until only the beds and shelves, which are fixed to the concrete walls, remain.

When they're finished it looks much more like what it really is - a prison. But Matteo seems less apprehensive. Maybe just knowing what to expect is enough.

"Dante?" he says as they ascend the stairs back toward rooms with windows and light.

"Yes?"

"Thank you. You didn't have to do any of this."

They reach the first floor hallway. Dante pushes the door shut with his foot and turns to look at him.

"You saved my life, remember?"

Matteo huffs. "I think you made up for that a while ago. This is...more than I have any right to ask for. If there's anything I can do..."

"I really don't mind. You're - "

...can he call him a friend? An acquaintance? Is this thing between them just a series of favors, an exchange of small kindnesses the world has not been so quick to give? A rescue for a rescue. A warm bed for some company. A sip of blood for relief from pain.

"...you're nice to have around," he finishes carefully. It seems a safe enough statement. Neither coming on too strong nor dismissing just how big a change Matteo has brought to his dull life, if only for a little while.

There is that smile again - and then Matteo's arms are around his neck in a tight hug.

"I like being around," he says quickly, shyly.

It's over too soon and Dante is left with the lingering warmth, watching Matteo disappear into the living room and wishing he'd had the nerve to hug back.