#it’s one thing to be sympathetic towards the things that led him here

[grandmags]

Imagine being a Henry Creel stan. Not in a lighthearted Jamie fan/ funny Vecna memes way, but in a no-holds-barred way that has you constantly undermining other character’s trauma and essentially brushing off his mass-murdering children in favor of twisting him into a protagonist.

Embarrassing. Couldn't be me.

[foxy-eva]

Damaged Goods

Summary: The belief that they were both undeserving of love led Spencer and Reader into each other's arms. If they can’t find love, they can at least soothe their need for physical affection, right?

“You kiss me with your mouth wide open like you’re not afraid of swallowing poison. I taste the good and bad in you and want them both. We call this bravery.” - Anita Ofokansi

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader 

Category: Smut, Angst with a hopeful ending

Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) negative self-talk and self-deprecation (both Reader and Spencer, also in the context of sex!), implied past trauma (nothing explicit), some dark/cynical humor, loneliness, crying (also during sex), showering together, oral (fem receiving), unprotected penetrative sex

Author’s Note: I hope you guys are ready for some smangst! This is my entry for @imagining-in-the-margins Friends with Benefits challenge! 

Word count: 4.3k

Masterlist

It was as if Spencer had expected you when he opened his door, a sympathetic smile spread over his face and the first buttons of his shirt already undone. As if he had known that you weren’t planning on wasting any time to get him undressed once you stepped inside his apartment. 

“He stood you up, huh?” Spencer concluded after reading your expression. 

A defeated sigh escaped your lips. “I don't even know why I still try with those stupid dating apps.”

“Probably because you don't want to end up old and alone like me,” he chuckled, his tone laced with cynicism. 

“You're not old,” you countered as you stepped closer to him. “And right now you’re not alone either.”

“Technically correct.”

You came to a halt not even an arm’s length away from him. His sight wandered over your face, obviously trying to interpret your current state of mind. It was rare that Spencer made the first step in your encounters. It was important to him to make sure you were the one in control. 

“I need you, Spencer,” you finally confessed. 

There was a certain desperation audible in your voice but it was nothing Spencer hadn’t heard before. He stepped towards you to close the distance between your bodies. 

“Come here,” he whispered as he placed his hands on your waist. 

What Spencer had to offer was the next best thing to love you could get. So you didn’t hesitate to give into the temptation of feeling his body pressed against yours for the umpteenth time in those past few weeks. 

Unlike the men before him, Spencer was not scared to get close to you even after telling him the secrets from your past. He didn't budge when you tried to push him away, well aware of the darkness he’d face once he stepped closer. He wasn’t afraid that you could suck him into the void that captured the place in your chest where your heart once was. 

What he saw when he looked into the abyss that was your soul felt familiar, almost comforting. It reminded him of the demons that possessed his own soul. It broke his heart to see you hurting. However, as morbid as it was, it also made him feel less lonely in his own suffering. 

One particularly lonely night a few weeks ago led you into his arms for the first time – and subsequently into his bed – to at least soothe the yearning for physical affection.

There was no romantic attraction to be found between the two of you. You came to an agreement that you were both too marred to even speak of romance hypothetically. Too large was the risk of  potential self-destruction that could follow a union of two such damaged hearts. 

This was a purely physical thing – a way to pretend that your love lives weren’t completely doomed. Sleeping with Spencer was like committing to a symbiosis, a mutual agreement to use the other’s body to appease this pain that wouldn’t go away. 

You reminded yourself of that when his lips made contact with yours that night. He kissed you like a starving man, never quite able to satiate the burning hunger of his soul. What you had to offer was good enough for now, though. 

As he walked you into his bedroom, it almost felt like following a routine the two of you had adopted. Just a few skilled movements were enough to stand completely bare in front of each other, greedy hands groping whatever flesh was in reach. 

When you finally lay down on the mattress, Spencer’s lips chased every curve and dip of your body, almost as if he was determined to find the secret remedy to finally end your suffering. 

Only there was none. 

The inner turmoil never went away but during those hours you were able to tune it out. It was nothing but a distant memory once Spencer laid down between your legs. He collected your honeyed wetness on his tongue until you were squirming underneath him, desperate to find relief. 

“Not yet,” he breathed as he sat up between your legs. 

He leaned over you, sharing your own taste with you as he kissed you again. At the same moment his tongue entered your mouth, you could feel his hardness pressing into your entrance. There was no need to be reluctant, no moment of questioning if what you were doing would taint the other one. His mouth left your lips to bite into your neck instead, unafraid that his venom could ever hurt you. 

Everything I touch starts rotting, Spencer once chuckled when you tried to save one of his house plants. Cynical as ever, he had said it with a grin on his face but you knew that there was more meaning behind his words than he would ever admit.

It was different with you, though. The damage had already been done by the hands of other people. There was no innocence that could have been defiled. There was nothing Spencer could do to wound you worse than them, no matter how little he thought of himself. 

Maybe that was the real reason it was so easy for him to lose himself inside your embrace. You could see it in his eyes as he entered you. He was allowed to be himself with you, to feel lust and affection despite his hardship, despite the lack of true love. 

Those sensations were a mutual experience, too. With Spencer you were never worried about being rejected. Together you had created your own safe space, a bright pink bubble within the darkness where you could truly be yourselves with one another. 

In perfect unity you began moving with each other, each thrust of hips answered by your body grinding against him. Together you chased the feeling of sweet release, the moment of pure bliss. 

“Fuck,” Spencer muttered against your lips, announcing that it wouldn’t be much longer now. 

You slowed down your movements, desperately trying to prolong this moment, to indulge some more in this short reprieve of the mess that was your life. 

“Please, hold on,” you begged him as you felt tears pricking in the corners of your eyes. 

Suddenly and without a warning Spencer stopped moving to kiss away the tears from your cheeks instead. He tasted the saline on your skin and imagined that it had been kissed by the ocean instead of the cruel reality.

“Are you okay?” He cooed when he found your eyes.

“No,” you breathed. “But when am I ever?” 

“Do you want to stop?” He offered, obviously concerned with you. 

You shook your head as you pushed against his shoulders to urge him to lie down beside you. Climbing into his lap, you found your place on top of him while Spencer’s hands grabbed your hips. 

“Is that okay?” You wanted to make sure before continuing. 

“Yes,” he confirmed. “You know very well that I need this just as much as you do.” 

With your hand wrapped around his length you guided him into your body once more. Spencer threw his head back into the pillow as you started moving at a slow, almost torturous pace. Not much time passed until the both of you danced along the edge of euphoria again. 

It only took a few skilled motions until you finally fell over the edge, taking Spencer right with you. The high subsided a lot quicker than you would have liked and with that the bright pink bubble you had created burst again.

Spencer held you for the rest of the night, even after the both of you had long fallen asleep. Only when morning came did he dare to let go of your body as he got out of bed. When you heard him turn on the shower, your entire body began tingling as the longing to bask in the warmth his skin radiated became overwhelming. 

With quiet steps you approached the bathroom and opened the door. 

“Do you need something?” You heard Spencer’s voice from behind the shower curtain. 

You stepped closer to the shower before asking, “Can I join you?” 

“Of course.” He pulled back the curtain to let you step in, offering a hand so you wouldn’t slip. 

It was only a little awkward to stand in front of Spencer completely naked in bright daylight. He didn’t hesitate to pull you into his arms, sharing both the warm water and the heat his body provided with you. You weren’t sure what it was exactly that you were looking for when you joined him in his morning shower, but it was nice to just be close to him. 

You stepped back to find his eyes and he noticed your ambivalence. Before he had a chance to ask, you giggled, “I’m trying to decide whether I want to get clean or dirty.”

Spencer joined you with his own laughter. “Well,” he chuckled as he grabbed the shampoo bottle, “let’s start by getting you clean.” 

He began shampooing your hair as if it was the most natural thing in the world to him. This act of innocent affection shocked your entire system. Suddenly you were unable to form a coherent sentence, the only thing that mattered in that moment was the sensation of Spencer running his fingertips over your scalp. A part of you wanted to fight this experience of being taken care of but a much bigger, much more desperate part simply indulged in the sensation. 

When you couldn’t get much cleaner, you reciprocated this pure act. Spencer didn’t resist, instead his body became pliable under your touch as you helped him wash his hair and skin. It almost felt like a sacred act to rid him of the remaining soap. Your sight followed the bubbles as they ran down his legs and disappeared in the drain. 

You couldn’t quite explain it but somehow this shower felt more intimate than any sexual act you had shared in the past. It wasn’t your intention but it felt like something between the two of you had shifted as you stepped out of the bathroom and got dressed. 

It felt like the safest option to lighten the mood with your usual playful banter. 

“My therapist said something stupid the other day,” you finally broke the silence. 

“Did she say that you should stop sleeping with me? Because then I might need to have a serious conversation with her,” Spencer joked. 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Dr. Reid. I never mention you in therapy,” you lied. 

He saw right through you but let it go anyway. “Right,” he said instead. 

Spencer walked right behind you as you made your way over to his kitchen to make some coffee. 

“She said that I need to start learning to love myself before someone else can fall in love with me.” The coffee maker made a hissing noise right as the last word left your lips. 

“Yikes,” Spencer deadpanned. “Good luck with that.”

“I know, right? I’ll probably end up old and alone like you,” you snickered.  

Spencer laughed at your words. “I was talking about the coffee maker but I deserved that.” 

The ringing of your phone distracted you from your mission to make coffee. When you got it out of your purse, you saw a message from the guy who stood you up last night. 

“The guy from last night is asking for another date. Apparently he didn’t show up because of some work emergency,” you explained with your eyes still glued to the screen. 

Spencer huffed in response. “You're not seriously considering it?” 

“What choice do I have? It’s not like people are lining up to finally date me.”

He rolled his eyes as he poured some coffee in a mug. “He’s not the right person for you. You should say no,” was his final advice. 

“That's the thing with damaged goods though, isn’t it? People can sense that we are not worthy of their time, that they can do better. So we have no choice than to settle for something, or rather someone not quite perfect.”

Months ago you had come to an agreement to stop cheering each other up when it came to your love lives. There was a mutual understanding that telling the other one they would for sure get their happily-ever-after soon didn't help at all. It was sort of comforting to be able to talk about the unadorned truth with one another. 

“There's a difference between not quite perfect and absolute dipshit though,” Spencer retorted.

His choice of words made you laugh. It was rare that Spencer used crude language but he never minced matters when talking about your Tinder chronicles.  

He found your eyes and added, “You deserve better than that.”

Half jokingly, half seriously you asked, “Do I really?” 

A smirk formed on his face when he teased, “Well…” 

You playfully punched his arm and laughed, “Don't be a dick, Spencer! Now I’m going to go on this date out of spite!”

Spencer had seen the worst of you and he was aware that you’d probably fall back into old habits quickly, even if that guy was decent. That poor man didn't stand a chance to fight through all those walls you had so carefully built to protect your heart.

There was another, unspoken reason why the two of you had stopped cheering each other up so long ago. In the unlikely case that you would actually finally find your soulmate, what would that mean for Spencer? That he had been more broken than you all along?

It’s not that he didn't want you to find happiness. But the thought that he might be left behind was devastating. Ending up old and alone was only a tolerable thought if he could have you by his side. 

So Spencer did what he knew best and started pushing you away.

Several days passed without hearing a word from him. It wasn’t the first time this had happened and it was nothing you could hold against him – you had done the same thing before. It couldn't have been a coincidence that right when you were supposed to leave for your date, you found yourself standing in front of Spencer’s apartment door instead. 

Three firm knocks announced your presence. You heard some shuffling on the other side of the door but he didn't open. It was to be expected. You got his spare key out from your purse to enter his place uninvited. 

It was the couch where you found him, his arms wrapped around his knees, making him appear so much smaller than he really was. He was wearing an old Caltech shirt and sweatpants and his hair looked even more unruly than usual. The redness around his eyes revealed that he had been crying.

Instead of greeting you, he groaned, “I shouldn't have given you my key.”

“Well,” you shrugged as you sat down beside him. “Too late.”

“I mean it, you shouldn't be here.”

“Nice try,” you quipped. “You should know by now that you can't scare me off that easily.” 

The truth was that he didn't want you to leave, even when the words that left his mouth claimed the opposite. You had proven to him over and over again that no matter how many of his scars he let you see, you stayed.

Old habits die hard, though. So he still tried walking away, even if he wouldn't get far. You watched as he disappeared in the bedroom and threw the door shut behind him. The sound didn't even make you flinch. 

Slowly you counted to ten before you got up to follow him. He knew you better than that but he still had a surprised expression on his face when he saw you walking through his bedroom door. A part of him still believed that there would come a point where all this darkness became too overwhelming even for you. 

“I won’t leave,” you reminded him, a loving softness laced over your voice. 

You sat down beside him on the bed when he started crying again. To your surprise he didn’t wince when you reached for his hand. 

“Talk to me,” you finally offered.

“You don't understand,” Spencer whimpered. “I feel so alone.”

Right as the words left his lips, he looked up at you, tears still running down his cheeks. He looked at you and remembered that what he said was wrong. 

Because you did understand. 

And he knew that very well. 

That was when he remembered that it wasn’t his apartment you should be at right now. He took a deep breath before wiping away his tears. 

“You're gonna be late for your date,” he stated, his eyes glued to the floor. 

Your words were genuine when you countered, “You're so much more important than a stupid date, Spencer.”

After hearing those words, he leaned over to catch your lips with his without a warning. The fervor he displayed knocked the air out of your lungs. He kissed you greedily, his hands grabbing your waist to push you against his body. 

His tongue begged for entrance and you granted it, melting into him with this kiss that tasted more salty than you would have liked. How easy it would have been to fall back into your old routine, to lose yourself inside his arms as you both chased a quick solution to a problem that couldn't be fixed. 

His hands started searching for the softness your body had to offer, calloused fingertips brushing over the velvet of the skin he found underneath your shirt. It was not like you didn't yearn for it too, for this make-believe game you liked to play. More than anything did you crave the sensation of his touch, this moment that briefly let you forget all the marks past lovers had left on your body. 

It didn't feel right, though. Not anymore. 

Spencer instantly sensed your hesitance and pulled back to find your eyes. Never before had he looked more vulnerable than in that moment. 

“I don't think it’s a good idea,” you breathed as your hands found his face to wipe his tears away. 

Spencer pulled away from you, denying you the access to his skin. 

“So it's okay if you cry during sex, but when I do it, that's where you draw the line?” He huffed. 

The harshness of his words shocked you but you could see the regret in his eyes instantly.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn't have said that.”

You reached for his hand as you softly spoke, “It’s okay. You're upset, I get it.” 

Several moments of silence passed. Seconds of contemplating how to proceed until you decided to offer him the comfort he craved anyway. 

You leaned in for another kiss. It was a lot softer and slower than before but Spencer took what he could get. When you got ahold of the hem of his shirt to take it off, he pulled back. 

“Wait, I’m not sure about this,” he stuttered. “I don't want you to feel like–”

“Spencer,” you interrupted him. “Do you trust me?”

A quiet breath fell from his lips before he nodded. “More than I ever thought possible.”

With that there was no more resistance to be found when you continued undressing him. He moved with you until only underwear was covering your bodies. 

“Lie down,” you cooed and he did as you said. 

Unlike your previous encounters, it was apparent that what the both of you craved was not sex this time. You laid down beside him to pull him into your arms, no distance allowed between the two of you. His skin was pressed against yours, so much so that it became impossible to tell where your body ended and his began. 

He left featherlight kisses on your neck before resting his head against your shoulder. You held him as close as you could, not daring to loosen the grip you had around his body. 

With his arms and legs all bent and folded to fit inside your embrace, there was no more trace of the tall man he usually was. He seemed small, almost fragile. Even more so when another fit of sobs shot through his body. 

Spencer trembled inside your arms and you held him. You held him until he had successfully cried himself to sleep.

At least that was what you thought. The harbingers of your own slumber had already begun numbing your senses when you suddenly felt his lips brushing over your cheek. 

“I think I’m in love with you,” he whispered almost inaudibly. 

I know, you thought but were already too far gone to answer him. 

When you opened your eyes the next morning, you found Spencer already awake, looking at you. His eyes were still a bit swollen but his facial features looked soft, almost content. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you whined as you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. 

“Like what?” He mumbled. 

“Like a lovesick fool!” 

Spencer didn't seem surprised at your words. It seemed like he was aware that you had heard what he said to you last night. 

“What if I am?” He asked, a smirk spread over his face. 

Now was not the time for your usual sarcastic banter. Not when everything you had with him was about to implode. 

You sat up in the bed and warned him, “Stop it, Spencer.”

He shook his head, “I can’t keep pretending. It’s the truth.”

You got up to get dressed while you huffed, “How can it be true after you have seen the worst of me.”

“I have seen the worst of you and I still love you.”

You started pacing up and down his bedroom, trying to come up with something to say to that. Spencer got up too and put his clothes on. You came to a halt about an arm’s length away from him before you said, “This is not what love should feel like.”

“How would you know?” He countered. 

His words seemed cruel but they were true. You didn't know what love actually felt like. There was this image you had in your head of an innocent, saccharine kind of love that probably only existed in fiction.  

Spencer didn't let it go just yet. There was a certain insecurity audible in his voice when he practically begged you, “Look at me and tell me that you don’t feel the same way ” 

Instead of looking at him, your sight fell to the floor. “What I feel is the urge to leave.”

It was to be expected that this would be your reaction. Spencer knew you well enough to be aware of the risk he took by confessing his feelings. He suspected that you reciprocated them but were still too afraid to admit it. 

He stepped out of your way and gestured towards the door. “I’m not gonna stop you.”

To your own surprise, you hesitated.  

“What are we doing, Spencer?”

A very timid smile appeared on his face when he realized that you didn't follow your instincts to leave. Maybe there was hope after all. 

“I’m not sure,” Spencer answered. “…but I’m willing to find out.”

It wasn’t like this thought had never crossed your mind. In fact, there was a part of your brain that sometimes overpowered anything else and let you fantasize about a potential future with him. 

However, you were very familiar with the demons Spencer had to fight every day. And you were even more aware of your own darkness. You were afraid that the combination of those things might become a poisonous mixture that had the potential to destroy the both of you. 

So it was only logical to voice your concerns. “I don’t think I can make you happy.” 

“It’s not your job to make me happy,” he sighed. “But maybe there is a chance that we could find happiness together. In little those moments, just like before, when we woke up together. Or when we took a shower the other day. Maybe those little things add up one day to something bigger. To something better. Something worth taking the risk.” 

You looked at the door once more but decided to sit down at his bedside instead of leaving. 

You found his eyes and breathed, “Okay.” 

Spencer sat down beside you. “Okay?”

What you had with him was imperfect and not at all what you had imagined. Some might think what you were about to do was stupid, maybe even reckless. It was only a matter of time until one of you got hurt, got caught in the crossfire of the intensity of your emotions. But maybe it was worth giving it a chance. 

Yes, some might call it reckless. But in that moment you thought of it as bravery. 

“Yes.” You confirmed. “Let’s give it a try.” 

A split second after you said those words, you felt Spencer’s lips on yours. The kiss felt different than the ones before. There was no desperation or insatiable hunger noticeable in his actions. This kiss was sweet, almost innocent. It was a way to melt into one another with no hurry, no need to compensate for something you’d never truly experience. 

Soon you were both shedding each layer of clothing before lying down on the bed to continue the kiss without any barrier between you. His chest was firmly pressed against yours and you could feel his heart thumping against your skin, almost as if it was looking for its counterpart inside your ribcage. 

You could feel your heart calling out to him. For the first time you didn't want to be with him to shield your heart from the rest of the world, no. This time you wanted to open up, to give Spencer a chance to feel your affection.

“I love you,” you whispered between kisses. 

He leaned back to smile at you and you could feel how his love entered your body, how it was on a mission to bring light to even the darkest corners of your soul.

“I love you, too.”

Please like, reblog and leave a comment! I need your lovely words to stay motivated to write more stories.

Taglist: @nomajdetective @reidsbookclub @gspenc @samuel-de-champagne-problems @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @malindacath @luredwithpretzels @reidselle @alexxavicry @frickin-bats @spencersprettyslut @sebs-oxygen @happymangospot @cynbx @hotchandspencearedilfs @kobaltdragon @castiels-majestic-wings @emiliaserpe @velvetthunder93 @saturnstringz @missabsey @spencerslove @guacam011y @hugyourlungs @reiderwriter @hales-17 @loaksulluyswife @ecneremili @xserenax-13 @grumpyy-bearr @super-nerd22 @pleasantwitchgarden @r-3dlips @evvy96 @torigorie @meyaareads @luvdella @bunnylovesani @spenciesslut @billie-lover8 @indyvelazquez @evrmorets

[ghouljams]

Okey but Gaz in my bloody valentine is so sexy. Approved. (Not that you need approval)

Here are my Gaz x My Bloody Valentine thoughts:

(spoiler they don't exactly follow the movie but I think they work well.)

Twenty years after Harry Warden's Valentine's Massacre, and the subsequent cancellation of the Valentine's dance, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick arrives in Valentine Bluffs to check out his family's mines with the intention of selling. Gaz is charming and funny, but he's also clearly an outsider and there isn't a lot of good will towards his family after they abandoned the town for London right after the Harry Warden tragedy. Not to mention the way Gaz pokes around and asks questions about the Warden murders, claiming that he's writing a book now that he's left the army.

Still, Gaz makes friends with a pretty little thing in the supermarket and learns that their mom was one of the nurses that Harry Warden killed after his rescue. He's sympathetic of course, and mentions that he's always had a fascination with Warden, that initially the story inspired him to try police work but eventually he ended up in the army.

Miners and people around town start turning up dead, butchered, and with the anniversary of the Warden Massacre coming up, people are obviously on edge. They also are pointing the finger at Gaz. He's new in town and the murders didn't start until he showed up. Gaz's pretty thing sees a Miner in a gas mask skulking around, and manages to escape his grasp with nothing but a few scrapes and bruises after witnessing the brutal murder of a town resident. Rumors begin circulating that Harry Warden is back and taking revenge on the town yet again.

Still, people are skeptical and Gaz is taken in for questioning after he is unable to provide an alibi. Gaz's pretty thing starts looking for evidence that Warden might have escaped from the asylum and is unable to find any records of him. Gaz posts bail while Pretty Thing witnesses the Miner kill a police officer who's been posted outside her house. Another chase ensues and Pretty Thing is nearly dragged to the mines before managing to escape. While running through the woods we see Pretty Thing stumble across an open grave, and finally make it out of the woods straight into Gaz's arms.

Despite Gaz's hesitance he takes Pretty Thing to the police where they file a report. The police are led to the grave where the mayor and former police chief are forced to admit that they buried Warden. With all evidence pointing towards a supernatural occurrence, Gaz is cleared of all charges. Gaz and Pretty Thing go back to Pretty's house, since Gaz's hotel room is still roped off, and have sex. Pretty Thing convinces Gaz not to sell the mine, and Gaz convinces Pretty to let him sleep over.

Gaz gets up in the middle of the night to pee, and Pretty thing hears him shout, and witnesses a spray of blood, before the Miner appears yet again and attempts to catch/kill them. During the chase Pretty Thing notices that the time on their phone is different from the one on their stove and realizes someone must have changed it. A quick calculation and a flashback reveals that given the time difference Gaz would have posted bail at least 30 minutes before the second chase.

Pretty Thing is caught by the miner and begs Gaz not to kill them, which startles the miner enough to stop him from killing them. Gaz rips off the mask with a grin and tells Pretty Thing that he knew they were smart, before knocking them out.

The credits roll, and in a small epilogue we see Gaz sitting in a helicopter with Pretty Thing passed out across his lap. The pilot asks if he got everything settled in Valentine Bluffs and Gaz tells him they'll make a killing on the movie rights.

[mephiestophyl]

I can't seem to get lucky enough to see that line again where sylus says "beasts don't belong in a cage" in destiny cafe, but besides that, I think that how sylus views himself is one of the most interesting parts of his character.

throughout our journey with sylus and in the anecdotes, we often see this reoccurring theme of beasts or "taming", like how sylus tamed his horse in no defense zone, and how he offered to take the man's dog out on a walk that had issues with people other than its owner in wander in wonder, and especially how he chose to tame the dragon instead of killing it in adventure above clouds. I personally think that sylus often finds himself sympathizing with these animals who are viewed as "troublesome" or "beastly" by other people, as he often also has to, or have taken in the past, the burden of being the "beast", whether it is others who label him as such, or if he purposefully takes on a terrifying demeanour as a means to an end.

^^ an example of this is when he frees the beasts from the overlords artificial garden, and during this anecdote, we can see some short details of what sylus is thinking during this time regarding the feelings of the caged beasts. when he frees them and recognises their need for vengeance against the people responsible for imprisoning them, it's like sylus is saying: "the ones who have been treated as monsters desire the blood of their wrongdoers. what did you think was going to happen after keeping them locked away for so long?" here, sylus is the beast, recognising his other fellow beasts, and his form of vengeance is granting them freedom from their isolation, and allowing them to take their own vengeance against their wrongdoers instead of doing it for them.

sylus is actually way more sympathetic than people give him credit for, especially towards animals, as he was also caged and treated as such, like how he was imprisoned in tartarus. I also think that when his myth drops we will also see this reoccurring narrative tool being used again, since the form that we vaguely see him take in the flashback to MCs previous life with him IS terrifying and beast-like. this appearance that he has took (which is sort of suggested to be his true form due to the multiple references there is of sylus directly saying that his current body isn't real) could possibly be what led him to alienate himself from everyone else, as people are naturally terrified by beast-like creatures and want to keep them locked away where they are isolated from everyone else.

and with the whole "taming" thing, I just think to myself how much he trusts MC?? like, it is also a reoccurring narrative tool in sylus' story where taming or some sort of bondage is involved, and I otherwise wouldve thought that sylus would hate the idea of being bound with how he desires control, but then here he is throwing himself at MC whenever a situation of him being bound by her or TO her is involved, as if she is the only one who can tug him by his leash and he'd willingly follow. honestly he's like a big guard dog..

overall, I think sylus has a tendency to objectify himself as a result of many things, such as his reputation as a beast, his lack of self-preservation due to his indestructible (as far as we know) body, and how he insists on how MC should use him to her advantage. I also love his relationship with animals and it is sometimes upsetting to see how MC thinks that sylus is incapable of extending kindness to others (though she does not think this anymore since she has developed a deeper relationship with sylus and has a better read on his character) and I hope MC can be beside him on his journey to hopefully put an end to his self objectification or at least find ways to get him in a healthier mindset and have a better attitude about himself 🥹

[skyward-floored]

Swapped (Part 5)

I’ve been making a lot of progress on Incredibles au fics lately haha. Here we are at part five, checking in with the Wild, Hyrule, Twilight and Time group! Things are really picking up now...

Mild injury warning, along with a little violence and some guns being shot.

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Wild was dragging behind.

He knew he was, and it was driving him crazy, but moving faster took so much effort now. Was this how everybody else had to run? It was awful. His feet felt so heavy, and his arms too, and his head, and legs, and lungs... it was like his whole body had been stuck in a big vat of honey.

At least they could only go so fast anyway, considering that Twilight frequently lost control and careened into a wall. Wild felt bad for him, but also couldn’t help a few snickers at the frequency of his speed-related crashes. Especially with their dad in his arms. He made an awfully cute bunny.

Hyrule was the one he really felt bad for though. He still looked so shaken, and occasionally little panicked spurts of flurries escaped his fingertips. Wild would be the last to suggest his mom’s powers weren’t cool, but he was a teeny bit jealous that he hadn’t gotten ice to shoot out of his hands. Plus maybe Hyrule would be a little calmer without ice randomly spirting from his fingertips.

How come Mom can’t shoot horses out of her hands or something? That would be cool.

...I hope she and everyone else are okay.

“Wild, keep up,” his father called, and Wild bit back a growl when he realized just how far behind he was. Stupid scientist. Stupid mixed-up powers. Stupid—

Wild finally caught up with the others again, his dad giving him a sympathetic look. Wild ignored it, and kept plodding forward, trying to not think about his heavy feet. They were trying to make it to the elevator, Twilight sheepishly admitting he wasn’t sure if he would be able to handle stairs, but it was taking forever to get down the hallway they were pretty sure led there.

As Wild dragged himself along, half-listening to Twilight talking to Hyrule, something hit his ear, a noise somewhere that he didn’t recognize. Wild stopped in his tracks, then tilted his head to try and listen to it.

It was something squeaky almost, a distant sound he couldn’t really make out too well. But something about what he could hear made him want to follow it, and... stop the sadness he could hear in the sound.

“Wild? Is something wrong?” Hyrule asked, looking back at him.

“No, I... maybe? I hear something,” Wild admitted, and they all drew to a stop.

“What kind of something?”

“Like... crying? Like someone’s upset? It’s not words, exactly, I... oh, maybe it’s an animal,” Wild realized. “Can Mom hear other animals too?”

“She can only really understand ones with hooves, but she can get the gist with other animals sometimes,” Twilight spoke up. “I mean, she understands me when I’m a wolf at least.”

“That’s merely because she’s had lots of practice with you,” their father spoke up, nose twitching. “And the blood relation likely affects that. But yes, she can somewhat understand other animals.”

Wild frowned and tilted his head again, listening.

“You said it sounded like crying?” Twilight asked worriedly, and Wild nodded.

“Yeah... sort of. It’s hard to explain.”

The noise he could hear was a squeaky sort of cry, faint, but just legible enough for Wild to make it out. And though there were no words, somehow he knew whatever was making the sound was afraid.

“I think I need to help it,” Wild said quietly, and Hyrule hesitated.

“But our powers...”

“I don’t think this’ll take long,” Wild reassured. Though it would take even less long if I had my proper powers. “And...” He turned towards a hallway, staring down it. “...I think it’s right over there.”

“I can hear it too,” Time said, and frowned, a floppy ear swiveling around. “It’ll be a quick detour, let’s go.”

“But our powers... ohh okay,” Hyrule sighed, and followed after them all.

Wild led the way, slow as he was, but he wasn’t thinking about it as much as he listened to the sound. It only got louder as he walked, and Wild focused all his attention on the whimpering squeaks ringing through the hallway. He came to a stop at one of the last doors in the hall, the noises obviously coming from behind it, and he turned the handle.

The door slowly moved open, Wild relieved it wasn’t locked. He cautiously poked his head inside, and along with his siblings and dad, looked around for any kind of threats.

The room that met him was dim, but there were enough lights for Wild to see. Small cages were set on various surfaces, all empty as far as Wild could tell, and nobody seemed to be in this room. Clipboards and beakers and random other pieces of equipment Wild didn’t recognize caught his eye, and he wandered among them in mild interest, still listening for the small cries as the others came in behind him.

He heard one, louder now that he was in the room, and followed the sound past some tables laden with big sciencey stuff he didn’t recognize.

Then he saw the last cage.

It was really small, maybe about as tall as two shoeboxes stacked together. Something pale was curled up inside of it, and as Wild stepped forward, a blue head rose up, golden eyes settling on him.

Wild froze as they locked gazes, and Twilight gasped.

“Oh my gosh. A blupee,” Twilight whispered as Wild approached the cage, his voice awed.

“A what?” Hyrule asked, and Twilight swallowed.

“A blupee, they’re legendary creatures, I’ve read about them in stuff. They were thought to either be extinct or just... not exist,” he whispered.

Time stood up in his arms to get a better look, and Wild hesitantly extended a hand, setting it against the bars of the cage. The little creature watched him in silence, and Wild murmured in a soothing way almost instinctively, which made its feathery antennae perk up.

It moved towards where Wild’s hand was pressed against the cage, and rubbed against it, silky fur brushing against his fingers.

“How did the scientist guy get one of these?” Wild asked in amazement, and Time hopped out of Twilight’s arms, sniffing around at some of the materials on the tables.

“I don’t know, I... this is crazy,” Twilight spluttered, his eyes huge as he watched Wild pet the blupee. “This is like— this is like finding a unicorn, Wild! Most people don’t think they ever even existed!”

“Cool,” Wild grinned, still petting. They had a handful of kid books still around the house that had blupees in them, and Wild would recognize the heart-shaped face and golden eyes anywhere. He looked around for the latch of the cage, and frowned at the signs of wear on the bars, tiny useless scratches made on them. “...It looks like he’s been here a while.”

“I think you’re right,” Time said grimly, and Wild looked over, quickly biting his lip to stop himself from laughing at his father. His head had turned invisible, and he obviously hadn’t realized it.

“Did you find something, Dad?” Hyrule asked with a smile he tried to hide, and Time hummed, and probably nodded as well.

“Yes. These are all notes on genes and cloning... I think this scientist made our friend here.”

Wild looked at the blupee again, and it stared back, cocking its head to the side as it looked at him. It’s face was almost owlish, heart-shaped and paler blue than the rest of its fur. It’s body was more rabbit-like, and between the color of its fur and the odd antennae-ear things on its head, it really did look like something out of a storybook rather than a real animal.

Yet I’m standing here petting it, he thought in wonder, running a finger along silky fur again.

“Well gene stuff would explain some things I guess,” Twilight murmured, hesitantly offering his finger for the blupee to sniff. “I wonder how he did it.”

“Beats me. Maybe— hey wait a second, why is he trying to mess with us?” Wild asked, frowning at the thought he’d just had. “He can make extinct animals! He could be using this technology for all kinds of good sciencey stuff, why do illegal things with it?”

“I don’t know. But perhaps he wasn’t just interested in cloning back practically mythical species,” Time frowned, his fuzzy head shimmering back into view. “He did seem rather obsessed with our powers. I think it’s even more important that we go stop him.”

“Agreed,” Twilight said as he turned around, then accidentally ran headlong into a table and went sprawling onto the ground with a bang. “...Ugh. The sooner the better.”

Twilight stumbled to his feet with Hyrule’s assistance, and Wild found the lock on the cage, jiggling it to try and open the latch. But it was shut tight, and Wild didn’t have anything he could pick the lock with. Not that he knew how to pick locks anyway.

“Oh come on,” he groaned, and Time peered at the latch, furry brow furrowed.

“Hyrule, do you think you could freeze the lock off?” he asked. Hyrule hesitated, looking at his hands, and then the cage.

“Maybe?” he said uncertainly, and Twilight smiled at him as he clutched at a table.

“I bet you can do it Rulie, it’s just some metal. No finesse required or anything.”

“Yeah, all you have to do it get it so cold that it falls off!” Wild encouraged, and Hyrule moved forward with a shrug.

“I’ll try.”

Hyrule put a hand on the latch, then screwed his face up, a handful of flurries sprinkling from his fingers. Feathers of ice began to spread across the metal, and Wild watched in interest as they grew thicker, and colder too. He had to pull back a little at the intense temperature, and snow began drifting from Hyrule’s hands, piling by his feet.

The blupee stepped back as well, and the minutes ticked by, ice spreading across the cage and to the table and floor below them. Wild was about to ask if they should try something else when Hyrule reached out and grasped the latch, obviously unbothered by the cold. He yanked on it, and the entire door snapped loose, leaving a hole in the cage where it had been.

“Nice job!” Twilight said with a grin, and Hyrule blushed, setting the destroyed handle down.

Wild didn’t stick around to listen to Hyrule insist it was no big deal when their father also congratulated him, moving forward towards the blupee. It let out what sound like a relieved chirp, slowly padding over to him and nuzzling against his hand.

Wild carefully picked it up, relieved when it didn’t resist him. It was weird that it was so comfortable with him, since it didn’t even have hooves... though Mom did tend to be a calming presence on all animals. Or maybe it was calmed by a fellow rabbity-thing being here? It did keep looking over at Time.

Time noticed as well, and he padded closer, his nose wiggling. The blupee looked at him, then softly chirped, Time pricking his ears.

“Yes? I— yes, I can hear you,” he replied, and the blupee repeated its chirp in a slightly different tone. “No, I’m not one of your kind, I’m sorry. You— really?”

The blupee chittered some more, and Time hummed along as it chirped, looking thoughtful.

“You can understand him? What’s he saying?” Wild asked, and his father twitched an ear.

“Mostly just questions about us. They’re not exactly words, I’m only getting the gist of most of it. He’s relieved we’re here, though. He says you’re calming Wild.”

“Wild, calming?” Twilight said, and Wild gave him a light kick. Twilight grinned, and the blupee nibbled at Wild’s hand a bit, then settled itself with a little sigh in his arms, eyes narrowing to small slits.

“He looks tired,” Hyrule said as he studied the blupee, peering over Wild’s shoulder. “You think he’s sick?”

“No, I don’t think so. I think he’s just... weak from being in a cage,” Wild said. Somehow he had a feeling the blupee needed to get outside, and be around plants and trees instead of cold metal and sanitizer. “Don’t worry, you can come with us, little guy.”

“Is that a good idea?” Hyrule asked, and Time shook himself, all of him finally visible again.

“We could leave him here and retrieve him later,” he suggested, but Twilight frowned.

“What if somebody comes in and sees the cage broken? And decides to move him? He’ll be safer with us,” he argued. Time sighed again.

“All right. We’ll bring him, and hopefully find a safe spot to put him if there’s a fight.”

“Oh there’s gonna be a fight,” Wild said darkly.

His father gave him a look, and Wild cleared his throat, but didn’t take it back. He thought he deserved at least one solid punch to the scientist guy’s face. If nothing else for the look on Hyrule’s face when he’d first woken up and realized his powers were gone.

“I don’t think there’s anything else for us to do here, let’s head out,” Time decided, and they did one last quick sweep of the room, then headed back out to the hallway. Time directed them towards the elevator, and Wild kept the blupee securely in his arms, its eyes staying mostly closed.

Its fur was soft and silky, almost like velvet, and while it was warm, it wasn’t as warm as Wild would’ve expected. The golden antennae brushed against his face once, and they were as feathery as they looked. It really was a fantastical-looking creature, and Wild still couldn’t quite believe it was real.

And neither could Twilight, based on the fact that he spent most of his time staring at it.

“Say Dad, do you think we could have a pet?” Wild asked innocently, and Time shot him a look as they all piled in the elevator.

“No.”

Hyrule pushed the button for the top floor, and Time began talking strategy for when they found the scientist. Hyrule had to take him from Twilight since his legs were jittering weirdly again and their father’s voice kept shaking due to it, and between that and his squeakier than normal voice, his words were impossible to make out. Wild for once listened intently, idly petting the blupee as Time went on about strategy. Normally he’d only half-listen to the plan and go along with his pieces of it, but this was a big deal. Powers were on the line.

Wild didn’t even want to consider what would happen if they couldn’t get them back.

“We’ll try and touch base with the others, but if nobody is there, we’ll go alone,” Time finished, and shook out his fur. “Any questions?”

“Yeah, are uh... you going to fight as a bunny?” Twilight asked, and their father’s face grew extremely annoyed.

“Seeing as I can’t figure out how to turn back... yes.”

The elevator chimed as Twilight began asking if he wanted any help, the top floor reached, and Wild cracked his knuckles as the doors opened.

Then froze, an entire group of guards waiting for them on the other side.

Someone gasped, and Time shouted for them to get down, Wild tripping when he instinctively went to run forward and do something before the guards could react. Argh! Stupid powers!

The guards aimed their guns, and everybody dove for the floor, Wild mashing the elevator button to try and get the doors to close.

Nothing happened, and Hyrule scrambled forward and put out his hands, obviously trying to make a shield. All that came out was a huge blast of ice right as the first guards fired, but it actually did a good job of keeping their shots from hitting them, and Hyrule hurriedly worked on making the barrier more solid, trying to thicken the ice.

Twilight suddenly bolted forward, his legs flailing, but he managed to aim a punch at the first guard he went by, the man going sprawling from the hit to his chin. Wild scrambled over to where their dad was standing behind Hyrule, obviously trying to change back into a hylian if the look on his face was any indication.

“Ideas?!” Wild asked in a panic, Hyrule scrambling to keep his ice up and protecting them. “The elevator won’t close!”

“They must have disabled it, they were expecting us,” Time said in dismay, flinching as Twilight narrowly dodged a strike. “We’ll have to break past them somehow.”

“Oh, easy,” Wild muttered, ducking down as something whizzed past his head. The blupee squeaked in distress, and he held it a little tighter, making sure his suit was shielding it. “Maybe Twi can—”

Hyrule suddenly cried out beside them, making both their heads shoot up.

Hyrule stumbled backwards, hand held to the small part of his neck that wasn’t covered by his suit, and Wild saw a dart stuck there, brightly colored on the end.

Tranquilizer.

Well at least they don’t want us dead! Wild thought hysterically as Hyrule swayed on his feet.

His legs abruptly gave out on him, and Time rushed to his side, Twilight still running around wildly on the other side of the ice and doing his best to fight. Wild dove for Hyrule as well, hiding behind the thickest piece of ice there was, and the blupee chittered fearfully, huddling down in his arms.

“You’re okay, it’s just a tranquilizer,” Time reassured in a voice Wild could tell he was forcing to be calm, Hyrule’s eyes looking bleary and terrified. “You’ll wake up soon. It’ll be okay.”

Hyrule shook a little as Time stayed huddled beside him, keeping a paw resting on his head, and then his eyes rolled back and slipped close, body going limp.

“Dad?” Wild asked in a small voice, and Time slowly breathed out.

“See if you can get to Twilight, that’s your best bet,” he said, giving him a steady look, then raised his head, glaring at the guards.

Then he leapt out from their icy shield, throwing himself at the nearest guard with a shout. The man yelped and tried to shake him off, but Time clung on to his clothing, scratching and biting wherever he could reach.

Wild watched him with wide eyes, then shifted the blupee around so he was holding it with one arm. He tugged Hyrule’s limp form up with his other, grunting from the effort, but he wasn’t going to leave him here. Dad had said to get to Twilight, so that’s what Wild would do.

With the vague plan they’d had currently in shambles, Wild was pretty sure their best bet now was to make a break for it in the other direction, and hopefully Twilight could carry Hyrule better than he could until he woke up.

“Hold on Rulie,” Wild grunted.

He got as good of a grip as he could on his brother, and then bolted out from behind the ice, cursing his maddeningly slow legs. It felt like he was barely making any progress, and he growled in frustration as he half-dragged Hyrule across the floor.

If I had my powers I’d be on the other side of the room by now no problem, Hyrule would be safe, Twilight wouldn’t have to be tripping around all crazily, Dad wouldn’t—

A guard noticed him and shouted, Time and Twilight no longer capturing all of their attentions. Wild yelped and ducked under a shot that grazed the tip of his ear, and hurried even faster, dodging and swerving all while trying not to drop Hyrule or the blupee.

He’d never missed his speed more.

A sharp pain suddenly hit Wild in the neck, and he gasped, stumbling as he felt at it. Something was stuck there, and Wild abruptly caught his father’s eye from across the room, a cold feeling running up his neck.

“No!” Time shouted, his tiny body flickering rapidly in and out of sight, but Wild could barely focus on him, his legs wobbling out from under him.

He stumbled, going to his knees but still holding tight to Hyrule. The blupee jumped out of his arms, squeaking in distress, but the noise faded in and out in Wild’s ears, his vision starting to give out.

“Duskfall! Get out of here and go find the others!” Time’s voice shouted, Wild blearily noting Twilight’s hero name. Wonder why he used that...

“I’m not going to—whooaa—leave you guys!” Twilight shouted back, barely avoiding losing his balance as he dodged a shot. “Not like this!”

“That’s an order! We need backup, and you’re the only one of us who can run!”

“But Wild and—”

Most of the guards were focused on Twilight now, but not all of them, and as Wild sank more fully to the floor, he thought he heard their father cry out in pain.

“No!”

More shouting rang past his ears, but Wild was beyond the point of understanding. His vision was growing darker by the second, his senses deserting him, and all he could see was a blob of movement where his father had been moments before.

I’m sorry, Dad.

With the last of his strength, Wild made sure Hyrule’s head was protected, and then he fell back into darkness.

[slvt4rhea]

thankful.

hey guys! so this is my first story on here and i'm not very good at writing so it may be terrible but i tried my best! now it's a little short but i hope u guys like it 🤗

tw's/talk of abuse, talk of bruising/injury (let me know if there's anything else i forgot!)

rhea ripley x !black fem-oc!

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here's a little bit a backstory. your boyfriend had convinced you to move away from home because he thought it would be better if you weren't so close to your family and friends. you were hesitant at first but ended up giving into it. never did you think you would be in this situation right now. its was the night of your birthday and you had just came back from the club to your guys' hotel room where you had been staying since you moved here because you guys didn't have enough money for an apartment. your boyfriend was drunk and he had started yelling about some nonsense. one thing led to another and he had put his hands on you. he left you with a busted lip, a slightly bruised eye, a bloody nose, and brusies all over your body. once you were able to get him off, you had ran out of the room and bolted to the elevator. you didn't know where to go but you had to go somewhere. while the elevator goes down it stops on a floor and a tall light-skinned, gothic, buff, short black-haired woman steps on. she had on a skin tight shirt, high waisted black skinny jeans, and boots. she seen you were crying and immediately asked

"are you okay? do you need help?" to which you replied with a very faint "please..."

"my name is rhea. what happened to you?" she said with a sympathetic tone. you had told her everything that happened and she offered to take you back up there to grab all of your belongings because you were going to be rooming with her tonight. you took the offer because how else were you going to get your stuff and where else were you going to stay?

"im going to call my bestfriend. he can help us with getting your stuff." about five minutes after she had called him, a very tall, muscular, tan skinned, rockstar looking guy came from out of the elevator and towards us. you learned that his name was damian. you all had made your way back up to the room and knocked on the door. as soon as that door opened damian grabbed your now ex-boyfriend by his shirt and threw him on the wall. he told you to hurry grab everything you had. which is what you did. after you guys left, you went to rhea's hotel room and you set your stuff down.

"thank you so much. i genuinely don't know what i would've done without you guys." stella said with tears in her eyes. rhea hugged her. "you don't have to thank us sweetheart. it was the right thing to do."

the next morning rhea had asked if you had any place to stay. which you replied with no and told her how he had made you move away from your family and friends. you didn't expect her to but she offered to take you back to orlando with her and you could stay in the spare bedroom in her house. you didn't want to seem ungrateful so you said yes. you guys had arrived in orlando and made your way to rhea's house. it was huge. you debated asking her where she worked and if they were hiring because this is definitely worth a lot of money. she showed you to your room and gave you a tour of the entire house. her dogs were so cute there were three of them. barry, luna, and bella.

"i know you don't have any showering stuff right now so you can take a shower in my bathroom, help yourself to anything. i'll get you a towel and a change of clothes." she came back with a towel, a t-shirt that said 'motionless in white' and a pair of black sweatpants with all kinds of designs on them.

you had taken a quick shower, carefully washing yourself due to all of the bruising and washing your hair. you had came out of the bathroom and walked into the kitchen. rhea was already eating but she got up and went towards the microwave, opening it and pulling out a container that had chicken and rice in it.

"i know you probably haven't eaten in a while so i got you something." rhea said handing you the food. "thank you, i appreciate it. i really do appreciate everything that you've done for me. you really didn't have to." stella said with a smile. "i told you, you don't have to thank me. you needed help and i gave that to you." rhea said taking another bite of her food.

after you guys had finished eating you were sitting on the couch watching tv. you had fallen asleep on the couch watching a movie with rhea. she glanced over and seen you were asleep so she turned the tv off and softly scooped you up, walking towards your room and laying you down in your bed then tucking you in. sometime during that you had woken up. not fully but enough to where you could realize what happened and thank her. after she had left you drifted back asleep thinking about how much you were thankful for her. if she hadn't walked into that elevator you didn't know where you would be right now.

[cod-thoughts]

Day 24 of 31 days of COD

Words: 3.5k

Relationships: Team as family, Ghost & Price, Soap & Gaz

Tags: Protective Ghost, Protective Price, Protective 141

Soap and Gaz get loaned out to a team, it goes about as well as can be expected. Ghost and Price are decidedly not happy with the outcome. Consequences and confrontation ensues Keep reading under the cut or on AO3

The rain came down in thick sheets as Soap and Gaz stood at the edge of the tarmac, backpacks slung over their shoulders, watching the approaching aircraft with heavy expressions. Neither of them spoke, the quiet tension between them far more telling than words. They’d been given the assignment only a few hours ago: a joint mission with another unit. Temporary, they were told. Just a routine thing to provide extra support to a team that, frankly, could use it. But they both knew the reputation of the unit they were about to work with—and it wasn’t good.

“Could be worse,” Gaz muttered, shifting his weight as he glanced over at Soap. “At least it’s not forever, right?”

Soap huffed, his arms crossing over his chest. “Aye, but the last thing we need is babysitting a team who can’t handle their own mess.”

Gaz shot him a sympathetic look. “Could be they’ve sorted themselves out by now.”

“Don’t hold your breath, mate.”

Both knew the odds were slim. The other team, led by Captain Reynolds, was notorious for sloppy operations. It wasn’t for lack of experience; they had the years and the medals to prove their capability. But that didn’t change the fact they’d made one too many reckless decisions in the field—ones that put good men in unnecessary danger. Price had tried to refuse the assignment, Ghost had outright scoffed at it, but the order came from above. There was nothing for it.

As they watched the plane land, kicking up spray from the rain-soaked runway, Soap let out a low sigh. "Let’s just get this over with."

Gaz clapped him on the shoulder as they started toward the aircraft. “At least we’ve got each other, yeah?”

Soap cracked a small grin. “Aye. There’s that.”

---

Once aboard the aircraft, Soap and Gaz were greeted by a few indifferent nods from the other team. It was clear from the outset that the team wasn’t thrilled about having outsiders tagging along. There was a stiffness in the air, the kind that spoke of pride and resentment. Neither of them liked it, but they kept their heads down, knowing the sooner they got this done, the sooner they could be back with Price and Ghost.

Reynolds, a stout man with greying hair, gave them both a quick once-over before barking out orders to the rest of his men. "You two—on recon detail. Keep your heads down, and don’t mess with the plan. We run a tight ship here.”

Soap raised an eyebrow but held his tongue. Gaz gave a noncommittal grunt, following Reynolds' lead. They exchanged glances as they fell into position, already knowing that this wasn’t going to be a smooth ride.

The mission itself seemed straightforward enough: retrieve intel from a small enemy outpost and get out before the alarm was raised. But it didn’t take long for things to unravel. Reynolds, in his usual fashion, had ignored a crucial piece of intel about the enemy’s patrol routes, leading them right into the path of an incoming unit. By the time anyone realised the mistake, it was too late. Bullets tore through the air, kicking up dirt and shrapnel, and Soap and Gaz were caught in the middle of the chaos.

“Bloody hell, move!” Gaz shouted as they scrambled for cover. He glanced over to where Reynolds and his men were already retreating, leaving them exposed. The panic in the other team was palpable, their lack of cohesion turning the skirmish into a disaster.

Soap was already firing back, keeping the advancing patrol at bay, but it was clear they were outnumbered. A bullet whizzed past, grazing his arm, but he barely flinched, too focused on protecting Gaz, who was pinned down beside him.

“Reynolds, we need cover!” Soap barked into his comms, but there was nothing but static in response. The other team had pulled back completely, leaving them in the open.

Gaz cursed under his breath, clutching his side where a stray round had nicked him. “Typical, isn’t it?” he muttered, his voice strained with pain. “Same bloody mistake.”

Soap clenched his jaw. “We’re getting out of this. Hold on.”

But just as they tried to make a break for it, the inevitable happened—another mistake. A well-placed enemy shot slammed into the ground near their position, sending both of them sprawling. Soap hit the ground hard, his breath knocked out of him as pain flared through his side. Gaz, already injured, was worse off, groaning as he tried to push himself up, his face pale.

“Gaz, stay down!” Soap shouted, pulling himself up despite the pain. His vision swam for a moment, but he forced it to clear. They had to get out. They had to survive this.

---

Back at their own base, Price and Ghost were monitoring the mission, keeping tabs on their men. But as the reports came in, their expressions darkened. Price's jaw clenched when he heard the comms fall silent from Reynolds’ team, but it wasn’t until he caught sight of the feed showing Soap and Gaz pinned down, clearly abandoned, that the red mist descended.

“What the bloody hell are they doing?” Price’s voice was low, dangerous, as he slammed a fist onto the table. Ghost stood behind him, silent but radiating a lethal calm, his eyes narrowing beneath his balaclava.

“I’ll kill him,” Ghost muttered, his tone flat but filled with cold fury. “He’s left them out to dry.”

Price didn’t need to be told twice. Within moments, they were moving, Price snapping orders as Ghost readied the extraction. There was no way in hell they were leaving Soap and Gaz to clean up Reynolds’ mess—again.

---

The med bay was dimly lit, the low hum of equipment filling the space as Soap and Gaz were checked over by the field medics. Both had taken a beating, though neither was willing to admit just how bad it was. Gaz sat on the edge of the cot, his side heavily bandaged from the bullet wound. Soap, nursing a deep graze on his arm and bruises from the blast, sat across from him. Both men exchanged tired glances, the weight of the mission and the injuries dragging at their already frayed nerves.

“Could’ve been worse, eh?” Gaz muttered, trying to break the tension with a weak grin.

Soap chuckled, though it came out more as a grimace. “Aye, next time we should try getting blown up properly. Might actually be a laugh.”

But despite their attempts to lighten the mood, there was no ignoring the dull throb of pain or the memory of how close they’d come to not making it out. Reynolds and his team had abandoned them at the worst possible moment, and the damage spoke for itself.

The door to the med bay slid open with a hiss, and the mood shifted instantly. Gaz and Soap looked up to see Price and Ghost enter, their expressions dark, simmering with an anger they both recognised all too well. Price’s eyes flicked over the two of them, taking in the bandages, the bruises, the faint wince that Gaz tried to hide as he shifted.

Ghost remained silent, but the tension radiating from him was almost palpable, like a shadow darkening the room. He stood by the door, his gaze hard and unwavering as he watched Soap adjust his injured arm, trying to act as if it didn’t hurt as much as it did.

Price stepped forward, his voice rough but low, as though he was keeping himself in check. “What the hell happened out there?”

Soap, always the one to try and smooth things over, shrugged as if it were no big deal. “We’ve had worse, Cap’n. Just a bit of a cock-up with the comms, that’s all. Nothing we couldn’t handle.”

Gaz nodded, trying to back him up. “Yeah, just bad timing. No harm done.”

Price’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t having it, and they knew it. “No harm done?” His voice was deceptively calm, but the fire beneath it was unmistakable. “You’re both sitting here, half-bloody mangled, because of another team’s negligence. And you’re telling me it’s fine?”

Soap glanced at Gaz, then back at Price, his usual bravado faltering slightly. “We’re still here, aren’t we?”

Ghost, who had remained quiet up until now, finally spoke, his voice low and dangerously calm. “This isn’t just about you two. It’s about how they handled the mission. They left you behind. That’s not a ‘cock-up.’ That’s a bloody betrayal.”

The room fell into silence as Ghost’s words sank in. Soap and Gaz knew it too—there was no excusing what had happened. But they weren’t ones to wallow in their own injuries. They’d made it out, and that was enough for them. For Price and Ghost, though, it wasn’t.

“Look,” Gaz started, trying to defuse the situation, “we’ve dealt with worse. You know we can handle ourselves. Reynolds and his lot, they… they just messed up, same as they always do. We weren’t expecting a hand-hold.”

Price’s expression darkened even more at that, his jaw tightening as he leaned in closer. “You shouldn’t have had to handle it alone.”

Ghost stepped forward, his presence like a storm building in the small room. His voice was quieter than Price’s, but somehow even more menacing. “Next time, we might not be able to pull you out. And it’ll be on their heads.”

Soap swallowed hard, realising that no amount of jokes or bravado was going to cool the anger simmering in the room. Price and Ghost, they weren’t just angry—they were furious. Furious that their men, their boys, had been put in unnecessary danger. Furious that this wasn’t the first time. And furious that it could’ve gone much, much worse.

“You’re both here,” Price said, his voice thick with emotion he didn’t often show. “That’s what matters.”

Ghost, standing still as stone, gave a small nod, his eyes never leaving Soaps. The cold anger in him seemed to crack slightly, giving way to a protective concern that few ever saw. “You did what you had to,” he said, his voice low. “We’re not letting this happen again.”

Soap swallowed, blinking back the sting of emotion he hadn’t expected to feel. Gaz let out a long breath, leaning back on his cot, his hand coming up to wipe at his eyes. The silence in the room wasn’t awkward—it was heavy with understanding.

As Ghost and Price left the dim hum of the equipment filled the room, Soap and Gaz found themselves alone. The adrenaline that had carried them through was gone, replaced by the heavy ache of bruises, the sting of their wounds, and the lingering fear that they hadn’t allowed themselves to feel earlier.

Gaz shifted on his cot, his face pale as he gingerly touched the bandage at his side. Soap watched him for a moment, his own arm cradled against his chest, before he broke the silence.

“Kyle,” Soap said, his voice quieter than usual, the usual banter absent. “That was… close.”

Gaz looked up, meeting Soap’s eyes, and for a moment, neither of them could find the words. The weight of what had happened—of how easily it could’ve gone wrong—hung between them. Finally, Gaz let out a shaky breath, his voice raw.

“I couldn’t get to you,” he muttered, his hand clenching into a fist on the cot. “I tried, Tav. I tried to cover you, but—”

Soap shook his head, cutting him off, though his voice trembled slightly. “Don’t. You did what you could.”

The guilt in Gaz’s eyes was painfully obvious. “I should’ve been faster. If I’d been quicker—”

Soap didn’t let him finish. He reached across, his fingers gripping Gaz’s arm tightly, he moved to sit on the edge Gaz’s cot, resting his head on Gaz. “We made it, Kyle. That’s all that matters.” His voice broke slightly on the last words, and he swallowed hard, the lump in his throat too much to ignore.

Gaz closed his eyes for a second, feeling the weight of Soap’s grip, the warmth him pressed against his side. He let out a long breath, his hand coming up to rest over Soap’s. “I couldn’t lose you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Not like that.”

Soap’s throat tightened, letting go of Gaz’s hand he wrapped his arms around him, pulling him into his chest. “You won’t. I’m not going anywhere.”

For a long moment, they sat like that, holding onto each other, both trying to swallow down the fear and guilt that had lodged in their chests. Soap, the one always quick with a joke or a reckless plan, was the first to blink back the wetness in his eyes, forcing a chuckle. “You’re stuck with me, mate. I’m too bloody stubborn to die.”

Gaz snorted, though it came out shaky. “Reckon you are.” His voice softened as he added, “Thanks for having my back.”

“Always,” Soap murmured, his voice raw with emotion. “We’ve got each other. We always will.”

---

The door to the debriefing room slammed open with a thunderous crash, the sound echoing off the walls as Price and Ghost stormed in. The room was immediately filled with a palpable, heavy tension that had Reynolds and his team snapping to attention. They had been lounging only moments before, but now, with the sheer force of Price and Ghost’s presence, the air seemed to thicken with an overwhelming sense of impending doom.

Reynolds looked up, surprise and irritation flickering across his face at the sudden intrusion. His casual demeanour faltered the moment he saw Price’s expression—dark and simmering, like a storm ready to break. Ghost, towering beside him, was silent, but the lethal calm in his posture sent an unspoken threat through the room.

“What’s the meaning of this, Price?” Reynolds asked, forcing a semblance of authority into his voice, though it wavered slightly.

Price didn’t answer right away. He stalked toward the centre of the room, the vein in his temple pulsing as he barely kept his rage in check. His fists were clenched tightly at his sides, the muscles in his forearms rippling as if it took every ounce of willpower not to lash out. Ghost followed in his wake, a silent, dangerous shadow, his eyes locked onto Reynolds with a coldness that made the room feel ten degrees colder.

“You left my men to die,” Price said, his voice dangerously low, each word dripping with fury.

Reynolds’ face flushed. He opened his mouth to protest, but Price was having none of it.

“No.” Price’s voice cut through the air like a whip, stopping Reynolds in his tracks. “You’ve made the same mistakes over and over again, but this time it nearly cost us. My men were nearly killed because of your incompetence.”

The room fell into a heavy silence. Reynolds shifted uncomfortably, his team glancing at each other with unease. None of them dared to meet Price’s gaze. The air was thick with tension, the kind that made everyone hold their breath, waiting for the inevitable explosion.

“We did what we had to, Price,” Reynolds finally managed, though his voice was weaker now. “We made the call to pull back. We couldn’t stay pinned down.”

Price’s jaw tightened, the tendons in his neck straining as he took another step forward. He was practically looming over Reynolds now, his eyes blazing with barely contained fury. “You abandoned them,” he spat, his voice still low but vibrating with intensity. “You left them to fend for themselves, without backup, without support—you left them to die.”

Reynolds stiffened, his pride wounded, but there was fear in his eyes now as Price advanced on him. “My team’s safety comes first,” Reynolds muttered, though it sounded more like an excuse than a reason. “We couldn’t afford to stay pinned down. We made the call.”

Ghost, who had been eerily silent up until this point, finally stepped forward, his presence like a dark storm crashing into the room. His voice was quiet, but there was something far more terrifying in its calmness than in any shout. “Your call,” he growled, “almost got them killed.”

Reynolds flinched, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop even further. Ghost’s entire body was tense, his hands flexing at his sides as though he was only barely holding himself back. His eyes were locked onto Reynolds with a stare so cold it could freeze a man where he stood. “You don’t get to make that call,” Ghost continued, his voice so low it was almost a snarl. “You don’t get to decide whether my men live or die.”

Price, still glaring at Reynolds, was visibly restraining himself from doing something far more physical than shouting. His fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles were white, and the edge of his voice sharpened. “Do you know what it’s like,” Price asked, his voice trembling with rage, “to watch your men—your family—get torn apart because someone didn’t do their bloody job?”

Reynolds swallowed hard, his face paling as the full weight of Price’s anger settled on him. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words died on his lips as Ghost’s hand twitched at his side, his fingers flexing like he was fighting the urge to reach for his knife. The tension in the room became suffocating, Ghost’s presence alone enough to make Reynolds' team go stiff with fear.

“You listen to me, Reynolds,” Price said, his voice barely more than a growl. He leaned in closer, his face inches from Reynolds’, and for a moment, Reynolds looked like he might bolt. “You ever put my men in danger again, and I’ll make sure you’re not worrying about the bloody enemy.”

Ghost, standing only a step behind, was silent, his eyes never leaving Reynolds. But there was a tension in the air, something crackling and dangerous, as though the smallest spark could set him off. It took everything he had to hold himself back, the only thing keeping him in check was the silent promise that Price had just made. A promise that they would make good on if Reynolds dared to make another mistake.

Reynolds swallowed hard, visibly shaken now, sweat beginning to bead on his brow. “Understood, Captain.”

Price lingered for a moment longer, his eyes boring into Reynolds’ as if daring him to say another word, to give him a reason to snap. But Reynolds remained silent, his face pale and his posture rigid under the weight of Price’s fury.

Without another word, Price straightened, his expression still dark, though the barely restrained violence in his posture had eased—just slightly. He turned on his heel, storming out of the room with Ghost right behind him, still radiating silent, simmering anger. The door slammed shut behind them, leaving Reynolds and his team in stunned, terrified silence.

The weight of what had just happened hung in the air like a noose, tightening around Reynolds’ throat. He had seen many things in his career, but nothing had prepared him for the wrath of Captain Price and Lieutenant Ghost—especially when it came to their men.

Later that night, Soap and Gaz were resting in their bunks, still sore but grateful to be back with their own team. The med bay was behind them, and though they were both worse for wear, there was a comfort in being surrounded by familiar faces.

Price, Ghost, and the rest of the squad gathered around them in the common area. No one said much at first; the air was thick with unspoken words and lingering tension. But eventually, it was Gaz who broke the silence.

“You two really went to town on Reynolds, didn’t you?” he asked with a small grin, though he winced as he shifted.

Price gave a short, humourless chuckle. “He deserved it.”

Soap, sitting nearby with his arm bandaged, shot Ghost a curious look. “I take it he won’t be asking us for help again?”

Ghost’s eyes glinted with something close to satisfaction. “Not if he knows what’s good for him.”

There was a pause, and then, almost unexpectedly, Price moved to sit next to Gaz, propping himself up against the headboard, his expression softening just a touch. “You did good out there, lads. You always do.”

Soap smirked. “Thought you’d say something like that. Could’ve gone better, though.”

Ghost gave a rare chuckle, his eyes flicking between the two. “Next time, maybe don’t try to out-stubborn a fuckin' grenade.”

As the tension slowly ebbed away, the team settled into a quiet camaraderie. They stayed close, sharing small conversations and rare moments of levity. Eventually, the exhaustion caught up to them, and they found themselves resting in each other’s presence—no one willing to leave just yet.

Price lay next to Gaz, his presence steady and comforting, while Ghost, ever the quiet one, moved to settled beside Soap, a silent show of support. Despite the day’s chaos, there was an undeniable warmth in the room, a deep sense of trust that bound them all together.

For now, the storm had passed, and in the quiet of the night, they found peace—together.

[browneyedboys]

kiss me goodnight

you can find my other work here!

Pairing: rafe cameron x reader

Warnings: cursing, cursing, overall fluff (let me know if you find something else)

Word count: 2.4K

Synopsis: Rafe finds you in the library yet again, but this time your both a bit more open and a bit more enchanted.

a/n: this may or may not turn into a series, I promise nothing, feedback is always appreciated! 

“I’m starting to think I just need to go to the library after midnight if I want to find you.” Rafe hums, taking in the curl of your hair as it cascades down your back. Once again it’s far past the time which he considers suitable for studying when he runs into you. This time though, there’s no Ward Cameron breathing down his neck. Instead he slides the chair next to you out of its nook in the university’s table and takes a seat. 

He’d be lying if he said he actually intended to do work. A late night walk had been his original intentions, but when a familiar tug led him to the library he didn’t fight it. Rafe Cameron didn’t believe in fate before he met you but now he wasn’t so sure. 

You take far too long for a not hyper focused person to respond, blinking twice before tearing your gaze from your laptop. It’s nearing the hour when the words from your latest assignment become etched into your vision. This signals to you that perhaps it’s time to call it a night. 

Rafe Cameron also signals that. He takes a seat beside you in the deserted library. You’re not sure what you did to attract his kind smiles and teasing expressions but you’re sure you’ll miss them when they eventually leave. This isn’t something that happens and never stops, there has to be some catch to the golden boy. If there isn't, you are surely doomed. You’re falling too fast to recover

“You okay sweetheart?” He calls you out of your own head, gentle expression coercing you back into the present. 

Closing your laptop, you nod. “It’s just been a long day,” You draw out before shifting in your chair. You bring your knees up towards your chest so you can gaze at Rafe with your head on your knees. It’s the ultimate comfort: your own body heat. 

“Ah,” he croons in a sympathetic manner. “It’s friday night; why are you at the library instead of with your friends or even just studying at home?”

“My roommate hates when my laptop light is on when she is in bed and she likes to go to bed at like 10 so it’s just easier for me to come here. It’s quieter than any common room in the Pi Phi house but it’s still habitable, you know? I like a hunk of noise when I’m studying but I always end up talking to people, it’s a problem.”

“And you’re studying on a friday night because…” Rafe baits, his signature teasing smirk on his lips. His head tips to the side. Hair moving in a flowing tidal wave. You lean forward slightly, capturing a chunk of it in your fingertips. Twirling it around, you learn it’s just long enough to be tucked behind Rafe’s ear, so you do just that. 

“Because I was out of town the first half of last week, I’m trying to get an internship lined up for next semester so I had to go on a two day interview process.” You answer the question Rafe thought you forgot about, giggling at his hair behind his ear.

“All that for an interview?” He radishes his eyebrows, chuckling at your antics. There’s no one he’d rather have planting with his hair. 

You nod your head, a heat rising to your checks as you process where your hand has hovered. In essence you’re cupping his jaw now. “It was actually really fun but now I’m behind so I have to go to the library until it’s scary outside and deal with the repercussions.”

“You don’t even have to ask, you know I’ll walk you back.” He leans into your hand, enjoying the minute amount of physical touch. 

“But I’m not done and you clearly didn’t come to the library to study.” Dropping your hand to your side, you pause, looking over the only visible thing he has with him: his phone, “Why did you come to the library?”

“This is going to sound really fucking cheesy but I felt drawn to it, like it was a little side quest for the night and I had to go and investigate.” 

You grin at him, “Do you know how demeaning it is to be called a side quest?’

“Oh hush,” he murmurs, leaning into your gravitational pull, “You’re distracting me from what I really wanted to offer.”

“And what was that?” 

“I have a single so whenever you need a quieter but safe place with the lights on let me know. I not only have a desk but also one of those huge bean bags. Though I’m not so sure how good it would be for studying, I always end up taking a nap when I’m on it. But seriously, you should use my bedroom. It’s much safer than being here.”

“And how would you know if I’d like to come over and use it? Are you asking for my number in some elaborate scheme?”

“Honey if I was that tricky I could just ask around, I’m sure one of my brothers has your number. Aren’t you the social chair? You plan events with our chapter which means that our social chair would have your number.” You’re a bit taken aback at how Rafe seems to keep tabs on you. Sure, you know that he’s the bursar for his chapter but that’s only because you care about him. Does he care about you, in the same way?

“You’re devolving.” You tease as you tug your phone out of your backpack. “Unfortunately for you we only communicate over snapchats that sometimes Jett drunkenly opens and then has no idea what the plan is.” You hand your phone to him anyways, contacts screen open to a blank slate; who would have known this is how your night would end up. 

“No,” he grins, “my plan is going exactly how I envisioned it. Even if Jett is an idiot who doesn’t know what’s in front of him.” He hands your phone back over, his contact name shines up at you in the most Rafe fashion you’ve ever seen: love of my life. 

The words stare up at you. Inhaling deeply, you roll your eyes but can’t deny the way your heart flutters. You feel a bit panicked, if anything you’d describe this as whatever the flight instinct is. “That’s a bit gusty, Cameron. Even for a frat boy you are dangerously confident in yourself.”

“Not quite…” he counters, “I think people call it manifesting, right? I’m putting my wishes out into the universe and I’m seeing what I get in return. And my wishes right now are you. You’ve got me in whatever way you want me.”

You reel at his confession, slowly blinking away the mist that seems to have appeared in your brain. How can you even respond to a statement like that? Your usual arsenal of witty riparte doesn’t seem to cut it. You can’t respond to a genuine remark with a dismissive gesture. Or perhaps you could but that wouldn’t convey your current state; It’s your turn to be bold. “And if I want you to walk me home and kiss me goodnight?” 

Rafe beams, after many seconds of overthinking his expression he is sharply rewarded with your approval. His lips trace the slight upward bend of your lips. They felt so soft a week ago when he trapped your bottom lip between his fingers. Rafe wonders if they’d feel that soft against his lips? Would you kiss him as soft as his love for you seems to be? “I don’t even know how to properly phrase my contentment at that idea.” 

“And I don’t know how to respond in general,” You flush, packing up your bag with the slightly shaky hands of someone who has put their mouth above their actions. The thought seems nice but now you’ve created this intense pressure on the evening, what if it’s not what you or Rafe truly wants. 

Rafe extends his hand to you once you’ve slung your backpack over your shoulder. He pulls you up and out of your chair, the wooden vessel rocks back and forth in your absence. His hand feels sturdy on its own, a solid form for you to hold onto. Some things feel as fleeting as the setting sun, but not the idea of the two of you. Despite how nervous feelings make you, you’re confident in the role of fate. It has dragged the two of you together. 

“You’ve gone all quiet,” Rafe notes as you both walk out of the doors of the library. He squeezes your hand slightly, taking in your side profile as you glance around campus in the dark. It must be draining to always be thinking about your surroundings. He has to admit it’s something he only really thinks of when he’s walking you home and you do something he doesn’t think of often. 

You look at your intertwined fingers, noting how chipped your nails are. “Would you let me paint your nails?” Your thumb traces his pointer finger nail, imagining a green hue similar to yours on it. 

Rafe’s eyeline returns to you, as it always seems to do. What is he without the idea of your presence and the familiarity you seem to hold. “Only if we get to match, and it isn’t red. I hate red.”

“Red’s the worst,” you agree, “It just feels angry in a way I will never match. I don’t understand red lipstick or nail polish, it’s just too much for me. But would you do green or brown? Or a nice blue?”

“Brown? I don’t think I’ve ever seen brown nails before.” He swings your conjoined hands back and forth, smiling. He’s starting to realize that he’s only a few kisses away from naming the stars and the sun after you. 

“Well then I think we will have to do brown nails then. I think it’s a nice color. Black is too edgy for me but sometimes colors are overrated. A nice brown is a great compromise, and I love nothing more than a compromise.” Rafe shakes his head, tilting to get a better view of you in the streetlights, “I think you secretly hate compromises. You’re far too nice to everyone and perhaps you’re itching for someone to come along and give you everything you didn’t even know you wanted.”

“I guess it would be nice to have someone pay that much attention to me,” You pause. Does Rafe already see through your perfectly constructed city to the hearth of the foundation below. You never thought anyone would get this far, taking time to see past your easy smiles and late nights. You’d give up anything to have someone pay that much attention to you. 

As you make the final turn, ending up on the street that both of you live on, Rafe curbs the disappointment which fairs in the pit of his stomach. He wants to spend entire days with you doing absolutely nothing. It’s not like you’ve spent more than a couple hours in each other’s company, it’s always been cut too short by the arrival of your front door. “Do you think your stairs would turn into a slide like in Harry Potter if a guy went onto the second floor?”

“I mean probably. That or I’d get shunned by everyone of my sisters. It’s a sacred space up there, not to be corrupted by stinky boys. Why? You have intentions to sneak up and visit me sometime?” The thought makes your heart pound in your ribs, it seems nothing would delight you more.

“I’d never sneak in uninvited… I could just wait until one of those fundraiser dinners you guys host and then you could give me a tour of your shining house.”

“Well it’s far too late for me to give you a tour but some other time I’d love to. I’ll text you when I’m allowed to have male guests.” 

“Male guests? That’s possibly the most incriminating expression I’ve ever been referred to as before. But I’d love to be your male guest whenever you need me, Cory.” Rafe squeezes your hand twice, grinning at the street in front of you. 

“Shut up,” you flush, heat creeping up your neck in the way it hasn’t in a while. You’re not used to attention from men the way that Rafe seems more than happy to provide. You’re girl pretty but you don’t attract the gaze of men randomly, or at least they never announce it. 

The pair of you pause at the walkway to your house, growing silent in a way that only anticipation does so well. Rafe is the first to take a step down the concrete, tugging you along beside him. Tonight holds an implication like never before. You’re dangerously close to the precipice of something new. 

Your blue front door appears before you faster than you wish, leading to a pause. Rafe drops your hand, it’s much too cold in the late October air. He turns to you, eyes tracing the slope of your cheekbones. His gaze sifts from your left eye to your lips then to your right eye. You’re antsy with anticipation in a way that is unfamiliar. Gone is the trepidation. You step forward, into Rafe’s space, and peer up at him. 

He reaches up, tucking your hair behind your ear, tracing it until he can cup your jaw. Your eyes flutter closed, lips parting in the waiting game, the sight nearly kills Rafe. He has nothing to do but close the gap and capture your lips with his own. He uses his other hand to tug you forward until it becomes impossible to bring you any closer. The distance between the two of you is vanquished with the tug of his lip by your teeth. You wrap your hands around his neck, running a hand through his golden hair. 

Rafe is first to pull back, pupils blown and reflecting your disheveled state. “Your lips are so soft.” The hand which cups your jaw shifts, he runs his thumb over your bottom lip. You part your lips, drawing it into your lips. “Are you as pleased with that goodnight kiss as I am?”

You draw his hand off of your face, tangling your fingers in a mess. Drawing up on your toes, you peck Rafe’s lips, “This is a goodnight kiss, Rafe. That’s a I don’t want to say goodnight kiss.”

“So you want me to peck you on the lips from here on out?” He hopes not, Rafe’s not sure how long he could survive on chaste kisses after he has experienced what it feels like to be really kissed by you.

“Please never do.”

Rafe smiles stupid the whole way home. 

[icycoldninja]

Hello!

I see your request box is open (if not, you can ignore this) so, can you make a story between Vergil and the reader where the reader is Vergil's lover and dies because of his mistakes. After many years, Vergil reunites with the reader who is now a demon made by Mundus (like Trish) and don't have any memory of their past self. whatever the ending is- I hope you to make it with a sad ending.

yeah- just that and thanks! have a nice day ;)

No, it's open, don't worry. Enjoy!

Lost you again (Vergil x Reader angst)

Vergil had been hellbent on obtaining power for as long as he could remember. The agony of losing all of his loved ones burned in his heart, fueling his desire to rise and conquer, to become the strongest of them all with the most abilities, the untouchable god who could never be defeated, all so he didn't have to bear the pain of losing someone close to him again.

Yet somehow, even with all of his strength and zeal, even with the demonic bloodline of the legendary Sparda, Vergil still failed, miserably. His lack of skill, his weakness, his foolishness, led to the love of his life being ripped away from him, right before his eyes.

While the details were fuzzy, as he'd lost consciousness not long after it happened, he remembered you running up to him in a dark, god-forsaken place. Was it Hell? It might have been Hell. He remembered how he was shocked to see you in a place like this, but grateful and a tad bit touched that you'd decided to come looking for him, however you managed to get here. Your dedication was unshakable; he loved you so much for that. Then the demons came, hordes of them, swarming, growling, clawing at the ground as they hurried towards you two. Both of you put up a good fight, sure, but the sheer amount of these creatures soon proved too much. Exhausted, Vergil felt his limbs become heavy, his vision shake and dim. He was tired, as much as he'd detested to admit it, and so were you.

The moment you let your guard down was the moment those horrible creatures struck, leaping into the air and piling on top of you until you were buried under their fleshy, writhing bodies. Vergil can still remember your screams as they tore your flesh from your bones; he can still see the ocean of blood that stained his boots every time he closes his eyes. It all lasted for just a second, then you were gone. The next thing he knew, he was hanging from chains, about to meet a fate worse than death at Mundus's hands.

Speaking of Mundus, it seemed Trish wasn't the only clone that thing had produced. Vergil never thought he would have the honor of seeing you again, yet here you were, finally reunited with him after who knows how many years. You were still so perfect, so beautiful, so sweet, so lovely. It was everything Vergil could do to keep from throwing himself at you and smothering you in a bone-crushing hug until you coughed and playfully begged for mercy.

"I found you," He mumbled, taking a few tentative steps towards you. "I found you...you have returned...I...never thought I would see you again."

Your warm smile slowly flattened into a line at these words; Vergil's world growing damp and dark, about to cave in around him. All it takes is one more push.

"I'm sorry...who are you?"

There it was. The push.

Vergil felt his heart start pumping an insane amount of blood, forcing it into his body like it had a mind of its own and thought he was going to die. Perhaps he was; the man had never felt more crushed. The universe seemed to hate him, he thought, as he stood before you with tears silently streaming down his face.

I must be cursed, He reasoned, as he watched you flash him an apologetic, sympathetic smile, not at all like anything he remembered. This wasn't his lover. This wasn't his baby. This was a cheap imitation who might look the same, but would never be the same. He would never know your laughter again; never be able to experience your assuring hugs and gentle kisses. This demonic copy would never be like you, even if they tried.

Despite his sadness, Vergil felt a small grin creep onto his face, out of irony, if nothing else.

It looked like he had indeed found you, but then he'd promptly lost you again.

[opposums-love-arson]

Scream Queen Book 1: Conventional Final Girl

Chapter 4

Chapter 3 / Chapter 5

Stu Macher x Reader x Billy Loomis

 “Did you find them?” Sid asked, referring to mom and Neil who were supposed to have arrived at the expo today, like they told us. 

“Are you sure it was the Hilton?” Dewey asked, looking between us two. 

“Mhm,” She said and we both nodded to him. 

“They’re not registered there.” Dewey looked at us sympathetically, “Could they have stayed somewhere else?” 

“I don’t know, I guess.” Sid said as she rubbed her head for the millionth time. I pulled her hand away from her face and held it in mine. 

“Don’t worry girls, we’ll find them, okay?” Dewey reassured us as he put his hand on Sid’s knee. 

An officer walked by placing a paper on Dewey;s desk and saying something about the mask. Dewey said he’ll “Be right back” as he pushed in his chair and walked off. “(Y/n), what if they can’t find (m/n) and dad?” Sid asked in a sad and quiet tone with little sniffles. Smiling up at her the best I could right now I said, “Hey, just like Dewey said, they’ll find them Sid. I bet mom and  Neil are okay wherever they are.” Pushing her hair back from her face she responded, “Wouldn���t he want us to know that though?” At this point I just looked away. I didn’t know what to tell her. Right when I turned my head is when I made direct eye contact with Billy, a chill ran down my spine and all over my arms. He was pleading to me with a silent voice. “Hey tell em, Sidney, come one, (y/n), tell em!” Billy finally shouted as they led him out of the room. Sid refused to look and see but me? I had a clear view of his pleas for help, part of me felt bad. Right when Billy was dragged out Tatum walked in and right to us. She rushed right to Sid’s side holding her close saying, “Oh Sid, I’m gonna getcha out of here. Okay?” Nodding in response, Sid just sniffled and cried a little. 

  Watching these two in front of me made me realise just how much of a family we really… aren’t. I mean the way Sidney might view it yeah for sure, we talk to each other and spend time together but when it comes down to it they’ll leave me in the background while they huddle to protect her. If this were a horror movie I know I wouldn’t be the final girl, Sidney would. I was pulled out of my thoughts when I overheard Dewey and Sheriff Burke. They’re talking about how it’s hard to track the buyer for the costume and they won’t be able to access the phone account until tomorrow. I couldn’t hear anymore after Tatum just groaned, “Ugh come on,” as she stood by Sid. I’m really hoping it wasn’t Billy, I care about him a lot even if he can be a little… menacing at times. He does his best for Sid and that’s all that matters.

 “Hey Dewey, can we go now?” Tatum asked her older brother, impatience written all over her face. 

“Hold on a second,” He said, pointing his forefinger up in our direction. 

“What did mom tell ya? When I wear this badge you treat me like a man of the law,” Dewey basically whined out to Tatum. 

“I’m sorry deputy Dewey boy but we’re ready to go!” Tatum shouted in a huff as she gathered her things, “Now, okay?!” 

“Uh take ‘em out the back way, avoid that circus.” Burke said as he patted Dewey’s back and pointed towards the back door. 

The whole station was laughing at Dewey and Tatum’s bickering as we rushed for the doors. 

“There she is, Sydney!” Oh well I guess the Devil will always seek you out when you least expect it. “Hi, some night, what happened, are you alright?” Gale asked, shoving the microphone in Sid’s face. 

“She’s not answering any questions alright? Just leave us alone,” Tatum said in a tired-of-this-shit tone. 

“No no, Tatum it’s okay she’s just doing her job, right Gale?” Sid smiled and lightly pushed Tatum back towards me. 

Judging by her voice, Sidney is about to throw down. 

“Yes that right,” Gale nodded, still shoving the microphone in Sid’s face. 

“So how’s the book?” Sid asked, a sarcastic and scorch sound to her voice. 

“Well, it’ll be out later this year.” 

“Oh, I’ll look for it.” Sid said, he voice cracking for the tears and sobs trying to escape. 

I whispered over to Tatum, “Grab Sid. Now.” Tatum did exactly as I said. 

Just in time too since Gale said, “I’ll send you a copy!” 

Sid went to turn around and punch her but Tatum held her back with all her strength. This allowed me to take her place and land a clean right hook to Gale’s left cheek pushing her back and down into her camera man. Words could be heard from all the people behind her but I wasn’t listening. 

Dewey ran up to us and escorted Tatum, Sid, and I to his patrol car. 

“Where’d you learn to punch like that?” Dewey asked as he held onto my arm. 

“Mom was a boxer before she got with Neil,” I said as I slammed the car door. 

“(Y/n) why did you do that?” Sidney asked me, looking in confusion. 

“What, you think I’m going to risk my sister facing legal action in the middle of this shit show? I’d rather land in the slammer than you Sid,” I said as I placed my head on her shoulder. 

“See Tatum why can’t you be like that?” Dewey whined from the front seat. 

“Because you’re my big brother Dewey you’re supposed to defend me!” And so the sibling bickery ensued once again. 

  Once we made it to Tatum’s we got dressed in our pajamas and just lounged around Tatum’s room. I guess my clothes weren’t up-to-par with the latest fashion because right when I walked in I earned an “ugh” from Tatum. “What?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning on the doorway with a goofy grin. “Well one, you always wear those ridiculous shirts, and two, change whatever you’re doing.” Standing up straight I tug down at my shirt, it was just a Pet Sematary shirt, I guess I do wear a lot of horror stuff. “I get why you don’t like the shirt but what’s wrong with what I was doing?” I asked in a genuinely confused tone. Tatum got up to cup my face and squeeze it. “You’ve been spending too much time with Billy and Stu, we need to re-acclimate you to society.” She said and she pouted her lip, feigning pity for my accidental new traits. While Tatum was shuffling through her drawers I looked over at Sid. I mouthed, “Aren’t you going to do something?” Sid shrugged and mouthed back, “What am I supposed to do?” I tossed my arms up in the arm and mouthed, “Anything.”

   Tatum then threw something purple and soft right at my face. “There, go put those on then come back so I can braid your hair!” Tatum excitedly squealed. “We’re going to take cute pictures so hurry!” She shouted down the hall. Rushing to the bathroom I turned on the light, releasing a breath I held in… I’m just a little scared after tonight, I don’t know what’s lurking in the dark places anymore. I examined the set of small shorts and a smooth satin sleeping hirt. I quickly threw them on before heading back to Tatum’s room. When I came back I heard Tatum laughing. 

“God I loved it! I’ll send you a copy, BAM, bitch went down!” Tatum imitated the event. Punching her stuffed rabbit. 

Moving to sit up she again said, “I’ll send you a copy, bam! (Y/n), super bitch!” Tatum exclaimed shoving her arms out to the side. “She is so cool.” 

I moved over to her vanity, careful not to make any noise because I wanted to bask in the fame. 

Dewey walked in saying, “Thought (y/n) might want some ice for that right hook” Just had to run it Dewey. 

“Over here Dewey,” I said as I sat at the end closest to the door. 

Dewey tossed me the greenish ice pouch before I said, “Thanks.” 

“I’ll be right next door, try to get some sleep.” Dewey said as Tatum waved him off. 

I hopped onto the same bed as Tatum, I wanted to give Sid her space since she’s going through a lot right now. 

Turning to me Tatum asked, “Do you really think Billy did it?” 

My heart was telling me to say no but all that came out of my mouth was, “He was there Tatum…” 

“He was destined to have a flaw, I knew he was too perfect.” Tatum said as she bobbed her head. 

Hearing the phone ring in the other room just gave me instant chills, so did the knock at Tatum’s door right after. 

“Telephone honey,” Tate’s mom walked in.

“Who is it?” Tatum asked as we turned to look at Mrs. Riley. 

“It’s for the girls,” She said, making Sid turn her entire body. 

“Is it my dad?” Her question was eager with hope in her voice. 

“I don’t think so,” Tatum’s mom said as she gave a sympathetic smile. 

Sid turned back over, having no interest in the matter anymore. 

“Take a message,” Tatum said, leaning back against the headboard. 

Getting up I said, “No it’s okay, I’ll answer it.” It might be something important, even if it isn’t our parents. 

As I walked out I could hear the pitter-patter of Sid’s sock covered footsteps follow me to the phone. 

“Hello?” I asked, crossing my fear arm over my chest. 

“Hello, (y/n).” Oh no, the voice was obviously the ghost masked man from just hours ago. His words were drawn out just hoping for a reaction. 

I gave him exactly what he wanted, “No! Stop, stop this now!” I wailed out.

Sidney came to my side, along with Tatum and her family. 

“Poor Sidney’s Billy boyfriend, that guy doesn’t stand a chance with her.” This Ghostface said in mock gossip as if he were one of the girls. 

“Leave me and my sister alone! You Jack Torrance sounding creep!” I exclaimed, shaking from the pure rage and fear that swam through my body. 

“Looks like your sister fingered the wrong guy, again!” The masked murderer snarled on the other side of the line. 

“What are you talking about? Who are you?” I asked in complete confusion by his words. Tatum and Sidney were begging me to hang up the phone. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll find out soon enough, I promise.” He said before letting his line go dead. 

“What?!” Dewey exclaimed as he rushed out to us a little too late. We were already walking back to the room 

  I couldn’t sleep for the entire night, neither could Sid and Tatum. We tried keeping our minds off of things by doing light hearted girly stuff like braiding each other's hair, painting our nails, taking cute pictures with Tatum’s instant camera. I just wasn’t ready to leave the warm security of our friend’s home tomorrow morning. 

[mixtape--oh]

Sense of normalcy – Lee Know

Minho x high school friend turned girlfriend Iris, circa October 2024

Because, amidst his chaotic idol life, there were times when Minho just longed for something normal.

A little birthday something for the next big thing in K-pop, father of three, uri one and only dance leader Lee Minho. May you have the happiest and the best year ahead. <3

"This," Iris said, "so far, is our strangest date yet. And really, among the list of our dates, it says a lot." 

Minho nudged her shoulder with his. "You really think this is strange? I'm just picking you up from work." 

"Yeah, and now we're here." She made a gesture towards their surroundings. "Eating ice cream at a subway station, watching people and trains come and go." 

"You love ice cream," Minho reminded her. "And I love watching people and trains come and go at a subway station. So it's just our favorite activities combined, really. Doesn't that make it a perfect date?" 

Iris opened, then closed, her mouth a couple times without saying anything. Minho guessed he couldn't really argue with his impeccable logic. "Well, when you put it that way," she finally grumbled, to which Minho laughed. "Still, it's a rather odd date, even for our standard. And it's an even more odd birthday present to ask for." 

When Iris asked him what he wanted for his birthday a couple days ago, Minho asked her to ditch her car for the day and go to work using the subway. 

"Why?" she'd asked suspiciously. 

"So I can come pick you up. I have a couple hours free in the evening, around the time you clock out." 

She must've thought he's going to pick her up by a car, because she looked surprised when Minho showed up at her office without one and led her to the subway instead. Another thing she didn't expect, him buying her ice cream and asking if they could "sit for a while" at the subway station after they got off their train. That's how they found themselves there, sitting on a bench eating ice cream in the middle of the station, surrounded by blurred movements of people and trains. 

"Why do you love watching people and trains come and go anyway?" she asked. 

Minho didn't answer right away; at that time, a rather busy train line arrived at the station, spilling waves after waves of people once it came to a halt. He watched as an equally large amount of people lined up by the entrances of the train, not-so-patiently waiting for their predecessor to get off their train. Minho kept watching as the people who got off the train scrambled and scattered to their next destination: the station's exit, the next train, a different platform – 

Until suddenly he couldn't see at all; Iris had pulled the hood of the hoodie he was wearing as a disguise lower, covering his eyes. "Sorry – I think that girl over there is staring too long." 

Minho threw her a teasing grin. "I like you being possessive over me." 

She purposefully yanked the hood with enough force to send his head – and, intentionally on his part, his entire upper body – jerking forward. "Do you really want to risk getting recognized right here, right now? In the middle of rush hour at one of the busiest subway station?" 

"I'm sorry," he chuckled. Until the reality of his status as an idol kicked in and his laughter faded out completely. 

Iris straightened back his hoodie to its original position. "Sorry, didn't mean to upset you." 

"No, you didn’t. It’s just – you asked why I love watching people and trains come and go?" 

"Yeah, why?" 

Minho had a look around their surroundings before answering. "I guess it just gives me some sort of... sense of normalcy, I think," he muttered slowly. "Watching people hustle around, go about their routines. The routines I don't get to have. Because, you know, I don't really have the same normal as most people. So I'll just settle with watching other people have theirs." 

Iris gave him a sympathetic grimace, putting a hand on his knee. "Ah, kitten. I'll take the subway on every evening you're free, then. So you can pick me up and have your little sense of normalcy." 

Minho bumped her knee with his. "You'd do that? Not just for my birthday?" 

"As long as you let me have my ice cream. Then we can sit here while I finish it and you watch people and trains come and go. Our favorite activities combined, you know. Makes it a perfect date." 

Minho struggled to breathe for a while. It felt like the air in his lungs got knocked out by waves after waves of feelings, the biggest being his love for her. "Would you be too mad if I kiss you right here, right now?" he finally managed to say hoarsely. 

Iris beat him to it, pressing her lips on his in a chaste peck. "I'm feeling more lenient today since it's your birthday." 

"So I won't get any public kisses on other days?" 

"You already have your promised train-watching sessions, kitten. Don't push it." 

Minho was about to bark back when Iris' phone buzzed. She took it out of her pocket; its screen was alight, announcing a call from – "Chris hyung?" Minho asked, bewildered. "Why'd he call you and not me?" 

"He made me promise him to get you to the birthday dinner on time." Iris got to her feet, pulling Minho by his sleeve. "He'd be too mad for sure if you're not there in half an hour, so we better get going." 

With a sigh, Minho let her guide him to the station's exit. He watched in silence as she took Chris' call, assuring him that they're already on their way and will be there in time. Again he felt his insides suffocating with feelings, this time dominated by warm affection caused by the fact that both his leader hyung and his beloved girlfriend were already at this level of friendliness and comfort with each other. It gave him a little bit of a whiplash because the two of them came from his two different worlds; Iris was from his ordinary life he knew before he became an idol, whereas Chris was one of the biggest part of his idol world. It was like his two worlds, his previous "normal" one and the not-so-normal one he's currently living, colliding in the best of ways. 

And the fact that he got to have Iris in both worlds, that she's willing to put up with both his normal and not-so-normal life, erupted yet another wave of love for her inside him. 

"You okay, birthday boy? You look a little distant." 

Iris had finished her call and was now looking at him. "Yeah, I'm okay," Minho assured her. "Glad, even." 

"Hm? Why?" 

"Because," Minho's eyes went from hers to her hand that was still clutching the sleeve of his hoodie; he shrugged the hand off, only to catch it with his own. "Even in my not-so-normal normalcy, I still have you." 

With her free hand Iris gave his shoulder a good shove, which only made him laugh. He knew she really couldn't stand sweet, sappy words, so he loved teasing her with it. "Then you better get used to it," she told him. "Because I'm not going anywhere out of this not-so-normal life of yours." 

He smirked; he loved it more when she decided to bite back on his sweet, sappy words. "Oh, I'm not letting you go anywhere, either." 

No, scratch that – he loved her, period. 

previously on | coming up next Find more stories from Minho & Iris and the rest of Stray Kids here!

Came up with this piece while waiting for my train, scribbled it on the back of an unused paper because I didn't have any notebook with me.. sigh. If you make it this far, would you be so kind as to leave some comments / thoughts on my writing? Reblogs & asks are always much appreciated too! xx

[stardustndreamsofsilver]

Inferum

Part Three

Jake x OC (f)

Warnings: description of tight spaces and claustrophobic scenes, a few curse words

Find All Parts Here

Ou est-elle la Mort? Toujours future ou passée. Apeine est-elle présente, que déjá  elle n’est plus.

Walking down through the catacombs, I couldn’t help but notice how completely ill-prepared Jake and the rest of his group were. None of them were wearing the right kind of footwear, which led me to believe that they didn’t know we’d be trudging through the muck and water. Then I noticed how nice their clothes were. Did they not realize they’d be crawling through dirt and bone?

Reaching out to lightly touch Jake’s arm, I ask, “I’m sorry-Jake, right? When did you hear about the ritual?”

He looked down at where my hand had been before looking back up at me. “Oh, well Colette told us about it at the club,” He answers, gesturing toward the other guide.

Stopping mid step, I turn to face him, “What?”

“Yeah, she told us about this feast for the dead thing and my brother Sam,” he says, pointing him out, “thought it sounded like something fun to do on Halloween. Danny wasn't convinced, but Josh and Sam wore him down. So here we are,” He shrugs.

“S-Something fun to do? Do you have any idea what the feast is?” I question.

“Not really, no. But friends of ours do something similar back home and it’s just a way of honoring the dead. It can’t be much different,” He grins as he moves to continue walking.

Shaking my head, I grab his arm to keep him from moving. “Jake, that's not what this is. You and your friends need to go back. You’re not prepared at all for what we’re walking into.”

His brows pull together and he gently shrugs my hand off of him. “We’ll be fine. I appreciate that you seem really concerned. But my brothers and I can handle whatever it is.”

I go to say more but he turns his back to me and goes to catch up with the others. I want to tell them all to turn around and ask Pip to take them back to the city above, but I can see now that nothing I say will dissuade them from going. I’m nothing but a stranger to them, and Colette has somehow gained enough of their trust that my word against hers wouldn’t be taken seriously. So, we continue on. Before long, we reach what seems to be a dead end. Colette gestures to a hole in the wall and tells us that we have to crawl through to the other side. The others look to one another in slight confusion but do as they’re told in the end. I follow suit. 

I’m the last to go, getting down on my hands and knees, I look down through the crawlspace. I see the bottoms of Sam’s shoes. Taking a deep breath, I begin to crawl forward. I can hear the others chatting amongst themselves ahead of me, when I hear movement behind me. There isn’t enough space for me to fully turn my head around, so I drop my shoulder and try my best to see the source of the noise through the corner of my eye. From what I can see, there’s nothing. Shaking my head, I take a deep breath and continue crawling forward. 

As I keep moving, the sense of something following takes over my body. I glance back as best I can and still see nothing when I hear, “L'heure de la fête des morts approche. Nous devons nous dépêcher,” come from right beside me. I yelp and jump, hitting my head and back on the rock above me. 

“Addey! Are you alright? What happened?” I hear Pip call.

“I’m fine!” I call back, trying to calm my racing heart. “I thought I heard something, but it was nothing.” There’s a beat of silence before they say to be careful and I begin to crawl again. 

When I finally crawl through the opening to the other side, Pip helps me to my feet and whispers in my ear, “Addey, s'il te plaît, ne va pas chez les Gaules. Nous pouvons encore faire demi-tour, il est encore temps. La fête de Samhain pour les morts n'apporte rien de bon. Elle n'apporte que de la souffrance.”

I pat their arm and smile sympathetically. “I can’t turn back. I have to go. But they…” I say tilting my head in the direction of the others. “They should. Convince them to go back.”

They shake their head and say, “I cannot. Colette, she would not let me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come, if you must go, then we shall go.” They say with a sigh and guide me forward.

So, we all venture on. As we do, I can see the apprehension begin to creep onto the other's faces. The filthy water has ruined their clothes and shoes, but none of them complain. That is until we reach the bones.

“No, no way. There’s no way I can fit through there.” The tall and dark one, Danny, says.

“Oui, you will fit. You turn sideways and go.” Colette says.

“Come on Dan, we’re almost there. Right Colette?” Jake’s brother, Josh says.

“Oui, it’s not much further.” She agrees.

“Fine, fine. But if I get stuck, I’ll kill you. Got it?” Danny says, pointing at Josh.

Laughing, Josh replies, “You wouldn’t. Now come on.” 

With that, we each begin to sidestep through the walls of bones. Danny is in front of me and Pip is behind me, being the last in line. Passing through the bones is disturbing. Feeling the curves and edges of those who died long before is enough to make me feel nauseous. I try my best to push the feeling to the back of my mind, but it lingers. As we carefully make our way through, I can hear Danny’s breathing start to pick up. Then suddenly he stops.

“I- I- I’m stuck. Fuck. Fuck!” He panics.

“You okay? What do you mean you’re stuck?” I hear one of the women call to him.

“I can’t move! I’m wedged in! Oh my god.” He says, looking up, sweat dripping down the side of his face.

Seeing his panic, I softly say, “Hey, Danny? Can you turn your head and look at me?” He does and I can see the tears threatening to spill. “Hey. You’re going to be okay. I promise. You just need to calm down. The more you panic, the more your chest will expand. Making it harder for you to move.”

He nods his head. “What do I do?”

Licking my lips and swallowing hard, I say, “Try to think of something that calms you down. Do you have a favorite place you like to go? A favorite song that puts you in a good mood?” He nods his head. “Okay, then think of that place or hum the song and close your eyes and try to forget where you are. I know it’s hard, but just try.”

He does as I say, squeezing his eyes closed and begins to hum. It’s not a song I know, but I can slowly see his face begin to relax. When he opens his eyes again, I nod and say, “Great, now try stepping forward.” He turns to face the other way and takes a step. His head whips back around and he has a look of shock and relief. “Good, now just keep going. You’re doing great.” I say taking a step forward.

When we finally make it out, Danny grabs me and wraps me in a tight hug. Taken aback, I pat his back in return. “Thank you.” He whispers.

I just smile and say, “No worries, glad I could help.”

He smiles back before we both turn at the sound of Colette speaking. “The ritual is just through that corridor. From now on, you must be silent. If we get caught, it will be very bad. Vous comprenez?”

We all nod before she turns and leads us to the Feast of the Dead. As we enter the hallway, I notice a plaque above the entryway. It reads;

“Quocumque ingrederis sequitur mors corporis umbra.

Whenever you enter, death follows as a body's shadow.”

As I read the words, a sense of foreboding sends a shiver down my spine. I look to Pip who has already passed through. They extend their hand to me and whisper, “Venez, c'est l'heure.” Taking their hand, I take one last deep breath and step into the hall.

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[worlds-end-discotheque]

21 Days Until the Death of Kim Kitsuragi

As seen, with wonder, by The End.

Day 2:

Harry was walking alone towards the ocean. The night was as vast and melancholy as its predecessors. All of Martinaise could be swamped and swallowed in that word – melancholy, and forlorn – and it would still mean so little to the hunger of sadness that reeked from the roots of the city itself. It was nighttime, and snow fell in delicate, pearly flakes, too light for such a dismal place. And yet the snow brought beauty, so craved and belonging.

Kim watched Harry exit the Whirling-in-Rags and walk towards the sea. From behind the splintered slats of fencing that led to the hostel’s backyard, even the frost-caked cobblestones appeared warm and solid. Firm ground hardened even further by the chill of reality as the tears of winter collapsed onto it.

The lieutenant turned back to the pitch black of the murderground. Far above, he knew a dicemaker may be gazing at him, too. The thought was comforting in its hauntedness. Kim knew there was nothing else to be found here at this glimpse of peace. He moved from the corner of the cursed office building and the shattered fence, for a moment eclipsing the light of the streetlamps and obscuring the crime scene from the rest of the world.

Kim Kitsuragi, the wall of last defense.

For a moment, Kim wondered if it would be wise to follow Harry at this hour. Surely the detective deserved time to himself; Kim trusted his recovery in the past couple days to the highest extent that he could, although the reliability of that trust was founded on little but gut instinct and hope. Surely, Harry would not be out to ruin things for himself; he could do that on his own, in his hostel room, entirely undisturbed and unperceived.

However, regardless for whose sake it was, the lieutenant felt a compelling yearning to be near the sea. To hear the gentle lap of waves against the stone foundations that held Martinaise just barely above the water. He tucked his hands inside his jacket pockets, taking a moment to look at the highest window of the building beside him. A beat of silence passed. Then, Kim decided to wave goodbye just in case the lonely dicemaker had joined him in his quiet evening contemplations.

He wondered if she would be safe, should the ocean decide to walk the city streets same as any citizen.

Quietly, Kim began walking towards the plaza. The lonely tower viewers cut thin, starless shadows against the indigo blackness of the night sky. It was such a shame, to leave such a thing in a place where it could not serve its only purpose. Kim paused beside one, observing the chewing gum crusted and cemented to the viewfinder, and offered a sympathetic pat to the freezing metal of the scope before continuing past the fountain.

Harry stood on the other side, his elbows leaned on the balustrade. Occasionally, a wayward gust of wind would stir the edges of his blazer, the longer part of his hair would come untucked from behind his ears. Kim stopped for another moment to stare.

He wasn’t unlike the tower viewer, in his own way. With a bit of attention and some coaxing, Kim was sure that through Harry, there were magnificent things to be seen. There were ways to witness Revachol that were impossible to imagine without the lens of Harry du Bois. He was just stuck, and needed someone to help chip the chewing gum away. It was a funny comparison, but sad, in its own way. Kim looked back to the tower viewer as he felt a pang in his chest, before finally going to join Harry at the ledge.

Kim leaned beside him, breezing past how Harry jumped, startled at his sudden appearance.

“What do you see?” The lieutenant asked calmly.

“Kim - how -” Harry stammered at first, a bewildered look on his face, momentarily wiping away the deeply carved lines of age and exhaustion as if they were nothing more than lines in the dirt. A small, bemused smirk ticked at the corner of Kim’s lips. Harry’s beautiful, sea-green and sorrowful eyes flicked down, catching the movement, and his shoulders slipped from his wooly muttonchops back down to relaxed. As relaxed as he could be, being Harry du Bois. The detective exhaled a deep breath that could have mirrored the murmur of the wind, and leaned against the eroded stone of the balustrade.

“I was trying to see my reflection in the water,” Harry muttered after a long moment of quiet.

Kim found the response odd, but instead of frowning, the lieutenant tilted his head slightly as if he were trying to see the detective from a different angle. “Why? You have a mirror in your bathroom, don’t you?”

Harry winced, shaking his head slowly with a grimace, “No, I do, it’s just... I think something’s wrong with it.”

“The mirror?” Kim pressed gently.

“Maybe, that’s what I hope, because the alternative is...” Harry trailed off again; this time, his right hand flexed and unflexed with unreleased tension. Kim noticed for the first time that Harry’s knuckles were chapped and calloused with old scars.

Kim Kitsuragi’s brow pinched with sympathy. He knew too well what it was like to feel shame and discomfort at the sight of one’s reflection. He did not wish the feeling on anyone.

“Do you want me to check your hair, or something?” Kim offered lamely after a pause.

To his surprise, Harry actually laughed softly, his shoulders moving in sync with the sound of his voice and his breath. He was like an instrument, discordant and harmonious in all his ways. Kim felt the comforting draw of compassion and gratitude.

“No, no, it’s not that, it’s…” Harry looked to Kim and moved his hand, his palm hovering somewhat such that Kim thought he was about to place it on his arm. In a fleeting moment of awkward panic, Harry moved his hand over to even more awkwardly pat Kim’s back twice. Kim huffed a single, amused sound through his nose, the corner of his lips quirking upwards. The detective blushed under his dark, scruffy facial hair, crossing his arms and leaning back against the stone beside them.

“I remember hearing somewhere that if you think you’re stuck in a dream, you should look at your reflection. If it looks like someone else, then you know it’s a dream.”

Kim shifted, leaning one arm against the balustrade and facing sideways to properly acknowledge what Harry was telling him. “You are unsure if you are dreaming or not? What about your reflection in the mirror, you said it might be broken?” Kim’s fingers itched for his notebook, tucked safely in the side pocket of his cargo pants, but he decided against the urge. It seemed inappropriate to analyze Harry like a case. He was a friend. “Wouldn’t I know if this was a dream of yours or not?”

“I don’t know if that’s how dreams work, but I also don’t know enough about dream-science to say for sure,” Harry frowned, nearly dejected at his lack of expertise in an impossible, ongoing science. “The thing about the mirror is that I know it’s me. I’m not happy about it, I don’t think that’s really what I look like… but I see the reflection and think ‘oh, that’s me.’ I’m not a stranger. But I wanted to double-check.”

“Hm.”

“C’mon, Kim, don’t ‘hm’ at me, that makes me nervous!”

“I’m sorry,” Kim huffed another small laugh, holding a hand up peacefully to placate Harry’s worry, “I just found it interesting, that’s all.”

Wouldn’t it be odd to find out this was all a dream? What if Kim was the one dreaming, and this was his sign to wake up and face the music? No, it couldn’t be. If it was a dream, things would be different. Kim would have made them different. His minute smile dropping, Kim turned to plant both elbows on the railing, folding his hands loosely and gazing down at the dark, sleepy ocean water. It looked deeper, and more menacing at night.

“Would this be a good dream, or a bad dream?”

“I don’t think any dreams are good dreams, Kim.”

And there it was again: the heart of Harry du Bois, worn like armor only to be shattered to a thousand shards. Kim wanted to pick each piece up, one by one, even if their jagged edges would cut into his palms and numb his fingers. Until his blood ran red down his wrists, Kim would collect the broken parts of Harry’s heart.

What a terrifying truth, discovered in so short a time.

Kim swallowed, feeling a tightness in his throat. “Why do you say that, Harrier?”

Harry’s shoulders sagged as if the weight of the world rested upon them. “Because they just remind us of things we can’t have, for whatever reason. Dreams are desires, but behind a veil. They’re unreachable, which is why we think they’re special enough to be called ‘dreams’.”

“I think dreams are different than what they appear to be.”

Harry laughed wryly, deprecatingly. “Beneath all the symbolism and stuff, I guess. Some of my dreams are cracked out.”

“No, that’s not exactly what I mean,” Kim picked at a loose thread on his sleeve. “I mean, yes, the symbolism makes it difficult to understand sometimes. But dreams are more about the feeling, what signals your brain wants to receive, rather than the actual events taking place. So when someone says it’s a ‘dream come true,’ they don’t mean the exact thing happened – they mean they feel that level of emotion they expected.”

The lieutenant’s voice had gone soft. Harry noticed a far-off look in his eyes, as if he was seeing a whole different world behind the silver reflection of his glasses. He seemed younger this way, and older at the same time. Exhausted, worn out… but also nostalgic. Fond, even. Harry had the sudden urge to capture that expression in a photograph, or a painting. Even if it was just his eyes. Harry could never hope to match the sense of life he saw within them; he could sketch and paint and create for centuries, and never replicate the look in Kim Kitsuragi’s eyes when he had a dream.

Harry took a small step sideways, closer to the lieutenant, and leaned forward slightly. His tone was curious, no less his own, yet it had a level of compassion to it that made the tips of Kim’s ears feel hot. “What’s your dream, Kim? To explain it like that, you must have thought a lot about it.”

Oddly, Kim seemed startled by the question, though his expression slowly fell into a reflective, sad smile. He glanced at Harry for a moment, before looking up to the sky where thousands of stars twinkled like shattered glass thrown to the wind. “I wanted to be a pilot.”

“Wanted? Why don’t you-“ Harry started, before remembering himself. Shame colored his cheeks and he looked down at his worn hands, dirt beneath his short fingernails. “Oh. I’m… I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.” Kim assured, shrugging slightly, before stretching his arms above his head and stepping back from the balustrade. “I know that flying an aeroplane isn’t possible for me. But I still dream about the feeling. The dream isn’t to be a pilot, Harry, it’s to know what it feels like to fly.”

Despite the sadness in the world, and the cruelness of circumstances, when the lieutenant pulled away from the railing and subsequently the haggard detective, there was a smile on his face. Not the polite, thoughtful smiles that had crossed his features before; no, this smile showed teeth, and crinkled the corners of Kim’s imperfect eyes, forming dimples on one cheek but not the other. This smile revealed a multitude of dreams, of hopes, and of possibilities.

Even Harry, dreamless as he was, could not help but smile in return.

With a smile like that, Kim could make anyone feel like they were flying. Harry wondered what it would take to make the lieutenant feel the same.

“Wouldn’t that be cool?” Kim spread his arms wide, looking back up to the sky, as if he was beneath a waterfall and was allowing the thunderous motion of water to wash away any hurt. Kim sighed, before dropping his arms back to his sides. The smile slowly slipped from his face, returning to its hidden, secret place. But the glimmer remained in his eyes.

Very disco.

“Yeah, Kim. That would be cool.” Harry’s own smile remained, an echo keeping the legacy of Kim’s momentary joy alive.

Day 1

[doumadono]

Emergency request:

Hey I hope it's okay if I request some comfort with Hawks. I've had struggled for a long time now never really telling anyone even though I have had times where I got anxiety/panic attacks almost daily. Mostly because of some family issues and having to had been safe place and supporter for both my younger siblings and a mother. (there has happened a lot but I won't go to any specific details) It was both freeing and terrifying to have moved on my own since I felt like I had in a way less responsibility havig to just look after myself and do what I want. But I also felt anxious of not really knowing what's going at home and feeling like I wasn't really needed anymore. Not really getting many calls to ask how I was doing or if I do it quickly becomes a 'rant' of what's going on in their life, even though it's much better now than few years back.

I'm finally getting help and send a text to my school psychologist because I have been pretty exhausted about everything building up and not really attending to school either. But I'm proud for finally going to talk there and hopefully getting some more help. I'm just anxious of how no one really knows how much I have been struggling and thinks I'm doing well and I don't know how I'm going to face them telling them if I can't continue school at this moment.. Meaning I would have to break the illusion of how I really am.. I'm just used to keeping it inside but I'm trying to break out of that.. but it's scary xd

I'm sorry for the long explanation I don't mean to vent I'm bad at summarizing stuff. There's absolutely no pressure to write this and I wish you have an amazing day! I wanto say I really love your blog and all your amazing writings!❤️

A/N: I apologize for posting this after the 48-hour emergency request window; I've been quite busy recently. I want you to know that reaching out for help is a brave and significant step. You don't have to carry this burden alone, and it's okay to break the illusion. Your well-being matters, and I'm proud of you for taking care of yourself. It may be scary, but you're on the path to healing, and there's strength in vulnerability! Keep moving forward, and things will get better ♥

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST

Hawks had always been known for his swiftness, both in the skies and in his hero duties. But today, as he received your message and read through the turmoil you'd been enduring, he realized that some things couldn't be rushed. He knew that your struggles had been hidden beneath a brave facade for far too long. As he flew toward your place, he used a few of his feathers to discreetly check in on you. They slipped through the slightly ajar window, silently sensing your distress and heavy sighs.

You sat alone, enveloped in the suffocating embrace of your inner demons; your apartment dimly lit, and your heart heavy with the weight of your struggles. The room was filled with a haunting silence, only broken by the occasional distant sirens of the city.

When he finally landed on your balcony, and knocked gently, you were startled, not expecting him to actualy show up. Opening the balcony door, his wings cast a shadow over you. His usually confident demeanor was replaced with an air of solemnity.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, both surprised and touched by his presence.

He gave you a soft, sympathetic smile and stepped inside. "I read your message, and I couldn't just ignore it. You really thought I won't check upon you, songbird? Can I come in?"

Nodding, you led him to your living room, where you both settled on the couch. The weight of your troubles hung heavy in the air, and Hawks knew he needed to tread carefully. "I know this might be difficult," Hawks began gently, "but you don't have to carry this alone anymore. You can talk to me, whatever it might be about."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you finally allowed yourself to speak, the words spilling out like a dam breaking. You shared your anxiety, panic attacks, and the overwhelming sense of responsibility for your family's well-being.

Hawks listened intently, his red wings folding around you protectively as you poured out your heart. "You don't have to hide your pain. It's okay to be vulnerable."

"But what if they see me differently now since I moved out?" you whispered, fear lacing your voice. "What if they think I don't care about them anymore? What if they'll consider me weak if I tell them about my school?"

Hawks leaned closer, his feather-light touch soothing. "Strength isn't about never feeling weak. It's about facing your vulnerabilities and seeking support when you need it, even if you're a pro hero. And believe me, there's nothing weak about that. About the situation with your family - I'm sure they'll finally accept your decision about moving out. Give them time and with small gestures show them that you still care."

As you continued to talk, Hawks offered reassuring words, his presence a comforting anchor in the storm of your emotions. He spoke of his own struggles, sharing stories of the pressure and loneliness that came with being a hero. Hawks gently brushed his feathers against your cheek, a gesture filled with tenderness. "You're not alone in this, okay? I'll be here for you whenever you need me, and I'll support you through the tough times."

Tears streamed down your face as you gazed at him, grateful for his understanding. "Thank you, Keigo. I don't know what I would've done without you today."

He smiled softly, his golden eyes reflecting genuine care. "Anytime, kid. Remember, you've got wings of your own, and you can soar through anything."

[skyloftian-nutcase]

The idea of your Shadow Link needing hugs consumed my brain. So... here.

There was someone clinging to Naydra as she emerged from the Snowfield Chasm. Link didn't think many others could see the dragons, much less have the nerve to ride them. And Naydra's aura of frost never made that easy. And the frost-bitten-whoever-they-were was slipping. Link angled himself towards the falling form, calling first in a sharp whistle to try to get the tumbling form to steady themselves, then calling out to Tulin's Sage ability to push him into the other person.

“Hold on to me!” He called.They tried, but with the frozen air still whipping around them, the second Link deployed his paraglider, they slipped, and began falling once more. No no no no no he chanted, throwing himself into a dive once more. They weren't that far off the ground. He had a fairy, it wasn't the worst fall he'd had even in the last week, so he put himself between this dragon-rider and the ground and braced himself for impact.

It hurt, but no fairy fluttered out of his pouch so after giving himself and the other person a second to breathe, he started to move towards sitting up. The person in his arms was shivering violently, Link could feel them wincing in a way that said the cold was killing them like taking a plunge into the icy waters still would for him.

“I've never seen anyone else ride a dragon. Who--?”

They were dressed in some robe-thing that looked like a piece from the gloom set the bargainer statues gave. Gray-tinted skin, white hair... and red eyes pried open to look at him. It was that shade of a hero that the Demon King summoned. It reminded him uncomfortably of the Puppet the Yiga had been using to imitate Zelda. Link gasped despite himself.

“You're Raru's knight...” The Shade Hero murmured, trying to move away from Link and only falling to his knees instead.

“Zelda’s knight first.” He corrected. The Shade was thin, too thin, like a step away from being corpse-thin like the redeads. His forehead was bleeding sluggishly. The cold would kill him if whatever had been done to him didn't. He didn't have spare cold gear but he did still have a couple items from his trip up to the Stormwind Ark. “Here.” He pulled the simple mushroom, meat, and peppers skewer from his supplies. “Can you eat this? It'll stave off the cold for a few minutes. Long enough to get to a cave anyway...” The Shade looked at him skeptically but took the skewer and tentatively took a bite, then hurriedly scarfed the whole thing. He had even more questions now, concerning ones to think about. When was the last time the Shade ate? Did he need to? Something in the Shade's posture had his knight’s oath to protect screaming at him to act. He looked so...beaten down.

“Come on.” He gestured towards the exit from the snowfield. “There's a cave at the end of the promenade. You won't freeze there and I can start a fire and...” and maybe cook something else because you're clearly hurt and/or starving.

And so Link led the Demon King's Shade of the Hero down to the cave at the end of the Lanayru promenade. Once outside the wind and safe within the regulated temperature of the cave, he started a fire, then parked the Shade in front of it before setting up a portable cook pot and pulling every blanket and spare warm item he could find in his pouch to wrap his companion in. Hot chocolate. This kid (he looked very young huddled there by the fire) needed hot chocolate.

“So, am I going to get stabbed the second I turn around?” He asked, trying to sound casual. Yiga played sympathetic on occasion for as long as several minutes, and the shock and cold still seemed to have kept Shade stunned.

“N-no. I'm not... I don't want to fight you. Please. I don't want Him to bring me back again. Don't kill me.” That was a whole lot to unpack, but it didn't take a ton of wisdom to see Shade meant it. He was terrified.

“Whoa, easy, Buddy.” Link tried to soothe, finishing with the pot and dumping two bottles of milk and a whole bunch of chocolate into the bowl. “I'm not going to do anything...” He rambled while the hot chocolate warmed, rambled about Cotla’s grotto below Kakariko, about shield surfing down the mountain chasing a beam of light, about the Stable Trotters and the Dondons down in Faron, about the thousand random tasks he'd found time to do while gathering his courage to plunge into the Depths again. Eventually, it seemed to soothe Shade. He put a mug of the warm milky-chocolate in the boy's hands and sat beside him. Shade curled into his side so much like Zelda had right after defeating the Calamity, desperate for Hylian contact. He didn't like what he could conjecture about Shade's story, and the evidence in the thin form in his arms wasn't any more comforting. He began dreaming up more ways to murder that Demon King. Pushing him off the top of the Stormwind Ark and letting him splat into the tundra was no longer enough. He needed something more painful...

JFIEOWAJFOKSAJFIEOW WAAAAAAAH AJ

I want you to know that when I first saw this I was in bed trying to convince myself to get up and this was such a comfort and amazing thing to find and read. And tonight at work I found it again and got all excited and happy and it helped me settle a bit, tonight’s been an interesting ride lol

POOR LITTLE SHADOW he was so scared when Wild asked about if he was gonna attack T-T AAHHHHH I LOVE THIS AJ

Have I mentioned that I adore this BECAUSE I ADORE THIS <3 <3 <3 <3

AH I’m going to read and reread this <3 Thank you so much for sharing <3 <3 <3 <3

[phantoms-planet]

Barred Protection

Chapter Two

AO3 Here

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It wasn’t hard, per say, to keep up his public persona at the museum’s fundraising gala, but it was beginning to agitate him that he hadn’t been able to get close to Percy Daelus the entire two hours he’d been there. Everyone and their dog wanted to speak with him.

It was understandable of course. People wanting to invest in the new company, or thank him for what he did, or try and schmooze their way into getting discounts and partnerships. That was just the way these things were at galas unfortunately.

“B!” Dick’s hiss was only heard by him, being that it was through the comms. “Go to the bathroom, Daelus is on his way there!”

Bruce quickly excused himself from the conversation he hadn’t really cared about. Thankfully no one stopped him on the way and he was through the door before the target, meaning he could ‘go to the bathroom’ and be waiting at the sink.

An odd skill to have, faking bodily function, but one that had come in handy more than Bruce would ever guess if he hadn’t been the one to employ the skill. It was just as he put soap on his hands that Percy Daelus stepped up to the sink next to him. The man was unassuming in looks. Brown hair and eyes, average build, no distinct markings like freckles or moles. He was the most boring thirty four year old Bruce had ever seen.

“Ah! Mr. Wayne? Goodness I never thought I would get the pleasure to meet you in person. I dreamed, of course, but never that it would be in a bathroom.” Daelus chuckled slightly. His face had lit up like he’d been gifted the world.

Bruce smiled as water flowed on his hands. “Some of the best meetings are in the strangest places. It’s nice to meet you Mr…?”

“Daelus! Percy Daelus, I own the Ameliorate corporation.” Daelus was practically vibrating with excitement, bouncing on his heals a bit before soaping his hands.

“Oh yes, that new medical company! Brilliant work you’re doing, goodness knows Gotham has needed something like this for a long time.” A little flattery tended to go a long way with anyone new to high end circles. It certainly didn’t hurt right then.

Daelus beamed as he dried his hands. “That means quite a lot coming from you sir.”

Bruce opened the door for him. “No need to call me sir. I’ve heard good things about your company; I’ve been considering getting a consultation myself.”

“You look fit as a fiddle Mr. Wayne.” Bruce led him towards the hors d’oeuvres table. He both wanted Daelus closer to Dick for better analyzing and wanted something to eat.

“Well truth be told Mr. Daelus, it wouldn’t be for me. You see my middle child, Tim? He’s been having health issues after needing an organ removed.” Daelus’s face twisted into a sympathetic frown. “A mother at my youngest’s school mentioned her immune compromised daughter was feeling much better after receiving some of your medicine.”

He seemed to be genuinely proud at that. “Oh, so glad to hear it! You know, I could do a personal consultation with your son. You inspired me to make my company so it would be my pleasure to help him.”

Bruce had to quickly choke down…well, he wasn’t sure actually. He had been so focused on his goal that he had grabbed whatever was closest on the table. Whatever it was had a mild kick to it.

Pulling out his brightest smile, Bruce placed his hand to his chest. “That’s very generous, you don’t have to! I know being an owner of a company leaves your schedule quite full.”

“No no,” Daelus gestured vaguely. “I insist on it Mr. Wayne. I want to be sure everyone who needs our help gets the attention they need. And getting your son treatment so he feels better, maybe some medication to boost his system, it would truly be no problem at all!”

“Pull the overly protective parent bit B.” Dick suggested. “Like ‘oh but I feel better knowing exactly where my kids’s things come from’ or something like that. It won’t even be that hard for you!” Bruce pointedly ignored that.

He was a prepared father, not overprotective. Maybe. “Thank you very much. I’m not sure how I feel about the medication, however. Not that I don’t see how brilliant it is of course!”

Bruce let some of his worries show through. Truthfully Tim being compromised did make him anxious if he had to admit it, really what good parent wouldn’t be worried after their child lost a spleen. “But I really like to vet everything my kids take personally. Meet the scientists, tour the business, all that. They’re the most important thing in my life, you see, and I want to be sure they get the best there is.

Daelus nodded quite sternly. “I understand completely Mr. Wayne. Our children are our future; you can’t play around with their lives like a game. It’s incredibly admirable that you would keep track of these things so closely just for their health.”

“I don’t normally offer this,” Daelus held a hand to his chest with a warm smile that didn’t quite fully reach his eyes. “But we could arrange a tour so you can feel secure with our products.

 Yes! Bruce waved the thought away as if it weren’t exactly what he had been aiming for. “I wouldn’t want to ask too much by asking to poke my nose into your company’s workings.”

“Oh no Mr. Wayne, nothing would be asking too much from you!”

“Bet you twenty he’s just trying to get you as a financial backer. He’s laying this on really thick.”

Bruce was inclined to agree with his oldest. “Well, if you’re sure; it would be delightful to see how your brilliant scientists create these medicines. And if it helps Tim, and others of course, I would be more than happy to put some donations in to help further the research.’

Daelus flashed another million-dollar smile. “That’s very generous of you! Tell me when you’re next free and I’ll clear the whole day for you. Better yet,” He pulled out a card. “You can call whenever you would like and I’ll drop everything!”