#Adjustable LED Desk Lamp

[samaylogs]

Upgrade Your Desk with the Adjustable LED Desk Lamp

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How the Adjustable LED Desk Lamp Enhances Your Space

The Adjustable LED Desk Lamp is designed to fit various needs and environments, including:

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Conclusion

The Adjustable LED Desk Lamp is a game-changer for anyone looking to improve their workspace lighting. With its adjustable brightness, modern design, and energy efficiency, it’s the perfect addition to any home office, study area, or creative workspace.

[thehighergallery]

Create A Chic Vibe To Your Home Office With This Matte Black And Antiqued Brass LED Adjustable Desk Lamp. With A Touch Of Industrial Era Style, This Desk Lamp Is Super Versatile As It Also Has A USB Port To Charge Your Electronic Devices.

[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood: Polarity

Chapter 1: Sanctuary.

Title By: @oogaboogaspookyman

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

“Uugh…”

A drones hand, the palm scared with burns and the wear of nicks and cuts fumbles blindly toward the refurbished alarm on their nightstand, slapping the faded wood first before slaming the the alarm with their fist aggressively enough for the device to rattle.

The arm flops over the side of the bed with a deep purple cover, the soft purple LED on the back of their hand scraping against the hardwood floor as the being it was attached to attempted to go back to sleep now that the harsh digital beeping had stopped.

The bedroom was adorned with band posters, AC-DC, Metallica, Lamb of God, and Thousand Foot Krutch all haphazardly pasted onto the smooth wooden planks that made up walls. Two Guitars hung up on the walls, a purple hued electric one and a simple accostic one just below it.

On the desk, just in front of the bed, was a homebrewed laptop, thick and bulky, the top being stickerbombed with skulls, bats, and stars. Currently, there was a progress bar displayed for pirating music.

The grey office chair in front of the desk was old and slightly damaged, long scratches that had been patched and patched again throughout the years.

Along the three shelves that dotted the room, there were animal skulls, one with antlers, another with goat horns and sharp teeth, and yet another with a long snout and six eyes, paired with those were small trinkets, a lava lamp, a never-solved rubric’s cube, and a well worn, well loved little bat plush.

A lavender colored bean bag sat against the wall, squished from being used over and over and over again.

Filtered sunlight peered through the window, and a symphony of exotic bird sounds could barely be heard through the thick pane of glass that made up the window.

Light snoring filled the room as the drone fell asleep again, the blankets shuffling as they adjusted.

The door flung open.

“Tera! You're gonna be late for school again!” Came an older, yet familiar voice, her hand on her hip. Purple hair now tied in a long braid that went over her shoulder and signature beanie absent. She wore a dark purple sweater under a lack leather studded jacket.

Uzi Doorman sighed as the only response she got from her daughter was a deeper snore.

She raised her hand; a purple solver symbol appearing in her hand and around the blanket edge, pulling it off and exposing her 17 year old daughter. Long, black, messy hair, a tank top, and many scars covering her body, a darker grey standing out against the white of her chassis.

“Ter. Ter!”

“Huwah?” Tera grumbled, Sleep Mode message switching to a very sleepy display of closed eyelights, her hands come up to cover her visor. “Ugh. Mooom… Five more minutes…?”

“Uh-huh… and five more minutes turns into twenty and then an hour… Been there Jellybean. Get up, school time.” Uzi replied as Tera sat up, rubbing her visor and yawning, showing off a fearsome display of fangs.

“Schools stupid… Didn't you drop out?” Tera asked, waiting until her optics calibrated and everything wasn't a blurry mess.

“To raise you. And you know… I wasn't getting straight C's in all my classes like you.”

“It's great parenting to call your kid dumb Mom.” Tera sassed back. “And I get A's in Athletics and Biology!”

“I'm not calling you dumb, technically I'm calling you average.” Uzi smiled. Leaning against the doorframe. “Athletics is a gimme. I'll give a point in Biology though.”

“You try sitting still and listening to Mr. Riker drone on and on about math. Which. By the way, we're computers. We do that automatically. Why do we have a class for it?” Tera stretched, her back and shoulder joints making a grinding noise as she very subtlety winced, so subtlety her mother didn't notice.

“Same reason why you have a C in it.” Uzi chuckled. “Though arguing with you feels too much like arguing with myself, so I won't egg you on.”

“Gracías…” Tera replied, standing up and stretching out her long tail with a purple head on the end, the tail yawned too, blinking sleepily. Tera opened her inset closet and pulled out a red flannel shirt, which she slipped over her tank top.

“Still gotta go though.” Uzi said as she walked down the hall and down the stairs, her boots making them creak.

“…Bite me.” Tera grumbled, her tail twitching in irritation.

“Hah!” Came floating up the stairs, making the teenager roll her eyes.

She grunted as she bent down to grab her bag sitting next to her desk, a simple black duffle bag that had already been packed the day before. Her joints groaned and creaked, stiff from sleeping.

She pulled the bag up over her shoulder, and used the head of her tail to shut the door behind her.

The door directly in front of her in the upstairs hall was labeled Bishop, the shiny silver metal his name was ingraved on being well polished, compared to hers, which was dull and rather neglected.

Further down the hall, at the very end, there were her parents room, ingraved in the same way.

The only other door wasn't ingraved yet, but that belonged to-

“Sissy! Big Sis!” A pair of twins, currently both sitting at the kitchen table right next to each other, four years old and only te minutes apart, though if you asked the eldest, Bolt, it was twenty.

Bolt looked more like N, yellow eyelights and silvery-blonde hair, in a tiny, toddler sized worker body, smiling like a maniac at quite literally everything.

And then there was A.K, he shared the hair color of his brother but inherited his mother's purple eyelights, he was slightly quieter, instead holding dearly onto a dragon plushie as he awaited breakfast.

Speaking of breakfast…

N hummed as he wore a brightly colored pink apron that said ‘Kiss the Cook' Taking a tray of heavenly smelling oil cakes; a small pastry with oil filling, out of the wood-oven and setting it aside.

The Kitchen was decorated with pictures of family, Tera on her first day of school, the twins on the day they were born, N and Uzi on their wedding day…

And the largest, most center picture of the whole family, one twin each being held in N and Uzi's arms, with Tera standing in the middle and a Dissasembly Drone with thick, round glasses and a long, brown flowing duster that nearly touched the ground, his expression was deadpan, and attached to the duster was a thick leather book.

“Morning B! Ter!” N called in Tera's direction, making the teen turn around to lock into the white eyelights of her younger brother, 16 year old Bishop Doorman, with thick round glasses and long brown leather duster he used as a labcoat.

“Good Morning.” Bishop hummed back politely, face stuck into an engineering book the moment his greeting was complete. His tail, a white vial complete with a stinger tapped against the floor. “Oh, Tera's actually going to school today?” He sassed in a near monotone inflection.

“Put a sock in it, nerd.” Tera hummed back casually, sitting at the table and flopping her bag at her feet.

He rolls his eyes and ignores her, though both of thier tails are wagging afterwards.

N put a plate of oil cakes in front of them, giggling when Uzi thanks him with a kiss on the cheek.

“Ewwwwww.” The twins whine.

“Gross.” Tera agrees, popping the cake in her mouth and snapping her jaw, making it explode warm sweet oil into her mouth.

Bishop doesn't notice, his head is still buried in his book, though he does stab a cake with his tail and then put it in his mouth.

Uzi pulls N down to genuinely kiss him, exaggerating the wet and content sounds to spite and embarass her children.

Tera groans and looks away out the kitchen window, finishing her breakfast without looking at them, the twins cover each other's eyes.

“You should be happy your parents are still in love!” N said as soon as he regained air in his lungs, looking happy and content as his tail wagged behind him.

“I am. I just don't wanna watch my parents suck face.” Tera replied, her voice dripping with attitude as her tail picks up her bag for her, she drops her plate in the sink and waves her family goodbye without actually looking at them.

“See you after hells over.” She says as she opens the front door. Only for her mother to protest. “Not in front of the twins!”

The door shuts behind her.

She leans on the railed walkway that lead up to the Doorman residence, looking down on the town below…

Nestled in a clearing of giant, towering trees, though not enough of a clearing to endanger the solver drones down below, a repaired and functioning pumpjack was working away at the center of the walled town, houses stacked on top of each other to fit inside the circular shape, it was early enough that there were very few drones out and about yet, aside from those on thier way to the school building, through a small street that lead away from the open courtyard.

The Doorman residence was the tallest building, the second being the town hall located just across the pumpjack, and it was almost a labyrinth of walkways and stairwells to make it up to it.

Partly because walking to it had been an afterthought.

Tera shook off the last vestiges of sleep as her bat-like wings unfurled from her back, the hands on the ends flexing and the organic joints inside popping before she took off into the air, sending leaves and misplaced refuse blowing out around her.

The small settlement of Sanctuary (N's name when they first started building and it stuck.) Consisted of about 500 drones, the surviors of the now extinguished planet of Copper-9, and their decendants.

The houses wrapped around the pumpjack, two floors stacked on top of each other to accommodate every family who lived there. Though that wasn't the whole of Sanctuary.

There was a gate that led to the outside, defended on either side by manned watchtowers. A barracks that sat next to the town hall where gaurds were trained with the weapons they could make without advanced machinery.

Swords, spears, axes and bows, the medieval weaponry of old human civilization coming back to aid their spiritual successor in a new, alien environment.

A medbay and nursey sat next to that, for every gaurd that got mauled by the wildlife, or every pump worker that got their fingers stuck in the gears.

Past the medbay was a wooden paved street that lead deeper into Sanctuary, and just inside this is where Tera landed, spooking some students lingering outside the school building.

Her wings folded back into her body as she adjusted her bag on her shoulder and began to climb up the few stairs to it's double doored entrance, sighing heavily before she pushed open the door… and walked inside.

Today was just another day.

[lovesickeros]

☆ even the gods bleed [ pt 3 ]

{☆} characters neuvillette, wriothesley, furina {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings none {☆} word count 1.9k {☆} previous [ 1 ] [ 2 ]

Wriothesley was not a man of superstition. He did not kneel at the altars until his knees bled, he did not pray until his voice gave out– he did not, contrary to popular belief, suffer divine punishment for his apparent lack of respect.

After all, what Divine would look so deep beneath the waves just for a glimpse of the sinners that inhabit it?

Not them, evidently.

He hadn't slept in the past four days, though. There was a heavy air of something where ever he walked– it followed him like a thick fog, lingering and choking him until it dragged him to his knees like a chain. His thoughts inevitably linger on the striking, extravagant letter so conveniently adorning his desk at the fortress– the broken wax seal, the letter tucked into his pocket.

He'd recognize the seal of the Iudex any day. Wasn't often he spoke to him– but the shaky, distorted words hastily etched into the paper made him pause. Neuvillette always had a steady hand– elegant, flowing script that him of flowing water.

It had kept him up for days.

The implications were..haunting. He'd poured over the letter for hours, illuminated only by faint light of his desk lamp. Yet no matter how many times he tries to see what must be hidden beneath the ink, the paper itself even, he finds nothing but the shaky script of a request that sends a bolt of pure frost through his veins.

He noticed, of course, the odd goings on of Fontaine. He'd heard vague whispers of the Divine's hunt for the imposter– he'd heard, too, of the ceaseless rain pelting Fontaine until even he wondered if the nation would finally sink beneath the waves.

It didn't, though. And that only made it all the more odd. Days of constant rain, just for it to stop suddenly..he tugged his coat tighter around him, throwing up the hood of the cloak clasped even tighter over it with a grunt as he leaned around the corner of the alleyway.

He didn't believe in superstition, but this was too hard to ignore as a simple weather anomaly.

Maybe that was why he ignored his gut– he knew that this was probably a trap, at the very least it was suspicious. But damn it, he couldn't ignore the instinct to follow the only lead he had.

His boots clicked against the rain stricken streets as he stalked through the shadows, mindful of the clinking of machine patrols just a few streets away. Yet every step felt heavier then the last as he took a long, good look at the Palais Mermonia. He almost considered bringing out his gauntlets, but he thought better of it– if it came down to it, he needed information. And he would need whoever was waiting for him alive for that– the dead don't speak and all that.

The letter's directions led him in a..rather roundabout entrance to a secluded room, evidently, as he lifted his hand and quietly knocked against the door. Two rapid knocks, pause, another knock, pause, four knocks. It doesn't take long until he hears the latch of the door unlock.

The leather of his gloves creaks as he clenches his fists, adjusting his stance. He's ready for a fight, if he must, but as the door quietly slides open he feel the weight on his shoulders relax slightly– the familiar, sharp features of Neuvillette meets him. He almost reflexively smiles at the way his pupils turn into thin slits, a momentary surprise that he quickly hides well behind a cough and the creak of the door as he pulls it open fully.

"Wriothesley. I see my letter has found you well. Please, come in." Polite as ever, Neuvillette steps aside to let him in, but he can see the exhaustion lining his features– the bags under his eyes aren't as well hidden as he thinks, at least to him. "Bit odd to be inviting me all the way out here in the middle of the night, don't you think?"

His tone is smooth as he steps into the room, brushing down his hood and glancing at Neuvillette over his shoulder, watching as he shuts and locks the door behind him.

"I apologize for the..less then ideal circumstances, but I'm certain you will understand when you see for yourself." He wants to retort, but the Iudex beats him to it, vaguely motioning to the room behind him. An invitation– but he wonders if it's worth taking.

His gut says no, but he's feeling a little risky today, he supposes.

He turns back slowly, barely able to make out the two figures he'd missed on the first glance on the other side of the room– though it's hard to mistake the flourish of the Hydro Archon, even in the dark. It's the other figure that makes the breath hitch in his throat, though.

Or maybe, more accurately, it freezes. So does his blood, his whole body even, locked in stasis for a long, tense moment– he can't see them clearly, but his instincts are going haywire. He can feel his vision almost rattle where it rests against his left shoulder, cold leaking through the layers of clothes and into his skin until he has to fight to suppress a shiver.

He'd always fancied himself the hunter– he was the one who dealt with unsavory folks, in the end. But he felt like a rabbit pinned beneath the crosshairs of a gun this time. He could almost feel the teeth of the bear trap snapping shut around him, crushing bone and flesh beneath cold metal.

For a long moment he thinks he feels fear.

And with a sharp click and a burst of light, it's gone and he takes a raspy, choked breath as he blinks away the blurriness in his vision, taking in the room illuminated by the lamp.

He's not sure what he sees is better, though.

Because his body knows that their Divinity is as real as the blood running through his veins.

So why do they remind him so much of himself? Why does he see the look of the boy who died in a pool of blood not his own in them?

It is a sick, cruel kind of familiar.

Wriothesley didn't believe in superstition– but that was born of the unknown. He knew, now. He could reach out and touch the truth with his own two hands.

The throne of the world was a lie.

The thing sitting on it bled red. And if it bled, it could die.

He clenched his fists tighter– and released, letting his shoulders slump with a huff and a half hearted chuckle. "I wasn't expecting you to be in possession of a wanted criminal when you sent me that letter." He could see the gears whirring in their heads, the subtle dampness in the air reminding him just how delicate a situation it truly was.

He wasn't particularly inclined to getting blasted by a jet of water today.

"Relax, I'm not going to spill to anyone else. Seriously– don't get my jacket wet. It's expensive and a nightmare to dry." His lips quirk into a half smile, but it twists into something almost genuine at the laugh covered up by a cough he hears from the Divine. Bingo.

"It's fine, Neuvillette. Let him go." Their voice is like honey dripping from their lips, and he has to close his jaw with his hand before they can see the way it dropped in his surprise. "Of course, most Divine. My apologies." He relaxes at the sharp click of his heels as he joins them on the bed, his posture far more relaxed then he's ever seen. The Hydro Archon, much to his confusion and amusement, is far too invested in playing with their hair to pay much attention to him now that things have calmed, evidently.

Huh.

They seemed pretty cozy about it, he noted. He guesses they three of them had some time to get acquainted.

"So..who's going to explain what the hell is going on?" He probed, crossing his arms over his chest and watching the three carefully– they all looked tired, but even through the exhaustion neither seemed inclined to stray too far from the Divine. "And what exactly your plan is? You can't keep hiding them here forever. Someone will sniff them out sooner or later."

"We are aware," Neuvillette interjects, lips pursed into a thin line and his thin brows furrowed. "But as I'm sure you've noticed, the hunt for the..forgive me, most Divine, but the hunt for the alleged imposter is still at it's peak."

He grumbles in acknowledgment, hanging up his cloak by the door and sliding out of his heavy coat, resting it over the back of a nearby chair. "Hm. Suppose that's why the patrols are so common now a days."

"I'm afraid so. As you can imagine, we cannot simply ask them to..stop the search. It would draw unwanted attention and suspicion. The Divine would be found immediately if we tried to bring them out of the city at the moment." Neuvillette added, looking proper and elegant, despite the circumstances– even in the face of the Divine and the Archon turning on him and tugging his hair into intricate braids. "So I hope you understand that it was a great risk to send you that letter."

He rubs his chin, huffing in amusement– a solid plan, maybe, but his power didn't extend too far out of the Fortress. He had his connections, sure, but what use were they when he had to get the, uh, "imposter" out of Fontaine? Smuggling them out wouldn't be easy, and then there's the point of where to take them they'd have to contend with.

"Yeah, yeah– I get it. But it's not like I can just smuggle them out or keep them in the fortress. Even if we got them out of the city, we'd have to find somewhere to bunker down, and if someone spots any of us lingering there.." Archons, what a mess he'd gotten himself into. He was really looking forward to the next time he could kick his feet up with a cup of tea.

"I understand. I have already made plans, in fact." Neuvillette hesitates, and he can feel the temperature drops a few degrees. "I..cannot share them in full at the moment, but it is not for a lack of trust." Neuvillette reasoned, hands folded neatly in his lap– not that it hid the way they shook slightly. He wanted to ask, but he thought better of it.

"Eh, I don't hold it against you. The walls have ears, even up here." He deflected, running a hand through his hair. He really hoped Sigewinne wouldn't ask too much when he gets back. "I trust your judgment." He hesitates for a long moment, pulling out a simple, neatly folded letter of his own.

"Memorize the code words, then burn it. I'll be waiting for your next letter." He murmurs, plucking his coat and cloak and tugging them back on one after another, shuffling back over to the latched door. He hesitates again, his hand lingering on the door.

"I just hope your plan is worth the risk, Neuvillette."

He leaves before he can respond, the harsh click of the door ringing in his ears even as he steps back into the shadows of the night.

[0kurakura0]

Case Files Pt. 3

Simon Riley "Ghost" x UN lawyer Reader

TF 141 receives a visit from a UN prosecutor working at the ICC. This overworked prosecutor is trying to build a case against war criminals and must team up with them to catch these criminals. Along the way, they may even catch feelings for a brooding soldier. slow-burn, M/F, cursing

>> Pt.1 >> Pt.2

The steady hum of the plane engines filled the cabin as Task Force 141 and their new reluctant companion settled into their seats. Ghost was seated near the back, arms crossed and gaze fixed straight ahead, his mask revealing nothing of his thoughts. Soap and Gaz sat side by side a few rows ahead, already engrossed in a spirited debate over whether the in-flight rations counted as edible.

Price, ever the professional, was at the front of the cabin, reviewing the mission details on his tablet. ___, sat slightly apart from the group, her normal suit attire traded for a more practical outfit consisting of cargo pants, boots, and a plain black jacket. Despite the attire, she still looked out of place amongst the others. 

The tension from the earlier briefing hadn’t dissipated. Ghost’s warning lingered in her mind, and she’d caught Soap throwing her a few sideways glances since they boarded. She adjusted her seatbelt, shifting uncomfortably as the turbulence made the plane shudder.

“Relax,” Gaz said from across the aisle, offering a small smile. “We’ve been through worse flights.”

“Great,” she muttered, gripping the armrest tighter. “Good to know my first field mission might involve falling out of the sky.”

Soap leaned back in his seat, flashing her a grin. “Don’t worry, lass. If we crash, Ghost’ll probably land us on his feet like a bloody cat.”

Ghost didn’t even bother looking at him. “Focus on the mission, MacTavish.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Soap quipped, though his grin didn’t waver.

Price’s voice broke through the chatter. “Listen up. Once we’re on the ground, things will move quickly. Tarek’s network is vast, but we have intel on a small arms deal happening at a warehouse outside Beirut. Our job is to intercept, secure evidence, and take down anyone who tries to stop us.”

“And the suit?” Ghost asked, his tone devoid of any warmth.

Leaning forward to glare at Ghost. “The suit has a name you know.” 

Price’s gaze flicked to ___. “She’s here to ensure what we find sticks in court and to make sure we don't violate any international laws. You’ll keep her safe.”

Ghost didn’t respond, but his silence spoke volumes. __ decided to stay quiet for the rest of the flight, knowing anything she said would only add fuel to the fire. She stared out the window instead, watching the dark clouds swirl outside.

This was going to be a long mission.

---

The plane touched down on a small airstrip outside the city, the wheels screeching against the tarmac. The team disembarked quickly, the cold night air biting at their skin. They moved with practiced efficiency, loading their gear onto waiting trucks.

The base was a small, makeshift outpost nestled in the hills overlooking Beirut. As the convoy approached, the sound of generators and the hum of radio chatter greeted them. Soldiers moved about purposefully, their silhouettes stark against the floodlights illuminating the area.

Price led the group into the main operations tent, where maps and monitors covered every available surface. An officer greeted them with a sharp salute, then handed Price a tablet with the latest intel.

“Welcome Captin,” the officer said. “We’ve got eyes on the warehouse. Minimal movement so.”

Price nodded, motioning for the team to gather around. “We’ll go over the plan in the morning. For now, get some rest. Long day ahead.”

The team dispersed, each heading to their assigned quarters. __ was shown to a small, room with a cot, a desk, and a single lamp. She dropped her bag onto the floor and sat on the edge of the cot, exhaustion already creeping in. Just as she started to kick off her boots, there was a knock at the door.

Price stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable.

“Got a minute?” he asked.

“Yeah sure,” she replied, though her tone was wary.

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “You’re not a soldier. I get that. But out there, it won’t matter. Bullets don’t discriminate. If you can’t hold your own, you’re a liability to the team.”

Her jaw tightened. “I’m not here to fight. I’m here to ensure justice is served.”

“And you can’t do that if you’re dead,” he countered. “Starting tomorrow, Ghost will run you through the basics. Enough to keep you alive if things go south.”

Her stomach sank. “Ghost?”

Price’s lips twitched in what might’ve been a small smrik. “He’s the best we’ve got. You’ll learn fast.”

---

The morning sun cast a pale light over the base as __ made her way to the training area. She’d slept fitfully, the looming prospect of Ghost’s “training” keeping her awake. When she arrived, he was already there, his imposing figure standing by a table laden with gear.

“You’re late,” he said, his voice as gruff as ever.

“It’s six in the morning,” she shot back. “I’m not exactly a morning person.”

“Good thing you’re not here for a vacation,” he retorted. “Grab a vest. We’ll start with the basics.”

She sighed, shrugging into the heavy tactical vest he handed her. It felt like wearing a brick wall. He led her to a small range, where targets were set up at varying distances.

“First lesson: handling a firearm. If you’re in a fight, the last thing you want is to fumble.” He handed her a pistol. “Show me what you know.”

She hesitated, gripping the weapon awkwardly. “I’ve only ever handled a gun once. And it was a carnival game… I lost”

“Fantastic,” he said dryly. “Let’s fix that.”

For the next hour, he drilled her on the basics: stance, aim, trigger discipline. Her first shot hit the dirt two feet in front of the target, and her second ricocheted off the side of the range, prompting Ghost to step back with a muttered, “Bloody hell.”

“Are you trying to hit the target or scare it to death?” he asked.

“It’s harder than it looks!” she snapped, reloading with all the grace of someone trying to assemble IKEA furniture without instructions.

By the end of the session, she managed to hit the target more often than not, though her technique left much to be desired.

The second half of the sessions was worse, however. Ghost led her to an open area where he demonstrated hand-to-hand combat techniques.

“What are we doing now?” she asked, eyeing him warily.

“Teaching you how not to die when someone gets too close,” he replied. “Come at me.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Attack me,” he said, gesturing for her to move. “Don’t think. Just do it.”

With no small amount of reluctance, she lunged at him. It ended poorly—she found herself on the ground in less than two seconds.

“Again,” he ordered.

She groaned, getting to her feet. “Do you enjoy this?”

“You’ll thank me later,” he said not masking the amusement in his voice, motioning for her to try again.

Her next attempt was equally disastrous. She tried to throw a punch, but it lacked any real force, and Ghost easily sidestepped, causing her to stumble forward. By her third attempt, she was so frustrated she let out a battle cry that sounded more like an angry goose, which prompted Soap—watching from a distance—to burst out laughing.

By the time they finished, she was bruised, exhausted, and thoroughly annoyed. Ghost, on the other hand, looked as unbothered as ever almost happy even.

---

By the time dinner rolled around,  was utterly spent. Her muscles ached, her pride was bruised, and her stomach growled loud enough to echo in the mess hall. She grabbed a tray and slumped into a seat at one of the long tables, praying for a moment of peace.

Naturally, that wasn’t going to happen.

“Well, if it isn’t our favorite new recruit,” Soap announced, plopping down across from her with an exaggerated grin. Gaz followed, carrying his tray and shaking his head at Soap’s antics.

“I’m not a recruit,” she mumbled, poking at the unidentifiable stew on her plate. “I’m a lawyer.”

“A lawyer who can’t throw a punch to save her life,” Soap teased. “That wee war cry of yours? Nearly killed me. From laughter.”

Gaz snorted into his drink. “I’ve seen geese with more intimidating moves.”

“Ha, ha,” she said dryly, stabbing a piece of whatever kinda meat this was with her fork. “Glad I could entertain you.”

“To be fair,” Gaz added, “you did hit the target a few times by the end. Progress, eh?”

“Sure, if you call barely competent progress,” she muttered. “Ghost probably thinks I’m hopeless.”

Soap grinned. “Nah, if he thought you were hopeless, he wouldn’t bother trainin’ you. He’s just got a funny way of showin’ encouragement.”

“Funny isn’t the word I’d use,” she said, though a small smile tugged at her lips despite herself.

Before they could continue, an officer entered the mess hall, his expression tense. The room quieted as he approached their table.

“Captain Price wants everyone in the operations tent,” he said, his tone brisk. “We’ve got activity at the warehouse. Looks like the deal’s happening sooner than expected.”

Instantly, the atmosphere shifted. Soap and Gaz were on their feet in seconds, their joking demeanor replaced with sharp focus.

“Guess playtime’s over,” Soap said, getting up from his spot and heading to the operation tent outside. 

__ stares down at her food before getting up with Gaz as they both start to head to the tent. 

“Hey maybe you might get lucky and Terek is scared of geese,” Gaz says with a chuckle.

“Please shut up…”

hey guys... so... yeah been a minute hasn't it.

I'm so sorry for the super super late update. Iv been stuck in the hospital due to a heart condition I suffer from and with the holidays I was just so stressed with that and my condition that I wasn't able to write anything.

but now I'm out horray so happy lol. but I started writing again just not sure about the schedule of when stuff with come out now also since I'll be starting college back up again so ill be busy. but I'll try my best to get stuff out to yall. also, I don't want this story to be a crazy slow burn so I might try to push things along in the next one and start the juicy stuff soon. hehehehhehehe.

[crash-bump-bring-the-whump]

Prince Mariano and Prince Bastian had to meet somehow in the royal au c:

TWs: okay so like Mariano is very worried that he'll be raped so everything that goes in with that, feelings of powerlessness, references to sex, arranged marriage, thoughts about "Marital Duties", hand holding

The Prince of the Central Dragonlands was...huge. Mariano wasn't a small man. He filled doorways, he could hold his own against his guard staff, he knew his own strength and presence. Somehow, Prince Bastian made him feel tiny.

Seven feet of dark smooth skin, scales that glittered like diamonds, and sharp teeth greeted Mariano as his new betrothed stepped down from his carriage. He bowed, low and lingering, before straightening up. The flowing black silks and layered fabrics he wore only accentuated every curve and soft plane of his body--the hip slits were especially tantalizing, Mariano had to admit.

"My prince." Bastian said, a rumbling baritone rolling through the air. His voice was just barely deeper than Mariano's. "Thank you for having me. It's my honor to visit your home and get to know my future family."

Silver eyes bored into Mariano's own near-black ones.

Mariano bowed in return, the weight of the dragon's gaze making him hold the bow for a moment longer. When he rose again, he offered his hand out to Bastian, who took it in his own. Scaled, clawed fingertips cradled his gloved palm, dwarfing it as Bastian brought it to his lips to kiss his knuckles.

"Please, the honor is ours. Allow me to show you around." Mariano said once he was released. Goosebumps still raced up and down his arms, blessedly hidden by his long sleeves. "The announcement banquet isn't until tomorrow night, so you have time to settle in."

Bastian hummed, walking at his side. His tail, long and muscular and barbed by spines like a flail, hissed as it slid along the stone walkway that led inside. He had to duck when Mariano held the door for him, his crystalline-looking horns threatening to scrape the doorway.

Their crystaltech lamps made him glitter and shimmer like some otherworldly spirit as they walked through the halls. Ever-grinning, he greeted the staff that roamed the castle halls without fail. Maids and butlers alike were greeted warmly, with respect for their personal space.

Slowly, gradually, Mariano's guard started to lower. Bastian spoke to their staff the same way he spoke to Mariano. He bowed to the king and queen, he even spoke briefly with Luis, laughing over shared experiences in the Dragonlands. At the very least, Mariano began to hope that their marriage would be friendly, if not necessarily loving.

That was fine. That was more than Mariano could've hoped for, even. His parents promised him to Bastian, and he was obligated to make it work.

"So this is your room?" Bastian asked at the end of the tour, watching Mariano retrieve his ring of keys.

"Yes, these are my private chambers." Mariano slid one of the identical keys into the lock, turned it, and led his dragon inside. "No staff is allowed in, barring an emergency. Only...family."

"I'm honored, then." Bastian closed the door behind them. He slid the lock closed. "I've always heard you value your privacy." He said, a low purr starting to roll through the air as he looked around.

Mariano swallowed and nodded. Silver eyes drifted from his clean desk top, to the ancient stuffed orange cat that sat atop it, to the bookshelves packed full of romance novels, to his four-poster bed, neatly made with plain green blankets. A smile played on Bastian's lips.

"Huh. You all aren't as fancy as I thought you'd be." Bastian moved to the bed, taking a seat and sliding his fingers over the blankets. "There's not even any embroidery here."

Mariano hesitantly moved to sit beside Bastian, anxiety flaring hot all over gain. Was this how he liked to initiate? Would he give Mariano time to adjust once he was inside, or would he seek his own satisfaction immediately? His own bed had never felt more like a terrible omen. "I don't like how easily embroidery gets dirty, or how it feels on my skin." He kept his voice steady. "Day-to-day cloth tends to be more plain here, to keep our staff less bogged down with unnecessary worries."

Bastian laughed, and Mariano couldn't decide if it was terrible or charming.

"Smart. Our silks tear more than we like, but then we turn them into scarves and patches and decorations." Bastian's smile lingered. His eyes roamed over Mariano, openly settling at his hips.

Mariano's breath caught when Bastian leaned closer, only for him to pause. A frown slid onto his face. "Hey." He started, voice lowering. "Breathe, Mariano."

Mariano swallowed, realizing he'd gone just about breathless with the surge of panic. "I--I apologize." He managed, barely able to keep his voice steady.

"Talk to me." Bastian said. "Did I scare you?"

"I--" Mariano tried, forcing his breathing to slow. "It doesn't matter." He was to be Bastian's soul-bonded mage. He had to ensure the relationship went smoothly, both for his safety and his people's well-being.

Bastian frowned, leaning back. "It does, though. I'm going to be your husband, I don't want to scare you."

He glanced around them, as though suddenly realizing that he was leaning closer while sitting on Mariano's bed, in his locked room. "Oh--shit." He whispered, leaning back further, face paling. "Hey, no, no, I--I'm not gonna force you into anything like that. Never."

Mariano blinked, watching the massive man in front of him realize what he'd been thinking. "Oh...Bastian, it..." He struggled to find the words he wanted as his initial panic settled down. "Thank you." He settled on.

Cautiously, Mariano offered out a hand. "I was...very nervous about that, yes. I...would like to wait a bit before we become intimate." He watched Bastian hesitate before taking Mariano's hand and offered him a small, brief smile. "We can talk, though, and get to know each other."

Bastian breathed deeper as their fingers twined together. He didn't hold Mariano too tightly, fingers only using enough pressure to keep contact. "Yeah, yeah. I think I'd like that a lot." Bastian said, smiling back. Somehow, it was more inviting this time. "So...you ride lesser dragons, huh?"

Mariano nodded, shoulders relaxing as he started to explain.

Perhaps keeping the relationship smooth wouldn't be quite as harrowing as he thought.

@whump-captain @whumpr @whumperofworlds @lektricwhump @cyberwhumper

@bxtterflystxtches @inscrutable-shadow @whumpbees @painful-pooch @raigash

[magic-shop-stories]

bts dad headcannon when their child comes out as gay

💌 Reply:

OMG, YES! I thought about this as well and I'm just so in love with your request - THANK YOU; THANK YOU; THANK YOU! I actually wanted to take a little writing break since I have so much to do and two major uni assignments I didnt even begin with yet (RIP) but I couldn't resist this one 🌈💜 Hope it's what you expected and you enjoy reading it Lots of Army LOVE - C -

NAMJOON

HOW HE FINDS OUT

Scenario 1

discovers a sketchbook left open on the coffee table

inside a detailed drawing of his child holding hands with someone of the same gender

labeled “Us Against the World”

his glasses fog up

he traces the lines with his thumb

carefully places the sketchbook back exactly as it was

Scenario 2

overhears his child rehearsing a conversation in their bedroom: 

“Dad, I’m gay. Dad, I’m... no, that sounds too formal. Ugh.” 

he lingers in the hallway

heart pounding

knocking softly

Scenario 3

his child writes him a letter and slips it into his favorite philosophy book

he finds it while annotating “The Art of Loving” 

reads it under his desk lamp

tears smudging the ink

INITIAL REACTION

Physical Cues

adjusts his glasses three times in rapid succession (a nervous tic)

its cross-legged on the floor to meet their eye level

knees cracking audibly

his voice wavers but stays steady: 

“This… this is sacred. Thank you for trusting me.”

First Words

“Love isn’t a debate. It’s a fact. And you’ve always been brilliant at facts.”

“Do you need me to listen, or would you prefer a Rumi quote? I’ve prepared both.”

THOUGHTS & FEELINGS

Internal Monologue

“Did I make our home a sanctuary? Or did they carry this alone?” 

stares at his parenting bookshelf at 2 AM

reorganizing it by “urgency”

texts Yoongi: 

“Hyung. What if I’m not enough for them?” 

Yoongi replies: 

“You’re their dad. That’s the job description.”

writes a poem in his journal: 

“My child’s heart is a galaxy - uncharted, infinite, mine to protect.”

Guilt/Pride Duality

buys a pride flag 

but hides it in his closet for a week

agonizing over “Is this supportive or performative?”

secretly researches PFLAG meetings

bookmarks “How to Advocate for LGBTQ+ Youth” on his phone

ACTIONS/COMFORT MOMENTS

Gifts with Meaning

leather-bound journal with their name embossed in gold

inside a handwritten note: 

“The world will try to edit your story. Never let it.”

vintage typewriter with a half-written poem loaded: 

“Chapter One: The Bravest Person I Know.”

a potted monstera plant: 

“It grows wild and unapologetic. Like you.”

Rituals of Reassurance

starts a “Midnight Philosophy Club”

hot cocoa, blankets, and deep talks under the stars

“Aristotles said… actually, forget him. You teach me tonight.”

takes them to a quiet art museum

lingering at abstract paintings

“See how colors clash? That’s where the magic is.”

Defense Mode

at a family gathering someone mutters: “It’s just a phase.” 

he calmly sets down his wine: 

“Phases are the moon’s business. We orbit love here.”

emails their school principal a 7-point list demanding LGBTQ+ inclusivity training, cc’ing the entire PTA

DAUGHTER vs. SON DIFFERENCES

Daughter

Comfort

buys her a custom necklace with a pendant shaped like a quill

“Write your own narrative.” 

takes her to a women-led bookstore for LGBTQ+ lit

Defense

interrupts a rude classmate’s parent at pickup: 

“Bigotry is the real ‘phase’ here. Grow up.”

Bonding

bakes banana bread together

dissecting “The Handmaid’s Tale”

“Rebellion tastes sweet, huh?”

Son

Comfort

gifts him a vintage bomber jacket

hidden inner patch: “Proud AF.” 

teaches him to fix a bike tire 

"...so you always have an escape route.”

Defense

shows up to his soccer game wearing a “Free Hugs” shirt

glaring at teammates who snicker

Bonding

hikes a mountain at dawn

at the peak, Namjoon mutters: 

“You’re my greatest climb.”

ARMY-EASTER EGGS

Banana Milk Spill

during a hug, he knocks over his drink

“Ah—symbolic! Growth requires… mess.”

Playlist Feels

creates a “Love Louder” playlist:

“Born This Way” (Lady Gaga) “Answer: Love Myself” (BTS) “She” (Harry Styles) / “He” (Jake Scott) depending on child’s preference

Secret Support

donates to the Trevor Project under the pseudonym “RM’s Kid” 

hangs the receipt on the fridge

“Quiet change matters too.”

GROWTH ARC (ANGST ➔ FLUFF)

Angst Phase

accidentally misgenders their partner

spends hours practicing in front of the mirror: 

“They. Them. They. Got it.”

writes a 10-page letter to HYBE’s legal team about “minor privacy rights” 

= after paparazzi snap a photo of his child

Fluff Phase

hosts a “Family Pride Picnic” in the park

packed with rainbow sandwiches, a Bluetooth speaker blasting “Firework”, and a “Free Dad Hugs” sign

drops them off at their first date

whispering: “Text me if you need an awkward philosopher rescue mission.”

JIN

HOW HE FINDS OUT

Scenario 1

during a Mario Kart showdown, his child pauses the game mid-race

“Appa… I need to tell you something.” 

Jin’s character drives off Rainbow Road as he mutters

“Oh shit, I’m losing and having a Moment™.”

Scenario 2

overhears their phone call with a friend: 

“I’m gonna come out to Dad tonight. He’ll probably make a dad joke and cry.” 

he pretends not to hear

then practices his response in the mirror for an hour

Scenario 3

finds a love letter in their backpack addressed to someone of the same name

instead of snooping, he leaves a note: 

“Your penmanship needs work. P.S. I’m always Team You.”

INITIAL REACTION

Physical Cues

drops his controller/spoon

“Wait—let me pose dramatically.” 

strikes a “Worldwide Handsome” stance to lighten the mood

pulls them into a theatrical hug

lifting them off the ground

“Group hug! Me, you, and my massive pride!”

First Words

“Cool! Does this mean I get two sons/daughters-in-law to spoil? Cha-ching!”

“You’re gay? Finally! Now we can argue over who’s hotter: Chris Evans or me.”

THOUGHTS & FEELINGS

Internal Monologue

“Did I joke too much? Do they think I’m not taking this seriously?” 

texts Namjoon: 

“Quick! Send me serious dad tips. EMERGENCY.”

secretly watches coming out compilations on YouTube

sobbing into a tissue: 

“Why am I crying? I’m the supportive one!”

Guilt/Pride Duality

buys a rainbow “#1 Ally” pin

agonizes over wearing it:

“Is this too extra? …Wait, I’m Jin. Nothing’s too extra.”

practices “I’m proud of you” in the mirror

then cringes:

“Ugh, too basic. Need more… Jin.”

ACTIONS/COMFORT MOMENTS

Gifts with Flair

custom pink gaming headset (matching his mic) with their name in glitter: 

“Now we can slay and slay together.”

“Worldwide Proud” hoodie with a cartoon

Jin winking

“Wear this when you need backup swag.”

tickets to a K-pop LGBTQ+ fan meeting & concert

“Let’s go judge everyone’s bias lists. Spoiler: Mine’s still the best.”

Rituals of Reassurance:

starts “Jin’s Joke Jar”

writes affirmations on paper slips

“Pull one when the world sucks. Guaranteed dad joke or life advice!” 

examples: 

“Why did the rainbow blush? Because it saw the gay agenda!”  “You’re my favorite human in HD.”

hosts a family gaming marathon with LGBTQ+ themed games (“Life is Strange”, “The Last of Us”)

“If Ellie can survive zombies, you can survive high school.”

Defense Mode

a dinner party, a relative scoffs, “It’s unnatural.” 

Jin deadpans:

“So is your hairline, but here we are.”

joins their school’s Discord to “accidentally” leak his own embarrassing childhood photos

diverting bullies’ attention

“Let them meme me instead.”

DAUGHTER vs. SON DIFFERENCES

Daughter

Comfort

takes her shopping for oversized hoodies “to steal later”

secretly buys her a BT21 RJ plush with a pride flag

“For emotional support and judging my dance moves.”

Bonding

hosts a makeover night with sheet masks and “RuPaul’s Drag Race”

“I’d slay as a queen. Fight me.”

Defense

crashes her school dance with a karaoke machine

singing “Born This Way” until the principal begs him to stop

Son

Comfort

teaches him self-defense moves using “dad reflexes”

“If anyone messes with you, tickle them. Works on Jungkook every time.”

Bonding

challenges him to games

then “accidentally” loses

“Oops! Guess you’re the carry now.”

Defense

shows up to his matches with a mega horn

blasting “Not Today” whenever opponents jeer

ARMY-EASTER EGGS

Pink Mic Parallel

gifts them a pink water bottle with “Hydrate or Jindrate” printed on it

Gaming Shoutouts

uses the username “Seokjin_ssi” in their multiplayer games

“Watch me Epic Victory Royal these homophobes.”

Secret Support

donates to It Gets Better Project under the alias “Mr. Worldwide Handsome” 

hangs the certificate in the bathroom

“Read it while you brush! Multitasking!”

GROWTH ARC (ANGST ➔ FLUFF)

Angst Phase

accidentally calls their crush “just a friend”

spends the night baking apology cookies shaped like rainbows

“I’m learning, okay? Here’s carbs.”

sneaks into their room at 3 AM to leave a handwritten letter: 

“I’m sorry if I made you feel like a joke. You’re my best punchline.”

Fluff Phase

co-hosts a charity livestream with them

playing Overwatch while raising funds for LGBTQ+ youth

“Donate or I’ll sing Super Tuna on loop!”

drops them off at prom with a “Good Luck” banner taped to the car

“Text me if you need a fake fire alarm rescue. I’ve got matches.”

YOONGI

HOW HE FINDS OUT

Scenario 1

overhears their child practicing a song they wrote in his home studio

lyrics include: “I’m tired of hiding in minor chords.” 

he pauses outside the door

hand frozen on the doorknob

then texts his manager: 

“Cancel my meetings. Family emergency.”

Scenario 2

finds a dog-eared notebook in his old high school box

left open to his child’s doodles: a basketball hoop with a pride flag net

stares at it

tucks it into his current work bag

Scenario 3

his child slips a note into his production notes: 

“Appa, I’m gay. P.S. Your coffee’s cold.”

reads it mid-session

saves the project file as “Proud.parenting.wav”

INITIAL REACTION

Physical Cues

nods silently, jaw tightening

rolls a basketball between his palms (his stress ball)

“You’re sure?” 

pauses

“Good. I’m sure too.”

if emotional: rubs his nape, avoiding eye contact

“I… need a minute.” 

returns with two cans of cold brew and a high school mixtape

First Words

“Life’s already hard enough. This? This is the easy part.”

“You know I wrote gay fanfiction in high school, right? No one bullies my kid but me.”

THOUGHTS & FEELINGS

Internal Monologue

“Should I tell them I get it? No. Privacy matters.” 

texts Namjoon: 

“How do I… parent right now?”

late-night studio session:

creates a hidden track titled “Answer: Love Yourself (Remix)” 

= their heartbeat sampled

Guilt/Pride Duality

digs out his old fanfiction (username: glossyWRITES)

considers burning it

“Nah. Growth.”

researches LGBTQ+ youth centers near his childhood Daegu home

donates anonymously

ACTIONS/COMFORT MOMENTS

Gifts with Edge

custom basketball with “Net Worth = You” printed

“Dunk on the haters. Literally.”

USB drive labeled “Track 08: Unreleased” 

containing a beat made from their laugh

“For when words fail.”

black hoodie with “민윤기’s Kid” embroidered in tiny rainbow thread

“Wear it or don’t. I would.”

Rituals of Reassurance

teaches them basketball drills at dawn

“Life’s a full-court press. Swish anyway.”

invites them to his studio

hands them the aux cord

“Play me your anthem. I’ll produce it.”

Defense Mode

at a TV host asks if he’s “disappointed”

he leans into the mic: 

“Next question. Or I’ll diss you in Daechwita 2.0.”

sends their school a cease-and-desist from HYBE’s lawyers over bullying

“Copyright claim on my kid’s happiness.”

DAUGHTER vs. SON DIFFERENCES

Daughter

Comfort

gifts her noise-canceling headphones: 

“Block the noise. I’ll handle the mess.” 

teaches her bass guitar to “channel rage into riffs.”

Bonding

late-night drives blasting “Seesaw”

“This song? Yeah, it’s about choices. Like choosing to be you.”

Defense

shows up to her art show with a hired bodyguard

“For the haters, not you. You’re the masterpiece.”

Son

Comfort

secretly enrolls him in boxing lessons

“Not to fight. To know you can.” 

leaves honey butter chips on his desk post-training

Bonding

plays 1v1 basketball

“accidentally” missing shots

“Old man joints. You win.”

Defense

leans against his locker

glaring at bullies

“I’ve got time. Try me.”

ARMY-EASTER EGGS

Studio Secrets

names a synth preset “My Child’s Voice” in his DAW

uses it in BTS’s next song

Basketball Nostalgia

wears his high school jersey to their games

number 3 for “third mixtape, third chance to be better”.

Fanfiction Nod

slips an old fanfic printout into their backpack

highlighted line: “Love isn’t a subplot.”

GROWTH ARC (ANGST ➔ FLUF)

Angst Phase

overhears them crying after a breakup

stands frozen in the hallwaw

fists clenched

texts Jin: 

“How do I… fix this?” 

Jin replies: 

“Just be there.”

writes a rap verse about fear of failure as a dad

deletes it immediately

“Too raw. Save it for them.”

Fluff Phase

surprises them with a collab with an LGBTQ+ artist they idolize

“You said you liked their vibe. I said let’s work.”

drops them off at a protest

hands them a megaphone

“Scream loud. I’ll handle the noise complaints.”

J-HOPE

HOW HE FINDS OUT

Scenario 1

notices his child borrowing his neon bucket hats and pride flag pins from his closet

instead of confronting them, he lays out a styling challenge: 

“Let’s revamp my wardrobe. You pick the fits.” 

midway, he grins: 

“The pink hair clip? Iconic. But it’d look better on you.”

Scenario 2

overhears them teaching a friend how to paint nails in his signature style

glitter gradients with tiny hearts

peeks in, holding a bottle of rainbow holographic polish: 

“Need a pro?”

Scenario 3

finds a draft text on their phone: 

“Appa, I’m gay. P.S. Your dance moves are still cringe.” 

leaves a sticky note on their mirror: 

“Correction: Iconic cringe. P.P.S. I love you.”

INITIAL REACTION

Physical Cues

claps hands once

loud and bright

“Okay! Okay! Let’s celebrate!” 

immediately plays “Chicken Noodle Soup” 

does a ridiculous shoulder shimmy

tears up but blinks rapidly

fanning his face with a sequined fan from his back pocket

“Allergies! Definitely allergies!”

First Words

“You’re my kid. Of course you’d come out in style.”

“I knew you were stealing my glitter! Parent intuition!”

THOUGHTS & FEELINGS

Internal Monologue

“Did I make enough space for them? Was my ‘vibe’ too loud?” 

texts Jimin: 

“Am I… too much?” 

Jimin replies: 

“You’re enough. Now go hug your baby.”

buys every pride-themed accessory online

panics: 

“Is this support or overkill? …Both. Both is good.”

Guilt/Pride Duality

rewatches their childhood dance video

wondering if he pushed his dreams onto them

creates a secret Pinterest board titled “Proud Dad Looks” with matching parent-child outfits

ACTIONS/COMFORT MOMENTS

Gifts with Glitter

customized jacket (for both of you)

“J-Hope’s #1 Fan” on the back

“#1 Dad/Child” on the front

“Wear it to the haters’ funerals.”

DIY nail art kit with his face on the lid

“For when you need sunshine on your fingertips.”

tickets to a queer dance festival

“We’re entering the parent-child duo category. Spoiler: We’ll win.”

Rituals of Reassurance

hosts a “Closet Raid Day”

style each other in outrageous outfits

then strut through the mall

“Confidence is couture, baby!”

teaches them his “Hope on the Street” moves

adapting the choreo to their comfort

“No rules. Just joy.”

Defense Mode

at a family gathering, a cousin sneers: “Isn’t this just a phase?” 

hewhips out his phone, blasting “Outro: Ego”: 

“Phase? This is a bop.”

floods their school’s Instagram with thirst traps to overshadow bully comments

“Let’s see them roast this jawline.”

DAUGHTER vs. SON DIFFERENCES 

Daughter

Comfort

hosts a “Glow-Up Night”

face masks, karaoke

teaching her to “walk in heels like a CEO”

“Stilettos are weapons. Wield them.”

Bonding

co-designs a pride-themed dance routine for TikTok

“We’re gonna break the algorithm AND hearts.”

Defense

storms into her school in a head-to-toe rainbow tracksuit to confront a teacher

“You got a problem? Battle me.”

Son

Comfort

surprises him with gender-neutral streetwear from his favorite brand

“Swag doesn’t care about labels.”

Bonding

takes him thrifting for oversized hoodies and vintage band tees

“Distressed fabric = distressed haters.”

Defense

joins his gaming livestream with a sign: 

“Proud Dad Alert! Donate to GLAAD or perish.”

ARMY-EASTER EGGS

Hope World Nods

gifts them a neon fanny pack 

stuffed with peach emoji stickers and a mixtape USB titled “Hope World: Parental Guidance Edition”

Dance Legacy

sneaks their signature move into BTS’s choreography

“Look closely at Boy With Luv… That’s your flair.”

Mic Toss Energy

replaces their room’s lightswitch with a pink glitter cover

“Every time you turn it on, remember: You’re the light.”

GROWTH ARC (ANGST ➔ FLUF)

Angst Phase:

accidentally misgenders their partner

spends the night baking rainbow macarons as apology

“I’m learning. Here’s sugar and shame.”

finds them crying to “Blue Side”

sits silently

handing them his lucky bandana to wipe tears

“I’m here. Always.”

Fluff Phase

organizes a flash mob at HYBE with BTS’s/ his backup dancers

“Surprise! Your dad’s extra.”

drops them off at prom with a disco ball necklace

“If anyone’s rude, blinding them is self-defense.”

JIMIN

HOW HE FINDS OUT

Scenario 1

happens during a late-night movie marathon

they pause “Love, Simon” 

whisper: “Appa… that’s me.” 

Jimin freezes

then pulls them into his lap like he did when they were small

stroking their hair

Scenario 2

finds their sketchbook open to a self-portrait with a pride flag painted over their heart

he traces the lines with his finger

tears smudging the charcoal

Scenario 3

overhears them practicing “I’m gay” to a mirror

he leans against the doorframe

arms crossed, smiling softly

 “Your pronunciation’s perfect. Proud.”

INITIAL REACTION

Physical Cues

eyes well up instantly

lip trembling

“Come here. Come here.” 

pulls them into a back-breaking hug

swaying side-to-side

whispers into their hair: 

“My baby. My brave, beautiful baby.” 

voice cracks on “brave.”

First Words

“You’re my heart. Nothing changes that. Nothing.”

“Thank you. For trusting me. For… existing.”

HOUGHTS & FEELINGS

Internal Monologue

“Did I hug them enough? Did they ever feel small because of me?” 

texts Taehyung: 

“What if I failed them?” 

Tae replies: 

“You’re their safe place. Always.”

writes a letter he’ll never send: 

“I spent years hating my body. Let me love yours enough for both of us.”

Guilt/Pride Duality

buys every LGBTQ+ YA novel he can find

dog-earing pages with lines he wants to discuss

secretly researches PFLAG meetings but attends virtually in a disguise 

ACTIONS/COMFORT MOMENTS

Gifts with Grace:

bracelet with a charm shaped like a shield

“To remind you: I’m your armor.”

blanket embroidered with “You Are Enough” in his handwriting

“Wrap yourself in this when the world is cold.”

self-care kit with his favorite lavender oil, a Serendipity playlist, and a jade roller

“For when your heart feels heavy.”

Rituals of Reassurance:

starts “Cuddle Therapy Sundays”:

nestled on the couch

he lets them pick the movie while he braids their hair or rubs their back

“No talking. Just feel.”

teaches them breathing exercises from his trainee days

“Inhale love, exhale fear. Again.”

Defense Mode

at a school event, a parent mutters “sin.” 

Jimin steps forward, smile icy

“I’d pray for you, but I’m too busy worshipping my child.”

pays for a billboard near their school: 

“Proud Parent Alert! 🏳️🌈” 

has his phone number on it (fake - goes straight to a LQBTQ+ donation hotline)

“Complaints? Call me.”

DAUGHTER vs. SON DIFFERENCES

Daughter

Comfort

takes her to a dance class for queer teens

“Move like nobody owns you.” 

twirls her until she laughs

Bonding

co-writes a poem titled “The Language of My Body"

reads it aloud at an open mic, holding her hand

Defense

storms into a store where a clerk misgenders her

buys everything in her cart

demands the clerk apologize

Son

Comfort

gifts him a weighted blanket

sits with him during panic attacks

“Your strength is quiet. I’m here for it.”

Bonding

teaches him stretching routines to ease dysphoria

“Your body is yours. Treat it kindly.”

Defense

joins his gaming stream with a “Proud Dad” username

donating thousands to shut down trolls

ARMY-EASTER EGGS

Serendipity Symbolism

adds a butterfly charm to their bracelet

“Like the song. You are my serendipity.”

Lie Detector

recreates his “Lie” MV makeup on them for pride

“Now you’re art and truth.”

Promise Rings

wears a matching mother-of-pearl ring 

“Forever connected. No take-backs.”

GROWTH ARC (ANGST ➔ FLUFF)

Angst Phase

overhears them criticizing their body in the mirror

interrupts

voice shaking: 

“I see perfection. Let me… show you.”

writes a verse about his parenting fears

then burns it

“Ash to growth.”

Fluff Phase

dances with them at pride

both wearing matching crop tops

“They said ‘cover up.’ We said sparkle.”

surprises them with a custom song produced by Yoongi and him

lyrics: “You’re the chorus to my verse. Always.”

TAEHYUNG

HOW HE FINDS OUT

Scenario 1

discovers his child’s secret Instagram account 

filled with self-portraits in drag-inspired makeup

Taehyung screenshots their favorite look

texts: “Need a wig consultant? Asking for a friend.”

Scenario 2

finds a crumpled note in their jacket pocket: 

“I’m gay. But what if Appa hates me?”

slips it into his vintage camera case

takes them on a photo walk to “accidentally” capture rainbow graffiti

Scenario 3

overhears them humming “Sweet Night” while sketching a queer retelling of The Little Prince

leans over their shoulder: 

“The rose would’ve slayed in drag.”

 INITIAL REACTION

Physical Cues

gasps dramatically

clutching his chest

“You’re gay?! Finally someone to raid my glitter stash!” 

pulls them into a hug

nuzzling their hair

whispers “My little Picasso” while wiping away a tear

First Words

“You’re my masterpiece. This is just another brushstroke.”

“Remember when I dressed as a mermaid for Halloween? This is way cooler.”

THOUGHTS & FEELINGS

Internal Monologue

“Do they know I get it? Should I tell them about my drag phase? No—their story first.” 

texts Jimin: 

“How do I glitter-parent? HELP.”

digs out his old drag king sketches from high school

smiling at the memory

“Maybe we can revamp these together.”

Guilt/Pride Duality

buys every issue of "Queer Eye" 

leaves them stacked in their room

“For research. Totally not obsessed.”

practices pronouns in the mirror: 

“They/them. They/them. They/them.”

ACTIONS/COMFORT MOMENTS

Gifts with Glam

vintage leather jacket from his closet

lined with a pride flag

“Wear it like armor. Or just to look cool.”

polaroid camera and a scrapbook titled “The Art of Being You”

“Document your glow-up. I’ll handle the captions.”

tickets to a drag brunch

“We’re both getting makeovers. No excuses.”

Rituals of Reassurance

hosts ��Vante Vision Board Nights”:

collages of queer icons, glitter, and magazine cutouts

“Manifest your fiercest self.”

teaches them film photography in abandoned theaters

capturing their “coming out” journey in moody monochromes

Defense Mode

at a family dinner, an uncle scoffs: “Why the theatrics?” 

Taehyung stands, adjusting his beret: 

“Why the boredom?” 

drops a pride flag on the table as a centerpiece

collaborates with a queer artist to paint a mural on their school wall

“Vandalism? No. Artistic justice.”

DAUGHTER vs. SON DIFFERENCES

Daughter

Comfort

takes her thrifting for ’70s bell-bottoms and sequined tops

“Channel your inner Bowie. I’ll be your Iman.”

Bonding

hosts a “Runway Night” in their living room

struts in his old drag king suit

she wears his CELINE heels

Defense

storms into her school play wearing a “Proud Dad of a Diva” shirt

heckles anyone who dares yawn

Son

Comfort

gifts him a saxophone (because jazz = freedom)

“Blow away the blues. I’ll dance.”

Bonding

binge-watches queer cinema classics.

cries at “Moonlight”

“This is us, baby.”

Defense

joins his matches as coach

substituting bullies with pride flag cones

“New rule: Love scores.”

ARMY-EASTER EGGS

Drag King Nods

gifts them a fake mustache as an insider joke

“For when you need mystique.”

Vante Vibes

sneaks a grayscale photo of them into his art exhibit

caption: “My Muse in Living Color.”

Jazz Soul

plays “Singularity” on loop during heart-to-hearts

“This song? Yeah, it’s about owning your shadows.”

GROWTH ARC (ANGST ➔ FLUF)

Angst Phase

overhears them crying after a date gone wrong

sits outside their door, humming “Winter Bear” until they let him in

“I’m here. Always.”

accidentally misgenders their crush

bakes apology croissants 

leaves a note: “Flaky outside, soft inside. Like me and you.”

Fluff Phase

surprises them with a collab photoshoot for a queer magazine

“You’re the star. I’m just the groupie.”

drops them off at prom in a vintage convertible, blasting “Dynamite”

“If anyone’s rude, dance harder.”

JUNGKOOK

HOW HE FINDS OUT

Scenario 1

discovers bandages in their trash bin

they’ve been distant for week

his hands shake

he Googles “how to help LGBTQ+ kids” at 3 AM

texts Jin: 

“Hyung. Emergency. What do I do?”

Scenario 2

paparazzi photos surface of his child holding hands with their same-gender crush

Jungkook storms out of a photoshoot

speeding to their school in his blacked-out car to shield them from cameras

Scenario 3

finds them curled up in his old BTS concert hoodie

silent for days

sits cross-legged on the floor

voice cracking: 

“Talk to me. Please. I’ll learn whatever I need to.”

INITIAL REACTION

Physical Cues

Angst

paces the room

running hands through his hair

“I should’ve noticed. I should’ve...” 

texts Namjoon: 

“Did I fail them?”

Fluff

pulls them into a bear hug

lifting them off the ground

“You’re safe. I’ll fight the world.”

First Words

“You’re my baby. That’s the only label that matters.”

“Who hurt you? Tell me. I’ll… I’ll learn archery.” 

stares at his Bulletproof tattoo

THOUGHTS & FEELINGS

Internal Monologue

“Why didn’t they tell me? Am I scary?” 

calls Jimin, whispering: 

“Hyung, how do I… soften?”

buys pride merch but hides it

worried it’s “too much”

Yoongi advises: 

“Just be you. They’ll know it’s real.”

Guilt/Pride Duality:

practices “I’m proud of you” in sign language after learning their crush is Deaf

“They’ll feel it if I mess up.”

tattoos a semicolon behind his ear

“Your story isn’t over. I’m here.”

ACTIONS/COMFORT MOMENTS

Gifts with Meaning

custom gaming PC with a rainbow-lit keyboard

“For when words are hard. Game with me.”

matching tattoo of their initials in rainbow

“You’re my bullseye. Always.”

a rescue puppy named Hope

“Now you’ve got two golden retrievers.” 

points to himself

Rituals of Reassurance

teaches them self defense at dawn

“Focus on the target. Ignore the noise.”

creates a “Safe Word” system:

if they text “Magic Shop”, he drops everything to pick them up

Defense Mode

Media Exposure

hires HYBE’s legal team to sue the paparazzi

release a vlog titled “Proud Dad” trending #1 worldwide

Bullying

shows up to their school in his MMA gear

glaring at teachers

“Protect my kid or I’ll.”

 DAUGHTER vs. SON DIFFERENCES

Daughter

Comfort

takes her camping to stargaze

“The universe made you perfect. Argue with the stars.”

Bonding

bakes rainbow cake while blasting “Euphoria”

“Sweetness beats bitterness. Every time.”

Defense

buys her a self-defense ring

“Press this if anyone’s rude. I’ll handle the police.”

Son

Comfort

bonds over weightlifting

“Strength isn’t for them. It’s for you.”

Bonding

co-writes a song about resilience

Jungkook raps: 

“My son’s a king. Bow down.”

Defense

joins his gaming stream

donating $10k to shut down trolls 

“GG, haters. Dad’s richer.”

ARMY-EASTER EGGS

Golden Touch

gifts them a gold chain to match his own

“Wear it when you need to shine.”

Tattoo Tribute

adds a rainbow heart to his sleeve tattoo

“For you. My STAR.”

Mixtape Feels

makes them a playlist titled “My Time (But Yours)” 

includes songs like “Love Myself” and “Zero O’Clock”.

GROWTH ARC (ANGST ➔ FLUF)

Angst Phase

accidentally smothers them with too much protection

texts Taehyung: 

“How do I not hover?” 

Tae replies: 

“Breathe. Trust them.”

finds their journal entry: 

“I’m a burden.” 

cries into Hobi’s shoulder: 

“How do I fix this?”

Fluff Phase

surprises them with a family trip to Jeju

builds a bonfire, roasting marshmallows

“You’re my light. Always.”

drops them off at college with a care package:

ramyeon, bandaids

a note: “Text ‘Magic Shop’ and I’ll fly there.”

[evereverest2]

Mourning ~ a Terzomega drabble

i was wondering how omega might deal with terzo’s murder……….

[CW!!!!!!!!! violence, murder, “cannibalism” …… read at your own risk]

Papa Emeritus III was murdered by Sister Imperator.

We all know it happened. Cardinal Copia took over his reign, toted around his head like the trophy it was. A prize to be won, that head, cleanly cut across the neck as if there was no struggle, as if none of us knew what a fighter our Master was. A photoshoot, as if none of us mourned the ultimate victim of family politics.

But no one mourned quite like Omega ghoul.

We knew of the ghouls, of course. We see them on the stage in all their glamored-up glory, we see them when they sneak upstairs to steal our food, and we are told to avoid them at certain times of the year. But we weren’t allowed to interact with them, not unless they asked us for something. The only exception was Omega ghoul, who often assigned us our duties especially around important events.

So it was a sudden shift when Omega ghoul stopped being in charge of us. Instead it was Master Copia, who while certainly sweet on the outside, always gave me an uneasy feeling that tingled up the back of my neck like a spider.

I was a bit more privy to the Ministry’s secrets than my fellows. I saw Omega ghoul walking towards the Papal residences nearly every night, because I was the one scrubbing the floors down that hallway. Every now and again I would hear what sounded like violence from Master Terzo, but when followed by nothing more, the picture was painted in my mind.

What a special feeling, having this dirty secret. I would give my life for Master Terzo, and though he did not know it, my heart was warm with the feeling of his secret nestled inside of me, never to be told to another soul. If Omega Ghoul had passed me by, I would turn away any of my Siblings from descending down the corridor. If there was an important matter, I would take it on, and ignore the salacious sounds I heard behind closed doors.

But there were no more secret trysts after Master Terzo had gone. I rarely saw Omega ghoul anymore.

Indeed, I no longer wanted to see him. Not after that night.

The night Master Terzo had disappeared I had been called upon for a cleaning. I entered Master Terzo’s office to find it a mess, a mess that made me sick to my stomach. At the time, I hadn’t known of his murder, though in retrospect the thought sends chills up my spine. A knocked over chair, scattered books, torn papers, a broken lamp, even the heavy desk was knocked askew. I put my head down and I cleaned, asking no questions, because as I have come to learn, people like Master Terzo asked questions.

I wish I had kept my head down, though. I wish I had not noticed the crack behind the bookshelf, the crack that widened with ease with only the slightest bit of effort. I wish I had ignored the gentle sobbing I heard echoing from the staircase that led down, I wish I hadn’t followed the noise, I wish I hadn’t seen something I shouldn’t have seen.

Down the dark gloomy staircase, the cries grew stronger. When I reached the bottom, I couldn’t quite understand what I was seeing. It was only when those lion eyes glinted up at me from the limited light that I finally understood.

A skull painted face lie in a basket at the foot of a guillotine. I almost laughed. How ridiculous to find a guillotine here, in a secret passage leading down from Master Terzo’s office. But I was too horrified to find the amusement, for I knew my Master’s head was in that basket.

Imperator was there. She turned towards me. She was calm, too calm as she picked up the basket with the head and walked to me. She grabbed my shoulder and told me, since I was down there, to clean up after him. She walked past me, up the staircase. At first I thought she meant the pool of blood just beneath the guillotine, but as my eyes adjusted to the room, I saw him.

No one mourned quite like Omega ghoul, who I found in that dark room on the night of his lover’s murder. No, no one quite did. For as I stood at the foot of the stairs, I watched Omega ghoul eating the body of my Master. I watched blood pour from his lips, heard the sounds of flesh tearing in his powerful jaws, stood frozen as he glared at me and cried. Cried harder than I’d ever seen a man cry, let alone a ghoul. Sobbed and kept eating his body. My Master’s body. Consuming the dead man as if it could save his heart.

buy me a kofi <3

[wonnieaura]

₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. College essentials

Are you moving to a college dorm for the first time and don’t know what to bring? Don’t worry I got you. Here are a few things you can get yourself ready for a new chapter 🫶🏻💗🎀🌱

COLLEGE ESSENTIALS

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Bedding and Comfort

• Twin XL sheets (common dorm bed size)

• Comforter or duvet

• Pillows and pillowcases

• Mattress topper (memory foam for extra comfort)

• Throw blankets

• Decorative pillows

Storage and Organization

• Under-bed storage bins

• Closet organizers

• Hangers

• Desk organizers (for pens, notebooks, etc.)

• Drawer dividers

• Shoe rack

• Storage ottoman (can double as seating)

Kitchen and Dining

• Mini fridge

• Microwave

• Electric kettle

• Coffee maker

• Reusable water bottle

• Plates, bowls, and utensils

• Mugs and glasses

• Tupperware (for leftovers and snacks)

• Snack stash

Bathroom Essentials

• Shower caddy (for transporting toiletries)

• Shower shoes/flip-flops

• Bath towels and washcloths

• Toiletries (shampoo, conditioner, soap, toothpaste, etc.)

• Robe

• Toilet paper

• Laundry basket and detergent

• Bath mat

• Mirror

Study and Technology

• Desk lamp with adjustable brightness

• Laptop and charger

• Power strip with surge protection

• Extension cords

• USB flash drive or external hard drive

• Noise-canceling headphones

• Desk chair cushion (for added comfort)

• Notebooks, pens, and planners

Décor and Personal Touches

• Wall art or posters

• String lights or LED lights

• Rug (to make the room cozier)

• Plants (real or fake)

• Photo frames or a corkboard (to display memories)

• Command hooks (for hanging items without damaging walls)

• Curtains (if the dorm allows)

Health and Wellness

• First-aid kit

• Reusable face masks

• Hand sanitizer

• Disinfecting wipes

• Vitamin supplements

• Water filter pitcher

Miscellaneous

• Fan or space heater (depending on climate)

• Tool kit (for small repairs)

• Umbrella

• Bicycle lock (if biking to campus)

• Reusable shopping bags

• Sewing kit

[littlealienproducts]

Adjustable LED USB Desk Lamp from CraftStash

[spicedtealeaves]

Hi hello I was just thinking it'd been a literal month since I saw you post anything. I am also Going Through It™ right now, this time of year fucking sucks and I hate it. Gang gang. 🤝

Asking in the optimistic assumption I'll be sapient enough to do anything with the information: you take really fucking nice pictures of yourself. Hot, obviously, but also just proficient in a technical sense. D'you have any tips on doing that? I am considering doing this for personal horny reasons and I feel like I need all the help I can get.

Ding ding ding, correct! I don't know when my queue ran out but I think it was about a month I was gone. Hope you're taking care of yourself as best you can! It's all any of us can do

Thank you! I wanted to come back to this when I had more brain to give a good answer, but I don't think that's gonna happen so let's see what I can give off the cuff:

Experiment - most of my experience is just from trial and error. Take 10, 20, 30 photos from different angles with different lighting, different props etc. Take videos where you or your camera move, play it back slowly. You're not trying to take a perfect photo, you're looking for little things you like, routes to explore. In photo #3 you like the way the blanket was draped over you, in photo #8 the light hit you in interesting ways. As you walked away from the camera in the video, you saw yourself at an angle you don't normally see and you kinda like it. These are things you can learn to recreate

Don't get disheartened by bad pictures. Easier said than done maybe, and 'proper' photographers might hate me for saying this next bit, but it's ok to take 50 pics and delete 49. For every good pic I take, some others get deleted for being ugly and grating on insecurities, some are ok enough to keep but kinda meh, some I keep knowing that I dislike them but future me might like them

Lighting is very important! You can play with colour (golden sunlight, artificial white, RGB LEDs), brightness and coverage (what's lit and what isn't? Camera flash will be fairly focused and create strong shadows, evenly lit room makes for softer blending)

Improvise. I don't have any fancy equipment, I have a mid-range 4 year old phone and I treated myself last year to a selfie stick that has tripod legs. Mostly I balance my phone on things and make heavy use of the camera timer. Which also reduces camera shake in selfie mode, since any motion from you hitting the button has a few seconds to level out. I'm lucky enough to get some lovely sunlight coverage in my bedroom, but otherwise my lighting comes from LED torches, desk lamps, anything really

If you can, find someone enthusiastic to share the pics with. I'm only brave enough to share so many now because of a long line of hype people. Like most creative things, having an audience can be a burst of motivation and excitement, gives you a reason to push yourself and show off a little

It's OK if you don't love your body yet. It's a journey. Taking pictures and videos can be a way of seeing your body differently. You can see your thighs every day from your POV, but how often do you see them from below, between, behind? In motion when you bend? There's beauty everywhere, sometimes you're just not looking at it from the right angle

Maybe I had more brain than I realised ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

My two secret weapons. LED head torch (cheap, has adjustable elastic strap to attach it anywhere, very bright) and a roll of tape. The phone fits neatly in the cardboard ring, which provides stability on soft surfaces. Don't ask me how I took that photo though, and don't @ me for the dusty phone <3

[coldresolve]

Moneymakers, pt.xxxix // The Midnight Talk

Previous / AO3 / Wattpad / Masterlist / Next

A change in the light wakes Conrad up. Slowly, at first, until his tired eyes manage to focus on the texture of the painted wall. It’s a softer, warmer light than the LEDs in the ceiling. Maybe Davin turned on the little desk lamp.

He’s comfortable and warm under the duvet, but Conrad knows the sooner he can swallow the pills, the sooner he can go back to sleep. So he lets out a low groan against the haze in his body, the way his senses blend together into a blurry, washed out image. Fighting that feeling of ethereal calm takes effort, but he manages to push himself up to sitting, and rubs his eyes with the back of his hand while the other keeps balance. Shudders slightly in the cold air.

When he finally looks up, he freezes in place, suppressing a sharp inhale. Because the man across from him is not Davin.

It’s Renee.

He’s sitting in the desk chair with one ankle resting across his knee, hands clamped tight over his shin, foot tapping an irregular rhythm in the air. Faint sweat stains mark the neck and chest of his t-shirt. Tiny flakes of dried blood dot the skin above his upper lip, as if he didn’t quite manage to clean up after a nosebleed. There’s something hungry in the way he takes in Conrad’s reaction to seeing him, something unnatural about the intensity of his stare. His eyes are too wide. His breathing is too quick. “I won’t lie to you,” he mutters seriously. “I am off my fucking shit right now.”

And his demeanor cracks, bleeds into a crooked smile. Traces of laughter are expelled from his nose, like he’s trying to hold it in.

Conrad lets out a bewildered string of syllables before he finally manages to stutter out an uncertain sentence. “What t-time is it?”

“Nighttime, dumbass.” Renee snickers. He leans back, kicks out his legs, resting his feet against the edge of the bed, one foot to either side of where Conrad is huddled. “What, you got places to be or something?” Laughs a little. “Where are you gonna go this time? Hm?”

Conrad’s stomach sinks. He shrinks back fully against the cold wall, like a cornered animal, as the first threads of fear start to creep up his spine. “What, what do you want?”

“I just wanna chat, dude, I’m in a talking mood. It’s been a while, no?” Hands folded across his abdomen, Renee taps his thumbs together. He makes continual little adjustments to how he’s sitting, like he’s bursting with energy, but has no real way to release it. Rocks slightly with the backrest, scratches at his arms, jaw working. “We used to have fun, you know? Where’d that go, hm?”

Conrad swallows, dumbfounded. Renee is always unpredictable, but this feels dangerous in a different way. Like a more severe loss of control, something you can’t begin to approach without the risk of tipping the scales completely. Is he supposed to say something? His eyes flicker to the door.

Renee instantly follows his gaze, then lets out a chuckle. “Mhm,” he hums. And then something happens - his eyes trail out over the black nothingness beyond the window, his expression becomes slack for a moment, maybe ten seconds, as the constant fiddling fades to a halt - before his gaze snaps right back to Conrad, and he starts rocking in his seat again. “I like when you’re scared, you know,” he says, smiling. “It suits you.” Sniffs. “Davin told me about the little lockpick you made. Bet you felt real clever about it, didn’t you? I bet you thought you were real fucking clever.”

He stands up suddenly, chair scooting across the floor, cocks his head to the side. Conrad flinches and leans further back against the wall. Something about the man’s eyes is alarming, not normal - the way he’s barely blinking, the dark voids of his pupils. His teeth glisten in the low light.

“How’s that workin’ out for you, huh? Do you still think you’re smart? You’re a fucking cripple now, aren’t ya?” And he lets out another low laugh, leaning down, hands against his knees, to look at Conrad eye to eye. “Life catches up to you, eh? Always fuckin’ does.”

In the cold rush of his building fear, hands clutched tight in the fabric of the duvet, Conrad returns Renee’s stare with wide eyes, because he’s pretty sure the man will snap if he doesn’t.

Renee lets out a snort, shaking his head slightly. “You’re such a fucking pussy, you know that? Spineless fucking… choir boy.” His smile veers off into a sneer, a crease of disgust. “I know who I am. That’s what you don’t seem to get. You can’t get it through your thick skull. I thought you were naïve at first, but you’re just goddamn stupid. I’m the guy who can do whatever the fuck he wants.” The last sentence is hissed through gritted teeth, eyes burning, breathing somewhat labored. He hammers his index finger at his own chest. “I’m the guy who fucking made you.”

Conrad grits his teeth. He silently counts to three and takes a quick, deep breath. “Dav—”

His shout is cut short as Renee’s fist connects to the side of his mouth, upper lip splitting on his own teeth, and the back of his head thunks hard off the wall. Dazed, Conrad ignores the instinct to stop and collect himself, just pushes off the wall with his hands, thigh searing in pain as he tries to gather his feet under himself and dart past Renee –

An arm wraps around his neck and pulls him back down, choking out the cry on his tongue. Conrad’s back hits the bed, soon followed by the weight of Renee’s upper body, centered Conrad’s chest, and a hand clamps so tight over his mouth, his head is pressed into the mattress. Conrad digs his heels in to try to twist his body free, pushing Renee with both hands, clawing, balling his hands into fists and hitting whatever he can as hard as he can, but none of it seems to faze Renee. He just shifts the weight pinning Conrad down incrementally, until he’s almost lying directly on top of him. The nauseating heat of his body, the weight. At one point, his knee digs into Conrad’s thigh, and the bandages there shift, and it feels like something tears. A cry, partly out of pain, partly out of panic, is muffled against a palm.

“Shut up,” Renee growls. There’s three red scratch marks on his cheekbone, another along his jaw, two of them bleeding enough for it to start rolling down his face. Once he finally manages to get in a position where he can straddle Conrad, he coils a hand around his throat, closing his airway. His other hand leaves Conrad’s mouth to join the chokehold. Wild eyes burning with contempt, excitement, teeth bared in a grin. “I’m a god to you. Do you understand that? I’m fucking divine, bitch.” And he lets out a high whistle through his teeth, leaning the full weight on his upper body onto his hands.

The pain in Conrad’s throat skyrockets as his Adam’s apple is forced down on his windpipe. His fingers claw desperately at Renee’s arms, legs kicking uselessly against the mattress, until his feet tangled in the duvet. His heart drums against the inside of his skull, he can feel the way the blood pools in his face, mouth open. The spasms of his diaphragm as his chest tries and fails to expand. Renee’s figure, looming above him, is clouded by a mess of sparks that begin to dart across his vision.

“Calm down. Do you want to breathe? Look at me, asshole. Do you want to breathe?”

Body convulsing, Conrad fumbles for Renee’s wrists, forcing his eyes to focus on the blurring silhouette of Renee’s face. He never manages to nod, but the pressure on his throat eases slightly, allowing him to draw in a fraction of a breath, before it returns, just as unforgiving as before.

“See? I can do whatever I want,” Renee says breathlessly. Laughs, sticking his tongue out between his teeth. “You can talk shit, but I can kill you if I fucking feel like it. Stupid bitch. I can do anything.”

The edges of Conrad’s vision are beginning to darken, a numbness spreading in his limbs, a prickling sensation in his face, when the pressure suddenly stops altogether.

As he gasps for air, he’s vaguely aware that Renee has grabbed both of his wrists, pinning one arm into the mattress next to his head, but raising the other toward himself. Conrad is so busy heaving for breath, trying to collect the strength to struggle again, he barely realizes what Renee is doing before the man’s teeth sink into his forearm.

Conrad lets out a wordless shout, back arching against new pain. There’s zero inhibition in the bite, he can feel the skin breaking, the relentless force as flesh is pried apart, the way sinew seems to get pushed out of the way, the sharp pinpricks of disbanding tissue. “Stop!” he screams. “Stop! Please stop, please stop—”

But his feeble attempts to pry his arm free only seem to strengthen Renee’s resolve. His jaw sort of locks on Conrad’s arm, teeth steadily sinking deeper. The pressure brings with it a blinding, piercing pain, and a fear in the part of Conrad’s mind that is still capable of thought, that Renee might actually reach the bone, that he might actually bite all the way through and tear a large chunk out.

Beneath Conrad’s cries, a loud thunk fills the room, one that finally makes Renee pause, and the piercing pain in Conrad’s arm ceases, leaving him to gasp in its aftershocks.

“What the actual fuck are you doing?!”

Renee’s grin is stained red as he straightens up, rocking slightly. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Davin blinks. His hair is down, tangled from sleep. “Are you high?”

Renee giggles, looking back at Conrad. “Hell yeah,” he says, letting go of Conrad’s arm only to firmly pat his cheek. The blood dribbling out of his mouth, staining his chin, is beginning to extend its fingers down his neck. “We’re just chattin’.”

“He bit me,” Conrad pants, voice shaking. “H-he bit me. He bit me.”

The disbelief is painted on Davin’s face. For a moment, he just stands there staring, brow furrowed.

“You look pissed,” Renee says zestfully. He’s still breathing hard, as if he just exercised.

“Get out,” Davin says.

Renee snickers. Pats Conrad’s cheek again, a little harder this time. “He’s definitely pissed.”

“Out,” Davin repeats, pointing to the door for emphasis.

Renee rolls his eyes, but he does shift his weight then. As soon as he has swung his leg over the edge of the bed, Conrad scurries up, crawling backwards on the bed until his back hits the corner between the wall and the headboard, drawing his legs up in front of him and clutching his forearm tight. His blood stains the bedsheets, drops and smears scattered in different places, absorbed by the fabric. His arm is throbbing.

Renee’s nonchalant steps circle Davin in the middle of the room, until he starts walking backwards toward the door. “You guys are so fucking boring, you know? I’m just here to have fun.”

“Leave,” Davin says firmly.

Raising a brow, Renee throws both hands up in defeat. Spins around, chuckling to himself, grabbing hold of the doorframe.

Davin turns his attention back to Conrad just a fraction of a second too soon. He doesn’t see the way Renee freezes on the threshold, stopping with one foot still in the room, the other in the hallway, hand still clutching the frame.

“Show me what he did,” Davin says gently.

Conrad swallows, eyes flickering between Davin and Renee’s back. “H-he…”

Davin follows his gaze. Sneers in frustration. “I mean it, Renee, get the fuck out.”

But Renee doesn’t react, doesn’t even turn his head. Just stands there, swaying slightly with the rhythm of his own rapid breathing.

Davin hesitates. “Renee?” he says, and the edge of his voice is gone. He slowly walks over to him, puts a hand on his shoulder to turn him around. Renee follows the movement, feet automatically dragging back to keep his balance, but although his grasp on the doorframe is broken, his hand doesn’t drop; it just hovers in the air, unmoving. His expression is empty, mouth hanging slightly open, gaze unfocused.

“You alright? Renee…?” Brows furrowed, Davin waves a hand in front of the man’s face. Renee half-blinks, but it seems more like a reflex than any real sign of life. His gaze stays blank. Davin shakes Renee’s shoulder a little, then holds the back of his hand up against Renee’s forehead. It prompts no reaction, but Conrad sees the muscles in Davin’s jaw working. Eventually, he steps back and lets out a sigh, casting his head back. “… three in the fucking morning,” he mutters at the ceiling. Looks down at the watch on his wrist, then back to Renee, as if he’s waiting, counting the seconds.

Suddenly, Renee blinks, gives a minute shake of his head. Frowns at Davin. “What?”

“I’d like you to sit down,” Davin tells him, nodding at the desk chair.

Snorting, Renee throws his hands out. “You literally just told me to leave.”

“I changed my mind. Sit down.”

Renee rolls his eyes again. Trots back to the chair, hasn’t sat down for a second before his leg starts bouncing. He looks at Davin expectantly, one brow raised.

“Sit there while I get my things. Twenty seconds, alright? You don’t fucking touch him.”

Renee snickers. “Chill, dude. I’ll be nice, I swear.”

His eyes follow Davin as he leaves, and then he shakes his head, mindlessly picking at his jeans. “Fucking weirdo,” he grumbles. “Everybody’s so pissed all the time.” He wipes at his chin, and seems surprised when his hand comes away red. Spends a few moments drying his face in his t-shirt, gaze sort of mindlessly drifting, until it reaches Conrad, still huddled in the corner of the bed. “Show me,” he says then. “I wanna see it.”

Conrad nervously clutches his arm tighter to his chest. The pain has faded by now, but his arm is pulsing, and he still feels warm blood seeping through his fingers, making his skin sticky. He has yet to even look at it himself, but the last thing he wants is to let Renee revel in whatever damage he caused.

Renee smiles a little, but it fades just as quickly. Eyes wide. “Show me.” He’s rocking in his seat again, a tiny back and forth, which along with the bouncing leg betrays how much he’s struggling to contain his energy.

Davin comes back with his shoulder bag, and Conrad suppresses a sigh of relief as Renee’s attention snaps to him instead.

Renee stuffs his hands in his pockets, almost like an attempt to stop fidgeting. “What do you want me to do? Hm?”

Davin dumps the bag on the desk, starts filtering through its contents. “Just try to relax.”

Renee grimaces. “I’m not gonna just fucking sit here, dude. I’m vibrating, I’m high. If you’re not gonna fuckin’… give me the Leave-Conrad-Alone talk or whatever, I’d rather just leave, you know?”

Pulling out a syringe and a glass vial, Davin nods. “I’ll let you go in a bit,” he says. Pops the cap off the syringe and lets it fall on the table.

“What’s that?”

Davin shoots him a look. “Rabies shot for Conrad.”

Renee bursts out laughing at that, leaning forward in the chair, until he’s almost folded over completely, head between his knees. “Good one,” he chuckles. And then the smile fades, and he just stares at the floor for a minute, jaw working. “God, everybody in this house is so fuckin’ dead,” he mumbles, shaking his head. “You guys don’t get it. It’s killing me, you know? It’s boring as hell. You’re boring. I’m just tryna make a living, you know?” He looks up at Davin, sneering. “I don’t even know what the fuck you’re here for. You don’t give a shit. You’re just…” He trails off, gaze drifting off to the side. “… y-… you…” And his eyelids begin to flutter slightly, restless movements fading to an uncanny stillness. The only thing that remains is that labored breathing, the occasional twitch of his mouth, almost like a wince.

“Right,” Davin mutters. He pauses drawing liquid into the syringe to check his watch again.

Conrad swallows. “What, what’s wrong with him?”

“Seizure,” Davin says simply. “He’s overdosing.”

Somehow, the thought hadn’t even crossed Conrad’s mind. He looks at Renee’s limp form in the chair, the way his body sways somewhat, the way his head slowly, slowly rolls back, exposing a throat still smeared with Conrad’s blood. His eyelids didn’t flutter before, but they do now, small bursts in between an empty gaze levelled at the ceiling.

Conrad watches as Davin sets the vial down, pulls up the sleeve of Renee’s t-shirt and injects something into his shoulder. Renee doesn’t seem to be aware of it whatsoever. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move. He’s just absent.

Throwing the needle in a trash bin, Davin stands back and checks his watch again. “Come on, Vaughan,” he mutters under his breath.

 It takes a while longer than the last one, but Renee eventually blinks, straightening his head back up. Swallows, fishing a hand out of his pocket to scratch at his shoulder, right at the spot where Davin injected him. His knee starts bouncing again. “I forgot what I was thinking,” he says.

Davin snorts. “I bet.” He takes a deep breath before he turns to Conrad. “While that’s cooking… Come sit on the edge of the bed, yeah? You don’t have to get up, but I’d like to see it, alright?”

Conrad grits his teeth, eyes flickering to Renee. “Not when he’s in here.”

“Yeah, well, he’s not leaving for a while. C’mon, I can tell it’s bleeding. I’d like to get this over with.”

Renee snickers, resting his chin on his hand, a smug smile on his face. “Yeah, Connie. Show him.”

Davin looks on the verge of snapping something at Renee, but he composes himself. “If it’s any consolation,” he tells Conrad, “he probably won’t remember more than bits of pieces of this come tomorrow.”

Renee lets out a low chuckle. “Davin’s a liar. So there’s that.”

A knowing sort of smirk flashes over Davin’s face, just long enough for Conrad to catch it. So he takes a moment to collect himself, and then, still clutching his arm, uses his good leg to inch across the bed, wincing as the movement stirs the pain in his bad one. Maybe the pills are wearing off. Can adrenaline make that happen faster? He keeps the bad leg bent, crossed under the one he swings over the edge of the bed. Davin crouches down in front of him, and Conrad reluctantly holds out his arm, taking an anxious breath before he uncoils his hand from the wound.

He's not sure what he expected. His skin is smeared with blood, and the edges are hard to make out, but it looks like a bite mark. Two half-circles, fading before they meet. Faint indentations of molars which didn’t quite pierce the skin, but left enough of an impression to still be visible. As Davin carefully pulls the skin apart with two fingers, the wound gapes, revealing the depth of it – deep enough to need stitches, Conrad can tell already. The other side is just as bad.

Renee lets out a whistle, which breaks into laughter. “Damn. I can’t believe I did that.”

Conrad clears his throat, avoids looking in Renee’s direction. “I think something happened with, with my leg, too,” he says uncertainly. “I’m not sure, it just felt like it.”

Davin nods his understanding. “We’ll check that, too.” And he gets up to grab his supplies, throwing them on the bed next to Conrad. Pulls on a pair of disposable gloves before he crouches back down. “You know the drill by now,” he says softly.

Conrad doesn’t answer that.

He sits in pensive silence, just watching as Davin cleans his arm, feels his skin break out in goosebumps at the coldness of the saline solution. When Davin pulls apart a packet containing a syringe, he looks away. He knows where the lidocaine goes, he doesn’t want to see it.

The tight sting of the first injection makes him lock up his jaw, although he manages to keep his face neutral. The second one isn’t so bad either. But at the third one, Conrad feels the muscles in his back seize up, and he draws in a sharp breath through his nose, curling both hands into fists. Against his better judgement, he glances at Renee. But the man isn’t looking at him anymore. He’s slumped a little in the chair, staring at the ceiling, leg still bouncing a small rhythm on the floor. Even still, Conrad looks away again, turns his head. Silently thankful for the fact that although he’s in pain, at least that pain isn’t being exploited.

The lidocaine is over relatively quickly. Conrad knew it would be. When Davin starts the actual stitches themselves, there’s no pain. Just that strange, tactile feeling of the needle poking through, of the thread being pulled together. The warmth of Davin’s hands through the gloves.

Two minutes have passed, maybe three, when Renee’s low groan resonates in the room. “Hah, fuck.” He’s still slumped in the chair, but his chest has fallen a bit, hands slack over the armrests. No fidgeting, no restlessness. He just stares at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes, breathing slow and even. “Fuck,” he says again, a lazy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Davin pauses what he’s doing, raises a brow. “You alright?”

Renee’s gaze slowly drifts down to meet the other’s. Even the way he blinks seems to lag somewhat. “Mh,” he lets out.

Smirking, Davin nods. “It’s late. Maybe it’s time to go to bed, hm?”

“Yeah,” Renee concedes. Doesn’t move, just keeps looking, in a way that doesn’t really suggest he’s paying much attention to anything.

“Do you need a hand getting there?” Davin asks.

Renee frowns a little. “Where?”

“Your bedroom.”

“Oh…” Renee sniffs, swallowing. “Nah, ’m good,” he says. Slowly, very slowly, he manages to pull his legs under him, pushing off the armrests with both hands. He staggers slightly for the first step, but then seems to catch himself – until he bumps his thigh into the corner of the desk, almost knocking over Davin’s shoulder bag in an attempt to steady himself. “Shit…” And then he trots along, feet dragging on the floor as he walks past the threshold.

Once Renee has left, Davin turns back to Conrad. He looks on the verge of saying something, but it falters. Instead he just lets out a long sigh.

“Just get it, get it over with,” Conrad mutters.

Davin smirks. “Exactly.”

Previous / Masterlist / Next

[half-baked-stories]

Trading Spaces (1,880 words)

Muriel didn’t check the driveway for cars, because there were always cars.  The lights went on at dusk and were off by the time she walked past on her way to school.  It was mechanical, structured, as perfectly timed and automated as the daisy-head sprinklers that popped up every morning, watering the vast expanse of the front lawn.

There was probably an alarm system, too, but it wasn’t set.  Or, if it was, no one showed up the first time she opened the front door and left it ajar.

Or the time after.

Or when she raced into the foyer and did a wild, flailing little dance, just to be sure.

Then she knew she could explore.

She usually came in by the side entrance, into some kind of mud room or scullery, tennis shoes squeaking softly on linoleum.  It led out into a little hall alongside the main staircase, past the door to the coat room that never had any coats in it.  The foyer stretched two stories, crowned with a coffered dome and illuminated by an elaborate iron chandelier big enough to be seen from the street.  She never came at night, but even in the filtered afternoon light it was sepulchral and sterile.

Muriel went up the curving stairs, trailing her fingertips down the polished bannister, bumbling them over wainscotting and past door after door, to the far wing of the house.  The room that overlooked the pool, the guest house, the canopied cabana.  There was a green Amazon parrot in a massive black cage, entertained only by the view from the window and an old tube TV left playing on a rolling cart.  It screeched when it saw her, climbing the bars with clicks of claws and beak, and she offered it whole walnuts from her pockets as a bribe.

There were never any footsteps on the stairs. No one ever came to investigate the bird’s screaming.  It was forgotten, too.

Muriel knelt down to sort through the box of VHS tapes stashed on the TV cart’s bottom shelf, slipping them in and out of their cardboard sleeves.  Music videos recorded off MTV, baseball games, a recital.  She was only interested in the cartoons.  The parrot cracked and worried the walnuts in one foot, watching her and occasionally mimicking the sounds the VCR made as she put in a tape.

Each cartoon was roughy seven minutes long, and there were seven or eight per tape.  She lost her nerve the first time she played one, startled when the parrot took up screaming, and she only made it halfway through a single short where Bugs Bunny was some kind of braided Valkyrie.  The second time she brought walnuts, and a giant white dog with a mop top of red hair had it out for Foghorn Leghorn.  Then Muriel had the rhythm down perfectly, from a second round of walnuts to the hasty reset of the room’s tableau before she left: adjusting the cart’s wheels back into their divots on the carpet, pushing the cardboard box of tapes back into place.

When the lamp on the writing desk clicked on after the third cartoon, it was time to go.  She was so slick.

Until she wasn’t.

“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Muriel’s head whipped around just as Daffy Duck jammed his finger into a light socket, and they both bristled with sizzling shock.  She imagined her bones projecting through her skin like an X-ray.

She scrambled to her feet, kicking the box out of the way, and the parrot screeched  and flared its pinioned wings.  The man in the doorway flailed backwards as she snatched her bookbag and barreled past him.  Her Chucks pounding carpet as she pelted past door after door, back down the stairs.

“Wait!  …Wait!”

He couldn’t keep up with her, but he tried.  Stopped at the top of the stairs, huffing, and jogged down double-time in the hopes of catching her at the bottom.

“Look—will you wait!”

He didn’t need to hurry.  He’d locked the front door before he ever went upstairs, and Muriel rattled and pulled and fought breathlessly with knob and deadbolt as he closed the distance behind her.  She finally got it open, blinding herself with a blaze of daylight just as he reached the bottom of the steps.

“Bloody hell, just wait a moment, would you!?  You’re not in any trouble!”

Muriel froze in the door gap, one hand on the knob and the other on the jamb.  The fevered whites of her eyes reeled at him as she looked back, ready to bolt.

But he didn’t chase her, either to arrest her or drive her out the door.  At the bottom step he leaned hard on the curling volute, a fist at his hip, and tried to catch his breath.

“I’m too old for this nonsense, just…”  he wagged a hand at her tiredly, a bid for mercy. “Just give me a moment, would you?  I’m not going to do anything to you.  I just want to talk.”

She believed him.  Not only for the breathless earnestness of the appeal, but for his slight, almost fragile build.  His full-front apron.  His accent.  He wasn’t a man built for cardiovascular extremes.

As if to drive this home, he lowered to the bottom step, knees cocked outward so he could lean his elbows onto them. Sprinting was the last thing he felt like doing today, and he resented her more for that than for simply being in the house at all.

“I locked the door,” he said.

She checked the door, sunlight and freedom still tantalizingly close.  Looked back at him as her breathing slowly eased.

“I noticed.”

He circled a hand at the air—yeah yeah yeah.  “What I mean to say is, if I had any intention of capturing you, I would have simply called the constabulatory while you were preoccupied watching cartoons.”

Muriel squinted.

“The what now?”

“The…” Damn it. The word escaped him.  He pinched his apron front where a badge should have been, pinching it outward.  “The…”

“Police,” she said, just as he remembered it and chimed it at the same time.  He circled his hand again, laboriously getting to his feet.  He had forty-odd years on Muriel, but only five or inches and sixty pounds, soaking wet.  She actually felt a little bad for making him run.

She checked the door one last time, hand falling away from the knob.

“You know about the cartoons?”

“Well, I didn’t think the bird learned to say ‘Sufferin’ Succotash’ on his own.”  Revulsion passed briefly across his face as he tightened his apron strings.  “...and I have a brother who stuttered terribly as a boy, I don’t find that nonsense pig funny at all.”

He cast her a more chastising eye as he straightened, arms folding.

“Also, you left walnut shells all over the floor.”

“I didn’t.”

“No, but your feathered accomplice did, and I’m the one who had to clean them up.  He tries to bite me through the bars, and I don’t like it.”

Muriel looked cautiously chagrinned.  “Sorry.”

“It isn’t important,” he dismissed.  “Listen, if you want the cartoons so badly, why don’t you just take them.  No one here watches them, they’re just going to end up donated to Goodwill.  You might as well take them home.”

Her posture shifted again, stiffened in defense.  He thought she might bolt again, but something held her rooted to the spot.

“Can’t.  Don’t have a VCR.”

A sigh, a gesture upstairs.

“You can have that too, if it means you stop breaking in.”

“There’s no TV,” Muriel explained, frustrated.  “I mean… there is, but…”

But they tended not to work without electricity.  She didn’t say it outright, and the intimation felt vague enough that he wouldn’t put two and two together, but of course he did.  His lips parted in that silent, inspired ah of sympathy and understanding, chased quickly by a look of pained dismay.  Such things didn’t occur in a vacuum.  A person didn’t lack for one thing without lacking for others.

Muriel readied to bolt again.

“Don’t call the cops,” she said. “Or the… the const…tipation—”

“I won’t,” he said, but hesitantly.  Muriel doubled down.

“Or social services.  CPS, or DFS, or… whatever they call it here, no loopholes.  No cops means no anybody.”

Not that he couldn’t appreciate her need for discretion, but he was hardly in a position to negotiate.  He patted the air as if to cool the rising mercury of her fear.

“Look, I’m a housekeeper, not a genie.  I’m not going to look for a roundabout way to rat you out to the authorities.  I promise.”

It took her the space of several pounding heartbeats, but slowly she relaxed.  Her thin shoulders eased, her fingers twitched at her sides as feeling came back into them.  He tilted his chin down and looked up at hear, questioning.

“Alright?”

“Alright.”  Cautiously.

Relieved at last, he swept both hands down his apron front.

“Right.  Now that that’s sorted, I trust you could use something to eat.”  He thumbed down the hall, through the dim formal dining room, a direction she’d never dared to explore.  “I can fix you something, if you’d like?”

Muriel’s whole body rose and fell delicately as she breathed.  She checked the dining room as she’d previously checked the promise of daylight and freedom, then quietly closed the front door.

“Okay.  But.  I don’t think I like British food.”

“Well, we have that in common, at least.”  He gestured her to follow.  “Come along.  You can clean up the walnut shells when you’re done.”

*******

His name was Malcolm, and he was delighted to hear that her name was Muriel.

“It’s a terrible name,” she argued, watching from a little bistro table as he navigated the kitchen with practiced ease.  He mixed a burger patty by hand, slicing fries into a steak cut while a small pot of oil heated on the stove.  The thoughtless efficiency of it all held her captivated.

“It’s a lovely name,” he shot back.  “You don’t like it because it’s a bit old fashioned.”

“Yeah, it was my grandmother’s.”

“Hm.”

“Hey, don’t you guys call french fries chips?”

“You guys,” he echoed quietly, shaking his head.  “Yes, we do.”

“Then what do you call potato chips?”

He looked at her coolly from the chopping board.

“Colonial Potato Slivers.”

Muriel dissolved into ugly, snorting, laughter that bent her head to her arms.  Malcolm smiled faintly, scraping the potato wedges into the oil with the side of his knife.s

The burger patty browned and the potatoes crackled in the oil.  He minded them with a few careful touches from a spatula, a wire strainer, pairing one with a slice of cheese and the other with a toss of coarse salt.  When all was plated he carried them to the table, setting it down as he took his seat.

Muriel reached for it, hesitating, but he nodded her on.  She dove into it with a voraciousness she knew was unbecoming, but couldn’t quite help.  She expected to find him disgusted, when she finally picked up her head, but instead he just looked sad.

“Th’orry,” she mumbled around a mouthful.  He blinked tiredly.

“Eat.”

The burger was more than halfway gone before he spoke again.

Continued here.

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Day 4: Burst Vessels

(Disclaimer: two of the characters in this story belong to me. For more information on Garret, go here. For more information on The Newcomer, go here. For my personal headcanons on Murdock, who belongs to the Markiplier Cinematic Universe, go here. And if you’d like to learn more about the mob these guys all work for, go here.)

(As usual, I got tons of help developing the main character of this story from the amazing @sammys-magical-au ! Please go check out their blog and stories!)

(Trigger Warnings:  blood/gore, murder/death, strangulation, descriptions of illegal business, mentions of animal cruelty, mentions of gambling, mentions of alcohol, superstition/paranoia, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 5 Day 6 Day 7

___

As usual, the alleyway was dark. It was kept in the casino’s shadow during the day, and by night, the towering lights built in the parking lot simply couldn’t reach all the way back here. 

The only technical source of illumination was the thin glow that outlined the back door that led to the storage room, and even that was dim and flickering. 

Nothing at all like the radiance of the playing floor, where wide pendant lamps hung over tables to cast the dealers in a sort halo. 

Where the rows of slot machines on one side of the joint all practically thrummed with vibrant colors that blinked in programmed patterns.

Even so, the shadows weren’t too much of a problem. Garret’s schedule was nocturnal more than half of the time, after all. 

A staticey, prickly sensation began to flicker in-between Garret’s fingers as he applied more pressure. It didn’t take very long for the feeling to become somewhat similar to how a Charlie Horse felt in the leg muscles, but it wasn’t going to stop him. 

He simply ground his jaw and pushed the pain aside, squeezing at his impromptu target’s neck even tighter than before. 

The other man’s skin no longer felt pliable, the way human flesh should feel. Instead, it now reminded him of leather. Oddly warm leather that was wracked with an obvious, struggling pulse. 

So long as you were strong enough, choking could knock out the average person in as little as ten seconds. And, in a way, that had already happened here.

But Garret refused to let the unconsciousness truly take hold.

That was why he kept making ever-so-slight adjustments to his grip. 

He wanted to force the target’s eyelids to keep desperately fluttering, to make him keep writhing in his clutch, to make keep trying and ultimately failing to get enough oxygen. 

This target was a fucking scumbag, and Garret wanted to see when he died.

___

“So.” The deep, questioning tone of Garret’s voice all but drowned out the little chorus of clink-clink-clinks shuffling through the yarn in his hands. The knitting needles gently swayed to and fro as he made the finishing touches to the small, human-esque figure that lay on his desk. 

Unless you counted the pale green tint of its material, the doll was completely featureless. Blank. 

…Of course, it certainly wouldn’t stay that way. Voodoo dolls needed to resemble certain people, after all. As of right now, Garret wasn’t aware of anyone nearby who needed a little dose of that kind of misfortune, but it never hurt to have a template ready to go. 

“You want to start out for the night? Or do you want a little extra practice?” He asked, looking over at the figure who sat on the opposite side of his desk.

The same one who he’d been instructing on the rules of certain games, how to properly deal, how to properly play…as well as how to cheat at those same games without getting caught. 

Despite this, it’d been impossible for Garret to not get up and pace just for an excuse to look over his guest’s shoulder each time they wrote. For at least the sixty-nine-thousandth time, an itch had manifested somewhere in the back of Garret’s mind. An itch strong enough to be reminiscent of a brainiac tick who’d discovered that a blend of salt and poison ivy could be to bugs what crack-cocaine was to humans. 

That itch was the reason he’d survived so long in the underground business, had been welcomed into The Pentas  Family, had discovered more than a few wannabe moles before they could cause trouble…

So far, however, The Newcomer really had been jotting down notes, just like they said they would. They’d dedicated a few blank pages to gambling etiquette, sets of rules, varying card values for games, obvious tells and how to avoid them, etc. 

With a nod, The Newcomer closed their journal with a small snap! and slid it into the backpack they’d brought along (the fabric was which was white and black, boasted a print that portrayed a hodge-podge of newspapers).

There was a flicker of anxiety in their gray eyes, but that still mixed well with their curious energy. “I think I’m ready.”

“Alright, then.” Garret nodded, pushing the half-finished voodoo doll into a drawer, where it would patiently wait for the day someone fucked around and found out enough. He stood up from his chair, cracking his knuckles as he strode over to the door, holding it open for The Pentas Family’s freshest member. 

Technically speaking, Murdock was responsible for mentoring The Newcomer…but then, part of that mentoring did involve introducing them to his accomplices, having them learn all the mob’s various ways of business. It wouldn’t hurt anyone for him to leave them with a colleague while he focused on something else. 

Besides, the social-anxiety-incarnate mask he wore to hide his true self in public wouldn’t exactly fit in with the atmosphere of a place like Itchy Palms.

(Sure, casinos were kinda-sorta infamous for having customers stumble out in a cold seat, filled the air with panicked muttering about how they’re going to pay for a mortgage or whatever, but still.)

The cacophony of whooping and hollering, electronic jingling and buzzing, even the smallest dice plunking down on tables seemed to drown out footsteps against the marble floor.

Garret led The Newcomer down the corridor, moving further and further away from his office until the two of them turned a corner, facing the wide, crowded space that seemed to stretch on and on. 

Employees, all dressed in uniforms that were almost similar to Garret’s typical attire (a white vest over a silvery button-down and black slacks. The main difference was that, where they had bowties, Garret had his hand-made, maroon-dyed scarf.), flitted about the chaos. Some were manning the tables, others were carrying trays full of drinks to the gamblers at said tables. 

Watching a random customer carrying a few handfuls of chips close to their chest as they weaved through the crowd, Garret remembered to reach into his own pocket, tracing his fingertips along the edges of the glass Evil Eye charm he never left the house without. He kept walking, and The Newcomer kept pace beside him.

“Which game do you want to try first?” He wondered aloud, glancing at his charge and gesturing to all the options. 

The Newcomer pursed their lips, carefully glancing about. They folded their arms across their chest and drummed their scarlet-gloved nails against one bicep. “…How about Poker?”

Garret hummed. “Good choice.” Having memorized the layout of the floor, he hooked a left to guide them over to the table in question.

…Or, what they could see of the table, at least. A crowd of customers had gathered around it to watch the current game. It was already occupied by a batch of six players, all shifting in their seats and watching as the dealer shuffled the deck. 

Once he was close enough, Garret opted to lean against the wall, careful not to touch any of the decorative paintings and photographs that were displayed on it. “Let’s wait a minute. When the session is over, I’ll give that dealer an early break and run it myself.” 

The Newcomer nodded. “And once the current players leave, I should sit on the far-right, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Garret replied with a smirk. 

When it came to poker, the rules could vary from location to location. But the cards were almost always dealt in a counter-clockwise fashion. The person on the right would get some extra time to, say, subtly watch the other players. Wait for a card they wanted. Pretend to drop something on the floor so they could hide a good card under their leg until they were ready to use it. That kind of stuff.  

The Newcomer rocked back and forth on their heels. “So, uh…you want to play Pool while we’re waiting? Or maybe darts? They both look fun, and I’ve been hoping to practice at either, but I just haven’t gotten a chance until now.” 

Garret tilted his head. Part of the way he squinted at them was appraisal, since it seemed they  weren’t much better with awkwardness than he was. (Which was WAY more of a relief that he cared to admit.)

Another part, meanwhile, wondered if they’d suggested darts because they’d just cooked up some harebrained scheme to earn an extra stripe via giving him an extremely unconventional nipple-piercing. 

Just before he could respond to their idea (whatever it truly was), however, he felt a quick, small tap against his shoulder.

After flinching, he looked over to discover that one of his younger employees—she was part a group of college students who’d coming looking for summer jobs, and therefore NOT one of his in-the-know workers—had come to hover a couple feet away. 

“Ah, Mr. Wyre? Sir?” She asked. “I really hope I’m not interrupting anything, but…I think we’ve got a situation going on outside.” 

Garret had been about to reassure her, but that made him give pause. As everyone needed to somewhat raise their voice to be heard in here, it took no time at all to hear the generous dose of nervousness lacing her tone. “...What kind of situation?”

“Attempted trespassing, I think? Maybe loitering and vandalism, too?” The employee then heaved a sigh. “...He’s back. I managed to keep him out while I was working the door, but he clearly hasn’t left yet. His car’s still in the lot, and I’m pretty sure he’s somewhere out back…”

Garret’s lip curled into a slight snarl as he realized exactly who she meant by that. 

A huffy, greasy man who was definitely the subject of many online stories courtesy of the dealers who were subjected to him. While he wasn’t the first person ever placed on Itchy Palms’ blacklist, that still wasn’t saying much. 

In the span of one evening, he’d made sure to A. nearly damage one of the chip-machines beyond repair in an effort to claim he hadn’t been given the correct amount, B. spew all sorts of filth toward several dealers until he had an opportunity to throw a couple drinks on one, C. pissing himself all over the seat, and D. try to outrun the consequences of his actions, only to end up getting himself caught because he apparently just couldn’t resist grabbing a shoe that had happened to fall off of one woman’s foot during a game of Blackjack, then ducking into the men’s restroom to huddle in a corner and lick the inside of said shoe like a popsicle. 

All that wasn’t even his first rode; that was just the night he’d gotten the third strike, AKA an excuse to literally kick him through the main entrance and onto the pavement outside. 

…And yet, Garret could never remember his name. So, to compensate, he called him Blister Ass, because the only way to accurately describe the guy’s personality and mannerisms was to simply think of a sentient hemorrhoid. 

With a sigh of his own, Garret corrected his posture and nodded. “Alright, then. I’ll take care of this.” 

“Thank you,” the employee murmured before scurrying off back to their shift. 

(Now, most people might think poorly of her for not asking to call the police. But then, those people should remind themselves what kind of business she’s working for. Gambling was legal in the Cove Port Inlets, which meant that the cops hardly ever bothered with the place. Or several other places, for that matter. Besides, even if the entrance to Garret’s abandoned-subway-tunnel-den well-hidden, having to deal with cops definitely wouldn’t do his nerves any favors.)

Rolling his shoulders, Garret started walking yet again. He crossed the playing floor, strolling up a light ramp that led into a practical field of slot machines.

All the while, The Newcomer followed him a bit like a puppy, because...well, they'd been sent here to learn some tricks from Garret. Where else were they supposed to go at the moment?

After maneuvering through the rows of glowing, buzzing money-devourers, the two of them found themselves sidling behind the cocktail bar and into the storage room behind it.

Sure enough, as they drew closer to the back door, as the choir of chaos that no casino could really exist without got more and more muffled, Garret's ears picked up on shuffling and crashing that seemed to echo through the alleyway outside.

But that wasn't what made him quicken his pace and use a bit more force than strictly necessary to fidget with his scarf.

No, that honor went to the sick, wheezing, perverted-sounding laughter that he caught alongside the din...as well as a bout of yowling.

A high-pitched, non-human cry of pain and fear that was gut-wrenchingly unmistakable...

___

Finally, Garret felt Blister Ass’ throat collapse. 

He felt tendons tearing loose, felt the thyroid cave in on itself with a uniquely soft combination of pop and crunch. To anyone else, the sound would have been nauseating. But to him, it was just business as usual. 

Even if this particular hit had been neither assigned to him by The Boss nor ordered a client who was willing to agree to one of The Pentas Family’s contracts. Still, Garret knew this would be profitable in the end. Although Caliban and his organ-trafficking skills were out of town at the moment, that didn’t mean his other peers couldn’t help take care of such things…well, except for anything inside Blister Ass’ neck, that is.

Blister Ass’ head partially lolled to the side, his mouth gaped open as pulpy blood came pouring out. More dark, metallic fluid—Garret knew by instinct that it was crimson, but it looked black in the darkness—started to pour from his nostrils and ears. 

It all dribbled down the target’s skin and clothes, eventually trickling over Garret’s hands.

 It felt hot and slimy and awful, but he barely noticed. He wasn’t going to release his grasp just yet.

Not…until…

Garret leaned closer to his target, forcing him to maintain eye-contact. It was this closeness that allowed him to hear how some tiny, fleshy structure went snap! just behind Blister Ass’ bulging eyes. 

One by one, the vessels inside those horrified, watery orbs burst. The sclera white tissues were quickly clouded over as red spots seeped through from the inside, growing and spreading until they were both completely red. 

As if on their own accord, droplets of blood squeezed their way through Blister Ass’ tear-ducts, soon forming a pair of thin, glistening rivers to slide down his face and join the rest of the mess. Barely a second later, the man’s eyes finally, finally rolled back up into his skull. 

There. 

That was it.

Garret loosened his aching fingers, drawing his hands back. The corpse slide down against the old concrete wall he’d been pinned against. He crumpled into a heap, still gurgling, but not twitching.

The odd sense of calm he typically felt when carrying out jobs was already beginning to fade, slowly-but-surely letting his usual paranoia to spread its roots through his system.

He spent a second or two scowling at the stains on his hands…only to stiffen as he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. 

The Newcomer sidled closer, lowering their head to signal cautious respect as they held out one hand toward it. Upon closer examination, he realized that a clean handkerchief waiting in their scarlet-gloved grasp. 

“Oh, thanks,” Garret murmured, plucking the cloth by one corner before scrubbing at the mess on his knuckles. 

“No problem,” The Newcomer replied, a small smile creeping across their face.

That smile crumpled, however, as a low, soft mrrowhh seeped into the air. They readjusted both hands, keeping their movement slow and gentle as they looked down at the shape Garret now realized was being cradled to their chest.

A little black cat huddled just below The Newcomer’s collar, shivering badly, its ears flat, its yellow eyes wide and frightened and hurt.

A hollow ache sear through Garret’s stomach. He took a careful step closer, leaning down to examine the feline. “...Do you think anything is broken?”

The Newcomer shrugged, swallowing a visible lump in their throat. “It doesn’t feel like anything is out of place, but I can’t be sure.” They hesitated, then slowly extended their arms, offering the tiny bundle of dark fur to Garret. 

Garret didn’t question this. Didn’t even think about questioning this, or about how surprising this act was for him, considering his typical superstitions. 

But then, he’d never believed in the stigma surrounding black cats. As far as he was concerned, black cats were just as innocent as any other domestic animal. 

Black cats didn’t deserve to be pinned against cold concrete with a grimey boot pressing down on their tails while the sick son of a bitch attached to said boot slapped at their little faces… 

The cat’s fur was warm against his (now clean, thankfully) palms. He carefully titled it—uh, her to and fro, checking to see if he could find any lacerations, or if any legs looked to be at an unnatural angle. 

After a moment, he sighed and untied the knot of his scarf, carefully adjusting it to make a sort of blanket-cocoon for the feline. 

Trying to keep his breathing under control, Garret watched as The Newcomer quietly slid their backpack off their shoulders, rummaging through own of its pockets until they fished out a spare body-bag. 

They must’ve heard the approving hum on Garret’s part, as they mentioned, “I texted the cleanup-crew when you were starting on him. They should be here in about ten minutes or so.”

“Damn,” Garret said, unable to help but grin; even if they still had a lot to learn, it was clear that Murdock had been training them well.

He then cleared his throat. “Well, we’re gonna have to keep watch until they arrive.”

“I figured.” The Newcomer made a lame-gesture. 

There was silence for the next couple minutes. 

“So…” Garret chewed his lip, glancing back down at the black kitten. “Would you mind if we picked up on your game-practice another day?” 

The Newcomer blinked, but an air of understanding soon flickered through their features. The local veterinary clinic was just a few blocks away, after all. 

(Plus, Garret could never just go directly home after a job. That would just be asking for something to go wrong along the way.)

“Yeah, I’ve got no problem with that.” They reached over to carefully stroke one finger along the kitten’s head. “...Are you gonna keep her?”

“Ah—I’m not sure,” Garret answered, shifting in place. That statement was a lie; he already knew that he didn’t want to let go of her. Not for a long, long time. Not until he knew that she was in a place that was nice and secure…

The Newcomer seemed to almost read his mind, because they offered a playful smirk. “Well, if you do, Snare might have an occasional playmate. Wouldn’t that be adorable?” 

A rare chuckle fluttered through Garret’s teeth. 

“...Yeah, it would,” he admitted.

“Plus, I’ve always heard that rabbit's feet are pretty lucky,” The Newcomer went on. 

“Even if Snare’s a hare?” Garret asked, raising an eyebrow. “Even if Cal would eviscerate anyone who tried using him to test that theory out?”

“Hey, whoa, I never implied anything like that.” The Newcomer held out their hands in a defensive gesture. “No-one ever said that notion can’t work when the foot is still attached to the lapin. I feel like they would be even better for warding off bad juju.”

Something ticklish manifested in Garret’s mind, only to creep down his neck and settle on top of his heart. 

“Juju…” He echoed, looking back down at the kitten, who kept cuddling closer to him, her shivers finally seeming to slow down a bit. 

@sammys-magical-au @flaming-dolph16

[saphira5]

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Ex - Military Reader Part 1

"I always had problems with the Psych evaluation, I feel like they are always after me. I just didn't understand why only me, Ghost should be on psych mandator leave not me. HE DUG HIMSELF OUT OF A GRAVE WITH HIS FALLEN COMRADES JAW."

"Mr. Garrick", Kyle looks at the psychiatrist.

"Did you hear what I said", Kyle looks around the room not making eye contact with the Psychiatrist. The room was very basic, inspiration pictures hang on the walls. Fake plants on his desk and a shelf with a bunch of books.

"I want to you to foster a puppy; you need to focus on other things beside the military".

Kyle looks at the Psychiatrist "You don't have hobbies and you don't leave the base when you are granted leave for a couple of weeks. The miliary is all you think about Mr. Garrick, the other Task Force members have hobbies and go places when on leave. I know you feel like you are getting singled out, but you must understand, the military won't always be your top priory".

Kyle looks at him and just nods, Kyle stands up from the couch and picks up the papers with the list of things Kyle needs to do to get the all clear to return to active duty.

Kyle opens the door and begins making his way to the apartment the military had provided for him. Well, the apartment Laswell had provided for him. Since he can't return to base, Kyle was walking and looking at the papers and the notes the shrink had wrote.

He looks up and sees he had arrived at the apartment door; Kyle was a bit shocked.

"How did I get here, I only been to this place once". Kyle digs in his pocket and pulls out the keys, he unlocks the door, and he steps inside, Kyle heads straight to the table. He puts the keys and the papers down and heads to lock the door.

Once Kyle locked it, he sighed really loud.

Kyle then makes his way to the table; Kyle pulls out the chair and sits down. Kyle looks through the papers thoroughly, when he looked up the sun wasn't beaming through the curtains, noting but pitch-black outside.

Kyle puts down the papers and heads to the bedroom, the apartment only had a couch and a tv, a table with only one chair. A bedroom with a queen size bed and a nightstand with a lamp. Nothing hangs on the wall, Kyle puts his phone on the nightstand, he then stripes, left in only his boxers, Kyle lays on the bed, thinking and thinking until he fell asleep.

When Kyle woke up, he went to grab his phone from the nightstand.

When he turns in it on, Kyle blinks a couple of times, trying to adjust to the screen light. Once he does the time reads 4:00am, Kyle puts the phone back on the nightstand.

Kyle just lays on the bed, staring at the wall, nothing in his mind.

Kyle then looks right and sees some light picking out from the curtain. Kyle grabs his phone again and looks at the time. 7:00 am, Kyle gets up slowly from the bed, he stretches then heads to the restroom.

Kyle brushes his teeth, then heads to the nightstand to grab some cloths. Kyle puts on a blue shirt, then blue jeans, Kyle puts his phone in his pocket.

He then makes his way to the living room, when he puts on his socks and shoes. He grabs the keys from the table, he was about to head out, when he forgot the card. Money for the puppy and the items needed for the puppy. Everything was provided for Kyle, so he could focus on "recovering".

Once he had the card Kyle then makes his way to the animal shelter.

It took Kyle about an hour or two because he wasn't allowed to drive. Psych orders, Kyle thought about a taxi but didn't want to wait for one to come down the street.

Once Kyle arrived, he was led to a couple of kennels full of puppies. Kyle looked at each and every one, then he saw a puppy in the back of the kennel hiding. He told the lady, she went in and picked up the puppy. It was a German Shepard puppy; it was a big puppy.

The lady passes the puppy to Kyle, he took the puppy, the puppy waged his tail a bit.

Kyle smiles a bit, "I will take him", Kyle got lead to the front to get the papers sorted out. Once Kyle was done, he was walking with Thomas in his arms. The lady said he had only been there a day, her volunteers tried to cheer him up, when one of them showed him Thomas the tank engine.

He began waging his tail, so they named him Thomas.

Kyle begins walking to the pet store to pick up some items for Thomas. Luckly there was one a couple of streets down from his temporary apartment.

Kyle walked in and smelled something strange, he had never smelled something like it. Kyle cringed a bit, Kyle walked to the kibble section, passing fish tanks, and cages with hamsters and Guinea pigs. Kyle was a bit overwhelmed, so many options and different needs.

Some were made for puppies with sensitive stomachs and sensitive skin.

Thomas started barking and wagging his tail, Kyle looks right and sees y/n. Kyle walks over to y/n, Thomas begins wagging his tail even harder, so hard that it hurts. Y/n could see Kyle walking over in your Peripheral vision. Y/n turns and sees Kyle and the young German Shepard puppy standing a foot away from y/n.

"Hello, I was wondering if you could help me pick some things for Thomas". Y/n smiles at Kyle "of course, he is quite a big puppy. Thomas will need a large breed puppy kibble".

Kyle looks at y/n puzzled; y/n chuckles a bit.

"He is your first", Kyle nods, "let me go get a chart, you're going to need it". Y/n walks to the front and gets the biggest kart. Y/n then walks back to Kyle and Thomas. "Alright, let's get started, um", "Kyle", y/n nods, "y/n".

You walk over to the puppy section and grabs a 27.5 Ib bag of large breed Kibble. Y/n loads it in the kart then looks at Kyle, he looks a bit shocked.

"He will grow very large, my dog when he was a puppy ate a lot. I would have to come and pick up another bag in less than a month". Y/n nods, "alright, chew toys are a must, unless you want your table and couch to be replaced". Y/n, Kyle and Thomas walk to the toys, "let's see".

Y/n grabs a cow squeak toy and shows Thomas, Thomas isn't interested, y/n then grabs a Kong toy. Thomas tries to grab it out of y/n hand. Y/n puts it in the kart, y/n then grabs a rope, before y/n showed Thomas, he begins barking.

Y/n puts it in front of Thomas, he grabs it, y/n tries to put it in the kart. But Thomas isn't letting go, y/n just let's Thomas have it.

Y/n looks at Kyle "Oh well, you probably won't need a bed. You will need a bowl for food and water. A measuring cup to feed the exact amount given on the back of the kibble bag. A brush because he will be sheading, a collar and leash. Also does he have his shots". "He does, I had got him from the animal shelter".

Y/n hums, "you are going to need to take him to the vet. Thomas will need a lot of shots, to keep him from getting sick. Also don't let him walk on the ground, only in your apartment. You don't want him getting Parvo, it can kill Thomas. When you take Thomas to the vet, ask them if he well be ok to walk on the ground. Also don't let him touch anything at the vet. There could be something on the ground or the chairs".

Kyle nods at y/n, "alright let's get the rest of the stuff".

Y/n tells Kyle a bunch of things about how to train Thomas, what to watch out for. Y/n explained to Kyle that Thomas could be food aggressive because he is from an animal shelter.

Y/n told Kyle about y/n experience with y/n dog, how he was food aggressive and ate very fast, so fast he threw up his food.

Y/n asked the vet what to do, and the vet said to train him that no one is going to steal his food also to buy a slow feeder. Over time y/n taught him not to be food aggressive and the slow feeder helps him eat slow.

It took about an hour to get everything Kyle needed for Thomas, once y/n done you had helped Kyle outside. Y/n begin walking to the parking lot, "Thanks for the help, y/n". You stop and turn to Kyle "do you have a ride", "no".

"I can take you home, if you want. Because you won't be able to carry all this stuff".

Kyle nods, y/n walks to y/n truck, an old chevy, with pilling red paint, the windows that have to be cranked to go up and down. Y/n unlocks the door, Kyle puts Thomas inside the truck, y/n rolls the window down a bit for Thomas. Kyle then shuts the door and helps y/n load the bags in the back of the truck. Once y/n was done, y/n had walked the kart back inside the store.

Y/n then walks back to the truck, y/n gets in and starts the truck.

Kyle gives y/n his address, y/n begins driving to Kyle's apartment. Once y/n arrived, you both got off, Thomas in Kyle's arms. "I will be back; I am going to put him inside". Y/n nods, Kyle walks up the stairs and opens his door, y/n starts to unload the bags.

Then y/n sees Kyle coming down the stairs, he grabs some bags and begins making his way upstairs. Y/n is right behind him, y/n doesn't enter his apartment, because something felt wrong. Y/n gently places the bags near the door, Kyle comes walking to the front door. "Are you ok, Kyle", he just nods, y/n hums.

Y/n digs into y/n pocket, y/n pulls out a pen and pencil.

"Well, here is the vet's number and mine of you need any help with Thomas", Kyle looks at the paper then at y/n, a frown on his face.

"I won't need it", then y/n hears a crash.

"Kyle grabs the paper from y/n hands, "thank you", y/n nods. Kyle picks up the rest of the stuff and closes the door. Y/n stands there for a bit, then y/n heads down the stairs and to y/n truck. Y/n started the truck and heads on home, y/n had stopped at a red light when it hit y/n.

Y/n finally knew why you felt something was wrong.

Kyle had reminded y/n of yourself, when y/n was in the military. Y/n lived and breathed everything military, y/n didn't make time or cared for any other things. Until y/n got out of the military, y/n had finally seen how much y/n relied on the military.

The military provided food, shelter and work, y/n tried to work but it never worked out, y/n didn't know how to cook, or what to do with so much free time.

Y/n had tried reading, drawing, yoga, meditating, etc.

It took y/n a while to be ok, without y/n dog y/n won't have survived being out of the military. Y/n looks up and sees the light turn green, y/n drives on, y/n arrives at your house. Y/n turns of the truck, y/n gets out and closes the door, y/n locks it. Y/n was making your way to the front door when y/n hears Gordon barking.

"IT'S ME BUDDY", the barking stopped, y/n begins putting the key in the door when y/n hears a crash inside, y/n rushes to the window and sees Grodon, he had ripped the blinds off the window, he is on the couch barking and wagging his tail.

Y/n unlocks the door and Gordon comes running to y/n, he jumps up on his hind legs.

Y/n is 6 feet tall; Gordon is a bit taller than y/n when he is standing on his hind legs. Y/n helps him down, Gordan then begins smelling y/n. Gordon can smell Kyle and Thomas. Y/n closes the front door and lock it. Y/n walked to the broken blinds, y/n grabbed the broken blinds, when y/n hears the phone.

Y/n walks to the phone with broken blind in y/n hands, you pick up the phone, "hello", "Hello, y/n I need your help, Thomas is going crazy". "I am on the way", y/n puts the broken blinds near the trash can, then y/n walks to the front door, y/n opens it. Y/n then turns and looks at Gordon.

"Want to go on a ride", Gordan begins barking and wagging his tail.

Y/n opens the door fully and Gordan runs to the truck, y/n looks the front door and heads to the truck. Y/n opens the driver side door, Gordon hopes in. Y/n then gets in and starts the truck, y/n arrives at Kyle's apartment, y/n gets off and Gordan follows y/n.

You make y/n way upstairs, Gordan right behind y/n.

You hear cursing and crashing, y/n knocks on the door. A few seconds later the door opens, Kyle looks terrible, he is all bewildered. "He can't seat still for a moment", y/n looks at Gordan, "teach Thomas some manners", Gordan moves Kyle out of the way and enters his apartment.

Kyle looks at y/n scared, "Gordan will guide Thomas, he is a puppy after all. Thomas's parents should have been teaching him how act, the does and don'ts". Kyle nods, "come in", y/n nods and walks inside, y/n sees the couch has scratches and chew marks. The table has chunks missing form it. Y/n doesn't see the Thomas or Gordan, then y/n hears a cry.

Thomas comes running from a room to the living room with his tail in between his legs. He runs straight past y/n, Gordan walks out of the room and to y/n, you turn and see Kyle caring Thomas. He has a frown on his face, "it seems scary Kyle, but Thomas isn't hurt.

If he doesn't learn know he will be difficult when he gets older and 100 pounds".

Kyle slowly puts down Thomas, Kyle keeps his eyes on Gordon the whole time. Thomas runs back to the room and comes back to the living room with a rope toy.

Thomas gives it to Gordon, and Gordan picks it up and begins swinging it around, then Thomas grabs the other side of the rope, the begin playing dug of war. Y/n looks at Kyle, his frown disappeared, but his lips were in a thin line. Thomas leads Gordon to the other room, Gordon follows, "don't break anything, Gordon. You lost?".

"What", Kyle looks at y/n strangely.

"You remind me of myself, when I lived and breath military. When I got out it was hell. I would rather be in a fire fight then stay another day at home doing nothing".

Kyle looks away, "I understand all too well Kyle, I always felt the shrink was going after me until I left the military. I had so much trouble dealing with so much free time. I tired many things to keep me occupied. Yoga, reading, Legos, planting, and fishing".

Kyle looks at y/n, you see a single tear fall from left eye.

"There is nothing to be ashamed about Kyle, if you need help, I am here". "Thank you, y/n it means a lot. I need to complete a list to be able to return to duty. But I want to find some hobbies or something I can do on my off time". Y/n smiles at Kyle, "well you had found the right person for that".

Kyle walks over to the couch and sits down, "please, sit", y/n walks over and sits next to Kyle. "What do you do in the military? Also, what do you like to do when at the base?", y/n looks at Kyle.

"I am on a team, the 1-4-1. I like talking to my captain, he is like a father to me. When at the base, me and Soap loving playing pranks on Ghost. I really like looking at the scenery when on missions". Y/n smiles suddenly disappears then reappears.

"That's great! Kyle, you should try hiking and rocking climbing. It's really fun, maybe you should even try bird watching, it reminds me of watching everything through a sniper rifle scope". A knock on the door stops y/n from continuing with other activities Kyle should try. Thomas comes running, barking at the door, Gordon walks over to Thomas.

Gordon does the same as Thomas, "that's enough", Gordon stops barking, but Thomas is still barking. Gordon correct Thomas, he stops barking and walks over to Kyle. Thomas jumps on the couch, and he stands on his hind leg and puts his paws on Kyle's chest.

They person knock again, but a little louder. "Mind if I answer it", "go head Kyle, this is your place after all". Kyle smiles at y/n he then gets up from the couch with Thomas in his arms. Kyle opens the door and steps outside but leaves a crack in the door.

"Hello Kyle, I wanted to check and see how you are doing".

"That voice sounds so familiar", Gordon then goes running to the door, he opens it with his snot, y/n then hears a yelp. "Gordon, what are you doing here". Y/n stands up and goes to the door. Y/n opens it and sees John Price, y/n frowns at him. Y/n looks at Kyle, "I am going to get going Kyle, call me if you need anything".

Kyle nods at y/n, y/n doesn't look at Price, y/n picks up Gordon, he begins crying, y/n makes you way downstairs.

Y/n opens the passenger door and puts Gordon inside.

Y/n opens the driver side door. Y/n hops in and starts the truck, y/n drives away. Gordon was still crying, y/n park in y/n driveway. Y/n looks at Gordon, but he doesn't look at y/n. "You just don't understand Gordon, on how much his and the 1-4-1 betrayal hurt".

Y/n opens the driver's door, you leave it open for Gordon. Then y/n heads inside, you open the door and close it. Y/n bends down and unlocks the dog door for Gordon. Y/n heads upstairs, you walk into y/n bedroom. Y/n lays down and stares at the ceiling, "y/n didn't know how long y/n had been tied to a chair.

The only thing y/n heard was the drop of water from an old pipe.

The room had only a chair, it was placed in front of y/n. Y/n would watch the drop of water fall over and over. When the door opens, y/n sees John Price and Ms. Laswell step inside, Ms. Laswell closes the door.

Price walks over to y/n and punches y/n in the face.

Y/n heads turns a bit, y/n looks at price with a neutral expression. Ms. Laswell walks over and sits in front of y/n. "Why did you do it?", y/n puts your head back. Y/n sighs heavily, "they will get what they wanted", "who will get what? what is it they will get!". Y/n looks at Laswell then at John Price. "They will get victory", Price and Laswell left, y/n had stayed tied for days maybe months.

Questions after questions, torture after torture, Task Force 141 tired anything to make y/n talk. Y/n brothers, friend and family have turned on y/n. When the door opens again, y/n prepares for another round of torture. Y/n sees Price, Laswell, Soap and Ghost enter; Ghost closes the door. Y/n looks up and sees sad expression on Price, Laswell's and Soaps face.

Y/n begins laughing hard, when y/n stopped you spoke "now you see, they framed me. They won the battle and the war; they are showing their power and strength, that they can make the military crumble in their wake". Y/n breaks out of rope and begins walking to the door, y/n is limping and holding y/n dislocated arm.

Y/n opens it and y/n heads home, the Task Force and the military tried to talk to y/n. The Military even tried to threaten y/n, they tried to take y/n retirement money, but they didn't understand what had meaning to you. Everything y/n loved was gone, y/n comrades, Task Force 141 was no longer y/n family.

But y/n couldn't understand, they knew you inside and out, or so y/n thought.

After a couple of years all have given up on finding out the truth.

Y/n wanted to leave the military for Gordon; due to Gordon being so huge he messed up his hip but with time it healed. Gordon was y/n K9 in the 1-4-1 but had to retire because once y/n was considered a traitor they locked Gordon up. Y/n read the report before y/n left the miliary. When people tried to feed him, he would bite them, he would growl and bark when someone entered through the door. Over time he forgave the 141, they would come to y/n house, once a week and try to ask for forgiveness, for over a year.

Y/n couldn't forget or forgive, y/n couldn't trust anyone ever again.

Y/n then hears something for downstairs, y/n gets up and walks downstairs. Y/n walks to the ringing phone, y/n picks up the phone. "Hello", "Hello y/n, it me Kyle", "I know what you want Kyle, and it isn't happening. Fuck off Price, don't drag Kyle down with you".

Y/n hangs up the phone.

Post 9/29/23

[practically-an-x-man]

Here's one: Crossover with Jamie and one of your Marvel OCs? Could be MCU or X-Men

Ooooh, I've got a neat idea for this one!! Thanks for the prompt!

____ Godly Wagers

Word Count: 2.2k Content Warnings: some swearing but that's about it ____

"Y'know, something sleek." Jamie said, "Maybe silver? And purple- like a reddish purple? She likes that color."

As she spoke, Jamie wandered the lab, haphazardly fiddling with objects she found on the various tables and shelves. It set Ophelia's hackles up - she hated people touching her things without permission, especially when it came to her lab - but she did her best to keep a pleasant face. After all, Jamie had saved her life.

It was her bad knee again. She'd get used to it eventually, she knew she would, but for now Ophelia still struggled with having that as a weak point. And when it came to the battle, well... she shouldn't have been fighting alone, not while the wound was still healing.

So here she sat in her lab, her knee propped up and iced, jotting down notes about a new project- because apparently, fair repayment for saving someone's life was a new leg.

It was worth noting that Jamie Zhang had two perfectly healthy legs.

"You realize I'll need specs if you want this thing to actually fit her," Ophelia pointed out, "I can make an adjustable cuff for her residual limb, but I'll need to balance the height and weight to what she's used to."

"Well... yeah," Jamie agreed, though she seemed more preoccupied with a handheld device roughly the size and shape of a Geiger counter. She pressed a button on the side and the little device let out an earsplitting shriek, loud enough to make the both of them flinch. "Oh, shit-"

Jamie looked ready to smash the thing when it kept screeching, and Ophelia desperately stuck out a hand before she could.

"Just give it here," she huffed, and promptly shut off the machine with a single flick of her thumb, "It detects jump points between the multiverse - spots where the energy barrier is thinner, or overlaps closely with the energy barrier for another universe. I've been in and out so many times now, that thing goes nuts if you turn it on in here."

"Huh." Jamie muttered, "Oh- and it has to be magic-compatible. I'll give you a diagram of the runes."

Before she could stop herself, Ophelia let out a sharp, dry laugh like the snap of a firecracker.

"Magic is bullshit."

"You went flying through the multiverse and you don't believe in magic?"

"Magic implies something that cannot be achieved through any other means. Something that has no other conceivable explanation or scientific equivalent." Ophelia argued, "Which just isn't true. Anything that can be empirically observed naturally has a rational explanation."

"Aren't you Jewish?" Jamie pointed out, "Doesn't believing in a higher power kinda negate the whole... conceivable explanation bit?"

"Which is exactly why I said anything that can be observed," she replied, "I don't seriously believe that Moses parted the seas or that the lamp oil magically lasted seven nights instead of one. Most of that is just storytelling- like Arthur pulling the sword from the stone, or Odysseus shooting an arrow through twelve axeheads. It's not meant to say that these things actually happened some time in the past, it's more just... a way to generate hope and entertainment to help people through the hard times."

As she spoke, Ophelia found herself fidgeting with the clutter on her desk. Faith was a difficult thing for her to articulate, even to herself. Placing it into words for another person, trying to translate so many nonlexical thoughts into verbal descriptions, was even more difficult. Especially not when she'd stumbled into the conversation unexpectedly like this. She wasn't sure she could ever really put words to it, not completely.

"So I believe that our evolution stems from single-celled aquatic organisms which eventually led to early hominids, and I believe that my ancestors did flee Egypt after years of slavery," she continued, "But I also believe that most of that overt 'magic' is really figurative language for the sake of the story, and anything left over is natural phenomena that they didn't have the scientific means to understand at that point in history."

"You're such a scientist," Jamie huffed, somewhere between exasperated and amused, "I'm a demigod. My mother was a god. That's real. You can't logic your way out of the fact that magic exists."

"Oh, I certainly believe power exists," Ophelia conceded, meeting Jamie's jade-green eyes with her own shrewd dark ones, "And maybe that power comes from means science hasn't put an explanation to yet. But that doesn't make it innately magical. What's the tallest mountain in the world?"

"Everest?" Now Jamie just looked confused. Ophelia tended to have that effect. Sometimes her brain made connections her mouth didn't quite keep up with. But she pressed on.

"Right. And what was the tallest mountain in the world before Everest was discovered?"

Now she looked like she was catching on. She was quick, Olly would grant her that much. Stubborn, but quick.

"Still Everest."

"Right. Whether or not it had been discovered, the mountain itself always existed. That's the interaction between science and comprehension. The phenomena exist, and eventually we find a way to categorize them. Calling it magic is just a way for people to convince themselves it's something they can't understand. Hell-"

Ophelia smacked her palm on her desk with a sudden bang!, the idea striking her like a bolt of lightning.

"I'd put money on it. Anything you can do with your 'magic', I could do with logic and engineering. Try me."

She officially had Jamie's attention. The promise of a challenge, a wager, had put a mischievous spark in her eyes, and she'd finally stopped picking through the clutter of Olly's lab. She lifted an eyebrow, officially intrigued by the idea.

"Hundred bucks?"

"Sure. My wallet's in the pocket of my coat- the gray one, not the blue one. Excuse me if I don't get up," Ophelia said, gesturing at her swollen knee.

Another person might have hesitated, she thought, if only out of the social politeness to not go reaching into another person's clothing for another person's wallet, but Jamie didn't waste a moment. Within moments, she'd pulled a hundred-dollar bill from her pocket, joined with five twenties from Ophelia's wallet.

"You've got a bet." Jamie said, with a smile like Ophelia had just signed her very soul away.

She had a feeling she knew which "god" this one stemmed from, if her words were to be believed.

But Ophelia had never ducked away from a good wager, especially not one she was so intent on winning.

"Whenever you're ready, godling."

Jamie reached over Ophelia's shoulder and snatched a pair of needle-nosed metal forceps - normally used for making micro-adjustments to wiring or other components. She held the forceps pinched between her thumb and index finger, green eyes gleaming.

"We'll start things off easy, brainiac."

The tips of Jamie's fingers turned a brilliant blue, and frost crept up the metal forceps in a fine white film. She tossed the forceps on to the surface of Olly's desk, watching the frost begin to melt. Ophelia just scoffed.

"Please. This is just taking me back to my eighth-grade science fair." she said, and snapped her fingers for her actuators at the other side of the room, "Ammonium chloride and a beaker of distilled water."

The machines jumped to action in a heartbeat, opening cabinets and depositing the materials on Ophelia's desk in a flurry of motion. When the chaos died down, Olly calmly opened the container of ammonium chloride and tipped a few spoonfuls of fine white crystals into the beaker. She gave the solution a quick stir, then picked up the forceps and touched the tips to the outside of the beaker.

Much like Jamie's attempt, frost quickly began to gather on the metal's surface and creep towards Ophelia's fingertips. She couldn't help but fire Jamie a smug look.

"Point one for chemistry." she said, and waved a hand for her actuators to begin clearing the materials away, "Got anything else?"

Jamie just rolled her eyes.

"That was just the warm-up round," she replied, "Didn't want to humiliate you on the first go. Try this one on for size."

She lifted a hand at Ophelia's coffee mug (black enamel, with the chemical formula for caffeine etched on the side), and a second mug appeared right beside it. Experimentally, Ophelia brushed her fingers across the illusion, and watched it disperse like a cloud of fog before re-forming.

"Holography's been around since 1948." Ophelia said, already rifling through the drawers of her desk. She'd had plenty of time to tinker as her knee healed, and yet had spent very little of that time organizing her creations. Finally she found what she was looking for, buried in the bottom of a drawer: an old cell phone, reprogrammed and retrofitted with what appeared to be a large, dome-shaped camera.

"Let's hope this thing still has a charge..." she muttered, mostly to herself, as she tried to power it up. Hologram illusions could be made through any number of means, the simplest being a pyramid made of cut-up CD cases (that had been another, much earlier science fair project), but this little device would be much more impressive.

Finally it powered on, and the screen bloomed with a 3D-modeling interface. Ophelia tapped a few icons, then directed that odd dome-shaped camera at her coffee mug. Red light danced across the mug and the desk below it, mapping the object in a laser grid, and it appeared on the screen alongside a list of specs. Olly tapped a second icon, and the device projected an identical mug onto the desk beside the first.

"Voilá," she said, voice dripping sarcasm, "And I'll do you one better- I can adjust the specs, size, color, you name it."

She fiddled around for a bit, shrinking the illusion to half its size and shifting the color to a vibrant lime green. She returned it to its original appearance a moment later and shut the machine off, turning her face to Jamie with yet another victorious look.

"Hm. Alright." Jamie muttered, "Match this."

And with that, she vanished.

She appeared on the opposite end of the lab, near the cradle that held Ophelia's actuators. The machines flinched at the sudden appearance, and Ophelia waved a hand before to call them off before they flew into an attack. Jamie looked unperturbed- no, she looked proud, like she thought for sure she'd cemented her victory.

"You're really gonna make me get up?" Ophelia sighed, but set aside her ice pack and pushed herself up out of her chair. Her bad knee protested the movement immediately, but she shrugged the pain aside as she limped over to her actuator cradle.

The vest clamped around her body with a comforting pressure, and her actuators lifted her to the other side of the lab. The upper claws rose and began to give off orange sparks, weaving a rift between worlds in much the same way she'd once seen that so-called wizard do with his rings.

Ophelia stepped into the other world - the same in shape but completely devoid of other people, a world she'd begun to use for large-scale storage or experimental testing - and allowed her actuators to lift her fifteen feet across the room. Another portal, just as quickly, and she was back in her own lab. Ophelia spread her arms and gave Jamie a haughty mock bow.

"That wasn't teleportation."

"Manipulating dimensional planes to cause an intentional displacement of matter," Olly fired right back, "It's the same in principle, just different execution."

"Bitch, please. You know it's not." Jamie argued, "What I did was instant, and occurred entirely in the same damn universe. That multiverse shit is cool, sure, but it's not teleportation. I win."

She reached for the pile of bills and Ophelia swiveled on her actuators.

"Hey- hang on, now." she snapped, "Just because I haven't done it yet doesn't mean it's impossible. We thought multiversal interaction was scientifically impossible until last year, and I cracked that too."

"Fine. If you crack teleportation, I'll give these back." Jamie agreed, brandishing the wad of cash.

"You're expecting me to recreate The Fly for a hundred bucks? My own hundred bucks, no less? You're kidding."

"Well, either you crack it or you don't. And if you don't, I win. Simple as that."

Ophelia just rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the prickling in the back of her mind. Jamie had to know exactly what she was doing, at this rate: the idea had wormed its way into her head, it wasn't even about the hundred bucks anymore. It was both infuriating and oddly exhilarating. She'd been looking for a new big project, now that her multiverse tech was largely solidified.

"Fine. Keep the cash." she muttered, "I'll get it back from you soon enough. And find me Maya's measurements for that prosthetic you want."

Boy, Peter was in for a surprise when he got home.