#this is only half of what i wrote

[tgcg]

TG: over hill and yonder dale the brave sir karkat rides TG: slayin dudes and coppin feels of salacious buxom brides TG: posterior pert at any sign where malignance derides TG: brave sir karkat

CG: WOW.

CG: SOMETIMES I REALLY THINK TO MYSELF THINGS CAN'T GET ANY WORSE. ALL AROUND PARADOX SPACE I HAVE SLOGGED THROUGH SOME OF THE MOST RIFE AND RANCID SHIT YOU COULD EVER BELIEVE. YOU WOULDN'T. IMAGINE!!!! SOME OF THE MOST FECULENT OF SHIT I'VE DEALT WITH. AND YOU KNOW WHAT? THIS TAKES THE PROVERBIAL DEFECATIVE CAKE!

CG: THIS IS BY FAR, WITHOUT ANY SEMBLANCE OF FUCKING DOUBT, THE MOST EGREGIOUS, DELIRIOUS, ETHICALLY FUCKED UP "BIZNASTY" MY PISS-POOR JOKE OF "FORTUNE" HAS EVER HAD THE AUDACITY TO SITUATE ME IN.

CG: AND I HOPE YOU'RE PROUD OF YOURSELF, BECAUSE THAT'S REALLY FUCKING SAYING SOMETHING! GRADE A WORK, STRIDER! THE CROWD GOES ABSOLUTELY MILD!

TG: his dudely bard a witness to the power of his claps TG: what claps you ask the rugged cheeks of his hellacious ass

CG: OH MY GOD, CAN YOU TALK ABOUT SOMETHING OTHER THAN MY ASSCHEEKS FOR A SINGLE SECOND?! YOUR MATERIAL IS AWFUL!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girl found dead in a hidden room.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[hoggobblin]

Defective Berry

This happened sometimes. There was always a risk that the transformation would not take as intended, although the percentage of that was fairly low. You were warned of the risks, signed countless waivers giving your consent to a permanent transformation no matter the results, and you still took the chance. You wanted to be a blueberry so badly. You were just unlucky.

Most people who became blueberries swelled four to five times their previous size within minutes. Some took longer - days of gradual inflation until they were bulbous and immobile. But not you.

You swallow the thick blue pill and the sweet tang of juice instantly floods your mouth. You take that as a good sign, swallowing mouthfuls of syrupy liquid as a blue stain creeps across your skin. You can't help but moan when your stomach gurgles and bloats. You begin to feel uncomfortably full as your belly stretches, too big to be contained. The swell reaches your sides and back, you start to round out and your chest puffs out. Your limbs begin to thicken and your arms grow heavy under the weight. Your cheeks bubble up and your moans become muffled by your lips thickening into a perpetual pucker and your tongue swelling in your mouth. With a pop, your belt bursts off of you and your pants button flies off. Your shirt rides up until they catch on your moobs. Your belly is out and growing, your limbs start to sink into it, absorbed by your growing mass. You spread your legs to make room for your crotch pushing down, it rubs the insides of your thighs as they begin to merge. Your arms are lifted by your rising sides, you clench and flap your hands to the addicting pressure of the juice inside of you. You shut your eyes and listen to it swirling in your head, your ears, an ocean trapped inside a balloon threatening to burst. This is everything you wanted.

But then it stopped.

You open your eyes and struggle to look down at yourself. You don't feel like a berry, but it's impossible to see around your blue belly. You flex your hands to test your mobility and to your growing dismay realize that you still have arms up to the elbow. You bend them to try to reach around your belly, trying to push down it and see yourself.

"Oh that's too bad," the assistant in the room with you clicked her tongue pitingly. She walks around you to fetch a full length mirror and sighed as she propped it against the wall in front of you. "It's not your fault, hun. Some people just don't take to being berrified."

You look in the mirror and you chin begins trembling. You look like you decided to wear a giant blue yoga ball as a costume with just your arms and legs sticking out at the elbow and knees. Your neck is thick but not yet sunken into those divots that make you go wild over berries. Your crotch is stil a little less than two feet off the ground, sadly never to surpass your feet and hold you up on a teetering, wobbling point.

Trying to hold back disappointed tears, you look pleadingly at the assistant. "Gib me abobher owne."

She shook her head. "Sorry, hun. Side effects this early increases the risk of exploding. You're lucky you didn't get too big. I'm gonna run you through some mobility tests to see if you qualify for a handler, okay?"

Helplessly, you agree and swallow back tears as she has you stretch, reach, and waddle around the room. The exercise is humiliating as you realize just how unwieldy your body is, now stuck between half-berry and half-human. You can't reach around yourself, you have to turn sideways and risk tipping yourself over to pick up the items she asks you to. Your head can only turn so far before you're forced to shift from one unbending leg to another and make a full body turn. It takes you a full minute to wobble from one side of the room to the other, your steps cumbersome and roiling the juice inside you, throwing off your balance. You almost fall over multiple times but the assistant is satisfied enough that she releases you without a handler. She gives you a condescending pat on the stomach and a commercial smile as she ushers you out of the door, telling you again how lucky you are.

You don't feel lucky. You stand in front of the door as people passing openly stare at you, a blue half-grown blimp who wasn't good enough to become a blueberry. Shame heavier than the juice in your gut floods you, and you start the long walk home, one unsteady waddle at a time.

[luxurystark-jackson]

the tfw dynamics with jack are so interesting to me because like. the most destiel “proof” (so to say) we get is from the concept that jack has of dean being his dad. and this stems from cas being his dad, and whatever their relationship is just being so horribly obvious that jack assumes they’re together and treats dean like a father figure.

and yet!! the kicker!! is that sam and cas are jack’s parents!! dean wants nothing to do with raising that kid but still ends up roped into it somehow.

[dreamsy990]

hi i wanted to draw my own au so have a snippet of scene i rewrote like 12 times and will likely rewrite again

[bayeis]

I've joked about it in the tags a lot but I've decided to sit down and actually compile a list on why I'm only half joking when I say my job is conditioning me to be the next Jonathan Sims

The Buried: A lot of my job involves putting people in small confined spaces, often with no windows and and a single, locked door. We frequently have people with claustrophobia that realize agreeing to be locked in a small space means being locked in a small space. 9.9/10 times they are peer pressured into doing it anyway, and have a miserable time

The Corruption:

The Building is rotting. There is no nice way to put this. The walls are slick with mold and soft to the touch, the ceiling drips despite us being on the ground floor of a two story building, the carpets squish with unknown water, and yet people's eyes just glaze past it. Our landlord for the building is a thick accent russian man who, for the past 4 years I've worked here, has changed his name on the emails several times, despite it undoubtedly being the same man, who I have met in the flesh twice before. The first time was to come into the building, shake my hand, and leave. The second time was to ask me to bring him upstairs (not apart of our business but we still have the key for some reason), which I did, and then have not seen him since. Speaking of upstairs, the handful of times I've been there it's just. Bizarre. An entirely furnished office space, completely abandoned. There's everything from paintings on the walls to files still in the cabinets and scattered across desks. I could not tell you what the office space used to be, or whatever the employees that worked there used to do, but I do know it was officially, genuinely abandoned because it was deemed unsafe to be in, from the sheer amount mold and rot. How it is somehow safe for us to work directly below with leaking ceilings I have no idea. I've occasionally had to dart up there with our key to snag a pair of scissors off one of the desks or some other office supply we can't locate in our own half, though I always disinfect them the second I bring them downstairs, and always wear a mask when I'm up there. There's also the bugs. I am so genuinely serious when I say one day I swept the lobby of our building and discovered the shelled corpses of around 300 dead superworms. Like the kind you would feed a pet lizard. I have no idea why they were there, how they got there, or anything. I just swept them up and disposed of them as my coworker watched in horror. Weird worm sightings aside, the building is frequently swarmed both in and outside with bugs, despite weekly exterminator visits. The stairwell to the second floor (located outside) spends about half the year covered in what has to be hundreds if not thousands of moth caterpillars and cocoons. Walking in that back porch area is near impossible as you cannot look anywhere without seeing the walls, floors, stairs, doors all bumpy and withering with the sheer amount of caterpillars (of the not so friendly verity as well. They feel like shattered glass to the touch and will frequently leave a rash). My old manager once found one in her ear. There. Are. Bugs. Everywhere.

The Dark:

Fairly self explanatory. The building gets zero light. The lobby has full glass doors, and walls of windows facing multiple directions but no matter how many blinds you open or what time of day it is you'll find your eyes slightly straining in the just slightly too dim setting. It's never bright enough. When we can get our lights to work (frequently blow out, and when they are attempted to be replaced we find that nearly every light fixture required a different kind of special bulb, meaning that to fix it requires hunting down that kind of random bulb, which will be different from all the others. An effort frequently left undone, dotting the building with random spots of shadows) they don't really help, not because they aren't bright enough, but because the building was designed with weird corners, so all the light the fixtures could be potentially giving, is almost immediately blocked out with odd shaped walls and randomized corners. Some rooms just don't have windows to even attempt to sap out some of the sunlight. The room the employees are made to sit in (about an 8ft by 8ft room) for the majority has no overhead lights, no windows, and like the rest of the building, the walls are painted solid black to sap any remaining light out. The only way you can see in there is from the glow of the monitors and two dim lamps shoved in opposite corners. We get complaints from customers that it's too dark and they can't see well, and we've tried everything to fix it, a desperate combination of lamps LEDs, and fairy lights, but no matter how hard we try, how many blinds we throw open, it's never bright enough.

The Eye:

Remember that employee room I mentioned with the monitors? Workers are instructed to sit in the room (control room) and watch their designated cameras. This is not a security job. Off the top of my head, our (relatively small building floor) has about 30 cameras. There is no where in the building you can be that doesn't have a camera. Even the control room has a camera so we can watch the employees watching people. Some of the cameras are on (all the cameras are always on, with the only way to shut them off being to physically rip them from the walls) but we have yet to find out how to access their feed. The cameras like to frequently switch, in that I mean their security codes, IPs, and registration numbers will jump and switch with each other to no rhyme or reason. When that happens I have to grab the notebook dedicated to writing down whatever this weeks IP numbers are and attempt to metaphorically shove the cameras back into place. We are not a security job, but we are, if you didn't know or guess, an escape room. The entire job, as I previously mentioned, is to sit and watch people freak out through the cameras. Everywhere a guest turns if they look up, there is a camera. Every word they say is recorded and logged. Every action they take is carefully judged. All while a worker sits in a completely dark room, all day, watching their designated cameras intently. I think, for the sheer inherentness of what this business does and advertises, we are the most closely working with the eye. I am one of the managers now, and there are even cameras pointed and trained at where I sit, even thought there shouldn't be anyone to watch them.

The Lonely:

This one applies less to our customers and more to the poor employees. This job is soul crushing. You can go an entire shift, sitting alone in a small dark room, watching people have fun, as you silently observe. I have thankfully graduated out of the control room into front desk, and yet I can go entire days not seeing a soul, watching people chattering as they enter and exit our neighboring buildings through windows that never seem to catch the sun. The "employee area" where we are supposed to be able to hang out in between games isn't really built for socializing. It has been overcrowded and shoved with chairs, so many fucking chairs, that it becomes near intimidating to try and navigate. The most use the room sees is when an employee shoves some of them together and takes a nap, because there is nothing to do. It's not like the employees don't like each other either, we all get along wonderfully for the most part, as well as coworkers relatively around the same age can (helps that we're all queer too), but once you're halfway through a shift, and absolutely nothing of interest has happened you start to drift. A typical lull between games (which can stretch for days in the off season) will usually result in me sitting alone at front desk, answering an occasional ghost call that hangs up immediately when I answer it, an employee sitting in the back area, surrounded by empty chairs facing the graveyard where we write old employees names, and another employee choosing to nest down in the control room, in the dark surrounded by monitors reflecting myself and the other worker being alone, angles scattered across the dozens of cameras. Even when we are busy, there's almost no time to socialize. I still sit alone at a front desk made for two, mindlessly checking people in with no altercation to the script, and the game hosts focus on their game, crammed into the control room with several other game hosts, all willingly silent as they watch whatever designated family they have through their cameras.

The Spiral:

Again, we are an escape room. The whole appeal is to present ourselves as confusing as possible. From room layouts, to our hallways, to the way the building wraps and twists, dumping people out at one door, opposite of where they just entered from, it is designed to drive people crazy. Honestly we don't help either. For our own entertainment, game hosts are particularly obtuse and confusing, partially because we don't want you to get out too early and partially because we have been watching the exact same thing over and over and over and it's starting to drive us a little crazy. People always do the exact same thing in the rooms, there's very little variation from the jokes made the to ideas brought forward. So if the game host wants to keep a little sanity, it's up to them to reek havoc on their game in hopes of startling out a new response, which, if one does occur, gets snapped up and thrown around the control room to the other employees for a slice of entertainment like a sliver of meat thrown to a starving pack of dogs.

The Stranger:

The doll room. Not a traditional "the stranger" kind of presentation, but gives that same prickling unnerving feeling.

In the exact center of the building layout there is a tiny room that is decked in as many old porcelain dolls as possible, all strung up from their necks and twisting around gently in non existent wind. Walking past the only physical door into the enclosed room, you'll usually hear the door rattling in it's frame, or one of the dolls knocking against the door. The room has no vents, no fans, no overhead lights. It's only light source is two red light bulbs, and the room was custom built by our owners. And like, I get it. It's an escape room. There's a creepy room. 1 + 1 equals 2. I cannot even being to describe the feeling this room gives or brings. Almost every time there is a group in there, one person in the group will become more unnerved then the rest, because one of the dozen of dolls looks uncomfortably similar to a doll they or a family member had as a child. The doll will sway on it's string noose as the cameras pick up the trickle of "doesn't that one look just like grandmas doll?" "this one kinda looks like my Betsy doesn't it?" with a chorus of agreements and half given glances, as the rest of the group gets absorbed with the next puzzle, and the single member who brought it up stares, and eventually leaves the room, typically not reentering the rest of the game. It is the strangest thing to watch (no pun intended). Occasionally, the similarity is met with delight, but more often then not it just seems to unnerve. The doll room also shares a wall with the control room, which means nothing, but is occasionally fun to kick.

The Web:

There's the obvious ones, our rooms are meant to trap people, the game hosts jobs besides watching the cameras is to manipulate the line of thinking the customers have, ect, ect. The most unnatural thing to note here isn't the standard workings of an escape room however, but the sheer vast amount of spiders in this goddamn building. I have never seen so many spiders in my life. We can't shake them. From how disgustingly rotted our building is at this point I think the spiderwebs are one of the only things keeping our building together. Again, we have an exterminator come by every single week both in and out of the building. The spiders refuse to let up, every day is a constant battle of knocking down their webs only to turn around and see they've put several more up. We've all but given up on trying to get them out of the employee only areas and now focus our war to the battle grounds of where customers can see to only mild success. This isn't even a regional or habitat thing, no other building I have lived or stayed in in this town has ever even come close to touching the spider infestation happening here.

In terms of other entities such as the Hunt, Slaughter, and Desolation, I can think of a handful of things that might align my job and them, but nothing solid enough that's worth mentioning. There has not yet been anything that reminds me of the End, Vast, or Extinction.

Other things to note,

Quitting is weird? People do, don't worry it's not a genuine hostage situation, but once they leave they are very rarely every sighted by coworkers again. I don't just mean not visiting the building, I mean like going completely off the grid and moving states if not in some cases countries. The entire time this business has been open and operable I've been the longest standing employee, at a record 4 years of the 7 it's been open. I could not name a single employee that has ever truly quit and has been easy to contact again by anyone. If you are able to, it's usually polite conversation with any mention of how you know each other (meeting at the job) being laughed and shut down quickly. No one whose left this place wants to talk about it and I get it, believe me. When we get an influx of summer employees to help with the rush the heat brings, I'm no longer allowed to help train because I would try warn the employees to pace themselves so they didn't experience Game Host Death too early (what we call when a game hosts snaps, having watched the same thing over and over and eventually loosing their mind over it, resulting in crying when told they have to run a game, weird twitching/manic-esque break downs, or in some memorable cases, game hosts just walking out in the middle of hosting a game). This is incredibly ironic considering the majority of employees have admitted the only reason they stick around is because they like working with me but I'm not here to toot my horn. There's also a large collection of employees who are neither employeed nor not, who have moved an hour or so away and have gotten a different, closer, better paying, and enjoyable job, and yet inexplicable will show up once in a blue moon asking for a shift at the escape room for no other reason then they felt compelled to. Typically anyone whose worked here for more then a season falls in this category. Currently we have four official employees for the off season (including myself) and yet if I count this stragglers who all genuinely hate this job (also including myself) our employee numbers easily go over 20. I cannot even imagine what the owners taxes look like for that (all paychecks and stubs are handled by a women who I have only ever emailed and never met). The owners themselves actually don't even live in the same state as us, and we are not apart of a chain. This is the only escape room they own. They're main business? Sheep farming. Which actually, that might be the slaughter right there. Despite working for them for so long, the amount of times I have met them can be counted on one hand. They are completely uninvolved, this business is no mans land. I've thought about quitting multiple times, even briefly lived in another city states away, and yet still found myself back, inexplicably every time I think about leaving again a nice little bonus or raise hits my paycheck, a system I can't really complain about. As for the other managers, I've outlasted several. The only way I have ever seen anyone on the management team leave is to have the biggest mental breakdown known to man and disappear. That's literally it. I've watched it happen so many times. The only employee that came close to being here as long as me was my original manager, who, a couple of months before she left, started loosing her mind, twitchy, paranoid, at her wits end. She isolated and locked herself in one of the rooms for about a month, only emerging at the end of the shift. I tried to approach her once about it and she shaved her head as a panic response. This fucking job, it was choking her from the inside out. Eventually she couldn't handle it and left, effective almost immediately. In the span of a month I watched several new managers cycle in and out, from the women who would sit behind me and silently cry, to a previous employee who realized the jail cell of a role she was being forced into an dipped before the owners could lock the door on her. The current manager is the ex fiancee of the women who locked herself in a room for a month. The horrors are a cycle fr

[poetpony6890]

Dru, Ty, Kit, Helen, Aline, Mark, Cristina, Tavvy and somehow Kieran having a very tense family situation

Ash yawning loudly before coming in the door: fuck you Kit I think you dislocated my arm with your-

Kieran: didn’t you go walk the dog?

Ash: yes

Kieran: where’s the dog?

[novelconcepts]

The thing is, Shauna has always been the butcher.

The thing is, butcher is twofold in meaning.

The thing is, we’ve seen her use the knife as a tool.

The thing is, now we’re seeing her use the knife as a means of control.

It was always in her. She’s always been capable of this. She has always been the butcher. And now we’re finally seeing the other side of that brutal coin.

[emero0]

Tsukasa has his flag

Rui has his chicken robot

Nene has robonene (or a game console), and

Emu has a pocket of infinite candy at her disposal

[princessofghosts-posts]

When it came to physical appearances Jason and Luke are literally the same. At the start of SoN,during his encounter with Octavian,Percy think he is familiar because he reminds him of Luke. Fair too since he is blonde too (I see a pattern here) and probably has some other similiar things to Luke that now I forgot. But Jason is also the same as Luke,their differences stands in their values,ideals and psychology,physically they are identical.

Image having a Percy,that still doesn't have his full memory (he still doesn't remember TLO and a bit of BotL),meeting Jason for the first time in MoA,and the first thing he does is having beef with him because either he think he is Luke,or someone similiar to him that give him PTSD like Octavian did.

And Jason is extremely confused because back at CHB everyone talked good about Percy,and Annabeth was so excited and happy to see him again,and the first thing this guy does to him is almost killing him on the spot,or distrusting him. And Jason doesn't know what to think and of course he doesn't like how Percy behave with him.

And after he gets all of his memories back (probably after they come back from Tartarus at the end of HoH),he realize that Jason is in fact not Luke and,maybe after having some bonding moment with him where they get closer,he feel extremely guilty for even thinking about putting Jason on the same league as Luke. So he apologize,and after a while Jason forgive him and (if Percy want) get to know actually the whole story that happened before HoO. So he has a better insight of the others too.

Honestly,if Percy hadn't had his full memories back and the end of SoN,I can see this happening without a problem. Rick missed big time for building a rivalry that wasn't about a stupid chair or the argument about who could kill who. Probably also why he decided to give Percy his memory back (other than the favoritism of course),because otherwise shit was going to hit the fun and not in a good way. Especially with the conflict between the two camps.

[b4tteryaciid]

(im so sick I'm in so much pain I think I'm going to pass away in my sleep. This isn't related to the last post I made about Ghost's glasses I'm just putting the dates as the days I wright them because I'm lazy. Yes I am projecting onto Ghost because I feel like it. No you cannot stop me) Holy fuck why is this so long I did not intend for this to be so long I got Hella carried away my bad yall.

A03 :3

Warnings!! Graphic (you could argue) descriptions of throwing up. (Also mention of child abuse and sexual assault/ rape) Ghost is not having a good time here folks

Roughly ~ 6K words

Monday, January 27, 20XX, 9:00 AM

Everyone was seated around a small laptop displaying laswell's face front and center. They'd all piled into the briefing room to go over their last mission and argue over who was going to have to do the paperwork. They all denied that was why they were there, but that's what always ended up happening. Everyone was there except Ghost. Price was staring to get impatient, and calling him offered no results. They'd all been waiting about 20 minutes. Ghost wasn't usually late, he was a stickler for punctuality, even more than price sometimes, and would chew out whoever had the misfortune of being late. Usually it was Soap but sometimes Gaz would be late aswell. It didn't matter if they were even a minute late, Ghost was unhappy. 'A lot can happen in a minute Sargent, you could get shot and bleed out in a ditch,' he always had some comeback about what can happen in a minute and yadda yadda whatever. Price was becoming antsy and was loudly drumming his fingers on the desk, occasionally checking his watch before slamming his palm back down.

"He's gonna be cleaning the guns with his toothbrush after this." Price grumbled. They all knew it was an empty threat.

"A'll go look for em' Cap" Soap supplied helpfully. In all actuality he didn't want to be the one to do paperwork and didn't want to be in the meeting room any more than humanly possible. He was itching to get out of the stuffy, weird smelling room and if he had to fetch his Lieutenant to do so he was more than willing. Price shot him a look that he couldn't decipher before he sighed and dramatically ran his hands down his face.

"Yeah sure go ahead, we're gonna have to start this without him, what's one less?" He mused sarcastically, but gestured towards the door anyway. Soap gave a half-assed saulte and barreled out of the room, deeply breathing in air that didn't smell like the back of your nan's linen closet. He took his sweet time making his way over to Ghosts room. He had a larger room and one all to himself sence he was task force 141 and a Lieutenant, they all had their own rooms but from the glimpses Soap had gotten inside it, it seemed to be at least slightly more spacious than his. Once he finally made it to the door he knocked. "C'mon Ghost up an' at'em we've got shite ta do" he called through the door. When he didn't get a response he waited a beat before knocking again, "Ghost? Ar ye in there?" He paused again before he turned the doorknob finding it unlocked. Weird.

"Ahm comin' in!" He called pushing the door open and letting light spill into the dark space. The sight he was greeted with wasn't what he expected. His Lieutenant, who happened to be built like a brick shithouse, was curled up under a blanket on the floor that barely did anything to cover him, and was shaking like a scared chiwawa. "Ghost..?" No responce. "Are ye alright?" He stepped deeper into the room and flicked the light on, shutting the door with a click. The man looked up at him with squinted eyes and a pained expression. He wasn't wearing his usual mask so Soap could easily see his grease paint was smeared and had ran down his face in what looked like tear streaks. He sniffled loudly and attempted to push himself up with a violent shiver and a groan. Soap quickly rushed to his side, worried. He'd never seen him like this before. He'd never seen him in pain except for after he'd gotten injured on the field, and even then he'd just grunt and bear it. Soap slowly reached out to cup Ghosts cheek with his palm and quickly pulled away at the heat. He was burning up. He softly placed the back of his hand to Ghosts forehead without any protests, which was also unusual. Yep he was sick. No doubt about it. He was boiling and shivering at the same time, covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Ghost sniffled and leaned into Soaps cool hands, pinching his eyes shut as a tear escaped from them. His eyes were on fire and the light Soap had flicked on hadn't helped either. He sighed lowly as Soap moved his cold hands around his face, settling them onto his cheeks. Another violent shiver raked through his entire body, making his teeth clack. He ground his teeth together to try and stop it but it didn't help, his jaw still quivered and it only made his mouth hurt.

"Hush s' okay let's get ye into bed yea? A'll get somethin' for yer heid okay?" He reached out towards Ghost's arms and Ghost clutched onto him without protest. Letting himself be practically dragged across the room and into bed. Soap pulled the blanket from the floor to drape on top of him. "A'll be right back yea?" He turned to leave before his wrist was caught in a weak grip. He turned to look down at his sad sack of a Lieutenant. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy squinting up at him, pleading. He looked horrible. Soap gave him a sympathetic look and cradled the shaking man's burning face. "A'll be right back okay? Promise. I'm gonnae get ye somethin' tah make ye feel betta an' get tha' fever doon yea?" Ghost blinked up at him and slowly retracted his hand. He shifted his gaze to the ceiling and pointed at it weakly. "Wha?" Soap questioned following his gaze. He looked back down at Ghost who was squinting at him expectantly. "Uhh- tha light?" He guessed and Ghost sniffled loudly with an almost inperseptable nod. "Aye, A'll turn this lamp on instead yea?" Ghost blinked at him again, holding his eyes closed for a slight second in confirmation. He carefully turned the desk lamp beside Ghost's bed on before angling it down so it wouldn't shine in his eyes, he scurryed out of the room and shut the overhead light off as he left.

--

Ghost laid in bed, in a smoking puddle of misery as he watched Johnny leave the room in a haste. The second the door was closed he burrowed down under the blankets and allowed his body to be overcome with the shivers he'd been biting back. He'd had a horrible scratching in his throat for the agonizingly long time Soap had been in the room with him. It had realistically only been around 3 or so minutes, but when you're holding back a dam of blistering water, 3 minutes feels like years. He let the coughs he'd been holding in escape his body and tear through him. Scraping his sensitive throat and ripping their way through his lungs and esophagus. He coughed until tears were streaming down his face and he was lightheaded. He swallowed roughly and it felt like he'd swallowed a mix of hot sand and acid. His mouth felt like hot, sticky, cotton. He squeezed his eyes shut as fire licked his corneas. The tears leaked out again, only seeming to spread the fire through his brain. He curled up into himself even more and begged for it to stop. The sweltering burning slowly subsided into a dull sting. Even without the fire it was still unpleasant. It was as if people were pressing thick marbles into his eye sockets with their thumbs, trying to replace his eyes with different ones without removing his eyes beforehand, just squishing the marbles in with them, forcing space. A whole construction team jackhammered his skull to a fine paste while the worst grade school band in all of human history played the song of their people in his cranium, shaking his brain around violently and turning it to slop. His bone marrow had either turned to ice or hot lava, it was impossible to tell. He was so cold, shaking like he was buried unter layers of ice and snow but was sweating out all the liquid in his body simultaneously. His flesh felt like it was sizzling off under the blanket but without it he was plunged back into the icy cold depth again. All of his joints were stiff and held together with concrete. His stomach felt like it was canabalising itself from the inside out. It reminded him of when he'd gotten stabbed in the gut on an op a couple years ago. The knife had hit his appendix and ripped a hole in it. The attacker had some sort of serated toothed knife that definitely wasn't legal. It had popped it right open and the Doctors weren't able to salvage it, opting to remove it entirely. He still had a gnarly, ugly scar from it even years later. This felt like it all over again but spread out deep into his gut. Something was inside and desperately trying to claw it's way out like a caged animal.

Bile caressed his throat fighting to come back up and his mouth filled with spit. He desperately tried to swallow the saliva back but he could feel it seeping out from under his tounge and filling his mouth with a hot and sticky sensation. And not the good kind mind you. He dragged himself out of bed as fast as his poor body would take him. Dragging his exhausted limbs against their will as they screamed at him to stop. He was going to vomit. As much as he tried desperately to swallow it back down it only come back more aggressively. Cut off one head and it grows too more. After centuries of manhandling his body and practically pulling it across the floor he hit the cold bathroom tile with a meaty slap as shockwaves rocked through him up from his knees. The dam broke and he retched for what felt like hours. His throat bloody and raw. He could taste blood and the heat from where his food had just been moments prior. The thought made him gag and spew even more. His was breathless and shaking in agony but his body wasn't done. He was going to die wasn't he? Sitting infrount of the toilet like an idiot. If Johnny ever came back he would see him expired infrount of his own vomit filled toilet. What a sight for sore eyes that would be. He didn't have anything more to throw up so he was now dry heaving over the bowl. He stared at the disgusting amalgamation infrount of him through a blurry vision as he gasped for air. He managed to reach up and flush away the evidence with great hastle. The smell that had infected his brain slowly seeped away leaving only him by himself to cool down and regain his breath again. He slumped down and leaned his heated head against the cool porcelain.

He was racked with humiliating sobs that's shook him to the bone and made him shiver again. He was pathetic. A grown ass man crying on the floor. He was a soldier for fucks sake. He'd stitched up real injuries before by himself with no anesthetics and old fishing line and he was fine. Now some lowsy cold was gonna take him out? The Ghost? The man who had seen death and laughed? Got off scott free even though he deserved absolutely nothing? When Johnny had come in he had seen him looking like a baby on the floor. Maskless and miserable. He'd seen his face before but this was different. He hadn't even been able to speak to the man when he helped him into bed. He was humiliated. For anyone to see him that way, and it being his Sargent? His subordinate? 'Okay. Hold on.' He thought. He was arguing with nobody but his own thoughts and he couldn't care. That's was his Sargent. His Johnny. If anybody had to see him like that he was glad it would be Johnny. To see the worry and fright lace the man's face and contort it, eyes shimering with fear had broken him. He never wanted to be the reason Johnny looked like that. He didn't want to hurt Johnny. Ever. But he didn't want him there. He was a grown man and it was pathetic for him to be acting this way. He kicked himself for it. Johnny had killed men with his bare hands. Those hands made and handled deadly explosives not his frail, shaking, sobbing, pathetic Lieutenant.

His pity-party was cut short by a loud slam and an all too familiar Scottish voice. "Ahm back! Sorry ah took so long, Price 'ad ta ken where ya were- Ghost?" He cut himself off with a worried yell. He heard the man dump some things onto his bed and his rapidly approaching footsteps. "Oh... Ghost..." He whispered, approaching the sobbing, shaking man on the ground like a scared animal. "C'mon get up-" he reached down towards Ghost and hooked his arms around his waist trying to pull him up with a grunt. "- A'll draw ye a bath." Ghost tried to push himself up to sit on the toilet seat Soap had closed but it didnt work so well. He shifted slightly to look at Soap with an eyebrow raised and a questioning hum. Soap quickly slipped out of the bathroom and wrapped a fuzzy yellow blanket around Ghost, who was still shaking. This earned Soap another questioning look. He turned to bend down and plug the bath before turning the water on and standing back up. " Ma mam always had us take a bath when we weren't well." He moved over to the sink and grabbed the ratty white hand towel off the holder and ran it under the tap for a second before ringing It out and sidestepping infrount of Ghost again. "Close yer eyes." He said before turning the bathroom light on and wiping at Ghosts face and neck with the towel. "Tha blanket s'mine" he clarified. He rubbed at Ghosts hairline, running his fingers through his ratty matted blonde hair softly. He set the towel on the counter and Ghost peeled his eyes open to watch him test the water with his hand before shutting it off. "Clothes ooff" he said nonchalantly.

Huh?

Soap must've seen his confusion because he flushed and turned away, rubbing at his nape awarkwardly. "Ah- s' jus tha' ya smell like blood and are still wearin' yer clothes from last mission." He clarified, waving dismissively. "Take me out ta dinner first" Ghost's voice was horribly raspy. He sounded like he chainsmoked at least a pack of fags a day. Ghost paused as he brought his hands up to his face and inhaled sharply. Soap looked up just intime to meet Ghosts eyes before he let out the worst ground shakingly loud sneeze he'd ever heard. "Bless ye'-" Soap started before being cut off by Ghost's coughing. Soap quickly moved over to rub his back and whisper things to him he couldn't hear. He was lazily swatted at by Ghost but it didn't do much. After the coughing was over he dropped his head onto Soaps shoulder for a moment. They both stayed like that for a few minutes while Ghost breathed slow and deep to regain his breath. Soap had brought his arms up to wrap around him and cradle him close. "S' okay LT, yer okay" he soothed rubbing circles into his back. After Ghost had gotten enough strength he stood up on shaky legs like a newborn deer and slowly stripped. With his light hum of approval Soap helped get his shirt and pants off, leaving him only in his boxers. "Ye can leave those on if ye like" Soap rubbed at his neck again awkwardly. Must have been a nervous habit he had that Ghost never noticed before now. Ghost was too out of it to really care so he slowly pulled them off anyways and kicked out of them, nearly falling over in the process. Johnny had caught him around the waist and they stood again for a moment. Ghost's vision was swimming and he was sure he was going to pass out. He sighed and slowly moved towards to tub with Johnny's help. He felt like an invalid, incapable if doing anything for himself and he would probably regret this when he was in his right mind again. But for now he liked being cared for so intimately. He and Johnny didn't have anything going on, atleast psychically. They flirted over comms daily and shared glanes that lingered too long for just friends, but now Ghost was buck ass naked in his bathroom with his Sargent helping him into a bath.

"A'right, intah tha drink ya go" his smile was audible as he helped lower Ghost into the warm bath water. The water felt like liquid gold on his distressed skin. For a moment he forgot all about his state and basked in the warmth. His eyes had closed with a sigh as he had sunk down lower into the water. He heard the tap come on again as Johnny did something nearby. Footsteps again before a voice "Puttin' this on yer heid, doon't panic" his voice was soft as he placed a cool wet towel over his eyes and forehead. It felt like heaven compaired to the agony of earlier. Johnny lightly pressed the cool towel into his eyes and forehead before running his hands through Ghosts hair. "A'll be right back, ave got somethin' for yer fever" he spoke out into the open air before his footsteps receded.

--

The bath water felt amazing, but Ghost couldn't help the sence of dread that creeped up on him. How pathetic was he? His Sargent caring for him like he was an invalid. Like he was incapable of caring for himself. He'd been shot and had worse injuries than this. He'd been tortured for God knows how long and buried alive for Christ's sake! His body mutilated and abused and a simple cold was rocking his shit? He didn't climb out of his own fucking grave to be killed by some stupid illness. Simon "Ghost" Riley. Cause of death : Common Cold. Pathetic. To have his Sargent come check on him and see that sorry sight? He rather he did die. To be so vulnerable? He was shaking on the ground like a scared animal. His full face completely visible while he cried and whined on the ground in pain. Worthless. If his father had caught him like that he would've beaten the cold right out of him. Now he was sitting completely naked in the bath his Sargent had drawn for him. Was he fucking useless? Needing his subordinate to care for him? Had he no shame? He felt exposed and vulnerable. Johnny could slit his throat and end him right there. Could waterboard him with the rag already on his face. Slam his head against the wall. Suffocate him. Drown him. Touch him. Violate him. Use him like Roba did. He couldn't see, didn't know what was going on. Anything could happen to him and he would be none the wiser. Johnny wouldn't do that though. He trusted Johnny with his life. To watch his six, to have his back. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists. Disgusted that he could even think Johnny capable of hurting him. He wouldnt. Not like that.

He felt a touch on his shoulder and lashed out. Swivling in the bath and sloshing the water. He ripped the rag off his face and reached out, snatching the arm of his attacker and throwing them off balance, making them list forwards with a yelp. Johnny. It was just Johnny. His shocked bright blue eyes shedding shockwaves of shame through his body. He reached out quickly to steady the man. He looked horrified. "Ahm so sorry Si!" He quickly backed away from the man in the tub, dropping whatever he was holding and holding his arms up in surrender. "Aits jus' me" he soothed, trying to look as harmless as possible. "Sorry" Ghost rasped. "Ah should've warned ye'" Soap mumbled before slowly picking up what he dropped, making sure Ghost could see what he was doing. Ghost felt like Soap was treating him like a wild animal, no sudden movements or sounds, lest he scare him off. Ghost huffed and crossed his arms as he watched the Scott retrieve what he dropped.

Soap shuffled closer and sat on the floor next to the tub before lining up his spoils on the closed toilet seat. A bottle of water, a juice box (what was he? Five?), a pack of saltiene crackers, a bottle of pills, and another box of pills. "Quite the haul" Ghost croaked before devolving into a coughing fit. He coughed his throat raw and it stung to breathe. Tears sprung to his eyes as he desperately tried to stop. After an agonizingly long minute he stopped. He glanced over at Soap as he cracked the seal on the water and handed it to him. "Drink" he instructed as he shoved the water into Ghosts shaking hands. He chugged over half the bottle in one go before handing it back to Soap. "Okay-" Soap sighed, hitting his knees as he stood up and ambled over to the sink "- Ye smell and it'll make ye feel betta' tah be clean." He carefully grabbed Ghosts toothbrush out of the cup it was in and placed it on the counter, taking the cup with him. "This s' a smidge awkward, but, will ye let me wash ye?" A deep flush spread over Soaps face as he looked away, rubbing his nape nervously. "Ye can say no! S' fine!" He reassured, speaking too quickly and loudly. Ghost winced at the sound and thought for a moment. He trusted Johnny didn't he? He would never intentionally harm him would he? He just wanted to help. He opened his eyes and gave a slight slow nod. Johnny gave him a caring smile and scooted towards the edge of the bath, hitting his knees against it as he settled. Before pausing and making eye contact with Ghost. "Ye get uncomfortable an ye tell me okay?" His voice was stern but laced with concern. He nodded slightly and watched Soaps eyes immediately soften.

Soap reached into the water with the cup and pulled back before pausing and looking at Ghost expectantly. When he just stared back Soap mumbled quietly "scoot up would'ye?" Ghost shuffled forward and raised an eyebrow at him. Soap shuffled to the side and poured the warm water down Ghosts back. It felt magical. His skin felt hot and clammy but the warm water had stopped his shivers and filled him with a nice soothing warmth. He sighed lightly and leaned back into the water before it stopped. He was instantly displeased before he heard Johnny move again and more water was running down his back. Running down his spinal colum and warming his blood. Johnny poured more water down his back before moving to his shoulders and than to the base of his hairline. His eyes were closed as he leaned back into the sensation. The warmth washing over him and wisking the cold away. The chill would quickly return before it was smothered by the water again. It was near silent in the bathroom, only the sloshing water and Ghosts sighs. It was almost too quiet. He liked the quiet, it made his head sizzle instead of sparking like a match but it allowed his thoughts to creep up on him. Every move Johnny made and every touch made him flinch slightly. "Can you..." He trailed off, voice a whisper as not to agitate his already enflamed larynx. "Hm?" Johnny gave a questioning hum as he began to pour the water over his scalp. "Can ye.. talk to me" he mumbled as Johnny reached back down into the water with the cup. "Sure Si, what da ye wan tah talk aboot?" His voice was low and slightly deeper. It was obvious he was trying to be quiet for Simon's sake. It made his heart flutter and his chest feel warm just thinking about it. "Anything" he sighed. Johnny pulled away and Ghost shifted, coughing violently into his elbow, desperately clutching it with his other hand. Johnny softly rubbed circles into his back until he relaxed again. Johnny began to talk. About what? Simon couldn't tell you, but the noise was soothing. Johnny's voice was soothing. His stupid Scottish accent making him slightly difficult to understand with his voice so low, but it was nice. He didn't need to pay attention and Johnny didn't expect him too.

Soap pulled his hands away and he heard a bottle being picked up. He heard him squirt something into his hands before those same hands massaged something into his scalp. His shampoo, he figured. He almost moaned at the feeling. It felt amazing, now he knew why Johnny had insisted he take a bath. As quickly as it was there it was gone. He cursed himself internaly for having such a short haircut. What he would give to have his Sargent card his hands through his hair, to lazily play with it while they slept- okay. Take a breath. Johnny's just helping him out. Not like they're gonna sleep together and cuddle. Live a happily ever after. What he would give for that though. To get to wake up next to Johnny every single day. Okay. Pause. He knew he felt... something for his Sargent but he didn't feel that about him, right? He shook the thoughts away as Johnny finished rinsing the last of the soap put of Simon's hair. "Where's tha rag ye had?" Soap questioned, he assumed it was rhetorical because he felt the Scott pull something out of the water, the rag, and ring it out. "Simon?" He questioned. Ghost cracked his eyes open to squint at the man, his arms were wet, so far as to up to his forearm on the right. He gave a questioning hum, filled by a wince as he agitated his throat when fire shot through his skull. "Can ah?" He asked, holding up the wet rag. Simon thought for a minute assuming Soap was asking if he could scrub him or something. He was already naked in his bathtub with his Sargent who had just washed his hair. Fuck it. He was already too far gone to give a fuck. If Johnny said it would make him feel better he would try anything. His whole body was still pulsing. He could feel and hear his blood being pumped through his veins. He felt like he was going to have a heart attack, but he was fine so he ignored it. He could barely think around the screaming pain in his mind. Who cares anymore? "Yeah" he nodded before closing his eyes again. He caught a glimpse of Soap starting to nod his head before he closed his eyes and tried not to think. Johnny washed up his legs and torso, specifically avoiding his crotch, Simon noticed, all while talking about... something. He menouverd his arms to wash his chest and back. His arms and under his pits. "S' ealed nicely" Soap ran his fingers across Ghosts side absentmindedly, making him shiver at the touch. He'd gotten slashed on their last op and had his torso wrapped for a couple days but it wasn't deep so it was healing rather quickly. "Ah- sorry" he mumbled, returning to washing Ghosts back with the cloth.

After a couple minutes he paused and Simon cracked his eye open, just enough to see, barely. "Uh- ahm done if ya wannae-" he cleared his throat awkwardly and gestured at his legs, looking away. He looked down and realized what he meant. Ah yeah. It would be weird for his Sargent to wash his dick and balls. He nodded and reached for the cloth, missing entirely. He felt his face flush in embarrassment. His depth perception was not ideal, he knew that much, but he didn't think it was this bad. Johnny placed the cloth in his hand and pushed the body wash he had used towards the middle of the ridge of the tub. He stood with a sigh and turned around to do something. Fumbling with the pills on the countertop. Ghost got to work lazily scrubbing himself with the cloth. He didn't even bother putting soap on it, just running it over his exposed skin. It didn't feel nearly as nice as when Johnny had done it. When he finished he shifted his legs to sit criss cross. Or as best as he could. He was entirely too large and tall for the tub, so he just folded his legs up the best he could. "Oright, I ave some pills for ya to taek ya waen em in tha bath or oot?" Ghost shot him a questioning look, too drained to decipher his sargents accent or question. Johnny sighed and repeated "I ave pills for ye. Ya wan ta taek em in tha tub or get oot am taek em?" Ghost nodded. "Aye which one? I asked ye two questions." He asked exasperatedly. Without answering Ghost tried to stand, shifting in the bath and placing his hands on the edge. "Aye! Nae ya need ta wait ave got somethin' ta do!" Soap yelped at he rushed to push his huge Lieutenant back into the bath. Ghost huffed and plopped back down with a splash and a thunk that sent his head swimming and made his stomach churn with dizziness. Johnny worked quickly, pulling the stopper in the tub and snagging a towel off the counter he had apparently grabbed earlier and laying in on the floor. "Oright now we're ready" he said. Ghost took this as his que to try and stand again. Blood quickly rushed to his brain and shot him with dizziness as his stomach acid yearned to meet his bathroom floor. He swayed and Johnny instinctively reached out to steady him. Ghost reached to grab his arms, holding them in place as he got his bearings. "Ye need 'elp?" Soap asked, still holding his Lieutenants forearms. Ghost nodded and looked down, to step over the lip of the tub and to hide his embarrassment. It look seemingly way too long but he managed to stumble his way over it. Soap handed him another towel and instructed him to sit on the toilet seat to wait for his pills. Ghost wrapped the towel around his waist and tucked it into itself to hold it up. The yellow blanket from earlier was nowhere to be seen. Soap grabbed some pills and the juice box from earlier and handed them to him. "Jus swallow those an drink tha, yer gonnae need it." He gestured to his handful of pills and the juice. Once the pills were in his mouth it took some hyping up to swallow them. The second he did his throat spasmed and he gagged, covering his mouth with his hands. "Aye keep those pills doon." He rubbed his shoulder to make sure he wouldn't vomit up the medication and turned to line the boxes up against the wall, out of the way. "Where'd you get em?" Ghost rasped. "Huh? Oh Aye, tha pills. Stole em from medical. Girl dinnae even care tha much wen ah ran oof with em." He chuckled, looking down at Ghost who nodded slowly.

"Oh Aye ya need clothes." He left the room before quickly returning with a fresh pair of boxers, sweats, a tee and a hoodie with his name and rank on the back and over the left breast. Ghost slowly stood up, steadying himself on the counter. "Ya think you'll be good ere fer a minute?" Johnny questioned looking back at him as he paused his walk out the door again. Ghost nodded and johnny hummed before leaving him to get dressed.

It took way longer than expected but he managed to get dressed through the shaking. The shivers had returned full force and intended to take him down best they could. The hoodie helped some but he was still freezing. What he would give to be in his nice warm bed.

----

Soap left his Lieutenant to dress himself. He'd already gotten an eye full of the man's dick already and was sure Ghost was capable enough to dress himself without help. Plus, he was just in the other room, the door still wide open. He had snagged more waters on his mission and a blanket or two aswell. He picked the bottles off the bed and moved them to the nightstand next to it before moving onto the bed itself. He fluffed out the blankets before laying them across the bed. He made sure the curtains were drawn all the way closed and checked his phone to make sure he hadn't missed anything. He'd called Price when he left, informing him of Ghosts condition and asked for permission to skip the meeting to tend to him. He'd agreed but insisted that he drag Ghosts sorry ass to medical. They both knew that wouldn't happen, but one can hope. He had a text from Gaz asking for updates and some well wishes. Soap sent thanks and that Ghost was fine for the most part. Conviently leaving out the bathing part. He turned around after he heard ghost stop moving. He was leaned back against the counter, holding the juice to his forehead with his eyes closed. He was shivering again and was visibly tense. Johnny sighed and made his way to Ghost in the bathroom. "Cmon Simon, let's get ye tah bed." He nodded and pulled the juice away from his head, pushing off the counter with a stumble. Soap quickly brought his hands over to catch him. He tugged on Ghosts arms and guided him towards the bed. "Oright there ya go." He encouraged, lightly pushing Ghost down onto the bed and pulling the covers aside so he could slip under. "Ah'll be right back, ye drink tha oright?" Ghost blinked slowly and opened the juice. Soap turned with a sigh and headed towards the bathroom.

God he looked miserable didn't he? Johnny had never seen his Lieutenant look that bad before. He'd seen the man fall off a two story building and get up and look annoyed about it. He'd watched the man get shot and proceed to run around and fight with an open wound. Maybe he was hiding his pain then, which was likely, but he didn't hide it this time, or couldn't. To come back and see him on the floor like that, puking his guts out. His face streaked with tears and his eyes red and raw ripped his heart out. He immediately knew he had to do something. Had to make him feel better. Would make him feel better even if it got him killed. He felt immediately overprotective of him. He was furious that he was sick. Who had the gaul to get his Lieutenant sick? His best friend? He mightve been a little too obsessive over him but it didn't matter. He cared for him. Fuck. You could even argue that he loved him. He'd desperately tried to think of a way to help him. He remembered what his mother would do when he was sick. She would draw him a nice bath and would put some fancy salts in it that smelt like lavender. She would wash his hair and talk to him in a soothing voice. He fondly remebers her kissing her fingers and placing them on his forehead and saying that the kiss would make it better. It made his heart ache for her again. To have her care for him like that. But he knew it wasn't possible, so he did everything he could to make Simon feel as loved as his mother made him feel. It hadnt truly registered in his mind much until now. Hitting him like a pickup truck filled with bricks and C4. Exploding in his face and making his head spin. He'd watched his Lieutenant undress. Helped him into the bath. Washed him for Christ's sake. He had tried not to think about how muscular he was, how big he was and how it would feel to be pinned by that huge body. To feel his hands around his throat and his huge cock- He was doing it again. He mentally kicked himself for those thoughts. Simon needed him. Needed to be cared for and didn't deserve to be looked at like that while he was at the lowest Johnny had ever seen him. His nakedness wasn't meant for him. So he wouldn't take it as such.

He finished soaking another clean washcloth he found under the sink in cool water before ringing It out. He swivled and headed back to Simon, shutting the bathroom light off as he went. "Hey." He whispered to announce his presence before placing the cool rag on his head. He pressed it down softly into his eyes and cheeks. Simon let out a pleased sigh. Johnny turned to grab his phone from the nightstand. He'd been with Ghost for about 2 or so hours. He could go do other stuff and finish up any paperwork left from the meeting as Simon slept. "Oright Si, ahm gonnae leave ya ere to rest an ahm gonnae finish my duties-" he was cut short by a whine and a rough hand on his wrist. He turned to see that Simon had pushed the cloth up sightly to peer out under it. He was shooting him a pleading look "stay?" He rasped, barely audible. "Uhm-" he paused mulling it over. "Oright, if ye wan me ta" he responded with a sigh. He smiled when Simon pulled his hand back under the covers and shifted over in the bed, spreading his arms and lifting the blanket slightly in invitation. Johnny shook his head as he slipped his boots and rough work jeans off into a heap on the floor. He slid under the blankets next to Simon with a sigh. Simon wrapped his arms around him and he did the same. Sure he was cuddling with his Lieutenant. So what?

-----

"Johnny?" came Simons raspy voice laced with phlem. "Simon." He answered. Simon sniffled dramatically and winced before he continued. "Why?"

"Why what Si?"

"Why'd you help me? An agree to this?" His voice was low and labored but Johnny didn't mind much even as he sniffled into his hair.

"Because ah care aboot ye. So much Si." He whispered into Simon's shoulder, burrowing into his chest tighter. He wanted to say a different three words but he was sure the message came across regardless.

"Me too Johnny. Me too." Simon rubbed circles into his back before giving him a light ghost of a kiss to his scalp. He might get sick aswell after this but it didn't matter. All that mattered at that moment was them. Even though one of them was so sick he couldn't breath without it coming out as wheezes. The only thing that mattered was that Simon felt the same.

Johnny felt like his heart had exploded. He was sure his belly was swarming with little fire bugs. His brain felt fuzzy in the best way possible. He wasn't even tired, it being so early, but cuddling up against Simon made him so sleepy. The room was silent except for Simons breating and occasional throat clear. Their breaths and hearts slowed to match as they started to lose their grasps on the living world. They slowly slipped into sleep still clutching eachother like they would be torn apart. They would never mention this to anyone else, Johnny was sure of it, this was their special moment. So what if this was the best sleep they'd both had in years? So what if Johnny woke up with the sniffles and a headache. Worth it. So, so, worth it.

[skyward-floored]

Another fic with my one zelda au, where Link is corrupted and forced to hunt Zelda. Takes place sometime after this fic here.

Even corrupted heroes need their sleep... which luckily gives Link a bit of a break. Along with more than he expects.

————————————————————

Thunder rumbles, and Link drifts into awareness.

It takes him a moment to get himself to move, even when the sound of a sword swinging drifts through the air, and he slowly blinks his eyes open and looks around.

The sky is grey above his head, thick with clouds that threaten to release a steady rain. Link carefully sits up, a deep, heavy ache in his chest, and realizes the ground around him is a vast expanse of water, stretching as far as he can see. Somehow he isn’t wet though, and he touches a hesitant hand to the liquid, tilting his head at the odd feeling.

It strikes him then that he’s moving of his own volition, no darkness instructing his steps, no whispered orders aiming his sword.

He can think clearly.

Link takes in a shuddering breath, almost unable to believe it. He doesn’t remember how long he’s been under Vaati’s control, but it feels like it’s been weeks. And he’s finally able to move, and breathe, and stand up without a voice screaming in his head that he needs to kill all of his master’s enemies.

The sounds of a fight ring out again, and Link looks to his side, eyes widening at the sight.

A mass of darkness lurks mere feet away, swirling with faint dashes of purple and red. The dread that hits Link when he sees it is like an arrow to his chest, but then he sees something else.

There’s a man moving among the shadows, moving so fast that Link can’t easily focus on him. From where Link is standing it looks like he’s faintly glowing, green and gold, and his sword flashes in the light as he swings it. The mass of shadows the man is currently fighting lets out an odd howl, and he slices it neatly in two, before turning to another behind him.

Link would help him, but he feels rooted in place, unable to do anything but watch as the glowing man dispenses the shadows with terrifying efficiency.

He thrusts his sword into the last heaving mass of darkness, and Link hears a faint wail as it shrivels away, the space finally clear of enemies.

The man exhales, taking a moment to breathe, and Link isn’t sure what to do.

He’s saved from deciding when the man turns towards him, and Link is struck with the sheer presence he exudes, something ancient and strong, like one of the towering trees in Faron’s woods. He isn’t sure whether to bow or try to fight, but the decision is taken from him when the man lowers his sword, and looks at him fondly.

“Hello, Link,” he greets, voice gentle, but strong. “I’ll admit I’m somewhat surprised you’re here.”

Link narrows his eyes at the odd familiarity, and the man hums.

“I apologize, this must be strange to you. You’re asleep,” the man explains, and Link nods, relaxing a bit. Ah. A dream, then.

He’s a little surprised he can dream in his current state, but he won’t complain. Being able to trust his actions and make decisions for himself, even in nothing but a dream that won’t last, is extremely relieving.

Apparently he hasn’t lost all of his humanity.

“Don’t be mistaken though. You’re asleep, yes, but this isn’t... exactly a dream,” the man says, as if reading his thoughts. “Which is why I was surprised to see you here.”

“And where is here?” Link asks quietly, breaking his usual silence.

The man sighs, resting his hands on his sword as he gently plants it into the ground before him. “That is a complicated question. I guess the simplest way to put it would be... inside you. Deep in your very being. Your mind, or soul. Spirit perhaps. The part of you that makes you, you.”

Link must make a face, because the man chuckles, a warm smile pulling at his cheeks.

“I know that’s strange to hear. It’s very odd that you’re this deep in your own psyche.” His face turns suddenly serious, brows creasing his previously warm expression. “It’s doubtless a product of the corruption that is attempting to fully overtake you.”

A chill runs over Link at the words, and the spot on his back where Vaati hit him with the spell aches with a bitter cold.

His legs tremble, and suddenly he’s on his knees, the heaviness he experienced upon first waking up here hitting him again. It’s worse then the first time though, and Link grits his teeth, trying to fight through it.

The glowing man looks at him in deep concern, but then a swirling mass of deep darkness wells up from the ground, approaching them both with an unholy moan.

He whirls around and slices at it, and Link is unable to do much except watch him fight. He’s not sure how the man is landing hits on a literal mass of darkness, but fight he does, and he fights well. The more the man slices at the darkness, the better Link feels, and the thick shadows are no match for his incredible swordsmanship.

They’re soon dispensed with a wail, and Link can breathe again, though shakily.

The man lowers his sword with a sigh, and returns to Link’s side, offering him a hand up. Link takes it, a warmth running through him at the contact, and the man doesn’t let go once he’s upright, looking into his eyes with such an intense sadness that Link isn’t sure what to do.

“You are in quite the difficult situation,” he says gently, and Link looks away.

“I was attacked with dark magic,” he quietly admits. “In my waking hours it forces me to obey its master. I’m powerless to stop it.”

The spirit nods, a grieved look on his face. “Yes. I know. The corruption runs deep. It was a very cleverly designed spell... it cut straight to your spirit, deep enough that I have to actively fight it off. It’s attempting to corrupt even me. You’ve shielded me well so far, but I don’t know how long I’ll last.”

Link looks back at the man, feeling a strange recognition in his face, the brightness in his eyes, the kindness in his gaze. There’s a feeling of other about the man, something dangerous as a lighting strike, but also something so familiar and warm that it aches.

“Who are you?” Link asks.

The man smiles gently, and lifts his hand, placing it on Link’s shoulder.

“I’m you. I’m all of us. I’m Courage,” he says, and the word strikes deep, a warmth blossoming in Link’s middle like a flower in spring. “I’m the Spirit of the Hero, forged in fire and trial. I’m a gift, and a burden, one that emerges only in great time of need. I’m you. You’re me.”

A tear falls down Link’s cheek, and the man tenderly wipes it away, his touch like that of a parent.

“Not many heroes meet me face-to-face during their life,” he admits. “You’re one of very few... I only wish our meeting could be under better circumstances. Unfortunately you have to take what you can get sometimes.”

“I’m no hero,” Link interrupts, speaking around the lump in his throat.

“...No?”

The spirit raises an eyebrow, and Link swallows. “I allowed myself to be ambushed and corrupted, I fought against my fellow knights— I don’t know the fate of any of them, but some of them must be dead. I’ve harmed innocents. Vaati is planning to use me to hunt down the princess herself. What’s heroic about any of that?”

“You didn’t want to do any of those things, did you?” The spirit asks in a firm voice.

Link slowly shakes his head.

“That’s what I thought. The fact that you’re still fighting now is a testament to your nature,” he says gently, cupping Link’s cheek. “If you weren’t a hero, you already would have given in.”

Link doesn’t reply, not willing to argue, but not entirely willing to believe him either. Zelda may have believed he was a hero, but all he’s done is fail from the moment she told him so.

What kind of a hero fails before he even begins?

The spirit searches his gaze a moment, then lets out a heavy sigh, dropping his hand back to Link’s shoulder.

“Our enemy was cleverer than usual this time around. He knew that if he corrupted you, Hyrule’s defenses would be severely weakened,” he says more quietly. “He hit us where it hurts. Even now the darkness is attempting to corrupt me. If it succeeds, you will remain a servant of darkness forever.”

Link stills, and the man squeezes his shoulder.

“Take courage, Link. You are strong, and so is your kingdom, and princess. We will not stop in our fight against the darkness,” he says firmly, and Link nods, blinking back the sting in his eyes. Hero or not, he’s not planning on giving up just yet. “You’ve been given a hard fight, harder than most, but I know that you can endure until you are freed.”

“Do you have any advice?” Link asks quietly, wiping his sleeve across his face.

“Our enemy may overestimate himself with you in his clutches. If he does, it will be up to you and your princess to take that opportunity if it arises,” he says, and Link nods. He isn’t really sure if that will ever happen, but he’ll remain hopeful just the same.

For Zelda’s sake, at least.

The spirit’s expression softens again as he looks at Link, and he glances up at the sky, then looks back at him.

“You’ll wake soon I’m afraid,” he says, and Link swallows thickly, stomach churning as the clouds above them darken.

It feels like he just got here. He doesn’t want to go back to being a mindless soldier, locked in darkness and unable to resist. The thought of being under Vaati’s control for the foreseeable future makes him want to curl up in a ball, as cowardly as that sounds, but waking from even this brief comfort threatens to make him wail.

It must show on his face, for the man gives his shoulders one last bracing squeeze.

“Courage, little brother. You’re not alone,” he says, and gives Link a hug, one so soft and safe that Link feels like he’s a child again, held in his parents’s arms.

The spirit holds him for several long moments, and Link closes his eyes. He can’t remember the last time he was hugged like this, and the spirit is warm, and safe. Normally he’d bristle at hugging someone who’s essentially a stranger to him, but this is different, and he...

He needed this.

A light kiss is pressed to his hair, and then the spirit pulls back, giving him an unimaginably fond look.

“I don’t know if we’ll be able to speak again,” he cautions, and the edges of Link’s vision suddenly darken somewhat. “But I will be here fighting all the same. Don’t lose hope.”

“Thank you,” Link says in a stronger voice than he thought he was capable of, and the spirit unsheathes his sword, the hilt glowing bright.

He smiles back at him. “You’re welcome.”

Darkness rears from the water at their feet yet again, increasing in the edges of Link’s vision, nearly overtaking his sight. He stumbles to his knees, and one of the last things he sees is the spirit thrusting his sword into the shadows, fighting for them both.

And the darkness overtakes him once again.

[bookshelf-in-progress]

A Jules and Vern Christmas

A time travel story for the Christmas Challenge at @inklings-challenge. This is a follow-up to "Jules and Vern"--a very short piece that explains how the time travel works, so you may want to read that one first.

*

Vernon looked up from his writing in a daze. The papers spread across his kitchen table, the books piled on shelves and chairs across his sparsely-furnished apartment, seemed suddenly unfamiliar. Outside, it was nearly dark, and a light snow shower was falling.

He'd lost track of time--gotten too deep into his writing. This draft of his article was due by the first of the year, and there was so much worth writing about now that he had practical experience--not just theoretical knowledge--of time travel.

He had his new patroness to thank for that. His one and only time travel cruise--paid for with his life savings--had brought him in contact with one of the wealthiest heiresses on the planet, who'd adopted him like a stray cat. She'd guided him through the cruise and even paid to extend his trip. A man in his position couldn't refuse gifts like that--but neither could he repay them.

He looked at the silver-wrapped package sitting on the edge of the table. It seemed silly, giving presents to a woman who could buy him a thousand times over without blinking an eye. He could mail the package next month. Send a nice little note keeping things purely professional.

But it was Christmas. After roaming through history with Juliette, he'd come to consider her a sort of friend. This deserved a personal touch.

He put away his manuscript, seized the package, and left on his errand before he could talk himself out of it.

*

The high-rise hotel, sleek and silver, towered over the squat brown-brick historic buildings of the rest of the street. Bedecked in golden lights, the building looked like a Christmas candle, like a queen among peasants.

Vernon felt like a peasant as he stood in the golden light coming through the glass of the revolving door. A doorman in crisp livery—blue with gold trimmings, a finer suit than anything Vernon had ever worn—took one look at the threadbare elbows of Vernon’s jacket and the holes in his woolen gloves and growled, “Move it along.”

The doorman’s square head reminded Vernon of some of the meaner-looking idols he’d seen on ancient temples. This face would have been a guardian of the underworld, ready to smite the unworthy with the wrath of the gods.

No, he scolded himself. It was the face of a doorman. Of a hotel. Vernon hadn’t walked through ancient battlefields to turn tail because a hotel employee scowled at him.

Vernon held up his package—a silver rectangle. “I’ve a delivery for Miss Juliette—“

The doorman's voice was like something that would have come from one of those stone idols. “She doesn’t take unmarked deliveries.”

Vernon felt like he’d run face-first into a wall. He stepped back and tried to gather his wits. Snowflakes fell down his collar. "If you'll just--"

From behind, a languid female voice drawled, "Vern? Is that you?"

Juliette stood behind him, wrapped in black fur. Her black hat—bedecked with white feathers and an enormous red flower—was wide enough to cover both of them, and her heels were so high that Vernon wondered how she’d managed more than two steps on the icy streets.

Juliette took Vernon's arm and told the doorman, "Relax, Pete, he's with me."

The doorman gave a skeptical stare.

Juliette's laugh sparkled. “Oh, very well.” She tugged Vernon by the arm. “We’ll roam the streets.”

Juliette took Vernon down the sidewalk, past the stores of this wealthy shopping district. These shops were nothing compared to the astonishing height of the modern hotel, but their wares were so rich Vernon half-feared he'd be charged a fee just for looking.

Juliette strode through the snowy streets with perfect confidence, never looking at a shop, never stumbling in her heels. “What brings you here, my darling little scholar?”

Compared to the wares being sold just outside her door, Vernon's offering seemed pathetic, but there was no help for it now.

He held out the package. "I brought a gift.”

Juliette stopped and tipped back her hat so she could look him in the face. “Gift?”

Could he call this a gift when her world meant so much more by the name? Jewels, cars, vacations—those were gifts. This was—

“A...small token,” he amended. “In honor of the holiday."

"Holiday?" Juliette seemed truly perplexed. At last, she laughed, low and languid. "Oh, Christmas. How quaint!"

Her laugh made Vernon bristle. Not for the first time, he wondered if she'd ever had a heart.

"I ought to have known you celebrated," she said. “It's so earnest and wholesome--like you."

“You don’t celebrate?”

“I haven’t paid attention in years.”

“Why?”

“When you’ve experienced every single Christmas in history, it gets rather dull.”

“Every—”

“Christmas cruises. Some time travelers try to hit every Christmas Day in history. They get so insufferable about it.”

Not for the first time, Vernon’s mind swam at the unimaginable wealth this implied.

Juliette said, “I decided against the full set. It’s just not worth it. The first one’s off-limits, of course, and then there's nothing really interesting until the Arians show up. But even in the most exciting years, it's all variations of the same thing, isn't it? Food and fires and presents and songs and various states of inebriation. There's only so much of that kind of thing one can take."

Vernon's chest burned--a bit of shame, a lot more anger. He tucked the silver-wrapped package beneath his arm. "I'm sorry I wasted your time," he said, turning away.

Juliette grabbed his arm. "Wait!” The languid tone had been replaced by genuine alarm. “Don't listen to my nonsense. It was kind of you to think of me."

Her eyes, amber in the streetlight, held some deep spark that Vernon had never seen before. A hint of genuine feeling. She was truly afraid of being alone. Vernon felt a pang of pity.

He handed her the gift.

She tore off the wrapping and uncovered a hardback book. The crimson cover glowed like an ember against the black of her furs.

"The first copy of my latest work," Vernon said. It didn’t sound so pathetic when he put it that way. "A treatise upon the interactions of parallel time streams, supplemented by observations from our travels."

She turned the book in her gloved hands, looking at it from all angles. “It looks disgustingly academic.”

"Exceedingly so."

She grinned. “I’m delighted, and I’ll never read it.

Vernon relaxed into a smile. "I didn't think you would. But I thought you deserved a copy all the same."

She put the book into a massive handbag. "I feel I ought to have a gift for you."

Vernon laughed. "A time cruise is a gift I could never repay.”

"Would you like another one?" Juliette asked.

Vernon stepped back, his hands held before him. "I couldn't accept such--"

"Just a short one. A cheap Christmas trip. Horribly touristy. Everyone and their mother heads to the Victorian era for a proper Dickens Christmas. The place is crawling with time travelers."

Vernon thought about the book in Juliette's bag, and his mind lit up with a new theory. "That would explain the ghost stories--"

She pointed at him, her eyes bright. "See? That's the mind that could make even that kind of Christmas interesting again."

It was flattering, and tempting, and yet--

"I think you're missing the point," Vernon said.

“Am I?” Juliette drawled, one eyebrow raised.

“Yes,” Vernon said firmly. “You don't need to run off and watch a Christmas that's already happened. You need to experience this one."

She waved a dismissive hand. "I've seen a thousand like it."

Vernon wondered how literal that was. How many Christmases had she traveled to--?

He pulled his mind back to the point. "I'm not sure you've seen any Christmas. You've seen parties, feasting, carols, but you haven't seen Christmas. The reason for the celebration. I'm not sure you can see it."

“I know," she said. "That’s why I need you.”

Snow fell onto her expensive furs, white against the black. A cold breeze ruffled the flower on her hat. She was a fashion plate, the model of luxury--and she looked so alone. All the money in the world, able to buy anything she wanted, go to any place or time she desired on a moment's notice--and she had no one to spend Christmas with.

He took her hand in his, tattered wool against sleek leather. "Then I'll come with you. But not to Victorian Christmas. To this one."

She raised an eyebrow “The time travel expert is turning down a chance to time travel?”

“Gladly."

"You'll never get anywhere in your career if you keep turning down opportunities like this."

"I'll take the risk."

She looked at their joined hands, then shifted her grip to turn it into a handshake. “You have a deal.”

Snow fell faster, thick white flakes. The shops along the street began turning off the lights in their windows. In the distance, church bells sounded.

Vernon inclined his head toward it. “We can start there.”

As the snow fell and the bells rang, Vernon tightened his grip on Juliette’s hand and pulled her down the street. In the lamplight, her eyes held a spark of something that looked a little bit like joy.

[aloonaram]

Here’s an edited wip of my Birdflash oneshot.

Fair warning, this will probably change in the final product as I try to figure out at what point in the timeline I want this fic to take place.

“You look like shit, Dickie.”

“Gee, thanks, Walls. You’re such a loving boyfriend,” Dick retorted. He tried for a smile, but Wally watched sadly as it twitched and fell before it could become what it once was–what Dick’s smile used to be.

Dick opened his door wider in invitation and Wally rushed in and examined the place. Gotham wasn’t ever known for its beauty, but even with that in mind, Dick’s apartment looked pretty rough. Empty containers of takeout and miscellaneous trash littered the floor and countertops. His couch was sprinkled with brown spots that he almost assumed were polka dots before he realized they were most definitely patches of dried blood. Clothes were strewn across every surface, their musk permeating his senses. Dick brushed past his side and made his way to the kitchen, opening his rickety fridge to expose the meager amount of food he had. Wally would bet his life savings that each of the five items had gone bad too, based on the state of the place.

Dick turned to toss Wally a water, “So…what, uh, brings you here?” Dick’s awkward tone hangs heavy between the two. Now that Wally could get a good look, his lover was in rough shape. Even worse than his apartment; which was a feat, his mind whispered. His hair laid limp and greasy along his neck and his bags seemed to have bags of their own. A couple of dark bruises peeked through the collar of his shirt, some leading down to his left arm if the strange way he seemed to carry it was anything to go by. Dick clutched his own water bottle, doing his best to look anywhere but at him.

“You haven’t been responding to my messages,” Wally started, “I texted the other Robin, uh Tim, I think? But he never got back to me either, so I got worried, you know? Figured I’d take matters into my own hands. I don’t have super speed for nothing.” He waved his hands around, doing his best to lighten the mood. “It’s been a long time since we’ve gotten to talk, let alone seen each other in person, but, you know, if this isn’t the best time, I can totally leave. I know this is kinda spur of the moment.” Wally wished he could slap himself the moment his lips stopped moving. Some of the younger heroes had started calling him a professional yapper and he wished it didn’t fit so damn well.

Wally watched as Dick took a breath and rubbed his temple as if he had a headache. He winced. Yeah, this probably wasn’t the best time to show up out of the blue.

“No, I…You don’t need to leave, “ Dick sighed. “I’m sorry I haven’t been responding, Walls. Everything’s just been… a lot, to put it simply. I’ve been so busy trying to balance my day job, Bludhaven, and…and being Batman. I just haven’t had much time to myself lately, if you can’t tell by the state of my apartment.” Dick laughed pitifully and winced when it shook his aching arm.

He couldn’t help moving forward into the kitchen and enveloping Dick in a hug, something he definitely should’ve done the moment he’d arrived. His partner sighed shakily and moved to wrap his arms around Wally’s middle. He felt Dick’s face pressed against his chest and hooked his chin to the top of his greasy head. Dick had always been one for physical comfort, a miracle considering who he’d grown up with and the environment he’d been forced into at the ripe age of nine. Wally would be lying if he didn’t say Dick’s need for physical affection didn’t bring him relief and make him feel needed. Sometimes, he felt powerless amidst his lover's strife–Batman’s rule against metas in Gotham limiting his ability to help. Providing Dick a simple hug; feeling the tense muscles in his shoulders loosen and his breath hit Wally’s neck as he sighed in relief, was Wally’s respite from his perpetual guilt.

Wally knew about Batman’s…death. He’d been there when Dick hosted Bruce’s funeral, letting Dick squeeze the life from his hand as he listened to the speech from Alfred. With Bruce gone, the natural order of Dick’s family had seemed to fall apart. Dick had taken the mantle of Batman, a title Wally knew he had never wanted–never felt right for him. He’d be lying if he said he fully understood the magnitude of such a change–that he knew how large the chasms carved by trauma had grown to separate Dick and his siblings. And yet despite that, he knew one thing for a fact. Dick, his lover and the man he’s known for well over a decade now was not the type of person to let others shoulder pain on their own. He took and took and took until he knew only he carried the weight of the sky on his shoulders, letting his muscles feel relief only when his family no longer felt pain. And he’d continue to carry that weight with a smile as long as he knew his family would smile back, unaware of the sky creeping in on Dick’s tense shoulders.

Wally squeezed his arms tighter around Dick’s back, supporting him as his breaths became ragged in their silent embrace. As Wally did so, a sick thought entered his mind, fueled by the anger and pain he felt for his partner; a small part of him–microscopic even–was glad Bruce wasn’t here. Not because he reveled in the effects his passing had on Dick, nor because he wanted Dick to be forced into the role of Batman, but because despite his struggles, Bruce had never been good for Dick. Yes, he played the parental figure Dick needed when he was younger and yes, he provided the necessities for Dick to survive, but he never provided what Wally knew Dick needed most.

“Do you wanna move to the couch, babe?” Wally whispered, cheek pressed against Dick’s head. He feels Dick nod silently and Wally zipped them to the couch in less than half a second. Wally sat and patted the spot next to him, watching as Dick laid his head on his lap, pressing his cheek to Wally’s stomach while letting his legs hang off the side of the couch.

Never one comfortable with silence, Wally broke it first. “If you don’t wanna talk, I won’t push. We can chill, watch the Office, eat popcorn–whatever you want. I just worry…you know? Not being able to be here to help and hearing on the news, Batman and Robin this and Joker and Two-Face that…I just wish I could do more for you.”

Wally looks down to meet Dick’s pained stare and internally winces as Dick opens and closes his mouth, struggling to respond.

“Me and the bats have it handled over here, okay?” Dick starts quietly, aimlessly running his hand over Wally’s knuckles. “You don’t need to worry about me, honey. I know you have more than enough to deal with back at Central and I don’t want to stress you out with problems I have handled.”

Wally lets his free hand run through Dick’s hair, quickly relishing in the way Dick warms to his touch. “I can’t lie and say I wouldn’t be stressed, you know me too well for that, but I’m here to support you, Dick. To be your listener when you’re stressed.” He paused for only a moment before speaking again, “I know you, Dick. I’ve known you for almost every era of your life as you have, mine. I knew you when you were my scrawny, baby leader-”

“Hey-” Dick tried to interject, but Wally kept going.

“I knew you when you wore that god awful blue and yellow disco Nightwing suit-”

“It really wasn’t that bad-”

“And I know what it looks like when you don’t have things handled. You don’t need to soften the blow for me Dickie and you don’t need to play the perfect soldier.” Wally paused. Let it be known even the Flash is out of breath from time to time. “You were always there for me during rough times, so please let me be there for you.”

[lovelytonys]

the crazy thing about duggan iron man is that it’s the best iron man run in at least 10 years and it’s more or less an x-men crossover book. it’s not even a true iron man solo and it’s still the most quintessential & correct iron man run we’ve gotten in a decade

[hellspawnmotel]

omg i only knew rock from the movie metropolis i had no idea he’s a recurring tezuka character… i have to dig into this now thank you for enlightening me

I first knew him from metropolis too! (re)watching it with a friend who had more tezuka knowledge than me was my gateway lol. he actually started out as a pretty standard hero character but he's best known for his villain roles, which is no question where he shines the most. I think he's at his most entertaining and interesting in vampires, but I've also seen him in black jack, say hello to bookila, phoenix, and the 2003 astro boy anime. and other random places, he shows up a lot.