#but i can't be bothered to put them in the save

[dreamer-milore]

--misinterpretations.

// first meetings with our beloved deliverer

IN WHICH • You firmly believe a certain Chrisos Heir has his eyes on someone, and it's definitely not you, based on the numerous times you've seen him with the Prince of Kremnos. You conclude that they're in a secret relationship. Or perhaps you've misinterpreted everything all along? (You're fully convinced Phainon is attracted to Mydei).

FEATURING • Phainon

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

You've seen enough for you to come to a conclusion. You have visual evidence, so you're not being unreasonable. And your claim is completely logical and rational.

That blue-haired knight you keep seeing is homosexual, who may or may not be in a secret relationship with the Prince of Kremnos.

You don't know that knight's name, but you are sure that he's well accustomed to the perils of the battlefield.

Well, if you were being honest, you barely know anything about Okhema. You were just a refugee who came from a distant city-state that was now in ruins thanks to the Black Tide.

You arrived just a few weeks ago, bruises and cuts littered your body--the marks of a warrior, they say-- and you're sure you'll be decorated in scars after a few weeks.

But that'd be the case if you do manage to last, and you did, otherwise you wouldn't be witnessing the secrets of that certain knight.

(You don't know the name of that blue-haired knight, so you just gave him the nickname 'knight.')

You didn't bother to ask for his name, since you're a hikikomori and you'd much rather prefer to stay within your living quarters. The Black Tide just had you in a 'cowardly' state. You find comfort and security within the confines of your home, believing that the place not within the walls of your house is dangerous.

Though, there are times where you did step out of your home, but the occurrence is rare, and the duration of your visits to the outside world is short. Not lasting more than a few hours. (The most you've done is 2 hours).

During these trips of yours, you would sometimes catch glimpses of the knight with an ash blonde-haired individual who you learned was Mydeimos, Prince of Kremnos. And during those times, you always, always, saw the two in a very close distance--one that you could not just dismiss as that of friends.

This continued on, with each and every one of your trips, you would accidentally spot those two.

One instance, you saw the two really really close to each other, as if they just finished a kissing scene. (They were whispering about top-secret confidential case. You just saw it wrong).

And you also take note of the trust they put into each other, which you observed via eavesdropping on them, but you could only make out very few lines.

You're sure those two are in a secret relationship. So when rumors broke out that of a certain knight asking a florist for courting rituals, you concluded that the lucky girl, or more accurately, the lucky guy, was Mydeimos.

You knew someone who's been crushing on Phainon for a while now, and you can't deny that you feel bad for them sometimes. But it's not like you could do anything. I mean, you can't just tell her to confess, since Phainon will definitely reject her, and you don't want that happening, so you end up discouraging her instead. You know it's a grim method, but you suppose it's still helpful, right?

So when you got called to the Council of Elders, you had no choice but to abide by them. You went there, begrudgingly, and it seems like it's for a mission to save a group of refugees that are en route to Okhema.

You are aware of how dangerous the outside of Okhema is, so you don't mind why the Council takes the matter seriously. Since you were a former knight yourself (of course you have trauma), you were deployed to handle the mission, along with some others. (You didn't want to go, but you have to abide by it. And it's also kind of obligatory.)

That was the case, until one member argued that Okhema is running low in manpower, and there are various other matters to attend to, so they suggested that a Chrisos heir should handle the current mission, accompanied by you.

The Chrisos heir they wanted to deploy? The 'knight.' More accurately, Phainon. You learned his name is Phainon.

The Council agreed to the member who gave the suggestion.

(The Chrisos heirs are the chosen ones from the prophecy, no? Shouldn't it be fit that they handle things like these? If you view it from this angle, it seems about right. It's objective. The Council is just being rational and objective. Totally not because of their disdain for the Chrisos heirs. And how considerate of them, for putting you into this mess. How truly kind.

As agreed by the Council, you were sent to the borders of Okhema to meet up with Phainon, so the two of you could start the mission. You two made your way to the location of the refugees, carefully navigating through the outside lands of Amphoreus.

You barely spoke a word to him, so he, too, didn't say much in return. It was only when you both reached the location did he start being a little bit more talkative. He'd tell you some snippets from his life, and whatnot. And it wasn't just you, but he also talked to the refugees to ease their worries.

Just from that alone, you can tell Phainon is a really good guy, and now you know why people seem to like him.

When monsters emerged, you were quick to shoot them down with your gun. Though you're not very skilled in close combat, sniping with your gun is where lies your true talent. Even Phainon heavily complimented this talent of yours. (It saved him, after all.)

It took a while, but you slowly began to talk more to him, and to the refugees too.

At last, you reached Okhema safely, with no harm done to the refugees.

After that mission, you and Phainon helped the refugees get settled in. Afterwards, the two of you reported back to the Council. The Council was delighted, and dismissed you two.

(Finally, one less thing to worry about.)

You walked outside of the Council's place, with Phainon at your side. You've grown to be acquainted with him, and the same can be said for him. Only that, his might be a little more complicated.

You already bid him farewell, but he cut you off and asked you if he could treat you for lunch. You were taken aback, but said nothing. (You can't really say no to free food now, can you?)

As much as possible, Phainon wants to prolong this. He finds something akin to comfort while he's in your presence. With you, he doesn't need to act strong and brave, nor feel the need to act according to his title--Phainon, the Chrisos heir, Phainon, the Deliverer.

He's just Phainon. And he likes it that way.

He has no explanation for this phenomena, but he suppose it can be attributed to that one time you saved him. You've met before, a few weeks ago, when you first came to Okhema. Clones of Nikador attacked the Holy City, therefore a battle ensued. But this time, he was on the losing side. Heavily injured, with barely any comrades to aid him, Phainon fought with the best he could do. And when he was cornered, he fell to his knees, and prayed for a savior. His prayers were answered, in the form of a refugee with one heck of an expertise with guns--You, in short.

Shortly after, Mydei and the others came, but by the time Phainon was well, his savior was no longer around to be thanked.

Phainon is not sure if you still remember.

But he'll definitely make it up to you.

"Hey, I actually have this friend Aglea. The demigod? I just need to talk to her after. Do you mind tagging along?" Phainon asks you, his tone light as always. Or at least, that's what you think, when actually, he's been meaning to tell you that minutes ago. He can't help but choose his words carefully out of nervousness.

You nod with a hum. "I don't mind. You're already treating me to food, so why not?"

True to his words, Phainon indeed treated you to lunch, at a quite expensive-looking eatery, which made you raise an eyebrow at him. His eyes consistently stayed glued to your face, staring and gazing as the two of you talked. Mostly about the battlefield, since it's a shared aspect between the two of you. Barely anything personal, really. Phainon takes note of that. Maybe you weren't as open as he thought you were. He will absolutely make sure you'd gradually loosen up to him, someday.

After the two of you finished lunch, you accompanied Phainon to the bath house, where Aglea is. You notice how the people there (Phainon's Chrisos buddies) kept looking at you. Strange, so you made sure to keep your guard up. You finally bid farewell after that.

When you got home, the first thing you noticed was that your bedroom door was slightly ajar. You could've sworn you closed it before your departure. But oh, nevermind.

Consecutively, Phainon kept visiting you without fail for the past few weeks. He even introduced you to the rest of his friends. Including Mydeimos, or Mydei.

So there are friends but are secretly in a relationship? That must mean the others don't know, you thought.

Well, what you didn't know, was that your conclusion was absolutely wrong. You found this out in the most unimaginable way possible.

"Hey Phainon, is that the girl you've been crushing on?" A little girl with red hair, asked.

All of Phainon's friends stared at the little girl, shocked and defeated for unearthing the 'secret' they've been keeping for a while now.

(Phainon told everyone about you. It was always you that he could yap about the past few weeks, ever since you saved him. And since then, he's also made sure to keep a really close eye on you, watching you from a distance. Or from the window of your home.)

You look to Phainon, whose face was burning red. He catches your gaze for a second, his mind short-circuits as he looks away.

"So, uhhh... Tribbie..." Phainon managed to say, "this is (Name)."

Wait, so he's bi?

[tare-anime]

After posting the observation that both Loid and Yor were injured at the same arm, during a kind of simmilar arc, I have a further contemplation....

My... my ... both TwiYor actually has bleed for one another 😲😲

Like... both has actually enduring a bleeding wound for the other. 🥹🥹🥹

I mean, if we look again during the Mole Hunting arc, Loid was shot on his arm because he was hesitating in hurting Yuri, because Yuri IS important to Yor.

He hesitated to hurt other people. That has been his nature all along.

But actually, during this particular event, he hesitated because he care for Yor and her wellbeing.

Even though he didn't understand his actions, because Twilight is a man of logic -- and none of this feelings shenanigans can be logical in any form or way -- Twilight cannot understand why he acted that way.

Eventually, he relucantly connected the dots, and reluctantly admits that he unintentionally has made Yor as his weakness.

And as a man who will always -- and has to prioritize his logic, Loid then choose to "nip the problem in the bud" (or a thing similar to that).

But as we can see from several chapters after that, especially at chapter 94 (the snow lodge adventure) and chapter 103 (the watching belle adventure), we know that no matter how many logic he pour unto stopping this ridiculous illogical feelings (or so he thought), his body reacts the other way.

He can't help but listen, and relax whenever he is with Yor. He might be won't admit it out loud, but his body language shows how much he appreciates Yor being by his side.

But...... (I think) Loid will not act upon such thing.

Nope.

He prefer to keep things working the way it has been.

He prefer to maintain the status quo, because it's comfortable.

The logical question would be: Why would someone try to move things that have been working properly as it is, and overcomplicated things?

Now, Twilight might be not as extreme as Hemlock or Nightfall in embracing loneliness, but as Matthew has said, someone gain power from "have nothing to loose".

I think, Twilight has put himself in this category.

Yor, on the other hand, is different.

As a character, she is already different -- if not opposite of Twilight by design.

While Twilight will try his best not to hurt people (I say he might even try to push them away if it means they will be save), Yor will not hesitate to hurt those dare to hurt her few -- but very important people.

As we can see it from the early days of the series, Yor has been, and always will be this way.

She will act first (to help, to protect) and think of consequences (especially if it "only" endangered herself) later.

That is why, as seen from the Cruise arc, only when she has found her resolve-- her goal -- that Yor will fight back, and never hesitate in enduring several "unfatal" injuries if it means she can punch down her enemies, and at the end ensuring the safety of her most precious people.

The same happen when she was facing Hemlock.

But during this Garden Introduction arc, there's been something that has been bothering Yor.

Unlike Twilight who always think things through, Yor leans more to feel things.

She knows that there are somethings different in her heart right now.

Somethings that's not as "simple" as continuing her role as Anya's mother, or her role as the sharpest thorn Garden has ever had.

It is something more deep, more alien to her.

She wants something for herself.

Apparently this wants is not just a "status", or a "safe place to stay".

Maybe it's more deep than that.

We know it is acceptance that Yor has been wanting for so long. But it seems Yor herself cannot pin point what she actually wants.

As we can see from chapter 114 (the Briars day out), we can see (and assume) that Yor never act to fulfill her own wants. She will always put other's wants first, and never address her own.

This time however, it's different.

She wants to be accepted -- openly -- for who she is.

And for some reason (we know what the reason is 😏) Yor wants it to last forever -- if possible.

So, I guess, I agree with the discussion with several discord moots, that with Matthew's push, Yor will finally act to find out -- to hear and see it by herself -- to know where does she stand in the Forger family (or in Loid's heart) as a wife.

This will be a development of Yor questioning her role as a mother during chp 35.

Because, considering the danger nature of her job as an assassin, "hesitation will end up making everyone hurt".

And that is one thing that Yor will do in whatever power she has to prevent.

So, in different way than Twilight, this time, once again Yor will act and find out....

I also love the insight from other reviewers and moots, that said, this time -- for the first time -- Yor will once again push the balance (or status quo) of Loid and Yor's relationship.

She will be the one brave enough to knock on Loid's room door (or a metaphore of Loid's heart) -- a place so private -- so cold and calculative and full of logic -- to find out whether her feelings are true and can be reciprocate, or not.

And maybe depends on what Loid's answer will be, Yor will act accordingly.

Let just hope this bravery of Yor will have a happy result that she -- and by extension us the TwiYor shippers -- deserves 🥰🥰🥰

-------

TL;DR

While both Twilight/Loid and Yor has litterally bleed for one another, they act differently.

Loid by maintaining the status quo of their relationship

Yor by asking assurance of her question (uncertainties), by daring herself to knock / step into Loid's space.

[nshi-ao3]

Hello! Hope you are doing well. I was wondering, what do all the Scions think about Ren? Are there certain qualities about him that irk or inspire them? I love your writing so much and I am excited for more. Thank you!

Thank you so much!! <3 I really appreciate that!

Hehe! Well, let's start with Alphinaud and Tataru because of where we are in the fic currently!

Alphinaud initially didn't care much about Ren. He was even kind of vaguely irritated at him for being connected to Louisoix's disappearance, even though he knows it wasn't fair to hold that against him. Now? Now they're basically family haha! He loves him dearly, but is also extremely deeply concerned for his mental health now that he's been told by others what to look for. He's a great kid (after his traumatic humbling), but the opposite of Alisaie in that he can be a bit blind to other people's feelings. But he's definitely making the effort to do better now!

And Tataru is very charmed by Joker! Sees him as a quintessential hero in a lot of ways, given he's swooped in (sometimes literally) to save her on multiple occasions. Though recent events have forced her to remember his humanity behind the theatricality and heroics. She still finds him very dashing, though! Hates that she can't do more to help him. :(

Alisaie has a little crush~ Though she hasn't really acknowledged it yet. At first she was vaguely worried about him on the carriage because oh boy did he look clueless and lost. And then, like Alphinaud, she got all confused and irritated about his connection to Louisoix's disappearance. Much like how she found herself wondering why her grandfather gave his life to protect a land full of so much conflict and strife, full of people who didn't seem worth it, she wondered why this guy could possibly be so important that Louisoix would put himself in mortal peril— risk tearing himself from her life permanently— to help bring him to this world. But then she saw how fundamentally kind Ren was behind all the jokes and posturing— and how badly he was hurting behind even that— and oh boy did her blooming crush hit her hard by the end of the Coils haha! I really, really look forward to her coming back into the plot. ;)

Thancred feels really responsible for Ren since he recruited him and all. Much like how he took it upon himself to look out for Minfilia in an ambiguously older brotherly way after The Goobbue Incident, he's more or less done much the same for Ren. He has a habit of assigning himself personal responsibility for things and running with it. Hm. Sounds familiar. :P Soon we're actually going to see a point of tension / minor conflict between Thancred and Ren, actually! It'll get sorted, but yeah...

Y'shtola likewise has a general sense of vague responsibility towards Ren, but with much less baggage attached to it haha! She thinks his jokes and occasional flippant attitude can be annoying, but she knows that's just how he's coping and isn't actually that bothered by them. Plus it's secretly fun to give it right back to him. ;) She knows how to cut a man down to size, after all! But look: she has a no-nonsense reputation to maintain, gods dammit! Soon she's going to have a reason to be extra fond of him! If a bit... worried about something. Maybe really worried about something. Maybe a bit (very) frightened about something. Unless she was just imagining it...? Yeah, that was probably it.

'Yda' and Joker— clown to clown communication. Look at those goobers! She thought he was hilarious right away and likes him a lot. Likes joining forces with him to bother Papalymo. They get on great. Stormblood's gonna be fun! Ren wondering how he ended up with the same bizarre identity reveal with two different friends twice is going to be something, though!

Papaylmo: please no more clowns. (Yda and Ren are like his stupid kids who won't stop getting into trouble)

Minfilia... well, like i said in another post: She was basically looking at Ren and going ‘oh so this is how F'lhaminn felt when she took me in…’ haha

Estinien has been hit hard by brotherly feelings and kinda hates it at first!! It's partially a bit of projection from dearly missing Hamignant, like with Alphinaud, and also the fact that he and Ren are both intimately tied to different respective dragons from the First Brood. Dragon influence! Powerful stuff!

[timeclipsed]

♡ ?? ( change attraction to cool level or smthing idk whatever you like best <3)

Send ♡ to see what my muse thinks of yours (status — accepting!)

●○○○○ | AESTHETIC ●●●●○ | AFFECTION ●●●●○ | INTEREST ●●●●● | LOYALTY ●○○○○ | TRUST

[llycaons]

and in canon I can't think of a single scenario that would have more weight or more emotional significance that the admission of the name of the song on the cliffside reunion after more than 20 years. there's no use proposing after that, they might as well get married right then and there

[i-may-be-paranoid]

CRYING OVER A GUY I MADE UP FOR VIDDY GAME. AEUGH

[jade-curtiss]

My therapist for about six months: Ok, well the problem is that I doubt you could really heal unless you take the medical leave, but I understand the process is stressful and uhm...

Me visibly larping eternal darkness on the nintendo game cube: perhaps, but I think I'm kinda fine right now because if I compare to when my life was shittier it's not as bad you see. Look "🙂" that's an okay doing emoji. Also the problem is that I'm not fully certain I'm actually eligible to medical life so I guess it'll be what it will be until it cannot be anymore. Teehee.

My therapist: ...hm...

[chuluoyi]

✎ baby to the rescue

- gojo satoru x reader

in which gojo recruits your baby son to “save” you from a credit card salesman

genre: immense fluff !! baby gojo and dad!gojo shenanigans~

note: based on this and this reel. with this i hereby declare that anything past chapter 235 is null and void HAHA anyway, i truly want to post remarried empress au by this week but since 261 leaks hurt me so much, i need more fluff so have to postpone it to next week :') tagging @karikari19hikariiii <3

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

Your husband Gojo Satoru... is handsome as hell, which means your baby son is also undeniably good-looking.

"Why do you pout at me?" Satoru poked his squirming baby's cheek while pursing his lips too. "C'mon, smile! That auntie is smiling at you!"

Everyone who passed by them in Shinjuku shopping district turned heads to admire him and his pumpkin just a little longer, and Satoru visibly enjoyed the attention. He smiled back at them, occasionally winking even.

If only they knew how pretty his wife was too...

Wait, no! On second thought, if they know how hot you are, there will be problems!

You had left him to go to the nearest pharmacy to restock some things, while Satoru decided to entertain his baby in the toy section. He basked in the starry-eyed looks people were giving him... until he heard some strange sounds and turned to his baby boy—

—who was chewing the beak of a duck toy with all his might. Satoru was mortified.

"—! Let that go! Your mama will beat me if she sees you eating this!"

Your baby paid him no mind though, desperately pushing the duck into his mouth. Satoru sat him on one of the empty racks and began the tug of war—

"Let go!" he reprimanded. "You're so naughty, gods—!"

Some people were now openly giggling at both of them. His son tried to resist by rolling, and Satoru clicked his tongue. He then yanked the toy away until his baby finally let it go, sniffling sadly that his papa wouldn't let him have the duck.

"Oh, you..." he picked him up again and consoled the pumpkin. "You can't do that, you hear? First, it's not clean. Second, mama will grow two heads to chew you and me both, understand?"

No, your son totally didn't understand a thing. Satoru sighed, seeing his little blue eyes welling up with tears. He ruffled his head and pulled him close. "There, there... I'll get you ice cream, okay? Now let's go."

Satoru was determined to turn his son back into a smiling, happy baby. But just as he was about to head towards the ice cream parlor, he encountered the most unbelievable sight—

"Miss! I guarantee you'll love this credit card features!"

You. That was clearly you, and a salesman (or a bozo, in Satoru's eyes) was trying to bother you.

You raised an eyebrow. "Uh, no— thank you—"

Yet the bozo was still persistent, like the pesky fly he was. "You can use it to pay for your monthly beauty treatments! Someone as pretty as you..." He eyed you from head to toe, blinking suggestively. "Oh my! Your skin is flawless! You have to maintain it this way! I can also give you recommendations for—"

You were wearing a flare dress that made you look so young and petite, and obviously, Satoru too was lusting after you. And true, your skin was smooth like a soft serve of mochi, but still!

You are meant for him and his eyes only! Oho, this bozo would get heavenly punishment.

He had to get to you somehow, but this was public space and if he cooked up some sort of shenanigan, you would put him in sex ban. I can't have that! so Satoru wracked his brain to think of another way...

Once again, his gaze fell on his now calm baby, who was also looking at his mama over there with utter curiosity. And an idea immediately popped up in his mind.

"Hey, kiddo, look at that, a bad man is trying to take your mama," Satoru nudged him as if trying to egg him on. "We can't let that happen. Will you help me to save her, hmm?"

"Mama..." your baby looked back at him so innocently before smiling. "Mamaaa!"

"Good boy." Gods, his baby was so adorable, he almost felt bad for doing this but...

Swallowing his guilt, thinking he would make it up later, he pinched his son's butt a little too firmly—

"WAAAA!" and suddenly, the little boy burst into tears, and even Satoru was surprised by the sheer volume of his wail.

The sudden inconsolable sound of your baby sent you scrambling in panic, your eyes wildly searching for him, completely disregarding the credit card man. "My baby!"

"Eh?" the credit card man was visibly surprised. "Oh... so, you're married...?"

You immediately made your way towards Satoru and snatched your baby from him, hugging him tightly. "Oh, there, there... What happened to you?" you shot your husband a distaste look as your son kept wailing. "Satoru, why is he crying?"

He nonchalantly shrugged. "Maybe missing his mama? Dunno~"

By now, you had completely forgotten the credit card bozo, but he still looked at the three of you in mild surprise. Satoru took this chance to approach him and whisper in his ear:

"You see, my wife doesn't need your credit card," he whistled. "My cards or lumpsum money will do more than enough."

After seeing how pale the bozo looked, Satoru chuckled darkly... before leading you and your son away from the crowd, with one arm possessively around your waist.

Epilogue

"I'm sorry— I'm sorry, okay!?"

Satoru looked down at his son in utter hopelessness, as the little boy refused to be held by him, looking at him with teary, resentful eyes, and backing away from him in his playpen.

Can babies hold a grudge? Satoru didn't know, but his son definitely was not happy with him, and he couldn't think of any other explanation other than his sin against him back this afternoon.

"I've bought you mochi ice cream!" he opened his palm to reveal the treat. "Don't you want some? Papa will give you some, yeah?"

Baby looked skeptical now, and at that moment, he resembled you so much—accusing eyes, pursed lips, exactly like the expression you would pull when you were unsure of what Satoru might do next. He almost chuckled at the resemblance, feeling giddy.

"C'mon, forgive me, yeah?" he patted his son's little beanie and offered his hand for him to take, eyes crinkling in fondness. "Now, here comes your treat, come closer?"

Your baby crawled closer, seemingly accepting him, and Satoru was all smiles, until—

Whack!

It happened in a flash. He could have avoided it, but he was too taken aback. The pain exploded in his jaw, so intense that he grunted loudly.

"What the—?! You... you—! You kicked me— in the face!"

[secondpersonpoetry]

Franziska Linkerhand, Brigitte Reimann

[nebulae-d]

service dog discrimination and ableism against service dog handlers isn't just petting a service dog without asking.

it's talking to the dog while they're on duty. no amount of "oh i know I can't pet you but you're so cute!" when you do so at a restaurant while she's laying at my feet makes it okay.

it's pointing the dog out to your kids and encouraging them to get excited and yell when we come close, when all I'm trying to do is grab a package of hot dogs for dinner. or allowing them to follow us around until you trigger a meltdown, and then realize you've fucked up.

it's coming up to ask me questions when she's actively performing task work, and when I inform you she's tasking you proceed to ask questions about her tasks and what she does.

it's being incessant about asking about what my dog is trained to do and what MY issues are, because you can't manage your own curiosity and emotions.

it's recording us and photographing us without my consent. there are at least four recordings of my dog and i in the world somewhere, and i believe photos of us while she's actively been tasking.

it's denying us access to locations on rules that don't exist.

it's refusing to educate yourself on federal ADA and state laws, refusing to listen when i inform you on those laws, and spreading misinformation instead of listening to handlers.

it's hiding us away out of sight so we don't "bother others" when we go out into public under the guise of making the dog comfortable, or "giving us space" when there were plenty of other options that weren't isolated and alone.

its following us through stores and public locations to gawk at my dog.

it's being denied 10+ jobs that otherwise you were loved for because you told them at the end of the phone interview "just so you're aware, I also have a service animal and will be needing accommodations" and suddenly they no longer want you, despite being okay with the wheelchair and crutches. because everyone loves the dog until they have to put in the effort for the handler.

it's speaking to the dog instead of the handler, or ignoring the handler's needs.

it's becoming a public spectacle every time you leave your home, because everyone wants to ask questions, talk to you, and fawn over your dog.

it's being the last thought for an event, or not even a thought at all, with people who know you will always have a service dog accompanying you and require accommodation in all circumstances, whether that be just the dog or dog and wheelchair. its knowing you were not included in the planning, or were expected to leave her behind and put yourself at risk.

its being asked or told to leave your dog at home, because "why do you need them? can't you just go without them?"

its becoming angry when you're asked to leave us alone, and causing the fear of aggression or retaliation for speaking up for yourself.

its people taking your aid less seriously because its a dog, and they only see a cute companion, and it can't possibly be as important as the other aids you rely on, despite her being the thing that has saved your life more than once.

its taking your pets into places they should not be because "you want them there" or "whats the worst that could happen"

its so many little things in my life that add up that most people don't even realize they do, or don't think about, but i think about them and it hurts and it sucks. it is so simple to treat service dogs and service dog handlers with respect. it is so simple to treat disabled people with respect. i want to be left alone and i want people to give my service animal the actual respect she deserves for the work she does, and i want to be included. im so tired.

[damselneedssaving]

Love your writing! It's a bit heavy so no worries if you don't want to but I was wondering how the batboys™️ would react to the reader refusing to accept money from them even in a financial emergency because they're afraid of taking advantage of the fact their partner is rich asf (I'm a sucker for ✨polite✨ angst)

BATBOYS BUT THEY'RE DATING A POOR!F!READER WHO REFUSES TO TELL THEM AND ACCEPT THEIR HELP.

★ TAGS: older!damian wayne, older!duke thomas, angst, not poly, hurt/comfort, jason before he reformed, mentions of violence (not towards reader), small panic attack (not described in detail), anxiety, lots of comforting and love, it hurts them to see you struggle :(((

★ A/N: first ask, omg!! thank you for coming to save me 💞💞💞 i love angst, you are doing me a favour by requesting it, not to worry!! hope this is good enough <333 oh, and quick notice, but this is not at all meant to romanticise the situation depicted, please remember that not having much money is a real struggle that people go through and this work does not aim to diminish it

★ W/C: 3.5k (why is this so long—)

The paper on your door stares back at you blankly—no sympathy in its gaze, and certainly no mercy in its letters, all uppercase and practically shouting at you: EVICTION NOTICE.

You're sure the thud of your bag hitting the ground can be heard from multiple stories both above and below, but in that moment, staring at those two words with static ringing in your ears and the world closing in around you, it's hard to really care.

You think you spend a while standing there, just glaring at the door with no real thought behind your eyes, no real drive to your actions, just this void swallowing you whole.

It's almost hard to believe that just this morning, you were laughing and shoving the shoulder of your boyfriend as he teased you about something you can't even bother to remember. That just this morning, you were beaming and bright and shining all over as you joked without a care in the world.

And now...

Now this.

A light gasp coming from beside you snaps you out of your daze, tired eyes landing on a pair swimming in so much sympathy and pity that it makes you sick to your stomach, and before you even know it, the echo of your door slamming shut rings clear through the hall, paper all but gone from its wooden surface.

The next few days are a blur, spent either packing, or curled up in your bed with dry, crusty streaks coating your cheeks and a phone laying forgotten by your bedside table, arms too weak to pick it up and brain too tired to bother even trying.

This whole thing just came so fast, too fast, that you couldn't even bring yourself to keep the one thing you spent years trying to hide from your lover a secret anymore, not responding to his texts or calls to the point he shows up knocking at your door, and when you open it, his eyes aren't on you, but glued down.

Glued onto the piece of paper in his hands.

You take a second to quickly glance at your door, spotting another tape situated on it.

That motherfucker put up another notice.

Jaw clenched, you turn back to your boyfriend.

-> DICK GRAYSON <-

"Y'know..." he starts, tone soft with a hint of his usual playfulness, but, you notice, significantly watered down this time, "when I said you can come to me for anything, I meant it."

You part your lips to respond, but can't quite bring yourself to let any words actually escape, just like Dick can't seem to bring himself to lift his head up and meet your gaze.

(He doesn't because he feels like he failed you, staring at those two words without registering anything else as he wonders just how long this has been going on for, just how long has his girlfriend been suffering, while he sat there basking in riches and wealth?)

"I can help," he spits out almost too soon, almost too desperate, "I can wire you the money, pay off the—"

"No."

His head shoots up.

"No..?" he echoes, shoulders dropping and form all but kicked puppy. "What do you mean 'no'?"

"I mean: no, Dick."

Your hand goes up, fingers pinching your nose and head shaking from side-to-side as you curse yourself for not even bothering to answer at least one text.

For even showing him where you live in the first place, really.

"Why not?"

"Because," you force out, the word tasting bitter on your tongue, "I refuse to do that to you."

"Do what to me?"

"That," you hiss, gesturing in front of you as though what you're talking about is actually, physically there. "The asking for money, the begging for funds—God, Dick, I can't. I can't take advantage of you like that. That's not why I dated you."

"Dated?" Dick stares at you, brows knitted and eyes pouring out all the hurt siphoned by his voice.

"That's..." you trail off, shaking your head. "That came out wrong."

Your lips pull down, eyes glazing over before he catches your hands and refocuses your hazy pools towards him.

"Hey," he calls, soft and sweet. "You know you wouldn't be taking advantage of me, right?"

You scoff, and immediately, he lifts a hand up to cup your chin, coaxing your averted eyes back to him.

"I mean it," he says, firmer, "I'm your boyfriend. Your partner. I'm here to help. Money or otherwise."

"I can't, Dick. I can't."

With a tug, you crash into him, hands planted firmly on his chest as his arms curl around you, the warmth like a hammer to your shell, a crack in your dam, and before you even know it, the tears that were glistening in your eyes just moments ago start to spill over.

Dick's arms secure you, grip not faltering even while you soak his shirt in your ugly tears and snot, even while you squeeze it tight enough to dig into his chest through the fabric, even while you admit to lying to him for years about a situation that pains him so.

"Stay with me for a while."

"Huh?" You sniff.

"You said you won't accept my money," he continues, and you crane your neck to find him already looking down at you, "so accept my hospitality instead."

"Dick..."

"Just until you can get back onto your feet again," he pleads. "Just let me help until you can get back up on your own."

"I..."

"Please, [Name], I can't let you live on the streets. I can't."

And he means it, staring at you with such heartbreak, the sob you've worked so hard to keep down climbs back up your throat, sending you crashing straight back into his chest.

And as you stand there, his arms around you and his nose buried in your hair, you think to yourself that, just this once, you'll allow yourself to reach out.

-> JASON TODD <-

"Always fucking hated that prick," he growls out, voice all sharp edges and nasty scowls. "He looks at you like you're some piece of meat and not an actual fucking human being."

"Yeah... I hate him too."

Jason's eyes flit up, gaze narrow and lips taut. "Then why the fuck did you never tell me about this?"

You purse your own lips, words lost on your tongue—

"I can kill him."

—until he says something like that, of course.

"What?" you can't help but scoff out, incredulous. "Jason, no."

The paper scrunches in his hands, bunching up like some petty inconvenience rather than the words that have quite literally decided your living situation for the next who-knows-how-long.

"Why the hell not?"

"Wha—? Are you hearing yourself right now?"

When he only lifts a brow in response, you try for a different approach.

"I thought you only killed criminals."

"He looks at you like a criminal," he quips back, sharp and quick. "That's enough."

"No. You are not killing someone just because I didn't pay my fucking rent on time."

You cross your arms over your chest, stance firm, rigid, as stubborn as your will as you eye him down with a look that promises consequence should he choose not to listen.

A beat passes without a word.

Then—

"Fine." His shoulders fall with a grunt, but the topic doesn't fall alongside them. "If you won't let me kill him, then I'll just pay for your new apartment instead."

"No. No way."

His eyes narrow. "I wasn't asking."

You return the look. "Neither was I."

The moment stretches, the two of you glaring at each other with steely gazes and tight jaws, each equally as unyielding as the other.

(Jason thinks to himself that your glare isn't as fierce as usual. Like it's lacking something. A will. A drive. A reason to continue pushing forward. When did his girlfriend start to look so tired?)

His gaze softens. "Doll..."

Just like that, like his look is made up of some sort of soothing magic, your shoulders fall, and he catches you before you can go spiralling in a pool of your own thoughts.

"What's wrong?"

"I can't do that to you, Jay." You shake your head into his chest, voice all but muffled. "I can't use you like that. Not you."

"You wouldn't be using me, [Name]."

"Yes, I would," you grit out, squinting your eyes shut to force the sting away. "I would..."

He goes to respond, but you beat him to it.

"You've already had to go from having everything to having nothing before." You heave a breath, chest tightening with the effort of holding that damn salty water back. "And now that you've got it back... I can't take that from you."

"You wouldn't be taking it from me, [Name]."

You go to echo your response before, but it's his turn to beat you to talking.

"No, you wouldn't." You can feel him shake his head above yours. "I choose how I spend that money, doll. It's my decision. And if I choose to spend it on you, then it'll be spent on you. There is no using one another. I love you."

Your breath hitches, head shooting up to find his own already facing you, and his eyes are so soft, so sincere, that you can't help the sob that lurches from your throat, arms looping around his neck and pulling him down until his lips slot perfectly against yours.

And as he stands there, kissing you even through all the salty water that coats your lips, you yield just a little more to the idea of getting some help from someone you love.

-> TIM DRAKE <-

"So that's why you weren't answering any of my texts." He lets out a chuckle, but it comes out dry and insincere.

(He stares at the page. All of a sudden, it all makes sense. The refusal to eat at places that aren't small cafes or local diners, the avoidance of high-spending activities like shopping at the mall or going to theme parks, the amount of dates spent just streaming movies at yours or walking around the same park a dozen times over. How did he not see before? How can he call himself a detective and not notice his own girlfriend's struggling financial situation?)

"Sorry..." You go to hug one arm, voice small and gaze smaller.

"Y'know you could've told me, right?" He glances up, brows knitted and tone soft, reassuring. "You can tell me anything."

"I know."

"Then why didn't you?"

You look up and wince, Tim's defeated expression stirring something within you, something small but no less significant than all your other emotions.

"You already have so much on your plate," you start, averting your gaze because the look in his eyes is just too much to handle. "I didn't wanna worry you."

"I'm always worried about you," he responds simply, "I'm worried about whether or not you get home safe. I'm worried about whether or not you ate, or got enough sleep. I'm worried that some day, somehow, you'll grow bored and leave me. I worry all the time.

"It's how I show I care."

"I know that..." you trail off.

"Then you also know that giving me one more thing to worry about wouldn't make much of a difference."

You stay quiet, and so Tim sighs, carefully going to reach for your hands and cup them with just gentle enough of a hold to give you room to pull away should you choose to.

You don't, of course.

"You know you don't have to go through this alone." Tim's thumbs rub gentle circles over your knuckles, his voice a grounding source that anchors you, keeps you from straying too far into the ocean. "I'm here for you, always."

He's always been good at that. Being there for you. Comforting you. Of all his brothers, Tim is probably the most emotionally aware. The most painfully empathetic. It's so easy to yield when he's the one talking to you.

It's why you kept it a secret in the first place. You knew you'd fold so easily the second he confronts you.

So you plead, "Please, Tim."

His brows knit.

"Don't do this. I can... I can fix this myself."

His lips pull down. "You know you can't."

You want to defend yourself, to tell him he's wrong, you can, but your lips wobble, and a lump blocks your throat, and your eyes just start to shake like a breaking water tank threatening to spill all its contents.

And Tim sees it all.

"Tell you what," he starts lightly, soothingly, "I'll help pay for a new apartment and keep track of how much. Then, when you earn enough, you can pay it all back. You won't be using me. It'll be like a loan."

He knew your reservations before you even told him them. Of course he did. He's Tim. Your Tim. Your sweet, kind, loving Tim.

"I don't deserve you," you say, and you mean it, so he pulls you into his arms and rests his chin on your head, rubbing up and down your arms in that way that just releases all tension from your shoulders.

And as you both stand there together, the only sound being your silent sobs against his skin, you think you can just about get behind this compromise.

-> DUKE THOMAS <-

He whispers your name, soft, betrayed, with a look about the eye that almost cracks your heart in two.

"Why didn't you say anything..?" he asks, and his gaze is all blue, all rain showers and stormy clouds. "Why didn't you tell me you were still struggling with money?"

When you don't respond, he chooses to continue.

"I thought we told each other everything. Ride or die, remember? We—we've been through it all, haven't we..?"

You wait for a beat to pass before finally saying something.

"You... you just looked so happy lately. For a while now, actually. Ever since the Waynes took you in...

"I—I didn't wanna ruin that."

Duke goes quiet.

(In his mind, he's wondering where he went wrong, where on earth you got the idea that his happiness trumps your own, that you weren't both in this together. Did he... did he somehow do something to make you feel that way..?)

A quiet settles over the two of you, a sombre atmosphere that even the most classical of musicians couldn't put into notes, that even the most tragic of tales couldn't spin into words.

In that moment, for the first time since both you and Duke were little, the silence is static, no understanding or connection cutting through, no seemingly telepathic words jumping from one mind to the other, just a void, empty feeling that holds you hostage and threatens your very relationship.

"Duke—"

"Let me help," he cuts you off. Then he lifts his head, and his eyes are narrowed, determined.

"Huh?"

"Let me help you. I can. I have the money now," he says with a will, like he knows his words will come true, like he's so sure he'll be able to do this for you.

"No," you shoot him down, "I can't do that to you."

"Do what?" he scoffs out, arms folding over his chest. "Accept my help?"

"Accept your money," you correct him, and almost as soon as you do, he loses the hard look, settling for something softer instead—gentle. "I can't use you like that."

"[Name]. Don't you think I know that?"

You raise a brow.

"How you feel right now: don't you think I know it?"

You purse your lips, and he keeps going.

"Did you forget already who I was before this..? Did our time together mean that little to you..?"

The accusation is enough to make your eyes widen, words tumbling out your mouth so fast, you can't even second-guess them.

"No, no of course not!"

"[Name]." He shakes his head, pulling you into his arms. "I know what it's like to feel like you're using someone for money. Fuck, I know better than anyone else." His brows scrunch, expression looking pained for a second before steeling once more. "That's why it took me so long to even accept Bruce's offer."

You rest your hands gently against his chest, and then also let your head rest against his own, those brown swirls drowning you.

"So trust me when I say that this isn't you taking advantage of me, or using me for money," he whispers softly. "It's you accepting my help. It's you letting me in."

You blink, lashes growing wet.

"You could never be a burden to me. Ride or die, remember?"

You do. You do remember.

God, you remember it all.

And as he holds you close, as he rests his head against your own in your once again, shared silence, you're sure you'll remember it for the rest of time.

-> DAMIAN WAYNE <-

"Tt. I'll have Pennyworth hire a moving agency and wire you enough money so that this is never a problem again."

Your eyes blow wide, brows shooting straight up to your head, and mouth opening to protest like your life depends on it.

But Damian is already moving away.

In fact, he's already got his phone out, finger swiping away at it with a speed that could rival the Flash himself as he takes step after step down the hall.

So you bound straight after him.

"No! Wait, Damian, wait!"

He stops, your hands planted firm on his chest as you take a moment to catch your breath, the lack of movement you've been doing the past few days making just that short sprint feel like too much.

Fucking hell.

Your chin is tilted up.

"Have you been crying?"

You flinch. "No..."

His fingers trace your cheeks, right over the crusty streaks you know are there, and you wince as you're reminded of just how filthy you must appear in front of him.

"You have," he observes, moving your head from side-to-side gently, "You haven't been eating either."

You purse your lips, choosing not to respond lest you risk another observation that will shake you to your core.

"Beloved"—there he goes again with that petname. The one your heart lurches in your throat for—"you haven't been caring for yourself."

(When?—he wonders—when did you stop partaking in the act of caring for your own health? And why did you not think to come to him, your boyfriend, for help in doing so?)

"I..."

His fingers leave your chin, and you almost drop it to chase the feeling of them before catching yourself and quickly withdrawing.

God, just how touch-starved are you?

"It seems as though I'll need to ask for a larger amount to be wired through than I initially thought."

Once more, you find your eyes turning into saucers.

"No!"

He raises a brow.

"No," you repeat, quieter, but still just as sure, "Damian don't, please."

"Why not?"

"Because"—you think you're shaking, but there's no breeze in the hall, and it's nowhere near winter—"I... I can't take your money like that."

"It's not my money," he responds simply, logically, "it's my father's."

"I know. And I can't use you to get to his money."

"Technically speaking," Damian starts, his head tilting ever so slightly to the side and his lips still the straight line that they were just moments ago, "it's not even my father's money, it's his parents', and both are deceased, so I see no problem in taking it."

When he goes to add more, he stops abruptly, brows furrowing, and for the first time since appearing at your door, lips pulling down.

"Beloved, you're shaking."

"I can't stop..." you whisper, and perhaps it's quiet enough for him not to hear, but you don't even think you're saying it to him. "I can't stop."

"Habibti." He gently squeezes your arms, and your pupils dart up. "Copy me."

His chest rises and falls. His breathing. Copy his breathing.

He means copy his breathing.

So you do.

When his chest rises, so too does yours. And when it falls, yours falls straight after.

It takes a couple of tries before you're in complete sync. But once you are, once you've finally matched the pace of your boyfriend, the ringing in your ears dies down, and the world around you starts to clear up again. You start to feel real again.

"Better?"

You hum.

He pulls you into his arms.

And your eyes flutter shut.

"Rest assured, if you don't wish me to this much, I will not wire you the money," he finally speaks after a long while of standing there with you in his arms, "but I will find a way to get you out of this situation through other means. Even if those means cost me everything."

And as you stand there, the warmth of his presence blanketing your form, hiding you from the world, you let yourself quietly sink into the comfort of his words.

[trusweethrt]

— ୨ৎ panties to the side

summary: teasing rafe with the lingerie he gifted you so much during your valentines date, he snaps and bends you over the counter in a restaurant bathroom.

content warnings: not proofread. contains smut, mdni. rafe's (very canon) obsession with lace. unprotected p in v. dirty talk. public sex. implications of almost being caught at the end. lmk if i missed anyway <3

authors note: very excited about valentines day if you couldn't tell. a little pissed cause why is it so hard to find cute valentines pics?! ( •᷄‎ࡇ•᷅ ) anywaysss, enjoy!!

it was all his fault—or at least that's how you viewed it. he had left you all alone for several weeks to go on some stupid trip to Morocco that he wouldn't give up the smallest detail about. and it's not like you could easily satisfy yourself either; rafe meant it when he said nothing and no one could compare to him. not to mention all of your toys that mysteriously went missing the day he left. so of course you'd be a little extra needy the day he came back.

rafe was trying to be patient with you—he really was. but you kept leaning over in that tight sexy low cut red dress, purposely putting your perfect tits on full display for him; and they way he'd catch you eye fucking him whenever you thought he wasn't looking made him want to rip that dress off of you in front of everyone.

the worst part is how infuriatingly coy you've been acting all night whenever he'd try to confront you; casually brushing it off as him being dirty minded.

“rafe.” you drawl, looking up from the menu and finding rafe starring at your exposed cleavage for what seemed like the thousandth time tonight. his tongue instinctively sticks out to lick his lips, eyes darting up to meet yours before he clears his throat, leaning back in his seat. he was already unashamedly hard under the table, not at all bothering to hide it. “yeah, sweetheart?”

“i need to go to the bathroom n touch up my makeup. tell the waiter i want the chicken marsala when they come over, ‘kay?” you murmured, already standing from your seat and grabbing your purse. “alright,” rafe hummed, calling after you “hurry back, yeah?”

“uh huh.” you nod curtly, trying to fight smirk on your face as you purposely let your tube of lip gloss slip from your bag. all so you could bend over and pick it up on your way to the bathroom, causing your tiny dress to ride up, exposing the swell of your ass to him, clad in the red lacy panties he had surprised you with this morning—the ones he specifically told you to save for tonight.

that's all it took for rafe to snap and confirm you knew exactly what you've been doing all night.

he shot up from his seat, the metal legs of the chair scraping against the marble floors as he hasted to the women's bathroom, swinging the door open, eliciting gasps from both you and the other two women at the sinks.

“you two get the hell out.” rafe grunted, already moving behind you to press his hand to the small of your back, bending you over the counter as the women hurriedly grab their things and leave the bathroom.

“can't fuckin take you anywhere, hm?” his hands travel down, lifting the bottom of your dress, bunching it around your waist. “mmh, just couldn't wait til later.” you respond softly, hooking your fingers into the waistband of your panties to pull them down, only to have rafe grip your wrists and place your hands onto the counter in front of you. “nah, keep em on. bought them for a reason, yeah?”

the rattle of his belt being undone fills the bathroom, the sound of his zipper unfastening following soon after. he slides his pants along with his boxers down in one swift movement, letting them fall to his ankles, revealing his hard and throbbing cock; the tip flushed with beads of precum dripping down the shaft.

he pulls his tongue between his teeth as he uses one hand to hook his fingers in the gusset of your panties to push them aside, the material of the lace rubbing against your sensitive bud, making a soft whimper leave your mouth. “ah, yeah—fuck—look at that. all fuckin wet just by me sitting there. tsk tsk, you've gotten nastier since i've been gone, yeah?” he groans, eyes fixed on the way your juices are saturating your panties. “damn, baby...i love these panties on you..so pretty. gonna order you ten more when we get home, alright?” you could tell how true that statement was by the way his fingers ran over the lace, admiring the delicate pattern against your skin with an intense stare.

rafe ran his tongue over his bottom lip, rubbing his flushed tip through your puffy drenched folds before easily sliding into your drooling cunt. “o-oh my gosh” you mewl, hands gripping the counter as his cock slides in and out of you in quick, deep strokes; your gummy walls clenching around him every time he brushes against your cervix. “fuuck.” rafe groaned, jaw going slack as he grabbed onto the fabric of your panties, pulling you back into him to meet his thrust “grippin me so fuckin good.”

“bet this is all you were think’n about, huh? you knew what you were doing all night, baby. you just needed this cock, hm?” rafe murmured, watching you through the mirror—the way your glossed lips parted, brows furrowed in pleasure, eyes fluttering whenever his angle would change ever so slightly.

“mmhm.” you reply in a whine, your grip on the counter tightening as you bite down on your already swollen lips, trying to keep your moans and whimpers from being heard by anyone behind the door. “shit, that all you can say? got’cha all speechless already.” a strangled moan leaves you in response, your mind becoming cloudy and overwhelmed as his thumb presses to your swollen clit, rubbing tight circles on the throbbing bud.

“r-rafe...” you whimper as your legs start trembling and your eyes squeeze shut. rafe groans softly, feeling you start to clench around him. “mmh i know, i know,” he murmured, the speed of both his hips and thumb increasing. “you gonna cum, yeah? go on, baby...lemme have it.”

your eyes roll back as the coil in your stomach finally snaps and you have to bite onto your lip harshly to keep yourself from screaming as your orgasm washes over you. rafe continues his thrusts as your cunt flutters around him, your body slumping over the counter as he helps you ride out your climax.

the way you squeezed around him pushed rafe over the edge, jaw going slack as his cock twitches inside of you, thick, hot ropes of cum painting your walls. “fuuck.” he moans as his eyes flutter shut briefly before they open again, watching you through the mirror. leisurely, his movements fade until he eventually comes to a halt, his breathing ragged.

leaning forward, rafe plants a few kisses on your trembling body, opening his mouth to speak before he's interrupted by a sharp knock on the door.

shit.

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[goatgoesmbe]

When you're divorced to Price, you're not divorced to the team

Johnny still tried and invite you to everything they're doing, whether it is some kind of celebration or simple hangout.

And you felt rude to deny it, just because you're divorced.. doesn't mean you should stop having mutual friends with your ex-husband right?

Kyle still texted you from time to time, asking if you baked anything today. Making not so subtle hints of him- and the others, missing your baking.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw John walking past the door. You didn't know why, but you did save one cupcake. So as the others were occupied, you snuck away to put it on his desk.

So you visited their base, carrying a box of cupcakes in the rec room as you watched them demolish your work- oh god the cupcake wrap isn't edible Johnny.

And Simon?

Well.. before you were divorced, John used to make him keep an eye on you since he was too busy with work. Being your guard dog when you hang out around the base, or to take care of stuff if you have any trouble at home.

Like right now.

"Simon, i'm so, sorry about this- i already called a plumber and for some reason they canceled last minute, and I just can't wait another day to get it fixed-" You rambled as you watched him look at what's wrong with your washing machine, days worth of laundry piling up near it.

"It's alright" He simply responded. "Don't bother calling them next time, you have me" he added.

Then there's Laswell.

You've always got along so well with her, so it wasn't a surprise when she invited you to a ceremony where she would renew her vow with her wife.

It's been a while since you doll up properly and wear a dress. But you try to not feel self-conscious as you stepped out of your car. You didn't want to give your ex-husband the satisfaction. You wanted to look fine, more than fine, like the divorce didn't affect you.

It was easier said than done with the way you could feel his eyes from across the room as you tried to ignore him and focus on your conversation with Kate and her wife.

Goddamn, can he stop that, he's really making you nervous.

Sighing, you took a sip of a champagne that was served. Maybe the alcohol would help.

...

You woke up with a throbbing headache and turned your head to groan at the fluffy pillow. Fuck, you drank too much.

Opening your eyes slowly, you blinked when you saw a figure lying beside you.

John.

John?!

Your head throbbed even more when you sat up too fast. Looking under the blanket, you sighed when you see that you're clothed at least. Even though it wasn't the dress you wore last night.

Sighing, your gaze shifted to the man beside you and took in the scene that was too familiar to you once upon a time.

Against your better judgement, you laid back down. And for some reason, you didn't move away when a pair of strong arms wrapped around your waist.

Why did you divorce him again?

[rafeysbunny]

rafe saves you from drowning

a/n. based on this ask.

"she can't swim, top!" by the time sarah shouts at him, it's already too late.

topper has thrown you inside the cameron's pool, despite how desperately you were squirming in his arms while you begged him to put you down, really hoping he wouldn't be and ass just for once. unfortunately, the guy seemingly cannot stop being a dickhead.

you're panicking, kicking and flailing your arms in the deep end of the pool to try and stay afloat, but there's no use. you struggle to keep your head from sinking under the water, taking quick breaths whenever you are on the surface, panic clear on your face. but then you swallow some water, and as you start coughing strongly, trying to swim gets even harder

you can't avoid sinking for much longer. and when you submerge, you can't physically bring yourself back to surface anymore.

sarah's scream has silenced everyone's laughter, but no one moves a finger to help you —even though you're obviously drowning in there. no one, except rafe cameron, who doesn't even hesitate to dive into the water so he can take you out. he reaches you just in time, grabbing you tightly and pulling you to the edge; his heart is racing as he does so.

still coughing and sputtering, you look up at him, and he can see the exact moment in which your panicked expression softens in a mix of relief and gratitude.

topper approaches the two of you quickly, worried, while everyone whispers around you, looking at you like you're some kind of freak show, some of them even recording the whole thing —are they for real right now? you almost died.

"stay away from her, topper," rafe snaps at him, and the guy immediately stops on his tracks, clearly knowing he's fucked up. "the rest of you, get the fuck outta my house!"

you're shocked.

rafe doesn't pay attention to anyone but you as he helps you stand up carefully, his arm around your waist at all times. your clothes are completely soaked through, as well as your hair, and you shiver a little at the cool summer breeze.

"let's get you some clean clothes, yeah?"

when he talks to you, his voice is completely opposite to the gruff tone he used before; now it's sweet and caring. you nod in response, letting him wrap his arm around your shoulders in a protective manner while he guides you inside the house. he doesn't seem to care that he's dripping too, his entire focus put on you.

rafe takes you to his room and he closes the door behind him so no one bothers you. he gently hands you a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, which smell so, so good —just like him, and then he takes you to his private bathroom.

"you can use the shower if you want," he says, opening some drawers to grab clean towels for you. when you simply stay silent, looking at him like a fool, he adds, "are you okay, y/n?"

you hesitate, fidgeting nervously, before you finally gather the courage to speak, "why are you doing this?"

"what?" he seems a little confused by your question.

"why are you, uhm, helping me?" you ask, staring at him as he drops the towels on top of the sink to go start the shower for you.

when the water's running, he turns around to face you, his gaze so intense that you swear it's piercing holes right through you.

"isn't it obvious?" he smirks; a little lopsided smirk that has a lot of butterflies fluttering around in your belly. "i like you, silly."

more.

[ladysharmaa]

My miracle

Anthony Bridgerton x reader

summary: Anthony’s wife is in labor and it’s not looking good

warnings: mentions of death

“Where is she?” the loud voice of Anthony was heard in the entire mansion. The door he opened slammed into the wall but he couldn’t care less as he saw some servants running his way to take off his coat. “Tell me where my wife is!”

“My apologies, my Lord.” the poor man trembled under the Lord’s menacingly glare, that were just a cover for the worry and fear that was running though his veins. “The Viscountess is in your chambers. The midwife and your mother are already present with her. Shall I inform your brothers to come and wait with you until the child is born?”

Anthony didn’t bother to respond. He quickly climbed the stairs, two steps at once, seeing with wide eyes as the maids ran to his room with towels in their hands. He doesn't even settle for knocking, immediatly opening the bedroom door. None of his mother's stories could have prepared him for the sight that lay ahead.

His darling wife was drenched in sweat, dressed in her nightdown. One hand was on her round belly protectively while the other was in his mother’s hands, who was whispering words of comfort. Her jaw was clenched in pain and it was only then that he noticed the midwife between the Viscountess legs. 

“You!” Y/n screamed accusingly, managing to point a finger at Anthony with hatred. “You did this to me! You will never ever put your hands on me again!”

“I-” Anthony was at loss of words. He knew that his wife was in pain, and looking like she was ready to kill, so he just nodded his head in agreement. He took slow hesitant steps towards the bed, hoping to comfort her without dying. “I’ll never touch you again, my love. How are you feeling?”

“How do you think I’m feeling? I’m pushing your child that inherited your big head out of my lady parts! So tell me, my dear husband, how am I feeling?”

“Like you are giving birth?”

“Anthony...” his mother whispered while shaking her head in dispair. “You should leave the room. Your brothers must be coming to keep you company. We shall call you when the child is born.” 

“I’m not leaving my wife.” was the only thing he said with firmity, holding Y/n’s hand and kissing her soft skin gently.

She turned to him, a change in her demeanor, eyes full of tears of terror. “I’m scared, Anthony. It hurts.”

“I know it hurts. It’s okay, love. You will be alright and then we will have our child with us.” he whispered. A feeling of guilt washed through him. How could he have made his wife suffer through childbirth? “You are the bravest person I know. So so much braver than me and everyone else. I’m so proud of you.”

"I can't do this. It hurts too much. Make it stop, Anthony, please." Y/n cried.

It was only then that Anthony saw the look in his mother. She was worried, exchanging looks with the midwife. And as much as the Viscount would like to also show his anguish, his first priority was to comfort Y/n. "It's going to be okay, my love. Just a little longer, you're being so strong."

But she no longer had the strength to respond. It was getting harder and harder to keep her eyes open and she just wanted to sleep to escape the pain. Between her legs, an increasingly larger pool of blood was forming. Anthony's eyes were wide and there was enormous pressure in his chest. It felt like I was running out of oxygen, and it only got worse when Y/n finally gave in to unconsciousness.

"What's happening?" he whispered, looking in alarm first at Violet. Afterwards, he turned to the midwife furiously. "What's wrong with her? Help her! Do something!"

"Anthony, you need to leave." Violet advised, trying to remain calm for everyone's sake. Anthony was becoming more and more desperate, tears falling from his eyes as he grabbed his wife's hand tighter and brought it to his lips.

"I'm not going anywhere!"

"Viscount Bridgerton, the baby is in pain. You won't want to see what I'm going to do. I promise I'll try to save both of them." the midwife said, taking a small knife and flying it over Y/n's stomach.

"If you need to choose, save my wife's life." Anthony begged, now more desperate as his mother called his brothers to take him out of the room.

"Anthony..."

"No, mother, you save my wife's life!" Benedict and Collin grabbed the man by the arms and began to carry him outside, despite Anthony's struggle. "You hear me! My wife is going to survive! Let me go! Mother, save Y/n!" he shouted before the door closed in his face. 

The last thing he saw was the woman making the cut on Y/n's stomach, who woke up with a jolt. She then let out a scream that would torment Anthony for the rest of his life.

With a cry of anger mixed with sadness, Anthony broke free from his brothers' grip and put his hands to his face. He didn't want to think about the possibility of losing the love of his life. He simply couldn't take it.

"Wow, Anthony, calm down." Collin whispered when Anthony, in a rage, threw a punch against the wall. "The Viscountess is a fighter. If anyone is capable of overcoming this, it's her."

"You don't tell me to calm down, Collin. Not when my wife is in that room fighting for her life over something I did." he cried, jaw shaking and eyes red that only showed the immense pain he was in. He sat on the floor, leaning his head back and looking at the ceiling. "I need her to live."

"And she will live, brother. I will bring a drink, and we will wait together for news." Benedict said, rushing to bring the alcohol when Y/n's screams became louder.

On one hand, each scream was like a stab in the heart of Anthony, who was increasingly pale and looked like he was going to vomit at any moment. On the other, it was the only way to know she was alive.

Moments passed. The Viscount didn't know if it had been seconds, minutes or hours. Things seemed to be getting mixed up in his mind. Nothing made sense, not when the love of his life was in the next room in pain and he was away from her. He had to protect her, it was his obligation as a husband. And he failed.

And then came the moment when Anthony's heart stopped. A baby's cry was heard, and he allowed himself to smile a little. He had a son or daughter. A mini version of his wife. And then he burst into tears when Y/n stopped screaming and everything became too silent.

It was uncontrollable. He cried without being able to stop, making it even difficult to breathe in. Anthony refused to believe that he would have to raise this child without Y/n. Without her affection, her kindness, her love. He didn't want to open his eyes and realize that all this wasn't a nightmare, but reality.

Benedict and Collin didn't know what to do. But one thing was certain, they would be there to help Anthony with whatever he needed and never let that child forget the wonderful mother he had. Then, Violet left the room holding a pile of blankets that held the baby.

"You have a daughter, Anthony."

He just cried more. His body was shaking and he couldn't even look at his mother and the baby. "Y/n... Is she...?" He took Violet's silence as a yes. "Oh god..."

"Enter the room, Anthony. She is waiting for you."

Anthony had never stood up so quickly in his life. He quickly opened the door, stopping momentarily when he saw the amount of blood on the sheets, but the most important thing was Y/n's half-open eyes. She was alive and looking around the room in confusion.

"Anthony? Where is my baby?" her voice was hoarse and extremely weak.

The man fell to his knees at the edge of her bed, and lowered his head to rest on her chest. A feeling of relief spread throughout his body when he felt the rising and falling movement of her chest, indicating that she was breathing and that it wasn't just his imagination.

"I love you so much." he cried, feeling her hands start stroking his hair. "I'm sorry. You were so brave and strong. I'm so proud of you, my love."

"Where is my baby?" Y/n didn't want to seem like she didn't appreciate Anthony's words because that was a lie. He was the most important person in her life. But at that moment, Y/n just wanted to know where her baby was.

"She's right here, dear." Violet reassured with a smile, announcing her presence.

Very carefully, she passed the child into the arms of her son's wife, her smile widening as the little family was finally together again. The new parents had a gentle smile as they looked at their creation, a new love emerging for this fragile human being.

Anthony kissed Y/n's temple. "We have a daughter."

"She is beautiful."

"She takes after her mother." Anthony quickly said, never feeling so much love as he did in that moment. 

He was extremely proud of Y/n admiring her strength and courage. Now, he was going to protect his two girls until the end of his life. Nothing was more important than his family.

[keferon]

Chapter 3 of Blurr’s storyline in Mecha AU!

Previous chapter

“Speaking of Mechs.” continues Blurr, ”That thing's evacuation system sucks. What if you were stunned by the fall? What if something short-circuits and starts a fire???”

Swindle just clenches the glass in his hands. Feels the cold moisture of condensation dripping down onto his fingers.

“Then I'd burn.” he doesn't say

Under the cut⤵️

——————————————————

It's Swindle's birthday.

He thinks it is.

He's pretty sure.

Since he was taken into the program, it's always hard to tell. It's like time flows differently here. He had a calendar, but Brawl put it somewhere a while ago and then forgot where it was. And they're not allowed to have phones yet. Though Swindle assumes Onslaught managed to steal one from someone anyway.

Shit. Where's the calendar?

Swindle remembers the date, but can't remember the month.

There's a strange static tingling sensation in the back of his head. If he turns his head too fast, it'll grow into an unpleasant pricking pain.

The last time in the lab was disgusting.

He can't remember what month it is. He's not even sure why it bothers him so much. Not that birthdays mean anything within the walls of the program.

He stops in the middle of the living room and looks around with a meticulous eye. He's already checked the beds, desk, and nightstands...hah.

“Hey have any of you seen my calendar?”

Vortex, sitting on top of the bunk bed shakes the ash off his cigarette right down into Blast Off's lap.

“Nope.”

“TEX YOU'RE LITTERING ON MY BED.”

“I could have ..torn it up” offers Brawl from across the room.

Swindle turns on his heels and angrily rests his arms at his sides.

“You tore it?”

“I might have,” Brawl scratches the back of his head.

Swindle pinches the bridge of his nose

That's fine. Not that he cares that much. Not that any celebration at all would save the crappy day.

He has some new “experimental” medical procedure scheduled for later, which generally means suffering. Or if he's lucky, some critter will attack the city and instead of squirming on the slab, he'll have to go cuddle with huge nasty beasts. Which is slightly better than the actual procedures. He'd like that to happen. If only his head would also stop buzzing....

“Happy birthday to me” Swindle thinks, sticking his Mech hand under the plates of a particularly ugly monster and pulling something disgustingly oozing green blood out of there. He can see the faces of the random gawkers who didn't have time to evacuate. Ooh, some of them got that nasty stuff on their faces. Swindle has no time to feel sorry for them.

The monster did attack, but it's entirely possible that this monster ended the last meager supply of luck Swindle had. Because somewhere. Something. In his head begins to hurt again and the world in front of his eyes begins to slowly blur and..

ahh FUCK….

The monster grabs him knocks him to the ground and Swindle can literally feel in his bones that something's wrong, but the data from his Mech doesn't give him any useful information. Which isn't that uncommon. These things are glitchy as hell and aren't designed to recognize anything but the most basic popular malfunctions.

The word “error” shines mockingly in his face. Blurring in his eyes and reflecting in red on his uniform.

Error, error, what the hell is this error. He needs to know what's wrong so he doesn't accidentally kill himself, but all this bucket offers him is oops. You're in trouble teeheee~

He can hear the sound of Blast Off's giant cannon in the distance. And the loud rumble where Vortex and Onslaught are trying to get out of the ring of monsters.

His Mech is unresponsive. His damn machine refuses to move and Swindle isn't quite sure if it's the Mech that's the problem, because his head feels like a piece of raw rotten meat and maybe the error meant that what's broken is him.

The monster leans over him, trying to rip off whatever it can rip off and thank god this thing apparently isn't smart enough to realize that the Mech is controlled from the head because it's aiming straight for his chest.

He needs to get out. If he can't get this thing to move, he needs to get the fuck out of it before the alien gets him.

He manages to open the emergency hatch and quietly slip out and ohhhh the world is spinning, this is not bloody good.

He manages to take a few steps before a loud B A N G comes from somewhere above and IS THAT A TRAIN???? Who in their right mind would think of using a fucking train as a throwing weapon???? Is that Brawl? It's got to be Brawl. Oh, Swindle is so gonna kill him.

Because (sadly) in addition to the monster, the train and Swindle, there's also physics involved in this circus.

So while the monster is effectively brought to rest and knocked sideways with a hole in it’s head, the train stops its forward motion and starts its downward motion.

Right onto Swindle's head.

He just has time to think that dying from a train falling out of the sky is a pretty creative death. His legs are shaking, his head is buzzing and he only manages to take half a sluggish step in an attempt to avoid the inevitable when a loud “MOVE” comes to his ears and something yanks him to the side.

The tug sends fire down his spine and head. The ensuing landing reverberates with pain in his shoulder and sides. He barely has time to process the first two sensations until a moment later he hears a rumble so deafening that he thinks his eardrums are about to burst.

Swindle props himself up on his elbows and hisses in pain as the movement causes the back of his head to sting.

“Ah I'll fuckin' kill him...”

A voice comes above him

“Ouw dude. You okay?”

There's.. Some teenager hovering over him. And behind him is lying...the wrecked train...right where Swindle himself was standing a second ago.

The strange teen frowns worriedly and pulls Swindle upright and drags him somewhere else

“Come on, it's best not to be in the open during monster attacks”

“Ah” thinks Swindle ”right. Without Mech you're a pathetic tiny piece of chop begging to be stomped on by Brawl.”

He tries to focus on balance so he doesn't hang too much on this kid.

They find the nearest unlocked door, which turns out to be the entrance to an underground bar.

“So” says the stranger, letting go of Swindle and shaking the dust off his hair ” You're a pilot! That's so cool, but you're kinda small for a pilot.”

Swindle sighs sullenly.

“I'll let you have that one comment about my height because you helped me, but next time you're dead.”

“Helped? I saved your ass.”

“Helped a lot” says Swindle grudgingly. “Thanks.”

The teen laughs and climbs into the bar. It's a mess everywhere, people clearly evacuated in a hurry and threw everything in haste.

“What's your name? Oh, or, wait. Do you guys use code names? I've heard pilots call each other by call signs, but half the time those call signs sound so dumb, I don't see how they can respond to that.”

He waits for the kid to cut off his flow of words to take a breath. Man, what a chatty boy.

“You can call me Swindle.”

“Kay” the kid pulls out a couple glasses ”I'm Blurr. Would you like something Swindle? I don't mean to brag, but I'm pretty good at mixing cocktails.”

Swindle looks around the room suspiciously. The bar, even though it's underground, looks pretty good. Too good, in fact. The place is clearly not for the poor.

He walks over to the bar and climbs onto a bar stool. There's no one else in here but them, but the electricity is on so he doesn't doubt for a second that they're being filmed by a security camera right now. Maybe a few even.

Blurr throws him an expectant look.

Swindle pretends to go through his pockets. As if there could be money in them out of nowhere. Then he makes a comically confused face and spreads his hands.

“Oh, no, I think I left my millions at home. What's the cheapest thing you have?”

Blurr snorts.

“Ice is free.”

“I'll take the ice then” nods Swindle.

There is a loud rumbling sound above them. It must be Vortex having fun again bouncing on the aliens that have fallen to the ground, crushing their heads.

Swindle is just. He takes off his helmet, takes a glass of ice and presses it to his head enjoying the way the nasty buzzing recedes.

Blurr waits for the rumbling to recede before speaking again.

“But really. You're a pilot but...uh. Are you even old enough to drink?”

Swindle sends him his best grumpy look. It's not exactly a joke about his height, but it's damn close.

“Are you old enough to pour?”

“Sure,” says Blurr too fast for it to be true. If Swindle had to guess, he'd say the guy in front of him is no older than seventeen. The tattered jeans and the T-shirt with the F1 logo printed on it definitely don't help. And, hey, those headphones look very expensive. So do the sneakers. Kid's clearly from a wealthy family.

Blurr pulls out a bottle of syrup from somewhere and pours it straight into his mouth. Doesn't miss, which is amusing. Doesn't wince, which is frankly impressive. Swindle feels the unbearable sweetness just looking at him.

It suddenly hits him

“Hey, do you have a phone?”

“Sure,” Blurr pours himself more syrup. Swindle twitches.

“What's the day today?”

Blurr's mouth is full of an unimaginable amount of sugar, so he just pulls out his phone and turns its screen toward Swindle and oh...oh. He was wrong about the date. And the month, too. It's not his birthday. His birthday was a week ago...

Does that mean he must be nineteen now? Yeah, that makes him nineteen.

Blurr takes the phone back and slips it into his pocket.

“Your face looks funny.”

“I just realized it's my birthday today,” smiles Swindle.

“Oooooooohh~~~” rejoices Blurr ”Congratulations! It's kind of poetic that you almost died just today. Can you imagine how funny the numbers on your tombstone would have looked.”

Swindle chokes on air.

“That's certainly a very appropriate comment, thank you...”

“Sorry haha said without thinking.” Blurr reaches under the counter again and pulls out a bottle from there “Hey, they have more syrups!”

There's another loud rumble from upstairs.

Blurr presses his head into his shoulders and stares up at the ceiling as if hoping to see something through it.

Swindle puts his elbows and head on the tabletop

“Don't worry, it's just Brawl.”

Blurr doesn't take his eyes off the ceiling

“ You can tell that by the sound of falling concrete?”

Swindle lazily dangles his feet. The chair is high and even the toes of his shoes don't reach the floor.

“Brawl is the loudest. And the heaviest, too. He's always crashing into everything, throwing things and breaking things too. You can hear him a mile away.”

He pauses to listen

“And that kch-ooooooooomm is Blast Off's cannon. It's some super rare experimentally advanced one, so it sounds like something out of a space movie. He couldn't stop bragging about it for half a year when he got it.”

Blurr chuckles and leans his elbows on the counter, relaxing.

“ And this...uh...what's this?”

“That's Vortex, he's our local lunatic. Best not to listen too much to what he does, it's almost always disgusting in ways you would never even consider.”

Blurr makes a disgruntled face and is silent for a couple minutes.

“It's weird hearing you call them by their names. I mean, I kind of always knew Mechs were run by people but you guys are never seen, so most of the time it's just.. Huge robots and huge monsters. You know what I mean. I was actually surprised when I saw you get out of that Mech.”

Swindle just nods. Because, what else is there to add.

“Speaking of Mechs.” continues Blurr, ”That thing's evacuation system sucks. What if you were stunned by the fall? What if something short-circuits and starts a fire???”.

Swindle just clenches the glass in his hands. Feels the cold moisture of condensation dripping down onto his fingers

“Then I'd burn.” he doesn't say

Blurr doesn't seem to notice his glum mood

“Oh, hey. If it's no secret, why did you go into piloting in the first place?”

Because he had no choice? He can't answer that, that information isn't for civilians.

Because he didn't know what he was getting into until it was too late? That's not vague enough either.

Because he was up to his neck in debt and barely into college before a smiling man showed up on his doorstep and offered him good money if he agreed to a couple tests...?

“I had to do it for the people.” Swindle decides to repeat a line of propaganda.

“Ohhhh.... That's...a good reason. The monsters are disgusting, of course. But the reason is cool.”

Swindle just. Holds his glass of melting ice, listens to Blurr's mutterings, and enjoys the peace. This random teenager is not his superior or colleague and has nothing to do with the organization at all. Swindle doesn't have to remember to salute or follow orders or fear being reported to his superiors.

He can just. Be.

Just him and his free ice and his saved for free life.

That's. Sweet.

Blurr's drinking syrup again.

...and a little disgusting.

—————————-

Brawl jumps out of bed, hits his head on a shelf hanging on the wall and drops everything on it onto Blast Off's head

“Swindle!!!” yells Brawl.

“Why are these books sticky???” shrieks Blast Off.

“You don't wanna know~” giggles Vortex.

Swindle sighs.

“You're alive!!!” ignores Blast Off Brawl's complaints. And a second later runs up and pulls Swindle off the floor in a crushing bear hug.

Behind them, Blast Off, with his face wrinkled in disgust, gathers all the dropped books back onto the shelf.

Swindle wheezes pathetically and slaps Brawl's arm with his palm, either to reciprocate the gesture or to beg for mercy

“Br...khaaaaah...Brawl I can't breathh.”

“OH. I'm uh. Here. Wait.”

Brawl puts him back on the floor and runs back to the shelf.

Onslaught, who has peeked into the room, puts a hand on Swindle's shoulder

“You've been gone a long time. Boss said you tried to escape.”

His tone isn't judgmental. And not pressuring. Not even questioning, but Swindle knows Onslaught wants more information. Swindle clutches a piece of napkin with a phone number in his pocket and smiles weakly.

“I've found a...friend? I think?”

Onslaught nods. In a manner that only he knows how to do. Not giving an opinion, not encouraging or condemning. Just taking in the information. Swindle admires him for that.

Behind them, Brawl pulls some piece of paper out from under the books that have just been put away and drops them again

“FUCK!” yells Blast Off. Vortex just starts hooting like a hyena.

“Hey Swindle I found the calendar!” yells Brawl waving the paper.

Swindle frowns in surprise.

“It's a different calendar...”

“I found you a new one.” nods Brawl.

“...Why...is it...it's torn in half?”

“It had stupid flowers drawn on it, so I ripped them off. And I accidentally ripped off more than I needed.”

“Ah,” says Swindle, clutching the calendar, ”That's...Thanks. I forgive you for losing the previous one.”

Behind them, Blast Off is trying to strangle Vortex with a jacket.

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

Blurr waves his arms happily like a hyperactive windmill.

“Swindle!!!”

Swindle smiles and adjusts his glasses

“Your party can be seen from across city.”

“I know~~” primps Blurr “Are you hungry? There was a snack table around here somewhere.”

“I didn't bring any money.” lies Swindle.

“Hey man, it's a party. Help yourself, it's free.”

“Оh.” Swindle's mood instantly brightens. “All right, then.”

“You look terrible” Blurr decides to share.

Swindle, busy shoveling food into his pockets, nods.

“I've had a rough week. Actually, it'd be cool if you didn't tell anyone you saw me here. I'm kind of not supposed to be here.”

He doesn't elaborate.

Blurr is a civilian. In his mind, a rough week is rude people or an exam or bad weather. Swindle's bad week is strap marks on his wrists and double vision. It's nausea from injections and sleepless nights because Vortex won't stop screaming in his sleep.

Blurr doesn't know that. With him, Swindle can pretend to be somewhat normal.

-----------

“Heeeeey“ says Blurr ‘I haven't seen you in a long time~"

“That” thinks Swindle ”is a pretty standard phrase for both of them.

Blurr looks older. Taller too. He was taller than Swindle before, but now that difference is starting to look almost comical. He's also flaunting a cast on his arm.

“Did you get hurt?”

“Didn't make a turn at training” waves Blurr off “It's no big deal. Wanna go find something to eat?”

Blurr is always trying to feed him, Swindle notices over time. Offers him drinks or snacks or whatever.

“ I like your uh..cap?”

“I got a promotion” Swindle smiles proudly “Me and the guys were made a special group...actually you're not allowed to know more than that, so you'll have to take my word for it when I say we are officially cool.”

He purposely adjusts his cap by the brim so Blurr can get a good look at it.

Blurr makes a delighted sound. Something between a “wow” and a giggle. He generally makes a lot of sounds all the time. Tapping his fingers on every hard surface, stomping in place like he's always late for something, laughing, whistling, clicking his tongue. A human orchestra.

__________

Onslaught sits down next to Swindle and clutches his hands in his lap in front of him. This makes the bed legs squeak pitifully. Onslaught has grown surprisingly large. He can almost rival Brawl in height already. Most people find that intimidating, but Swindle just thinks Onslaught is like a wall. A big, solid concrete wall that's so good to hide behind.

“Be careful with what you tell this guy.”

“Don't worry” says Swindle ”He's not the type of friend you tell secrets to. He's just a fun dude who's great to hang out with.”

Onslaught hums.

“And who feeds you for free.”

“If that's how you're trying to ask me to share, you're not doing a very good job.”

Vortex snaps his fingers as he walks past them

“Hey Swindler, the lab is closed for today. It's your day off.”

“Wha...”

Onslaught tilts his head.

“Vortex. What did you do?”

“I spat in their dna sample vault” proudly proclaims Vortex “and didn't tell them exactly where.”

-----———————-

Blurr frowns.

“Hey...are you okay?”

“No” thinks Swindle.

“My friend died” he says instead.

He's not okay. He feels like an animal caught in a beartrap, trying to chew off its own paw to get free.

Except the trap is closed around Swindle's head and it's not a body part he can afford to lose.

There's been a lot of talk. Even more rumors. Swindle listened but tried not to believe.

And then one of pilots, Shockwave… was taken to the lab and brought back a different damn man and it felt like Swindle had the rug pulled out from under his feet with hot coals underneath.

Because Swindle's boss, with his stupid, rehearsed smile, started writing reports about how “human personality flaws are something that can be fixed. That challenging behavior is something that can be repaired with tools.

Blurr freezes.

“Who?”

“Vortex.”

Because of course it's Vortex. Talented but difficult to handle. Powerful but uncontrollable.

They wanted a pilot who would be a beast on the battlefield and a loyal dog on base. And who else would be a more ideal test subject than him?

Vortex was being very rude that day, even by Vortex standards. Yelling and swearing and throwing things around. Kept saying that no shitty lab could make him “a fucking puppet.”

Scratching the stitches on his head until he started leaving a trail of blood behind him.

He went on a mission.

And never came back.

The reports said it was all the monsters' fault. That Vortex was unstable. That the accident had nothing to do with the new technology. But it was nevertheless suspended.

Swindle is both bitter and amused by this. Vortex would eat the same monsters for breakfast any other day. The bastard was unkillable.

“Oh my god” says Blurr “I'm so sorry to hear that.”

He says something else. Probably comforting. About how Vortex died protecting people, maybe. About Vortex being a hero.

“Vortex,” thinks Swindle, ”loved life. He loved adrenaline and danger and pain and thrill and fear, but he never wanted to die. They did something to him. Something that made him go over the edge.”

Vortex got his head in the trap and ripped it off to escape it.

Swindle knows him and the others are next. And knows that no one but themselves can help them.

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

Blast Off seems...very quiet. He could never stop complaining about Vortex before. Yelling about the garbage. Resenting the unmade bed and the cigarette ashes.

Vortex's bed remains unmade.

Blast Off regularly cleans everything up, but never wipes away the little circles of ash from the places where Vortex used to put out cigarettes on the furniture.

Onslaught puts his hand on Swindle's shoulder and squeezes. Not hard. Just enough for Swindle to register the gesture as important.

Standing nearby, Blast Off lights a cigarette and leans on Onslaught.

“Ons told me about your plan. I want to join in.”

“What kind of plan? Can I get involved?” inquires Brawl.

Onslaught sighs.

“Repeat after me - I don't know, they don't tell me anything.”

“I don't know, they don't tell me anything.”

“Good job” nods Onslaught “From now on, every time they ask you any - listen. Any! Question about us, you will answer them with this phrase.”

“Got it,” grins Brawl.

Swindle smiles.

“Gentlemen, it's time to violate all that is written, and rewrite all that is violated.”

__________________

Blurr lazily takes his eyes off the phone. He's wearing a racing suit and tons of hairspray. He's shiny and gleaming like a fine collectible figurine that should be on the shelf of an expensive exhibit. He's also bored.

“Sorry buddy, the interview is long over, if you have any questions you'll have to pay for the session.”

Swindle smiles.

“How about one tiny little question?”

Blurr makes funny big eyes.

“SWINDLE!!! I haven't seen you in a thousand years! You...oh I didn't recognize you haha sorry. Nice coat. You quit being a pilot?”

Swindle proudly adjusts his glasses. He's wearing a brand-new, ironed shirt that's exactly his size. Nice neat tie, expensive coat. Swindle isn't surprised Blurr didn't recognize him immediately. Sometimes he looks in the mirror and doesn't recognize himself. After all those years of wearing the pilot's uniform, he felt almost attached to it. And yet here he is.

“You could say I moved.” he winks snarkily, “Up. All the Mechs you see on the streets now are my Mechs~”

Blurr completely forgets about his phone.

“REALLY?? Oh man congrats to you!”

“Thanks” nods Swindle ”You want something to drink? I'm buying.”

———————-

Onslaught adjusts his tie. It's still, years later, a little strange to see him in a uniform instead of a pilot's suit.

“You do realize it's going to be hard to find a person like that, right? We need someone famous enough to be effective and dumb enough to want to save mankind instead of sunbathing on a yacht.”

Swindle adjusts his glasses and leans back in his chair.

Someone outgoing so they can quickly befriend all the right people. Handsome enough to have their face printed on a poster. Smart just enough not to say too much. And not associated with Mecha program so they can't be accused of trying to get promoted through their acquaintances.

Someone who already has everything but still willing to put themselves at risk for the cause.

“You know, I think I have a possible candidate.”