#I just need to work at it to get my brain to properly fact check shit for some reason lol

[hyperfixation-tangentopia]

That's it if I don't wake up tomorrow and I'm not feeling better I'm going back to doing stuff regardless because I'm bored as hell and I need to do stuff

[thelikesoffinn]

„Astarion ending as the Vampire Ascendant is the correct ending for him, because it is what he wants.”

That is a claim I’ve been seeing pop up more and more often these days. And I think it’s both a very bold and a very odd claim to make.

But first things first: Hello, I’m a licensed social worker! So far, I’ve worked with children, refugees and youths with behavioural issues stemming from bullying and or abuse.

Please be aware that I will be mentioning different kinds of abuse, coping mechanisms, and victim/abuser relationships. If any of this is difficult for you, don’t force yourself through it. My jabbering about a traumatised vampire is not worth your wellbeing, not ever.

I will, however try to stick to Astarion and not use other examples. If, in any case, I do use a non-Astarion example, I’ll add a warning beforehand so that you can skip the part. And I’ll make it clear what will be discussed in the next bit, so that you have a chance to skip it entirely.

This is an effort to make this as accessible as possible for everyone that wants to indulge on a mad woman’s rambling – and I know there’s a few people that like this sort of stuff!

And, uh, there's obviously spoilers for all three acts. Serious spoilers, even.

Before I can get into the whole ‘why Astarion didn’t really want to ascend,’ we need to understand him a little more. And to understand this pretty boy’s brain, we first need to understand the gist of what we’re talking about when we throw around the word ‘abuse.’

“Abuse” is when someone is treated with cruelty, violence, or neglect – often to bad effect – on a regular basis. Repetitively. Check’s out for Astarion, I’d say, but we all knew that already. I mean, if one thing was obvious, it was this.

1. Astarions Abuse

Next we need to look at what kind of abuse Astarion faced over his long years of torment, seeing as different types of abuse will have different effects on the victim.

Not that that is anything we have to worry about with him – Astarion won the abuse lottery, to put it bluntly. In a horrible game of fate, he got everything. He himself indirectly mentions all the types of abuse he faced, albeit never using the correct terms.

The first we properly notice – fitting, seeing as it is often the most obvious form of abuse – is the physical abuse. Astarions scars are probably the biggest tell Larian could shove down our throats, only underlined by Astarion’s tale about the night itself. About how Cazador ‘misspelled something’ every time he flinched or screamed and had to do ‘many corrections. On top of this, Cazador locked Astarion up for months on end and tortured him – or had him tortured – on a regular basis both as a rite and as a punishment.

Next up, we have the fact that Astarion was forced to basically prostitute himself repeatedly. This is what we call sexual exploitation.

“I spent two hundred years using my body to lure pretty things back for my Master.” – Act 2

Two hundred years is a long time, filled with great many people. Now, we don’t know how many of those people actually tapped into the sexual exploitation and how many he could just lure back with other means, but the fact that it happened a lot is undeniable.

Next we have a form of abuse that we often disregard in adults: Neglect. It sounds odd, I know, saying that a fully grown adult was neglected. They can care for themselves, can they not?

Well. Yes and no.

Adult neglect is proceeded by the condition that one adult has to lean on another adult to fulfil their needs for whatever reason. This could be anything, from disability to income-based issues.  

Seeing as Astarion had absolutely nothing, while Cazador had everything, we can assume this was the case. Cazador had the house, the money, the power. Astarion owns but one pair of clothes, assumedly, that he has fixes over and over again. Fair to say, that’s pretty neglectful. (And it’s one more reason to shower the guy in pretty armour and camp clothes. Go ham, people.)

Last we have the form of abuse we actually get to witness later in the game – emotional abuse.

Once again, it’s undeniable that this happened. Especially since we’re all seeing it in the flesh upon meeting Cazador in his crypt.

“Have you no respect for yourself?”

“I strove for perfection in all things. Even those as imperfect as you.”

“A pity you amounted to so little, despite my efforts.”

“A pathetic little boy who never amounted to anything.”

All Act 3, Crypt

Here we have just a few examples of things Cazador throws in his face. It’s like reading a textbook on emotional abuse, this one (and it’s definitely a reason to throw hands).

Blaming the victim, keeping their sense of self and their self-worth as tiny as possible to make them cower and flee. A true classic.

This pretty much shows that Astarion suffered all forms of abuse we commonly see and it is implied – once again by Astarion himself – that at least a few of those instances were ritualistic.

Now, what does that mean exactly? Well, I fear I need to use a real example here, so please skip the next paragraph.

Ritualistic doesn’t refer to a proper ritual – it can, but that’s mostly a thing for those in a cult. So, we’re not necessarily talking about a ‘Vampire Ascendent Ritual’. A husband, beating his wife every evening after his third bottle of beer is also called ritual abuse. It happens regularly. It is part of a routine. Both parties know what will happen.

I can’t find the exact quote, so I’m working of my memory here, but at one point he said that when Cazador invited him to eat and he said yes, he would be served a putrid rat. If he said no, he’d be beaten.

The way it was phrased made it clear that it happened more than once and that Astarion clearly knew what would happen. So, this can be classified as ritualistic abuse.

2. A Note on Conditioning and Compliance

By default, abuse victims are conditioned to behave a certain way or in a certain fashion. This is a natural response to avoid further abuse.

In Astarion, the thing we see most often is his inherent need to please. Not literally, he doesn’t mind being an arsehole. But he initially feels the need to follow Tav’s orders, even if they go against his own wishes.

This can be clearly seen in the conversation with Araj Oblodra. Astarion very clearly doesn’t want to bite her. He doesn’t. But he will do so, if Tav tells him to. This behaviour is not conscious – he doesn’t know why he does it, he just does – and it is to be expected. This is how he kept himself save for two centuries, so of course he will fall back into his usual pattern when the pressure is high.

This goes hand in hand with the fact that most abuse victims don’t fight. Maybe initially, but not after long term abuse. Especially not after two fucking centuries.

This is true in Astarion – offered by his ‘siblings’ during act 3 and unhappily acquiesced by the man himself. Astarion stopped fighting and, once again implied, cowered, and did as he was told in order to survive.

3. The Astarion we know and love

Obviously, all that abuse does have an impact on our vampire boyfriend. He shows various common signs of abuse and just like with the forms of abuse, Astarion raked every coping mechanism he could find. (Not really, but it feels like it.) It’s also important to note that nearly all of the following things happen inwardly. Astarion is not one of the victims, that tries to rationalise and minimise the actions of his abuser. Quite the opposite, actually.

I’ll note from the beginning, that rationalisation will not be covered in this bit, as most examples will be important later on. But he definitely does it.

One of his biggest skills is to hide every ounce of fear or hurt behind sarcasm and snarky theatrics. He doesn’t seem to hide his anger much, though, so that’s something! Our boy is cool with anger, not so much with being afraid.

“Ahahaha, now that you mention it….I might have done…that.” – Act 3, regarding the Gur children

“The thing that will decide my fate forever more? Yeees, it’s been on my miiiind. Why?” – Act 2, regarding the Ritual

And there’s many more instances that prove this. Honestly, half his dialogue is sarcasm, so it would really be too long to get into and we all know what I mean, right? We have alltalked to the guy before. It’s obvious that he’s sarcastic to a fault.

This goes hand in hand with his penchant for defensiveness. I would personally state that he’s simply not really good with guilt. When talking about fear, he usually just opts for sarcasm or avoids the topic completely, but guilt especially has his defences going up. This is also when he’s most likely to shove all the blame off to Cazador.

“Don’t look at me like that. Cazadors orders.” – Act 3, Crypt

“I just did what I had to!” – Act 3, Crypt

And don’t get me wrong, he does that anyway. And with good reason. Astarion didn’t have a choice for the most part, but he’s still easy to shove things off.

This kind of connects to his penchant for denial.

Astarion doesn’t really like to talk about most things. He firmly believes he is an ‘action’ sort of person that just does instead of plans, which invertedly just means he’s great at pushing the thinking stuff away. He also likes to get rid of stuff, so that he doesn’t need to face it ever again.

“I never want to see these little scraps of misery again. The world doesn’t need to know my shame.” – Act 3, about the children

And yes, this partly rings true. He’s probably ashamed and doesn’t want anyone to know what he’s done. But it’s also very clear that he himself simply doesn’t want to face his own actions, something that is just  underlined by his extreme willingness to red rid of the other spawn.

As mentioned by Astarion himself, he’s big on manipulation. I mean, I don’t think there is much explaining necessary. The guy is willing to do a whole lot in order to get what he desires – which mostly revolves around safety and survival, to be honest – and he’s not really shy about it either. And that’s despite the fact that he doesn’t really like intimacy – especially in form of sex.

It’s not a secret that Astarion is not big on sex and anything surrounding it. This goes far enough for people to consider him either ace or ace coded.

A claim that, personally, I’m not super in line with.

Now, it’s not entirely wrong and if this is your head cannon I’m surely not going to stand in your way – but on a larger spectrum, I think he’s more traumatised than ace. And while those go hand in hand sometimes, it’s a bit difficult for the ace community if you attach traumatised characters to them because it can fuel a whole lot of stigma that is honestly neither needed nor wanted. But I digress!

If it comes to his own behaviour, he’s great at minimising his mistakes. Honestly, he’s a master of minimisation. A very obvious and famous example would be:

“’Killed’ feels like a…strong word. Not many corpses have your vigour.” – Act 1, after killing Tav

Astarion. You literally sucked poor Tav dry and left them flopping around, cold, and dead. Killed is exactly the right word and we all know it.

“Quite the deviation from my usual routine. Capture, not lure. I didn’t bring them in with sweet rolls or anything.” – Act 3, Gur Children

This is another attempt at minimising what he did, if a bit less obvious because at this point there isn’t much he can say. But at least he didn’t sexualise the gur children, right? They’re still spawn but whoo, at least that didn’t happen.  

The next point would be dissociation, which is extremely common in abuse victims – of all forms of abuse.

Astarion himself mentioned certain moments that could be classified as dissociation over course of the story, which is probably the coping mechanism I personally expected the most.

The pale elf has a penchant for violence, but he’s not entirely shameless or abhorrently vile, which gets clearer the more the story progresses. So, two hundred years of forced prostitution, torture and doing whatever other horrible things? Yeah, I’d be more surprised if he didn’t dissociate.

Examples of that would be:

“A moment of disgust to push myself through and then I could’ve carried on, just like before.” – Act 2, after Araj

“I felt nothing the moment I handed them over.” – Act 3, Gur Children

“Did you enjoy it? It felt like you weren’t fully there.” – Act 1, Tav after Sex

The latter is generally more of an assumption than actual prove, but with context it does make sense.

The last common sign of abuse we find in our boyfriend would be his low self-worth. It’s a consistent trait that stays over the course of all three acts, noticeable in many different conversations.

We can see it in his reaction to wanting to break up before finishing his story. We can see it in his genuine surprise when Tav picks him over any of the other characters. We see it in his insecurity whenever Tav asks to sleep with another character. He’s fine with it, but he still worries their decision to sleep with someone else is based on something he did.

It eases up ever so slightly after Cazador is dead, but even then he’s still struggling which is once again perfectly illustrated if you try to break up with him.

“Oh shit. I- Did I do something wrong?”

That is the first thing he asks and I think it speaks for itself. He genuinely doesn’t believe he has much to offer and for Astarion, it’s likely that Astarion will always be the problem.

4. "Oh, I tried them all none of them answered.”

Another big thing that’s important to note, is that Astarion was never saved. No one came to save him from Cazador. There was no darling boy on a white steed riding into that castle to rescue him and princess carry him away. Not even the gods answered his desperate calls.

So, he never received any kindness or luck. To him, the world seems as cruel and horrid as before because he didn’t have the chance to experience goodness in two centuries.

But worse than that, he didn’t even get to save himself. Astarion didn’t stand up to Cazador, he didn’t run out of his own might.

He was beaten to near death and ‘saved’ by Cazador, who would become his abuser.

He tried to save someone and, in turn, was locked up and starved for an entire year.

He was abducted by mind flayers, i.e., saved from Cazador, only to end up tadpoled and on the cusp of getting a fancy, squiddy beard.

Anything that’s good, any kindness, any selfless action…it all came with a ginormous price tag.

5. Over the Course of the Story

Astarions behaviour changes a whole lot over the course of three acts – which is important once we talk about his quests climax – so let’s review what we’re working with!

Act 1 Astarion is guarded as fuck. The man has walls around him that are so high, even the gods can touch them.

A lot of his behaviour in act 1 revolves around staying save and staying liked. He lies, manipulates, and flutters his lashes in order to get what he wants and needs. Instead of asking, like Wyll, Karlach and Gale do, Astarion uses all he has to offer to get by. He is still very much in survival mode and tries to weasel his way through an unfamiliar situation with familiar methods.

On top of that, and most notably, he’s absolutely not fond of kindness or selflessness.

#I saved a child and now my boyfriend is mad

Here, we are most likely to gain disapproval for doing the decent thing – unless you sent him outside for a minute whenever you’re being a good person.

And I’d assume that this is because of two things.

First: The very traditional ‘Why not me?’

As I mentioned before, Astarion wasn’t saved. He hasn’t experienced kindness in a very long time so seeing that the world is literally filled with kind people is hurtful. Why didn’t anyone save him? Why was he left to his own devices for so long? Why should he care about others when it’s so clear that no one ever cared about him? No, dead to all of them. If he didn’t get it, neither will they.

“And what am I owed? What about the injustices I suffered? Am I not entitled to anything?” – Act 3, Crypt

“I was in the prime of my life when I was turned. Everything was taken from me too.” – Act 3, Crypt

And secondly is the fact that, as I mentioned, goodness always has a price. And it’s one most people won’t be willing to pay. That’s how his life has been, so why would theirs be different?

This is precisely why Astarion may disapprove of kind actions, but he mostly neither approves nor disapproves if Tav asks for payment. That’s just how the world works.

Once you venture out into act 2, after getting to know him a whole lot more, he starts to mellow a bit – if only towards Tav.

“He’s afraid, so afraid, of everyone but you, who she should fear the most.” – Sceleritas about Astarion

His approval is a lot easier to gain – or at least keep! – and he tends to approve of some more proper actions. He doesn’t throw a fit if you promise to find Mol, he approves of Tav being kind to His Majesty, of saving Aylin and he even approves of Durge apologising to Isobel after threatening to rip her to pieces.

He's slowly starting to open up, allowing Tav to see some parts of him he previously kept hidden. He accepts their offer to help, if hesitantly and, by god, the man starts experimenting with boundaries.

The social worker in me is shedding tears at this. It’s my favourite thing to see in my clients and it’s no different here. Yay to saying no!

Of course, it’s still a bit hit or miss. If Tav urges him to bite Araj, for example, he will only to later notice that he didn’t fucking have to. He recognises this on his own and he calls Tav out on it. Just like he calls them out on not helping him with his Orthon quest.

Good job, chap. Good fucking job.

And the growth-train won’t stop going even as we reach act 3.

In act 3, there’s not many things he disapproves as of right now – those he does, mostly have to do with how Tav treats him and not with anyone else. In fact, he’s more likely to approve good behaviour now, like giving Yenna food or money.

And yes, we need to consider that this could simply be because he gets used to Tav’s behaviour and just learns to roll with it. But it’s also highly likely that he notices that there’s truly good people around. At least one person. And that person is not only good, no, they’re in the process of helping him break free once and for all.

They’re helping him save himself.

By act 3, he has learned that he can absolutely say his piece where Tav is concerned and he’s more likely to disagree with them on certain things. It’s seen during a lot of small dialogue that he’s no longer terribly afraid to be honest with them, willing to listen and talk and he’ll ask for help if he needs it.

“I can do this. But I need your help.” – Act 3, Crypt

Something that can be viewed both positively and negatively is that he’s definitely loyal to a fault. He will stick by Tav’s side, no matter what.

“I really hoped we could avoid being pawns for a dark god, but here we are, I suppose. I’m with you, my dear, wherever this might lead.” – Act 3, After Jaheira confronts durge

As I said, this can be both positive and negative. On one count, it’s a recipe for disaster, seeing as he could be waltzing into a really bad situation for Tav alone.

But on the other side…this is a man who only cared about himself because that is the only person he could afford to care about. He needed to survive. He now has enough room to breathe and the capacity to care for someone else and I’d be inclined to count that as a good thing.

6. The Crypt

All the progress he made in act 2 and 3 is nearly tossed into the wind as soon as the crew enters Cazadors castle.

It’s not an immediate thing, of course.

At first, Astarion tries to stay light and simple and he hides behind flippant tones and relaxed faces. The way he recounts this is almost comically disinterested and the façade is actually quite good.

It’s start’s cracking after we meet Godie, one of the people who tortured him on more than one account, but he mostly manages to remain as upbeat as one can honestly expect for the first half of the journey.

All that, however, is done for the very moment we meet Sebastian. His mask not only slips, no, it full on shatters and there’s none of his apparent lightness left.

Which, of course it does.

The man is suddenly faced with years and years and years of victims. Innocent, unlucky people he lured back to his master over two centuries. People he liked, people he pitied.

“It’s sickening, seeing them again.”

It’s basically a room filled with guilt, exclusively for Astarion. And, as we mentioned before…Astarion is not great with guilt.

The guilt, however, is not where it ends.

No, he’s also faced with reflections of his own past. The spawn pose as reminders of what he did, sure, but also as reminders of what he was.

Weak, desperate, hungry.

There’s an abundance of images of his worst moments, reflected back at him in the thousands. It’s probably like staring into a funhouse mirror, but instead of seeing yourself in a funky way he just sees everything he so desperately doesn’t want to be.

“It should be [who I am]! I don’t want to be like them. They’re pathetic, horrible…”

He’s forcefully made aware of how darn weak he can be, which claws at all the wounds he’s barely had time to close. Something, he of course won’t admit if asked.

“THEY DO NOT [remind me of myself]. That weakness in me is dead, IT’S DEAD. I have a higher purpose.”

The high pressure of the moment brings out all of his act 1 traits in but a few moments. You can pretty much watch how he starts to shut down mid conversation, one of his old walls snapping back into place to remove himself from the situation.

Thing is though, walls usually become a bit brittle after disuse. Especially when talking to a person you don’t usually want to wall out.

Or, in his case, when talking to Tav.

After meeting Sebastian, Astarion shows extreme reactions to Tav nudging any of his weak spots. His reaction varies on whatever choice you make, but it ranges from aggression to defensiveness, to denial and even to downright begging Tav.

“Don’t hate me. I just did what I had to. I swear I did what I had to.”

This probably the most shocking out of all of them, since that is not something we got to witness before. The begging is likely a mixture of intense fear of losing Tav, his low self-esteem and pre-Tav behaviour, since we can assume that Cazador made him beg more than once.

Another old coat he puts back on would also be the least surprising of them all.

Manipulation.

He falls right back into it, using Tav’s affection to get what he want if we trigger the right action.

“If they die and I ascend, I won't have to rely on the parasite to walk in the sun. I'll be free. Truly completely free. Isn't that what you want?”

This, to me, was probably the biggest tell that Astarion was back in survival mode. He’s panicking, for fucks sake, and who can blame the guy? He’s back. He’s about to face down his abuser.

Of course he’s fucking panicking.

Panic leads to an increased craving for safety and, in his case, power. This is why he clings to Tav, why he begs them to love him still. And this is why he jumps head first into the rationalisation pool.

“I will need to sacrifice them all if I want to perform the ritual. - [You can save them.] – What’s the point? They're as good as dead! I thought they were dead. If they are unleashed, they will cause incredible carnage. […] They must die. Better they serve a purpose.”

Another textbook example.

They must die anyway. They’re basically dead. No need to save them now. They’re dangerous, I’m doing the right thing by sacrificing them. I already thought they were dead, so it’s not changing anything for me. They’re a lost cause and I deserve  all this power. I deserve it, because I suffered and nothing will change if they die.

So, seeing as we already spoke about his usual behaviour in act 3 – behaviour he showed after we allowed him to breathe and be himself for a while – I think we can fairly easily conclude he’s not thinking straight.

Astarion is right back in survival mode, where all that matters is he himself. If it weren’t for the seven thousand spawns, he might have moved through this more gracefully, but seeing those tipped the scales and Astarion is absolutely losing it.

Remember that for the last section, per favore.

7. The Ascension

“Astarion wants to ascend and Tav manipulates him into doing what they want.”

That is basically the essence of what people often claim and I can’t help but shake my head at such a blatant disregard of everything he has become. This is completely ignoring the change and growth he has gone through over the course of their journey.

Astarion wants to be free. He wants to be safe. That does not mean he wants to ascend.

And the claim that Tav manipulates him into doing anything is even more baffling. We are all aware that Tav is not manipulative by nature, yes? That is entirely on you. You decide who your Tav is.

And then let’s remember: Astarion is panicked. He’s afraid and he’s not thinking straight. His abuser is on his knees before him and he still feels so weak. And there’s seven thousand spawns that need handling.

Astarion is very much not okay right now.

In fact, reading his thoughts just proves this theory.

“You can see the fear in his eyes but also the hunger. The thick smell of blood in the air and the promise of power being so close is intoxicating to him. All he can see is the power of the ritual and the freedom that power brings. The freedom to do anything. To be anything.”

Tav, however, has none of those problems. They can actually see beyond the current situation and they are fully aware what the consequences are. Astarion is not. As we previously established, Astarion is a doer. Not a thinker. He didn’t think this through, not at all.

The only thing Tav is doing – the persuasion roll – is reminding him of the very real consequences he is facing. The consequences he hasn’t thought about before.

"I know you think this will set you free, but it won't. This power will trap you, just like it trapped Cazador."

And that is the kindest thing Tav could do in this situation. They’re not bodily dragging him away from Cazador. They’re not even telling him to not do it. They’re just offering him the truth. He can do with that information whatever he desires.

“Astarion cries when he doesn’t ascend, that just shows that it was the wrong choice.”

A hare-brained point that I thankfully have only seen once so far.

That crying? That is healthy crying.

That is him, crumbling under the stress that suddenly dissipates. That is him mourning two hundred years of torment. That’s him letting out feelings he hasn’t been able to for centuries.

And, for the love of god, try to put yourself in his shoes.

Two hundred years of torment, ended in but a moment.

Astarion was abused and tortured for so long, afraid for so long only to see his tormentor die just like that.

Cazador died within a moment and all Astarion needed was a darn blade. Of course he fucking cries.

Seeing how pathetic a being the very core of your life’s misery actually is hurts. It hurts like hell because not only are you finally free – free! – no, you’re faced with the fact that this pile of nothing, the thing that’s bleeding out right in front of you…this was what tortured for so long.

This thing hurt you so much. That guy took everything from you, everything you once were, and broke it again and again and again over years.

You were so scared of this thing.

And yet he has the gall and the gumption to die just like that.

It was so easy.

And yet you suffered for so long.

8. Evil Playthrough?

An evil playthrough is really a different setting altogether.

All of this, as you can probably tell, is really only applicable on a good playthrough. Realistically speaking. I’m not sure how the game mechanics handle it.

On an evil path, Astarion never really gets to experience kindness and goodness. Evil Tav will just prove him right in his believe that the world is a vile and cold place, meaning that he realistically would be more inclined to actually want to ascend.

9. Final Conclusion

I think all of this should be enough to make it clear that no, ascended Astarion is not the best ending for the guy. In fact, it is probably the worst. Because it’s just him, running away. He’s running into a lonely and cold state of being, where cruelty and power lord over everything else and he’s running because he’s terrified of being hurt again. He’s running despite desperately wanting to stop running.

“I'll spend the rest of my life running watching the shadows, never feeling safe…no, this has to happen. Here and now.”

And, the worst part is: Nothing about Astarion is left after he ascends. Even his tone of speaking gradually changes, his theatrics fading. He’s slowly losing himself, until there’s nothing but an evil caricature left.

So, in the end, ascension will have proven him right.

That version of him is dead.

[lurkerdemon]

“Damian? Dami?”

Danny poked his head in through the door of the one of many living rooms in the manor. The lights above were off, but a few other fixtures had been positioned to cut jagged beams across the floor. The overall result left the back wall in a curtain of angular shadow. Only one shaded lamp broke it up, the small illuminated circumference revealing part of the desk it sat on and the chair behind it.

A chair in which Damian swiveled around to face him, visage dramatically lit from beneath.

“Daniel.”

“Danny.” The response was automatic, absentminded, and quiet as he stepped fully into the room. This certainly wasn’t what he was expecting.

“I saw the note. About borrowing one of my models? Sooooo, think I can get it back now?”

“Of course Danny.” His model spaceship was slid in front of the dim glow on the desktop. “I’m grateful to you for letting me borrow it. It is very well made indeed.”

“Cool. Coooolllll. Then don’t mind me while I just-” He tentatively approached one step closer.

“So well made in fact that I thought I would make a proposition.”

Danny’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline, but Damian pressed on before he could manage a response.

“I recently came into possession of certain… items, that I believe would be of great interest to you.”

A box was slid into view of the lamplight this time. Danny audibly gasped when his mind processed the brand and model number in prominent display.

“How did you get the newest satellite model already!? They’ve been sold out everywhere!”

“I have my ways Danny. And it could be yours if you so choose.”

It took great effort for Danny to tear his eyes away from the box and back to Damian, half-alive brain working just enough to still be suspicious.

“...Alright then. What kind of deal are you looking for? Free sneak out of the manor? Help with pranking someone? Messing with B’s stuff-”

“I think you know exactly what I want Danny.”

The response was a weary sigh. “Dami, we talked about this. I know you take good care of your pets but-”

“You keep Cujo as a pet, and he’s capable of far more damage than a blob-ghost.”

“Yes, but I also trust Cujo to know how to go home through a portal on his own. I don’t wanna risk one sticking around where it shouldn’t.”

Damian turned his chin-up further in defiance, gaze steady as another box slid into view.

“I know you have your reasons Danny. But are you certain there’s nothing I can do to convince you?”

Danny sucked in a breath. “How? Where?”

“Unimportant. What is important is whether you think this ordeal is really worth the trouble over concern for a creature that would be looked after with the utmost attention in the first place.”

He bit the inside of his lip, holding back the urge to float over and stare at the impossibly rare model kits. This was fine. He didn’t need to have them. They definitely weren’t on his wishlist for months before they had even been listed for purchase online.

“Dami. Please.”

Danny stared at Damian. Damian stared at Danny. The two held eye contact for several seconds before Damian finally looked away with a pout. Danny tried to give a placating smile in return as he approached the other boy and ruffled his hair.

“Come on baby bat. We can go take over the TV and watch something.”

Damian sniffed. “Fine. I guess it’s just a shame that I’ll have to return this.”

There was a burst of white light as Damian turned the tablet in his hands to show the order page it displayed to Danny. He felt his eyes bulge, mouth clicking open and shut several times as he tried to form a coherent thought.

……

Bruce wouldn’t notice just one blob-ghost would he?

=======

@breannasfluff boop.

I tried.

Also lost track of the initial prompt list that sparked this.

And probably shouldn't have chosen to write this so close to when I go to bed.

AND probably should have double checked how to properly format text around dialogue.

[yourtoradorasextendedwarranty]

I'm going to have a select few people who are mutuals of mine and people I follow as well as people who follow me, we're going to be a little bit pissed at this sentiment but it bares noting.

I think that we have created a culture where we allow children to become degenerates. I should not be able to get online onto multi player video games, or on discord in servers that I am in, where people from the ages of 12 to 17 are literally using BDSM language referring to themselves as "therians" or "other kin", while somehow also being trans. Somehow.

I've said this once I will say this a dozen and a half times. The modern concept idea behind what it means to be trans is royally fucked up. And we have normalized the concept idea of "gender dysphoric trans people", So widely in fact that it is now considered taboo to get yourself mentally checked by a psychologist who isn't just going to affirm you. What's even wilder is that there are people out there who are basically saying that we should destigmatize all forms of mental illness because there's nothing wrong with people who have them.

Which is absolutely terrible, because all it actually does is deify mental illness. Which we've done a great job of promoting over the past 15 plus years. And I hate it. Because there are individuals who if they just got their hormone levels checked probably wouldn't be gender dysphoric anymore. If we got away from letting kids have unfettered online access, we'd have significantly less gender dysphoric people. We need to round culture back off a little bit, where it's fine for people who have mental health problems to be medically checked and psychologically evaluated. Because unfortunately when you don't, you end up with this:

And while a few of the individuals I follow that happen to be trans might disagree with my sentiment, it's probably because you're looking at this from a standpoint of identity rather than from a standpoint of mental health. Because I have seen several people online and talk to a few who expressed gender dysphoria in their lives until they got their hormone levels checked. Only to find out that their hormone levels were exceptionally out of balance and started working to get that fixed.

And once they did that fixed them right up. And then I'm going to get the obstinate individuals who get angry saying that there's nothing wrong with trans people. And that's not what I'm saying. Because this is unfortunately not a discussion that is easy to have because people get all up in their own feelings about it. But if a person believes themselves to be trans and there is something chemically wrong in their brain. Or their body is not properly producing the amount of natural hormones for their body, it's bound to cause issues. And transitioning those people will not help them. Unfortunately under modern norms, the express process seems to be medical and surgical transition immediately.

And if I had to take a gander at why depression is so stark in trans people, is likely because many of them aren't trans and their real issues aren't being addressed. They're just being given a new "thing" to deal with. One that is they go through with could kill them. Or make them kill themselves. I mean zero harm with this post. But I'll be ignored very likely by those who get up in their own feelings about the topic. *Shrugs* think I'm hateful of you want. But I'm sick of seeing article after article of people getting caught transitioning kids after minimal if any therapy whatsoever (and is it is minimal it's affirming), only to rush them through the process of getting transitioned. And then being told it's not happening.

My question that becomes how many people have to fall through their cracks before you consider it a problem. How many hospitals have to be exposed transitioning children with little to no mental evaluations whatsoever, and often no physical evaluations, only to have their growth stunted and often end up aging significantly faster with a litany of problems ranging from lack of bone density entirely, to stuff like osteoporosis. Or heart problems.

I swear to God, if I have to say the phrase "children can't consent", one more time I'mma going to lose my shit.

[holmesianlove]

Chapter 30 - Silver

“Good morning, my love,” John sighed, beside his head. “Happy Birthday.”

“Mmmm,” Sherlock sighed into his pillow. “Morning.”

“How about I make some breakfast for the birthday boy?” He kissed Sherlock’s curls and then another on his shoulder blade before sliding out of bed.

“Joooohhhhn,” Sherlock moaned, turning over. “Where are you going?”

“Come on, you. I have plans,” John said impatiently. “Get yourself up and I’ll make those eggs you like.”

Sherlock flipped back onto his front, burying his head into his pillow. He lay there for a while, listening to the sounds of John rustling around in the kitchen. He could almost fall back to sleep if he just settled back down the right way. He tried fluffing his pillow and pulling the blanket just right. But now that he was listening to John, he wanted to be near him again. He had never realised just how obsessive he could be about another human being but ever since Christmas, ever since they had crossed into this new territory, life had finally felt like it had all fallen into place, like everything had suddenly become colourful. His heart was overflowing with so much love.

With a heavily annoyed groan, he got himself up, put his dressing gown on and padded to the bathroom. After emptying his bladder he decided to freshen up, wash his face and tidy his hair to look nice, to wake up properly so he could greet John with more enthusiasm. He got  out his skin care and worked on his face. Then he grabbed his comb to tidy up his curls. When he looked back into the mirror, he suddenly let out a blood curdling shriek.

He heard John drop something in the kitchen which shattered on the floor and then John came running in.

“Sherlock?! Are you okay?! What is it?” John cried out, worried.

“John! Look!” he moaned. “Look!”

“What exactly am I looking at?” John asked, frozen in the doorway trying to understand, looking for signs of bleeding.

“My hair John. I have a silver strand! A grey hair, John!”

John sighed and collapsed heavily back against the door frame, rubbing his hand over his face. “Jesus Christ, I thought you’d sliced your face open shaving or something.”

“But John…” Sherlock pouted, expecting a bigger reaction to the news.

“Welcome to the old boys club,” John simply said with a sigh. “Mine’s been getting greyer for months. Are you going to lose interest in me because of it?”

“Of course not,” Sherlock scoffed.

“Exactly.” John gave him a smug expression.

Sherlock still sulked and fussed at the mirror “Come and check for more. I want you to pull them out of my head. Will you?”

John just stood at the door frame looking at him lovingly in silence. “I’m going to marry you,” he said gently.

“What?” Sherlock spun around.

John grinned. “Yep. I’m going to whisk you off to the countryside and marry you. Not today, obviously. Don’t worry. But one day. I definitely will.”

Sherlock paused, letting the thought jiggle around in his brain for a moment. “Is that right?” he finally asked, gently smiling as he walked over to John. He needed to look right into those eyes and judge how serious he was.

“Mmm-hmmm.” John let out a contended sigh. “And until then, you will just have to get used to becoming all distinguished and silver. Like your father.”

“Oh dear god,” Sherlock moaned, collapsing against John.

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” John said, laughing at his ridiculous partner.

“I hardly think eggs count as a surprise, John. You told me already.”

“Not the eggs, you twat, there’s something else. Come with me.” He grabbed Sherlock’s hand and led him into the kitchen. “Just watch out for the broken china. And ignore the fact that it may have been your favourite mug. I’ll tidy it up in a moment,” he said in a flurry before Sherlock could register it. “Now sit.”

Sherlock sat himself down at the table, looking a little stunned. Until he saw it. On his plate, were not the eggs yet, but an envelope. “What’s this?”

“Well go on.” John pointed at it to encourage him.

Sherlock opened the envelope and read the card inside. It was a cryptic clue. He had already solved it of course, within seconds but he sat there holding the card in his hands, his mouth open in surprise. His fingers stroked the card and he found himself getting a little emotional. “It’s a treasure hunt?” he asked, finally looking up at John.

John shrugged. “I did have to ask your brother for some pointers and I can't promise to be as smart or as cryptic as him. I'm going to have to learn my way around this,” John said, already apologising for his clumsy version, and blushing slightly. “But yes, I am going to make you work for your presents.”

“You’re already the best present,” Sherlock sighed, smiling up at him.

John paused and smiled. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you just said that aloud,” he laughed. “Sherlock Holmes, you’re getting soppy on me.”

“No, I’m not!” he rushed to protest.

“Yes. Yes you are,” John teased. “One silver strand of hair and now you’re all soppy. You’re old and sentimental.”

“Shut up!”

“I love you,” John sighed happily.

“I know. And I love you,” Sherlock rushed to say.

“I know. Now, let me finish your eggs. Once you’ve eaten, we can do the treasure hunt.”

“The day you walked into that lab, was the very best day of my life,” Sherlock sighed.

John smiled and they both just held each other’s gaze for a moment. John leaned in and kissed him gently and then pulled away. “See? Old and soppy,” he teased. He gave Sherlock a little swat on his arm and laughed as he walked back to the counter to finish making breakfast. “Besides," he added. "I’m pretty sure in the last week, you’ve had some days… and nights, that might be better than me walking into the lab and offering you a phone. Don’t you think?” He gave Sherlock a cheeky wink.

Yes, the last week had definitely had some pretty incredible days. And nights. Sherlock’s mind quickly found a few of his favourites in the catalogue of his mind palace, and replayed them as he waited in silence for breakfast. Some very passionate, and steamy moments.

I’m going to marry you.

John’s words suddenly floated back into Sherlock’s head, and the silver strand of hair was long forgotten. He didn’t care about that, if he had his doctor, his blogger, his friend by his side for the rest of his life. Sherlock relaxed back in his chair and sighed to himself. He couldn’t have planned for things to go any better. If he had asked his brother to manipulate a scenario such as this, with all his resources, it never would have been this perfect.

In the end, things had worked out exactly as they needed to. Eventually.

@lisbeth-kk @helloliriels @totallysilvergirl @221beloved @safedistancefrombeingsmart 

@givemesherbet-blog-blog @naefelldaurk @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @peanitbear 

@starlitkeys @lumilama @yorkiepug @talkativeanxiousturtle @kettykika78 

@kittenmadnessandtea @whatnext2020 @egregiously-chuffed @chriscalledmesweetie @catlock-holmes

@battledress @kholkate @randomquadballpun 

@sillygirlsmindpalace @johnlockficclub @rainstarboii @bheadhe

@wssh13 @br-nz @solarmama-plantsareneat @givemesherbet-blog-blog

@dw91165 @pileofstardust2106 @moonkeller @surprisinglyokay @r4venlyn  

@therealalexisamess-blog @e-b1838 @rhasima @salmonsown @tropelovingpainter 

@westandforships @fuck-off-watson-rp @notjustamumj @melodious-me @sherlocke3d

@otter-von-bismarck @silvergoldsea @calaisreno

[ghostofskywalker]

hi again! Thank you for replying to my question 😊 I love your stuff so much! May I please request something with Tech and a female reader who is awkward or clumsy and doesn’t say much/struggles with conversations but really likes Tech and worries he won’t like her back since he is good with words and she isn’t. And then he does like her too? I hope that isn’t too specific! Please of course say no if you don’t like that idea 💕 tysm!!

here it is!! the prompt was so cute to do with tech, i hope you enjoy :)

Got There Eventually

words: 1,515

summary: Your feelings for Tech are a little more obvious than you first thought, and eventually it's Hunter who takes matters into his own hands.

clone troopers masterlist

You were seriously starting to think that your vocal chords were conspiring against you, because it never seemed to work properly whenever Tech was in your general vicinity. And this time it was particularly embarrassing, because your hands had apparently decided to get involved. 

The culprit? Tech’s warm smile and adorable wave when he walked through the doors, along with the way your name sounded as it left his mouth. 

Right as he finished speaking, the unmistakable sound of transparisteel shattering filled the space as whatever you had been holding made contact with the floor. Your eyes widened in embarrassment as you watched the drinkware split into hundreds of tiny pieces, and there might as well have been a shock wave that echoed across the room. But unfortunately, since you had not yet figured out a way to disappear at a whim, all you could do is look up to see all the eyes on you, including some gorgeously goggled ones. A weakly muttered “Sorry,”  meant that most had now turned back to their conversations, but not everyone let it go. 

“Are you alright? Did any of the material cut you?” Tech asked, immediately reaching over the bar to grab your hand while he checked it over. 

As his skin made contact with yours, your mind forgot that in recent moments, you had just been asked a question. “Yes-No, I mean,” you eventually managed to get out, hoping that the prior bout of silence hadn’t been too long or noticeably awkward. “I’m fine.” 

Tech didn’t look completely convinced, but he let go of your hand, and even though the action allowed your brain to work (somewhat) normally again, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss the feeling. “Are you sure?” he asked. “We have a first aid kit on the Marauder if needed.” 

“I promise, I’m all good,” you said, showing off your (scrapeless) hands. “Hopefully that doesn’t happen again.”

“I hope so as well,” he said. “Transparisteel like that can be dangerous.”

“I’m sure it’s not as dangerous as what you deal with every day,” you joked back. 

“Probably not,” Tech said, and you couldn’t help but stare at the way his eyes moved when he smiled, and how you wanted to see that every day for the rest of your life.

Later, you watched him smile and laugh with his brothers in the booth they always sat in, and part of you kicked yourself for the way you acted. Tech was so much better at all this than you were, and for you, speaking in a way that didn’t sound ridiculous or awkward was sometimes a real challenge. 

You hadn’t even noticed the fact that your glances in their direction (which could probably be read more as staring, if you were being honest) had gotten obvious before the sound of someone clearing their throat entered your ears. When you turned, you could see Hunter approaching the bar with a look on his face that immediately let you know that you hadn’t been too discreet with your looks. “We’re going to pay our tab, don’t worry,” he said, before asking for another round of drinks for him, Crosshair, and Wrecker, since Tech and Echo were still working on theirs.  

His words didn’t really match the grin on his face, so you cocked your head to the side in confusion as you started to collect the bottles from under the bar. “What?” 

“You’re staring at us like we’re going to walk out without paying,” he responded. “Which, even if we did want to do, Cid knows where our ship is docked, so it’d be pointless.” 

You smiled at his joke. “Sorry,” was your response. “I didn’t mean to stare.” 

“That’s okay, with Tech you kind of have to be obtuse about it.” 

Now you were a little bit on edge. “About what?” you asked, trying to glean any information you could from his body language. 

“How you feel about him,” was the playful response, and he continued to speak as your mouth dropped open. “To the rest of us, it’s obvious, but Tech’s a little less observant when it comes to matters of the heart. You have to just say it to his face.” 

“I appreciate the advice,” you said quietly, stealing another glance at the table, where Tech was reaching for the datapad in Echo’s hand. “I think the trouble is going to be mustering up the courage to follow it.” 

Hunter nodded as he turned to leave with the drinks in his hand, but moved his head back towards you before he took the first step. “You can’t say it came from me, but his feelings are similar.” 

Your eyes widened as you finally finished processing this bombshell of information, but before you could question it any more, Hunter had already retreated back to the table. 

***

After that conversation, it seemed like something changed. 

You didn’t have anything to do with it, because you were still trying to come up with the perfect way to string the words together, but things were still different. Mainly, it was the fact that Tech seemed to be around you much more than normal, and he was always by himself. 

Before, when the boys would return from whatever death-trap mission they had been sent on, they would all step into the cantina to return the spoils and collect payment. Now, it seemed that only Tech would show up. 

Cid even asked if you said anything to them, because apparently they would also only return at times when you were working. You had simply shaken your head and told her that you had no idea why things were suddenly changing, even though you did have an inkling that a certain Sergeant was behind all this.

However, it was only after many rotations of telling yourself that you were actually going to say something to him about it that it actually came to pass. “So, do the others not like it here anymore?” You asked lightly, just as you finished wiping down the tables in the (now) empty cantina. 

“Not exactly,” Tech eventually said, his facial expression changing ever-so-slightly as he processed your words.

“If they don’t like me anymore, I don’t want to know,” you responded, a small smile crossing your face. 

But Tech didn’t seem to catch on to the joking manner you spoke in, because his eyes widened behind his goggles before he quickly tried to reassure you. “No, it’s not- they don’t-”

You cut him off before he could flounder any longer. “No, I didn’t mean it like that,” you laughed. “It was just out of curiosity I asked, because I haven’t seen everyone in a while.” 

“You can thank Hunter for that,” Tech said, and continued before you had fully processed the meaning behind those words. “He has picked up on my feelings for you and has apparently decided to take matters into his own hands.” 

Now it was your turn to wear a surprised expression. “Feelings?” you stuttered out, brain desperately trying to confirm whether or not you heard what you thought you had. 

“I really like you,” Tech said, his voice and face looking straightforward as it always is. “My brothers have been pestering me to say something for a while, but I never wanted to make you nervous or uncomfortable. I guess now I have no choice.” 

Another version of yourself might have been too nervous to speak this out loud, but hearing those words from him quelled any fears that began to take hold. “I really like you too,” you said. “And Hunter knows about it, so I don’t think it was just you that he was trying to get to confess.” 

“I can’t believe neither of us noticed,” Tech smiled, reaching out tentatively to take your hand. “I guess Crosshair was right when he said love was blind.” 

A quiet laugh escaped your mouth, and you hoped that he couldn’t hear the rate at which your heart was beating. “Why don’t we go to dinner sometime?” you asked. 

Your question was met with another smile, this time with a comforting squeeze to your hand. “I’d really like that,” he said. “Once I come up with a plan to make sure it’s done in complete secrecy, I’ll send you the details.” 

“What, you don’t want to tell your brothers?” 

“Unless you’d like our date to have an audience, we’ll have to keep it to ourselves,” he said, an exasperated expression on his face. 

You laughed once more. “I promise, my lips are sealed.” 

Right as it seemed the two of you were leaning closer to each other, Cid’s voice echoed through the cantina, calling Tech into her office to settle their latest job. But even though your little moment had been cut short, you couldn’t help the way you smiled and hummed to yourself for the remainder of your shift. 

Once you got to spend a little more time with Tech, you’d say something to Hunter, but right now, you just wanted to bask in your newfound happiness.

- the end -

i no longer have a taglist! if you're interested in being notified when i post, you can follow my library blog @ghostofskywalker-library and turn on notifications!

[vintagebunnies]

consider sleeze bag mechanic simon but when he tries to it turns out the pretty little thing knows just one to many things about cars (and her car is her BABY) and properly reems him for trying to overcharge and make issues to get more money. simon doesn't know if hes pissed off that hes been called out or turned the hell on by the pretty thing yelling at him

i love ur brain so much

you had only come in to get your tires rotated, just routine maintenance. luckily for you, the new body shop had availability that day and whaddya know! simon’s the mechanic on call for that day.

simon’s eye latches onto you immediately. he thinks you’re this sweet little thing, you won’t know if he charged you a little more!

little did he know, you knew a thing or two about cars, and he should’ve realized that if he actually heard the way you talked about your car and explained why you were here.

you were at the receptionists desk just filling out some paperwork, and simon was working on your car. he rotated your tires for you but decided that your gasket had actually blown and your car was leaking coolant all over the shop.

“seems like your cars leakin’ coolant, love.”

“excuse me?”

“it’s antifreeze. you put it in the reservoir-“

“no no, i know what coolant is. what do you mean its leaking?”

“could be a blown gasket, lemme check it for ‘ya.”

you seem a little unsure at first, wholly aware that your cars completely fine and you would’ve noticed if your car was leaking anything, but decided to let him check anyways. (at this point you’re kinda just testing him. you would know if something was wrong)

simon pops your cars hood and he winces, shaking his head as he checks where your coolant tank should be.

“looks a little rusty darlin’, i can replace it but just know i’m gonna need the cash for the tires first.”

you were already reaching for your purse, already knowing how much that should be, but he keeps talking before you could pull out your wallet.

“that’ll be about $250 includin’ replacin’ the coolant.”

your face just drops. that’s outrageous! there’s no way.

“are you fucking kidding me? do you think i’m dense, asshole?”

simon knew for a fact he was overcharging. if he was told that he had to pay that amount he’d spit in the mechanics face and walk away. but he sure as hell wasn’t expecting you to know that.

“fuck that. there’s nothing wrong with my coolant tank, and a tire rotation shouldn’t be almost $300. shove it up your ass.”

you throw $70 cash at him and slam your cars hood shut.

simon’s cock chubbed up at the way you yelled at him, and keeping his eyes permanently trained on your breasts when you close the hood of your car. (he also couldn’t stop thinking about pushing you against it, pulling your pants down, and fucking you right there against the damn thing as he forced you to tell him everything you knew about cars)

[astra-ryuusei]

"Awakening the Sleeping Giant"

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

flings my creation into the unknown

the brain worms have gotten too powerful and I’m simultaneously dying of skystar disease of so have this 1400-ish-word Fucking Thing™ based on @keferon's mecha AU featuring human!starscream as the the little bastard you can't live with but also can't live without, and skyfire/jetfire as the unfortunate victim of Fate Being a Real Bitch Sometimes and accidentally deciding the outcome of the Space Race

"ulchtar" as a name for human!Starscream was borrowed from starscream's early name (and also Skybound)

also i don’t remember if the corporation that produces mechs in this au was ever properly given a name so i just kinda. gave them a generic one lol

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

Ulchtar is a mechanical engineer working on developing spacefaring mecha. He’s climbed through the ranks based on his expertise (and, occasionally by sabotaging other peoples’ work). Nobody really likes working with him; he’s kind of an ass at the best of times. But his experience with these systems makes him a danger if the company ever lets him go. He could sell his knowledge to anyone else in the world, creating new competition in a sector they’ve more-or-less monopolized. This keeps him from being kicked out…up until Mecha-Corp’s first voyage into the stars goes horribly wrong. After the disappearance of Jazz, the fingers are pointed at him, even though—for once in his life—he’s actually not to blame. It’s decided that he’s no longer useful, and he needs to be disposed of.

Ulchtar doesn’t know this, of course. Not until—after being called into a meeting in one of the downstairs labs—the door to go back upstairs locks itself, and he hears the telltale, unholy screeches of alien beasts around him. The beasts he has helped contain for years.

“…shit. Shit shit shit shit shitshitshitshitshit—”

He starts running. Not upstairs, that’s not an option, but maybe there’s another way out of here. He finds that the door upstairs is locked, but not the way down, and that means there’s still a chance, because if there’s anything the higher-ups here right about, it was the fact that Ulchtar knows way too much.

In a last, desperate attempt to survive (or at least go down swinging) Ulchtar decides to unleash his final gambit. He runs down long-forgotten halls, hurls himself downstairs until he reaches the lowest floor of the facility—a floor where nobody goes. It’s down here that he’ll make his stand and wake up an old “friend.”

The few who know it exists call it the “Sleeping Giant.” Corny name, but it made sense, given it's…well, fucking gigantic, maybe even bigger than Vortex. It was found buried in the Arctic in the mid-1950’s—what looked to be an ancient, alien shuttle, lost under the ice for perhaps millions of years. It was all kept hush-hush, but in secret, its discovery had turned the tides of the Space Race…and when it fell into the hands of what would soon become Mecha-Corp, they quickly learned it was much more than a vessel. It was alive.

Some of the earliest mechs? The huge, bulky ones that never ended up getting mass-produced because it wasn’t economical enough? They owed their design to the Giant. They owed their existence to the many times it had been torn apart and put back together to see how it worked, to the many years it had laid on a table inert, unaware of what humanity had done to it. It was their greatest trade secret.

And the Giant owes its currently-intact state to Ulchtar, who’d thought studying it as a whole was more useful than research on individual parts. Which is the only reason he knows, at least in theory, how to power it on. Hell, he’d even done some refurbishments when nobody was looking. He runs across a table far too big for him, pulling out cables and unlocking restraints. He doesn’t have time for final checks, not with a horde of kaiju bearing down on him. He just has to hope, to scream until he makes the stars hear his name—or he dies trying.

"COME ON!" He shouts. "WAKE UP, YOU OVERSIZED SUNOVA--"

At that moment, the stars respond.

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

He can’t move.

He’s freezing cold.

Is he dead?

How did he get here?

He’s…he was…looking for something, he’s pretty sure. Something very important.

Something so important he’d risk getting trapped under an ice sheet over it.

Who is he? He's not sure.

He wants to go home, but he can’t remember where that’s supposed to be.

Trying to remember hurts too much.

It’s hard to think like this, when he’s so cold and everything hurts and he’s so tired.

He lets himself drift, fluttering in and out of death-dreams that he can barely recall.

Eventually, after he’s lost count of the cycles, something happens. The dim light filtering through the ice gets brighter. Small creatures—the lifeforms of this planet, he thinks—peer down at him, pointing, shouting, but he is too weak to respond.

He has hope, for a brief moment, when he sees the sun again, but those hopes are quickly dashed—once more he’s trapped in walls and ceilings of white and gray. This time, the prison is own body. He’s escaped the glacier, only to find himself paralyzed and comatose. Occasionally he laspses into consciousness just long enough to steal a few kliks of awareness before he falls back into darkness.

At some point, he feels himself revert to ‘bot mode, which is something he'd forgotten he even had until then. He’s vaguely aware that he is being picked apart and put back together by the scavengers, again and again and again. The dull ache of not being whole is the only reason he knows he’s still alive, if this can still be called living.

And then…something changes. Everything goes dark for a very long time. The next time he’s aware of anything, his first realization is that he doesn’t hurt. He doesn’t feel broken. His arms respond when he tries to move.

What?

He sits up, still in something of a daze, taking in the surroundings. It’s a room seemingly sized for mechs, and yet the furniture strewn about is far too small—maybe meant for the scavengers? He has little time to wonder about the whole situation, because he soon hears them—the distant, telltale sounds of Quintessons approaching. He remembers what those are, in a way that’s almost instinctive.

To his right, though, he hears a small screaming noise. A lone organic is shouting something at him almost hysterically, pointing at the entrance before gesturing wildly, and then pointing up at the ceiling. It runs over to a set of controls, pushing at buttons furiously until the ceiling begins to open up. Once again, he sees the sky and feels something like hope.

Then tentacles lash out from behind the entrance, and he remembers this is no time for sentiment. He picks the organic up, deciding to just plop the creature inside his cockpit where’s it’s relatively safe and jump for it. He doesn’t trust the creature, not for a second, but he needs someone to explain what’s going on. Engines flare to life for the first time in millions of years, and he hears horrific screeches as Quintesson flesh is cooked under the heat from his thrusters.

They sail up and up and up until there’s no walls anymore and that feeling of suffocating is gone and it’s warmer than anything he’s felt in millions of cycles and he’s alive.

He lets himself spin a few times in the air. He’s above the clouds and the sun feels like fire on his still-frigid wings but somehow that’s good, it feels right. He wants to just hover here and bask in it forever.

He realizes why the creature is kicking him when gunfire whizzes past his face, followed by a pair of aircraft piloted by the scavengers.

Are the scavengers after him? Or the one he’s holding onto? He’s not really sure, but he also really doesn’t want to find out.

He transforms, looking for any way to shake them off. It becomes a mad, spiraling dance as he tries to avoid getting shot, to mixed results.

He considers the enemy’s design—these aircraft don’t look like they’re meant for spaceflight. Knowing that, he climbs higher and higher, looking to get above these things’ maximum operating altitude. He flinches as a few bullets scratch and tear at him, but doesn’t stop. This eventually pays off, as he sees his pursuers begin to stall out, dropping away behind him.

He hopes his scavenger didn’t get too sick in the cockpit. That’d be a mess to clean up…

…Primus, why am I worrying about that at a time like this? He laughs to himself, though this high up, the air is so thin that it’s barely audible.

He looked down at the planet below—dusk was soon to fall on this side of the world, and he needed to find somewhere to hide.

“…where do I even go from here?”

A knock from the organic, who held up what looked like a tiny datapad with a nervous grin.

Maybe they had an idea?

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

part 2

[necrotic-nephilim]

"I don't care how much you hate me - you need to eat!"

DickTim during Bruce's Lost In Time phase but with Dick stopping Tim from leaving💕

send a quote and a ship and I'll write a short fic!

fucked up DickTim during Bruce's lost in time era my beloved. this is 2k of *very* dead dove DickTim, with one-sided feelings from Dick and unreliable narrator vibes. it is a smidge OOC, just bc of how dark Dick gets, but i think i kept it best i could. enjoy <3

It wasn’t supposed to go this far.

Dick thought he was doing this to honor Bruce. The last thing Bruce would’ve wanted was to see Tim drive himself over the edge and go too far, all for a fruitless chase to bring Bruce back from the dead. And sure, maybe deep down Dick knew he reflected some of Bruce’s worst traits. The obsessive control. The worrying to the point of being overbearing.

It came with the capes and spandex territory. Especially now that Dick had decided to man up and put on that damned cowl.

But even at Bruce’s worst, Dick was pretty sure he wouldn’t dare go this far.

Dick knew it was wrong. What he didn’t know was why he couldn’t stop himself. Why the gnawing guilt was so easy to compartmentalize and why every good point Tim had got ignored by Dick’s logical side, brushed off by one simple mantra.

He was doing this for Tim’s own good.

All of this was to protect Tim from doing something he would regret.

Dick had done brain scans, had Tim magically checked up, and even managed to get him to properly talk to a psychiatrist. Everything came back normal. Tim was perfectly healthy.

So maybe this was something that had always been a part of Tim. Maybe it was a bad idea for any of them to have let Tim into the vigilante world so young.

Some people could handle it. Some people couldn’t. Dick had seen firsthand how it broke minds and ruined lives. He’d seen people turn to drugs, cults, murder, and god knew what else just to try to cope with it.

That didn’t make Tim weak. Tim Drake was the furthest thing from weak, and Dick would fight anyone on that.

This was just a hard life to cope with. Sometimes, people needed support through the worst of it.

That’s what Dick was doing.

Giving support.

“I don’t care how much you hate me- you need to eat!” Dick stepped back, dodging Tim’s attempt to kick his feet out. The bowl of salad Dick had set next to Tim was completely ignored.

Dick had learned not to give Tim hot food after Tim flung potato soup at his head the first time, chunks of potato stuck to his hair.

Tim’s scowl was lethal. Technically, he wasn’t restrained. He could move freely around the manor and do whatever he wanted.

It was the shock collar that kept him from leaving the grounds or breaking into the Batcave.

Dick had decided that would be the most humane way. The shock was only momentarily painful, it was designed to knock Tim unconscious if he tried to get somewhere he wasn’t supposed to. The collar had taken three tries before Dick found a lock Tim couldn’t pick, and a few more unfortunate incidents of Tim finding weak spots in the barrier.

But Dick always found Tim and brought him back home.

That was what was important.

The fact Tim kept trying to break out and go to god knew where on some fruitless quest to find a dead man made Dick more secure about this decision.

He was doing this to protect Tim. Once Tim worked through the worst of his grief, all this would be in the past. Something they would laugh at.

Hopefully.

It was like one of Tim’s contingency plans. Really, he of all people should understand.

But he didn’t. Which was what hurt Dick the most, the angry look in Tim’s eyes and the way his fists clenched when Dick came into Tim’s room. Tim had access to the whole manor, but he stuck mostly to his room, refusing to talk to anyone.

Especially Dick.

And now, it seemed, his latest tactic was a hunger strike.

“I’ll let you look over the burglary case we’re working on,” Dick offered. “I’ll bring you all the files and your computer if you just…” he gestured to the salad, “eat something.”

That had worked, in the beginning. Dick could coax good behavior out of Tim by offering to let Tim help with whatever case Dick was facing. It took a load off of Dick’s back and gave Tim something to focus on.

Of course, Dick couldn’t leave Tim’s computer with him. The first time Dick did that, Tim managed to break all of the firewalls and safeties put on it to start a case file about Bruce. Dick had to delete everything and only allow Tim monitored access from that point on.

After that, Tim really didn’t like Dick.

“Can’t you just go back to ignoring me?” Tim snapped. He sounded… resigned. Emotionless in a way he hadn’t been, like all the fight he’d been putting up for weeks was finally going out.

“Ignoring you?” Dick frowned. He felt like he’d been punched in the gut at the words. He kept a wide berth from Tim, wary of more punches being thrown, and decided to sit at Tim’s desk chair, a good few feet from where Tim was on his bed. “What makes you think I’m ignoring you?”

Tim scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You only talk to me to ask if I’ve dropped the Bruce thing yet, or to try to force self-care on me. The rest of the time you ignore me so you don’t have to face your own guilt.”

Dick violently shook his head. “That’s not-” he sighed, running a hand over his face- “I’m just busy, I promise. Between being Batman, managing Bruce’s estate, and trying to handle Damian, I just…” his voice trailed off. So many things to balance. He still didn’t know how Bruce managed it all. “I haven’t made enough time for you. I’m sorry.”

He decided to take on the burden of helping Tim. It was his responsibility and Tim was right, Dick was doing a piss poor job of taking care of him.

No wonder he pushed away Dick’s attempts to reconcile. It must’ve come across as half-assed, in Tim’s eyes.

Dick wished Bruce was here. He would’ve known the right way to handle this.

“Don’t start now,” Tim said icily. He picked up a book from his nightstand and opened it, pointedly not looking at Dick anymore. “Just leave me alone.”

“Will you eat first?” Dick asked. “If you just eat, I’ll go. I promise.”

With a loud sigh, Tim snapped his book shut. He picked up the salad Dick brought and shoveled down mouthfuls, all while glaring at Dick. Once the bowl was empty he set it back down and spread his hands, waiting.

Dick didn’t leave.

He wasn’t going to abandon Tim.

Dick stood up and Tim relaxed for just a moment before he realized Dick was walking toward Tim’s bed instead of the door. Slowly, like he was approaching a wild animal, Dick crept forward. He chose to sit on the foot of the bed, still far enough away from Tim to give him personal space.

“Tim-”

“Out. Now. You promised.”

Dick ran his fingers through his hair. “I know, but-”

“What do you want from me?” Tim almost yelled the words. “Do you want me to just say I don’t believe Bruce is alive? Will you finally leave me alone, then?”

“Can you say it under a truth serum?”

Tim went quiet, grinding his jaw.

“I want you to get better,” Dick sighed.

“What happens when I get better, then?” Tim challenged. He moved to sit cross-legged on the bed. So close to Dick that Dick could reach out and touch him, but emotionally, they were miles apart and it hurt Dick’s chest. “You ‘fix me’-” he put finger quotes around the words- “to your liking, then set me free?”

“Don’t talk about yourself like you’re an animal.” Dick frowned, fist clenching at the idea Tim thought of himself that way.

Tim just stared at him. “Then don’t treat me like one.” He raised a hand and tapped the collar.

It looked like it had new scratch marks on it.

“That’s not what I’m doing,” Dick said. He tried to find the words. It was so hard to explain it when Tim wasn’t listening to him. He wasn’t even given a chance. Dick tried to reach out. For once, Tim didn’t pull away. He was completely rigid under Dick’s touch, though. His hand rested on Tim’s arm, thumb stroking back and forth. “You know I’m doing this because… because I’m worried about you. And I care, Tim.”

“No you don’t,” Tim leaned away from Dick, but didn’t pull his arm free. “Whatever version of me exists in your head-”

“Tim-”

“-isn’t real,” Tim ignored him and kept going. “You won’t even listen to my theory-”

“Tim!” Dick tightened his grip, ignoring the small wince of pain that came out of Tim. “I’m not entertaining that kind of talk.” He tried to be firm but loving with his tone. But even Dick could hear the anger and frustration that was bleeding off of him. “This is practically self harm.”

“I know I’m right,” Tim mumbled. He wouldn’t look at Dick. “Will you just leave, now?”

Against his better judgment, Dick stood up. He had to patrol soon. “I’m sorry. We’ll talk after-”

“I’m going to sleep,” Tim snapped. “No, we won’t.”

Dick tried to throw his hands up in frustration, but he was still holding onto Tim’s arm.

He didn’t want to let go.

He knew Tim was waiting for him to let go, but Dick couldn’t force his fingers to release. He just stared for a moment, breathing hard.

Dick was doing this out of love.

And now, he loved Tim too much to want to let go of him.

Did he have to patrol tonight? He was pretty sure the Birds of Prey were in Gotham.

“Dick,” Tim said carefully, starting to scoot away from him. The apprehension in his voice was unsteady, eyes narrowed. He was always too on edge. “I’m tired. Just go on patrol.”

Instead of letting go, Dick lifted his other hand and held Tim’s face. Tim flinched but stopped inching away. He was completely still, barely even breathing.

He looked afraid of Dick.

Dick’s chest clenched. He wished he could get Tim to understand. Dick leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Tim’s forehead.

He wanted to kiss somewhere else, somewhere a few inches lower and just as unobtainable. That was a feeling Dick buried deep, deep inside of him.

It wasn’t why he was doing this.

A hand pressed against Dick’s chest. Trying to push Dick away, but for just a moment, the pressure and warmth almost made Dick shudder. Tim hadn’t properly trained in a while.

He wasn’t actually strong enough to push Dick off of him. If Dick wanted to, Tim couldn’t have stopped him.

But their relationship was already fractured. It would take a long time of repairing and letting Tim heal before Dick could even try pursuing those feelings.

Tim had once had a childhood crush on Dick, though. So he was pretty sure they could work their way up to it, be something more.

Dick pulled away. He let go of Tim’s arm and allowed himself one stroke of Tim’s hair. It was getting a little long, brushing against Tim’s shoulders.

The entire time, Tim remained perfectly still. But his eyes got wider and wider, the way they always did when he had just figured out a case.

Dick was getting too close. He needed to pull back.

“You still have the spare comm link?” Dick asked.

Tim didn’t answer. He just kept staring with those wide, searching eyes. He looked a little pale. Dick should get him some iron supplements, Tim becoming anemic is the last thing Dick wanted.

“Use it if you need me for anything,” Dick continued. He gave Tim what he hoped was a calming smile. “Get some sleep, Tim. I love you.”

He turned and walked out of Tim’s room. Slowed to crawl at a snail’s pace, hoping for an answer from Tim. He would take any kind of answer.

But Tim kept silent, even as Dick took his time intentionally, slowly closing the door. Dick just sighed, turning down the hall to head down to the Batcave.

Someday, he’d get through to Tim. Dick would find a way.

Someday soon.

[bokettochild]

⭐️ Crown Admist Courage ⭐️

I'm really enjoying the story so far! 💕🥰

Oh boy!

So, obviously, I REALLY like the Prince Legend trope, yeah?

This fic was mostly born out of a need to write a Legend centric fic again after not having written him a long-fic of his own since, what, Feathered? I mean, other than ABFHP, but that is..... we don't talk about that...

*goes and sobs in unfulfilled ideas and a writing style changed by a years work and no longer what it was for that project*

*ahem*, anyways! Clearly, I wanted to play with something, and I don't remember what it was precisely, but for ages now, I've had this thought in my head of all the knights just...finding out legend is royal and losing their shit. Not gonna lie, the thought of him perched on a throne (not sitting properly on it because he's just Like That) while the rest stand around with swords drawn and Legend smirking his freaking face off at the camera has been haunting me for the last few years.

I like the idea of Legend eventually weaponizing his status when he needs to, although I doubt it will ever actually appear in a fic. That said! After writing Legend as a prince in ABFHP, the idea of playing with it again but this time in the boys' home environment (AKA the outdoors) was sort of itching at my brain.

Honestly, it was probably someone in the LU-Legend community here on Tumblr that inspired the actual fic with some sort of post about Legend and knights or something, but my brain got to working and thinking and eventually I decided to make it an official draft.

I actually put it up to a poll to determine what my next fic would be, and ACAC was one of like, six options I put out there for my next major fic. I think the other ones were a Warriors dies/is forgotten, the boys get trapped in Time's world post LU, and a mix-and-match fic where the boys get separated and paired off with a random princess and have to find each other across time and space again; but now with said princess in tow. ACAC won the poll though, and so I started writing it- um...... *checks calendar* almost six months ago?!?!?!?! Holy cow? Like it's the start of a new month but sweet snap-dragons!!!!

Anyways!

Starting a fic is generally torture for me, at least when I know it's going to be a multi-chap/longfic. The first chapter sets the mood for the whole thing and establishes the interpretation of the characters and all that, so I was wracking my brain for what to do to get this thing off the ground. In the end, I ended up opening a random google-doc and just writing whatever my brain would spit out, wondering where to go and what to do and just rambling out every concept I could think of.

I debated so hard on whether or not Legend would actually know about his heritage or not, but since Feathered used the approach that he was in the dark, I thought it would be fun to do one where Legend's known all along, is totally aware of where he comes from and the history surrounding it, and it just stupidly ignorent to the fact that everyone around him is slowly figuring it out.

I knew we'd have some angst, since the royal-prince theories have been pretty dark since I first entered the fandom, so, for a bit of humor, I decided to go the route of "everyone eventually knows but also assumes they're the only one that knows", so, to any readers who were hoping that the boys would compare notes and use their brains, sorry to disappoint! Nobody is likely going to share their knowledge on purpose. if anything, I think it will be Legend that eventually 'outs himself', but only after everyone already knows. Until then, we'll just have all the boys convinced they are the sole knower of a very important and dangerous secret that they cannot share with the rest of they want Legend to stay alive.

That in mind! I had to start the fic I a way that wouldn't start it too slow, nor too fast.

The first draft actually was done in an echo of Feathered where I would recount about how Legend learned the truth, ages and ages ago, but it set up the imagine of a very innocent, sweet, baby-fied Legend (who, to be fair, would actually have been like nine at the time so it's not too bad) and it would make transitioning to the actual plot really tricky. That, and it just felt like a cheap knock-off of my previous works, and I didn't want that. So, instead, I tried to figure out a way for somebody to learn about the truth, and Sky ended up being the one I wanted to find out first.

I ran a few scenarios in my mind, but in the end, I decided on using the temple/Palace of Hylia plotline that we see in the fic. I figured that having Legend interact with ancient artifacts meant for the gods alone might set it up nicely, and putting them in an ancient building meant that I got to have written explanations dotted about for Sky to see for himself, and read, while the rest likely wouldn't be able to.

Sky coming to grips with the situation, with Sun's help, had many versions. I had them flirting and teasing and assuring each other in every direction, but very little of it was consistent with the point I was trying to drive: Legend is connected to Hylia somehow. I ended up cutting a TON of Sky/Sun interactions/moments in order to stay on track, including a chapter from Sun's perspective on the whole matter. I do like what I came out with though; it feels like a good balance of the plot and some character/dynamic building while also providing substantial lore to set up the story the way that I wanted to!

I was not actually intending on dragging the boys all the way to Warriors time so soon either, because I wanted to have them explore the surface village and meet people, but in the end I ended up cutting that too because it felt more rambling, and really could just be boiled down to a single paragraph instead.

Fun not though about their entrance into the captain's world! The portal is actually made by Lana! Technically speaking, the boys were yoinked across time and space because Lana needed backup and just summoned the first person that came to mind, and he ended up coming with eight other heroes in tow! I intended to make a note of this or otherwise touch on it in-fic, but, obviously, there was a lot of exposition happening and I couldn't find a good way to make it come up naturally. It might still be brought up, but I'm not sure.

Now, obviously, if you've been watching my Tumblr, you probably know that I put out polls to see who would find out next in any given update, and I wasn't actually planning on it being Wars, but what the people wanted, the people got! The appear of having knight drama was just too strong!

Initially, I was planning on leaving it at Warriors seeing the vet use similar magic to Zelda and putting the pieces together and just leaving it at that, but then, while making dinner one night after a few rounds of HW, I ended up just.... accidentally imagining/daydreaming the whole bit with Impa explaining things to Warriors. No lie, I did not plan a single line of that! I thought it and then grabbed for my computer and started typing as fast as I could while the spark was still there, trying to cover everything from the imaginary conversation in my head. In the end, I had to cut the scene in two because it just was so MUCH, but I loved the ideas I came up with there. it is, by far, the best theory I have come up with in regards to the princes' of Hyrule and the royal family as a whole, ever! Enough so that I've started referencing it in other fics too (although to a lesser extent, but TBoHH now has nods to it now, and I'm sure it follow elsewhere as well, going forwards .

Warriors reactions are made to be sort of a mirror to the way that Wild used to act in the memories we see in BOTW, and I actually really wanted to include a scene that sort of mirrors that first memory we locate where Flora yells at Wild for following her everywhere. Chapter 12 was supposed to include Legend shouting some very similar choice words at Wars, but I ended up scrapping it (and the whole chapter draft) when it kept petering out and rambling off into nowhere. I still intend to touch on the parallels there though!

Speaking of parallels, I am loving getting to play with the Flora & Legend parallels! The first time I ever compared them was actually in the OG TBBU series, where Wild observes to Warriors and Time that Legend is very similar to his princess in many ways, and that comparison has stuck in my head since. I have intentionally played into it in this fic, from the first chapter where Wild lends Legend his slate to the present one I released this weekend. The purpose of this is to mess with Wild's head but also to sort of endear Legend to him so that he's not just being a knight, like Wars, but actually uses his experience from being Flora's knight to navigate his supposed duty to the vet better than the captain is. For example, rather than acting stiff and soldierly, he's being friendly and appealing to Legend's interests so that he can manipulate circumstances to let him stay close to the vet and thus protect him better.

Honestly, I love the dynamic potential between the two of them, and having Flora as a sort of a base model for Legend's behavior makes it easier to write him in this AU where he's experiencing things that JoJo's Legend would never actually even see, realistically. It also makes for some great Wild angst/character building, because it plays into his memory loss and issues regarding failure, while also giving him context for new situations and ways to help.

Legend's Magic

I had no intentions of bringing Legend's magic into the fic at all, save a single throwaway line to reference my theories about Legend post-Koholint (do NOT ask me about these unless you want an angst-fest that may or may not have wrecked more drafts than I care to admit, and which might go on for hours/pages). For spoiler reasons for several fics now, I can't explain the magic thing in full, but I really just meant it to be an explanation for why Legend's not freely using holy magic left and right, but you guys seemed to really enjoy the concept, so I've been leaning more into it!

The heart issues are actually a side effect of his magical condition, and I like to think Legend's had poor health his whole life as a result of his magic being too strong for his physical form (much like how Impa spoke about in fic). Being that he's a twin, he's actually the weaker/smaller sibling, and sue to the conditions he was raised in, that was aggravated by a lack of food, medical care, and his early start to adventuring, all of which contributed to making his body weaker even as his magic continued to get stronger.

None of this is the fault of the vet's Uncle, but because Legend's parents died when he was very small, Uncle was left providing for him single-handedly, while trying to fly under the radar of the crown, so they were pretty poor all around and genuinely couldn't afford what was needed to help Legend grow up properly. In contrast, Zelda did have these things and thus doesn't suffer the same issues.

The Plot Going Forwards

Again, I did NOT intend to really delve into Legend's magic in this fic, not much, but I realized over time that, once the boys all find out, it might be nice to have an actual conflict for them all to face, legend of course being at the center of it, and it would be pretty cool if magic/godly heritage ended up being a major plot point. And yes, this line of thought can be blamed entirely on @weepingtalecowboy, who has been flooding my brain, and the LU-Legend community, with killer ideas about the vet and who kindly gave me permission to try my hand at some of them.

Currently, the idea appealing most to me is the boys being stranded in Hyrule's era and having to deal with some cultists, because I've never really played with that before and it would be so fun to really hurt them all via ritual sacrifice and torture >:)

Of course, things might change, and I have no set plans for this fic and really am just going where it takes me.

Epona

Legend's a horse girl and I feel it is a great crime that we haven't touched on this fact more My man used to be able to speak to animals just passively (as per the OoS manga/his games), and while it is hinted this is part of his magic, and thus no longer something he can do in this fic, I really wanted to touch on it.

I fully intend on playing with Epona more in the fic and making her relevant to the story in some way, although HOW, I'm not yet sure. As a result though, I think Twilight might be next to learn the truth about the vet (also because I desperately want to use a fun line/reference in the fic but it only works with Twilight)

Trivia

Legend honestly has so much random trivia related to him that your average LU fan likely doesn't know about. From his knowledge of telephones to the fact that he's canonically a boxer, there are so many little asides, characters, facts, traits, and skills that I so rarely see in fics, and I'm making an effort to lean more into the Legend lore in this story and include them!

So far, I've gotten to include the factoid about Legend's ability to speak to animals, his boxing skills, Ghanti's whole existence, and, of course, the whole technology thing! I want to toss in a few details every few chapters, and maybe bring in a few characters we rarely see in fics, but there's no promise that I CAN. (I will be trying though)

The Princesses

So far, only Sun has really gotten any spotlight, but I do want to include a fair bit about the princesses where I can in this fic, making them actually plot relevant rather than just passing background characters who show up just for a cameo and then disappear again, like they have in my other fics. Again, I have no concrete plans and am sort of winging this whole thing, but I do enjoy having the girls play a role of some kind. I was hoping to have Artemis involved more, before, but Impa ended up taking over instead.

-

And that's it for now! We haven't gotten all that far in the story, technically speaking, and only three out of eight have figured anything out!

That said though, I am just here for the ride, and have no clue where we're going, so who knows what's next and who knows how close/far we are from the end LOL

I wanted to thank everyone who's been reading and commenting though, for their kind words, fun ideas, theories, suggestions, and general encouragement! It's been fun and I hope it continues to be so!

[thebestjjenthusiast]

carolina’s children

06 | 07 | 08

“being a singer means i have the y/n driving me around? why didnt i audition earlier?” jj joked as i parked my car temporarily outside his porch.

“i just dont trust you with maps and coordinates” i shrugged as i unlocked the doors, watching him as he walked over to the passenger seat

“so, are you finally relaxed about tonight?” he looked at me as i revved

“relaxed is… not exactly my state right now” i looked at him for a brief moment and hit the gas

“well me and the pogues have a little surprise for you after the concert. y’know, to make you feel better” he smiled, and i felt my checks heating up just a little bit

“a surprise huh?” i smiled as he hummed. we are now on our way to chris’ house to start working.

i mean the fact that he had covid didnt mean we couldnt use the garage right? open space (sorta), a whole different floor than the rest of the house and all the gear we needed. i figured we’d be alright, and pope the big brain already said itd be okay.

chris of course agreed. he actually really loved each and every single one of us, bandmates and our friends. and i did love him back. if he discretely disliked the band as in working in it had nothing to do with our friendship (unlike mike).

“rafe where had you been hiding those skills?” jj trolled him ironically, making rafes temper rise.

“will you shut it” rafe shot back and tried his best to focus.

“how about instead of mocking him you start singing boy?” i growled as i continued studying my sheets.

pope was focusing on his bass, especially since we decided to cover a lot of red hot chili peppers. it was easier for jj and his vocal chords.

after what felt like ages, the time was six pm, and we were doing fairly well considering the circumstances. rafe was not acing it, but he was pulling it off. jj was messing up a few lyrics here, cracking his voice slightly there, but i had faith in him.

now, it wouldnt be a classic the band performance, but the audience will at least have live music to hear.

just as soon as we finished revising our last song, song,we heard my phone ringing, then suddenly stopping as i got a notification.

“that was a good one well done guys” i said removing the belt of my guitar and putting it on a sofa near me.

i grabbed my phone to see i has a few missed calls and a text message from trixie

❛ trixie.. or trixie the pic tricky as many called her around the island for her insane photography skills. she often worked for us during our concert days, mostly photographing and then posting them on her platfrom, boosting ours and her career. but since we bonded so fast, and her dad owned the bar we were performing, she took some manager duties from time to time, such as telling us when we needed to head over there to start preping up just like she was doing now ❜

“guys tricky just texted me” i announced, earning two confused looks and a response only from pope

“oh shoot, we gotta go guys come on” he ordered as he started placing his bass inside its case

i started taking my stuff too as rafe took the drumsticks and jj took the sheets he didnt fully remember

“may i ask whos tricky?” jj breathed as we we’re basically running towards my car to take off

“shes our photographer slice manager” i stated “her names actually trixie” i continued

“wait trixie with the bob and the bangs?” rafe questioned

“yea thats the one” i replied getting on my drivers seat “now buckle up”

“why do i know her” rafe was mumbling to himself as pope turned from the seat next to me to look at him

“you went to the same high school probably, shes rich as shit” he stated as he watched rafe fading a smile with agreement

“yea shes really sweet but will kill us if things go south” i pulled pope to sit properly on his seat as i was speeding a little too much “did you tell her the news? shes off twitter” i asked him

“uh.. i forgot” he squinted his eyes and an elbow came right towards his ribcage

“i will kill you heyward” i shouted as questions begun flying from the back seats.

taglist: @rafeysworldim19, @amterasuu, @bee-43, @eviepostssometimes, @imsiriuslyreal, @sarahmaybank

an: i love doing random introductions i feel like im tarantino😛but no splatter here 🙏

[fear8not1]

heyyy for kiss prompts may i suggest 36 with maxiel? 💖

thank you for your request ! this turned out a bit bittersweet (i rewrote it thrice and just couldn't make it happy LMAO) so feel free to ask for another kiss if it's not to your tastes.

not my best but it's a very fun exercise !

send me a ship and a number and i will write a kiss

36 (as a promise) - on the flip of a coin - maxiel, 732 words

The music is loud. Loud enough to cover Max’s voice. Not loud enough to cover Daniel’s.

“I’m leaving F1,” he yells in his ear, blue lights aggravating his eye bags when he leans back to look at him, “I’m taking a break.”

Max blinks once, twice. He looks down at his drink, mentally counts the shots he’s taken, but he’s nowhere near drunk enough to hear things wrong.

Daniel is leaving. “You’re kidding, right ?” He asks, trying to search for anything on his face that’d indicate he is — the usual amused sparkle in his eyes, the small smirk. But there’s nothing.

Daniel leans forward again, lips brushing his ear as he speaks. “No, I just- I can’t do it anymore, Max. I gotta leave, mate.”

If Max isn’t drunk, maybe Daniel is. He checks the empty glass in his hand, even though he knows he’s only had a beer and a whiskey coca. Nothing crazy. He opens his mouth to ask why and how and when and complain about the fact that it’s the first time they’ve went out in months and losing him now, when he feels like he’s finally reached him, would be unfair but…

But he gets it. Daniel’s skin looks dull, pale, his signature smile long gone. His cheeks aren’t red from laughing, the lines on his face much deeper than they once were, and, from where he is, Max can see his collarbones peeking from his shirt. He’s not wearing his team kit, not a single item reminding that he drives for McLaren. He used to wear Red Bull merch often. Even off track. “I- I can be there for you, mate. You don’t have to- we can talk about it when we’re sober, yeah ?”

Daniel shakes his head, smiles sadly and bumps their foreheads. The contact hurts, but Max’s brain replays the past few minutes so much he barely registers it. “No, Maxie. Can’t do, won’t do. I…,” he takes a shaky breath, steals a sip from Max’s glass, “I need you to know. Now. Press’ll know in a few days. You gotta be ready, mate, they’ll be all over you.”

Max nods quietly, frowning so hard he can tell he’ll have a headache soon enough. He knows why he’s doing it. He understands. It, somehow, makes it worse. He can’t be angry at him, can’t be sad for him — it feels natural, considering the last few years. “Danny, I- will you come back ?”

The Australian shrugs, looks away for a few seconds. It gives Max enough time to look at him, properly look, for the first time in years. Red Bull, Renault, McLaren, they’ve all taken their tolls on him. Like a disease, it has spread throughout the years, quietly and undiagnosed, and it was now too late to fix it easily. He had to step away. Leave for a while. Work on himself as a last chance treatment. Pray it works.

“Probably,” he ends up answering, voice so quiet Max would have missed it had he not read it on his lips, “I’ll try to come back next year. They might not want me back.” His words are carefully picked, as if he had spent his nights trying to figure out how to break the news for others.

Max doesn’t want to think about that. “They’ll do. You’ll come back,” and, as he says it, he isn’t sure if he’s trying to comfort Daniel or himself, “in a year, then. Gives you enough time to go crazy doing normal things. Then, back to us.”

Daniel stares at him for a few seconds, licks his lip clean from the sticky beer residue, and smiles. It’s nothing like his usual smile, but it’s a small victory, at least. He wonders if he’s also thinking of clumsy nights, years ago, when adrenaline would run too high and healthy outlets were needed. If he’s over it, the way Max is pretending to be.

He wonders, but Daniel puts a stop to it, leaning forward just enough to brush his lips against Max’s. With his free hand, he caresses his cheek and whispers, “I promise, Max. I’ll come back to you,” and kisses him gently. He tastes of alcohol, of beer and whiskey and toothpaste, of salty tears and disappointment, of nights Max will forever miss.

But it’s good enough, for now. It’s a promise he can cling to.

[johnslittlespoon]

hi sorry i can't stop thinking about your leaving!bikeriders au aaaaaa

big tough intimidating gale and his sweet little puppy boyfriend is just *chefs kiss*

but also just the potential for the future of these two is driving me crazy

john's always been a little smaller than gale, or just the fact that he's so pretty thin and lanky makes him seem smaller in comparison

but the years go by and suddenly he's got a couple inches on gale and he's beefy as all hell

gales loves it

gale gushing to his biker buddies about his baby bucky and then this brick wall of a man walks up and theyre all like holy shit

and bucky never loses his puppy tendancies, he just kinda becomes like a big dog that doesn't know his size, draping himself all over gale and almost crushing him in the process

and also gale with a little white in his beard im going insane

au post | STOP IT THIS MADE ME SO <33 i loooove this (also it won't let me add a 'read more' without messing up the images so forgive this wall of text lol)

just the thought of them growing so close and their lives intertwining over the years, sorting through their issues, getting over every hurdle and going through so much together. gale in a suit bringing flowers to john's college graduation, john getting a part time job despite gale's protests because he wants to help out but also so they can take a celebratory vacation together when he finishes his exams :((

they meet when john looks like this sweet little thing in his second year of college, early 20s, shy and still growing into gangly limbs:

and then suddenly a couple years have passed and he's graduating and he looks like this twunky frat boy (gale realizes somewhere in the first few months of living together that john's vision is absolute dogshit and john's just been writing it off as a lack of focus lmfao so he forces him to an eye doctor):

and part of gale feels a little bit sad when john doesn't have to tilt his chin up to kiss him properly anymore because yk it's like watching a puppy grow up lol but mostly he's just. insane. about his boy. he's in love with his brain, and getting to see him grow confidence and become at peace with himself over the years only makes him more infatuated (and he'll be damned if he doesn't go a little crazy at the feeling of muscular thighs beneath his hands when he's got john pinned down) <3

gale's friends going a good chunk of time without seeing john during his last year of college because john's so busy juggling part time and cramming for his final exams, and when he finally does show up at the pub or biker club or whatever just before summer, there's jokes about "what the hell have you been feeding him, buck?" because that is not the lanky awkward pretty boy that had been hanging off of gale's arm the summer before. although john's absolutely still the same personality–wise, still crawling into gale's lap whenever he can, making gale carry him to bed, loving to sit on the floor by the couch between gale's legs so gale has to lean down to kiss him. :')

maybe john gets an internship after graduating and ends up working part time at the mechanic shop instead of his old part time since gale can give him whatever hours he needs to balance the internship and income (i'm pretty sure that's what i'll have gale's job be, running a car and bike shop, because yk it just checks out). john does a lot of heavy lifting and physical activity working there and bulks tf up and it makes him feel so much more confident in himself and gale would lose his mind at the way john's work shirts stretch across his broad shoulders hsdgdskhj !?!

and oh my god yes salt and pepper beard gale. john would go fucking feral over him, catching himself staring all the time, as if he doesn't already do that enough. they both become more and more attracted to each other as time goes on, like they keep waiting for the 'honeymoon' phase to end but it just doesn't, even through whatever conflicts and fights they go through, even once they fall into routine and domesticity– they're just as crazy about each other sigh.

thx. these two are gonna live rent free in my head forever. i love them so much and i haven't even written them yet fml. ALSO THANK U FOR UR OTHER ASK WITH ALL THE BIKER INFO!!! i will absolutely msg u if i have questions ur a life saverrrr omg. i screenshot and saved that ask to my drafting doc bc god knows i'm gonna need it SJKDJG ur awesome <33

[endiecutieo6]

WRITE AN OVERWORKING FREDDY SICKFIC

AND MY LIFE

IS YOURS

HI! I’m so sorry this took so long, my brain wasn’t functioning properly. Making up a plot line was harder than I thought lol

For starters, a doodle inspired/made before I started the story!

TW: Mentions of sickness, mentions of vomit (no vomiting though)

Also, Freacher/Kreddy yay-

He doesn’t care about what anyone says, Freddy is not sick.

Yes, he’d been having some… issues; it had just started with a bit of shortness of breath, then a tiny fever, only a little lightheadedness, and just a small bit of nausea, nothing he couldn’t manage. Freddy had been sick- actually sick- before and this wasn’t it, couldn’t be it. He wasn’t wheezing, he could keep food down, he wasn’t bedridden, and he sure as hell wasn’t weak.

Sure, his head swirled enough that he now took twice the time to get down the stairs to prevent himself from falling down.

Sure, he kept having to wipe away the excessive saliva that seemed to now be a constant (the fact that he couldn’t properly close his mouth due to his teeth didn’t help matters).

Sure, his vision basically blacked out when he stood up no matter how long he waited to move.

But, he wasn’t sick, he just wasn’t.

But, even if he was, the manor wasn’t going to clean itself.

It wasn’t like chores weren’t done, quite the opposite. To an untrained eye, the manor looked spotless, the image of high class perfection, but Freddy knew better. He could see it in the details; the spots of dust underneath the furniture, the books all out of place on the shelves, the plants that weren’t in the room last time he checked, and so much more. It had been bugging him for weeks, and only a week ago he finally cracked and started getting everything back in order. To hell with what everyone else said, it needed to be done. He’d done so much already, only a few people actually appreciating his work, but then his… symptoms started to flare up and make things a bit more difficult. He’d considered stopping for a bit, but if everyone was going to insist he was sick and “needed to rest” he couldn’t just confirm it. No, that would bring about all sorts of bad results, ones he's just barely been hiding from…

Freddy shakes his head. He’s getting off track, and from the looks of the spotless patch of floor in his sight he’d been done with this small task for a while. Alright, he’d gotten some dirt and mud off the floor (he’d talk Nortons ear off about this later- why couldn’t he at least try to clean his shoes before entering the manor?!), now he had to reorganize the bookshelf before making sure the pillows were in their proper place and weren’t dusty. After that, he’d have to go to another room and do the process again. No problem, should be easy enough, he’d done it countless times at this point, no doubt he could do it again-

He stood and started walking, only to get the quick realization of how bad of an idea that was. In an instant, all the weight in his body shifted downwards, making it feel like his feet were encased in cement. His vision was spotting up so badly he could hardly make out anything in front of him, his sight obscured by a gray static that seemed to swirl and spin, which definitely wasn’t helping. His eyes widened and he tried to recover but his foot was slow and wasn’t hitting the ground and now he was falling, hands reaching out to grasp at something, anything to stop his fall-

His hands found purchase, and Freddy just barely managed to keep himself upright. Even though he now had both feet on the ground, leftover adrenaline was still coursing through his veins, his heart pounding in his ears like he’d dodged death instead of an unpleasant fall, a total overreaction. Despite this, he couldn’t bring himself to move and try to brush it off, letting himself pant as he put a shaking hand against his chest, trying to calm his overactive heart. Something was dripping down his face, and he quickly clocked it as sweat. Normally, he’d just chalk it up to being sensitive to the heat, but it was the middle of winter and the manors insulation wasn’t terrible, but wasn’t the greatest either, no excuse for him to be sweating bullets after all he did was scrub a patch of dirt off the floor.

Freddy swallows hard, saliva filling his mouth much faster than usual. His stomach was twisting again, tugging at his gut and growling loud enough that it had gone from annoying to concerning. The latter really shouldn’t have taken him off guard; ever since the nausea joined the fray, he’d been skipping meals ever so often, not only because his appetite had gone down but to prevent himself from throwing up. It was such an obvious and distracting action, one he wouldn’t be able to hide or brush off easily. It seemed like a passable idea when it had first entered his mind, but hindsight is 20/20 and now he could only sit with the bitter realization that it was probably only making the situation infinitely worse.

Now that his vision had cleared up, his eyes flickered over to the chair not too far away. Wiping his mouth with his free hand, he considered a break. He’d been working for about an hour by now, maybe even more since he hadn’t checked the clock in a bit, a break wouldn’t be unreasonable, right? Surely, he would’ve earned it by now, especially with the amount of effort he’d put into this whole thing. He was alone too, meaning he didn’t have to worry about inadvertently confirming people's assumptions and having them dote on him like he was a child. It didn’t have to be a long break, maybe just a few minutes? His back was starting hurt anyway-

“¡Jesús Cristo! Freddy, what happened?!”

In an instant, Freddy was standing up straight, ignoring the way his stomach lurched with the sudden movement. He snatched his hand away from the cabinet like it burned him, forcing his hands to his sides. Naturally, his face was the first thing to correct, the forced indifferent almost just as natural as breathing to him. He doesn’t really know why he did it, as turning around revealed the obvious; Kreacher was at the door and it was obvious his little performance wasn’t fooling him. Faster than he could blink, Kreacher was right up against him, hands off his shoulders as his eyes darted over him to assess the damage, like a vase that had tipped over and struck the ground, like he was fragile.

Freddy didn’t know exactly why it made him feel offended, but it had sparked and was quickly beginning to burn.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Kreacher,” Freddy said- too quickly for his own liking, made him sound desperate “I can, and already have, assured you that I’m just fine-”

“Bull-shit! K-Kreacher knows what he saw, and kn-know you’re lying through your teeth!” Kreacher interrupted, his frustration only becoming clearly with every word that was spilling out, possibly days worth of unsaid worries now flowing freely “fuck- why can’t you ju-just admit to yourself that your not feeling well?! You’re stumbling and panting, it-it’s just so obvious! Why- Why can’t you just admit it?! You’re sick.”

As soon as he processed those words, Freddy found himself tensing up, jaw clenching tightly as he found himself on the defense. Internally, it was a different story; how could he have been so careless about it?! He thought he’d been hiding it well, putting up at least a decent act, but if Kreacher was able to notice it so well, what have other people been thinking?! The only bit of leeway he could apply to himself was the fact that Kreacher would’ve noticed a lot sooner than, considering the amount of time they spent together- Kreacher was his partner, after all, so it was only natural that he’d pick up on Freddys stumbles and lapses in his performance. Really, it was only an inevitability that Kreacher would snap and confront him directly.

Unfortunately, Freddy had dug this hole too far to go back. He needed to stand his ground.

“Kreacher, I assure you I’m fine. I just stood up too fast, that’s all,” this time, his voice came out steady and composed, just the perfect amount of calm to hopefully soothe Kreacher's worries “maybe I’m not feeling the greatest, but I just can’t be as ill as you think I am. I wouldn’t have gotten so much done if I was really that sick, you would’ve instead found me in a much worse state if I really was that ill.”

For emphasis, he took a step back, Kreacher's hands leaving his shoulders as he took a step far too confident for his own good. Whether it was karma or simply just comedic timing, a wave of nausea struck him hard, as if punishing him for lying. It punched the air out of him, and that small distraction had his foot landing the wrong way, not enough to compensate for the shift in weight, and his blood went cold as he fell back. Once again, he was falling, but now he was too far away from the cabinet to grab hold of it. Fuck, unless he could roll onto his side mid-air, he was either going to land on his tailbone or crack his skull open. Either couldn’t be afforded, especially not in his current state, but he didn’t have enough time to think, just hope for the best-

Kreacher quickly reached out and grasped his arm, fingers clinging on tight before Freddy was hauled to his feet. Somehow, even that action was too fast, and Freddy ended up leaning against Kreacher to just keep upright as his mind (and stomach) reeled. Kreacher, thank god, let him have his moment to recoup before guiding him to the chair, moving slowly to make sure Freddy could follow. Freddy had to force his mouth shut and swallow down the sudden flood of saliva that now had decided to join with the nausea. Freddy doesn’t think he'd ever been more relieved to sit in a chair before than right now, if at all, but there was a first time for everything and if it meant the nausea would go away, then so be it. He practically melted into the seat, a hand over his mouth as he tried to will the remains of dizziness away and ignore the metallic twing that stung the back of his throat. He couldn’t throw up, at least not here- he didn't think he’d make it to the bathroom in time and he wasn’t going to vomit on one of the plants, especially not the ones Emma tended to… which was basically all of them.

During this, Kreacher had kneeled down in front of him, putting his hand on Freddys thigh and rubbing comforting circles as Freddy gathered his bearings. It was sweet, but it was overshadowed by just how humiliated Freddy felt. It was embarrassing- he wasn’t supposed to be so weak. He had taken blow after blow during his life, and endless more since he got to the manor, yet here he was; nearly swept off his feet twice and having to be tended to like a child, by his partner no less. Freddy wasn’t good by any means, but he was better than this.

“F-feeling a bit better now?” Kreacher asked softly, cocking his head and giving Freddy that lopsided grin that never failed to make Freddy gush just a little bit “Yo- you should rest for a bit. Kre- I’ll be with you.”

Freddy lowered his hand, taking a deep breath as he stared down at his lap. Kreacher must’ve noticed his shift in and he tried to reach out, but Freddy recoiled, unable to look his own lover in the eyes. His face burned, and he didn’t even know if it was because of the fever or not, but he just couldn’t look at Kreacher.

He. Was. Better. Than. This.

“I- um- thank you d-dear,” Freddy managed out, the effort to keep his voice steady and composed so obvious it only made him feel more ashamed than he already felt “b-but I need to get back to work-”

“Like hell you are.”

Suddenly, Kreacher was all too close, right up against him. On instinct, his heart skipped a beat and he got flustered, only for it to morph into confusion as Kreacher wrapped his arms around him, but not in a hug, like he was going-

“Kreacher Pierson don’t you dare-”

Freddy didn’t even get the chance to finish before he was lifted off the ground, fast enough that it took him off guard but slow enough it didn’t make him hurl. Whether it was his own indignation or a reflex built up from the matches, but he instantly tried to push himself away, wriggling to the side with as much effort as his body would allow. This didn’t work out in his favor, as it allowed Kreacher to hook an arm underneath his legs, lifting them completely off the ground. He didn’t even give Freddy any time to try again before he was moving, taking long strides over to the door as Freddy fumed in his arms.

“Fuckin’- put me down!” Freddy hissed, his free hand going up and fisting Kreacher's shirt, only tugging enough for his frustrations to be known “I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing, but-”

The door, which had apparently been left ajar (what if someone else saw them!? Freddy doesn’t think he’d be able to bear it if anyone else saw him act so pathetic!), had easily been opened up further with a prod, and any words Freddy had yet to say died in his throat the moment they entered the hallway. Freddy gritted his teeth, pressing his face against Kreachers chest like he’d absorbed into it if he tried hard enough, hands clenched so tightly his nails were digging into his palms. This was embarrassing, utterly mortifying, and he couldn’t tell whether falling to the floor and cracking his skull open would be a better alternative than what the hell would happen if someone found him like this.

Kreacher seemed to pick up on his sudden anxiety (or maybe not so sudden- he actually had been anxious for quite a bit) and squeezed him a bit, holding him just a little bit tighter, making Freddy feel… safe.

“D-don’t worry, everyone is b-busy,” Kreacher whispered, taking long but steady strides down the hallways of the manor “Kreacher wouldn’t be d-doing this if he didn’t know that…’

Freddy opened his mouth to say something, but it didn’t take long to realize he had nothing to say anymore. Now that he wasn’t moving or swallowing the urge to vomit, he was tired and woozy and would probably fall asleep in Kreacher's arms before they got to their destination, wherever that was. He just opted to let his head lull, pressed against the crook of Kreacher’s shoulder as his eyes fluttered shut. Kreacher must’ve been outside for a little bit before he went to see Freddy because he was cold- not freezing, but a comforting cool that felt heavenly against his sweltering skin. Christ, why hadn’t Freddy put on something else? It felt like he was boiling in his own skin- is that why it was so hard to think now? Actually, maybe that was for the better. He could risk not thinking for a bit.

With his eyes closed, every sensation felt so intense; the steady rise and fall of Kreacher's chest, the way his fingers would occasionally squeeze as if he was trying to comfort Freddy, the occasional tune he’d hum when it got too quiet, it was all so mesmerizing, so much so that it felt he’d lost track of time. He only snapped back to attention when he felt Kreacher start to put him down. For a moment, it was blind panic, eyes shooting open and darting around, only to calm down once his mind caught up to him. He was in his room, now on his bed with a blanket (one of the thinner ones, thank god) being laid on him. Freddy let his head lull back into the pillow, watching with just a faint smile as Kreacher slowly untied his tie, putting on his nightstand before beginning to unbutton his shirt. Freddy raised an eyebrow.

“That better be just to keep me from overheating, young man,” Freddy, even in his current state, couldn’t help but tease “I need to be resting, remember?”

Predictably, Kreacher's cheeks flushed a bit, and Freddy giggled as he (poorly) tried to hide the grin spreading across his face. It wasn’t easy to make Kreacher flustered, especially when it was just the two of them, so he couldn't help the swell of pride in his chest, nor the smirk that was creeping across his face.

“Pervertido,” Kreacher chuckled, hands moving to roll up Freddys sleeves “Such an innocent action and y-you say that. Says more about you than it does about Kreacher…”

It got another laugh out of him, Freddy playfully swatting at him while Kreacher just stuck out his tongue in response.

This was… nice. It had been a long time since he’d been able to enjoy some domestic bliss, and it didn’t help that those memories were tainted with the grief that came with loss, so being able to do it, even all these years later, was a pleasant surprise. Hell, sometimes it still surprised him that he even managed to get to this point, where he could fall in love again; he didn’t think someone like him deserved to be loved again, if at all, but here Kreacher was, tending to him like they’d been married for years. Even now, with Kreachers hands actively touching him, it still didn’t feel real, like a dream…

“..g-gonna have got some clean clothes,” Kreacher was muttering to himself as he smoothed out the sheets “m-maybe some warm tea? No, n-not warm- ugh, I need to get Ms. Dyer-”

…that was going to become a nightmare-

“No!” Freddy nearly yelled, shooting up far too fast but he didn’t care “N-not her- I don’t need her. I’m just fine without her.”

It only occurred after he’d said it said Freddy could’ve been nicer about it, but it had already been done and he could see the frustrated burn behind Kreachers eyes, irritation making his fingers twitch. He stood up sharply, clearly exasperated by Freddy's continued stubbornness that he just didn’t understand. Freddy just wished he did, that it suddenly clicked in his head, that no words needed to be spoken for it to happen but by the time he opened his mouth Kreacher was already speaking.

“Por el amor de Dios- Kreacher knows you two don’t get along, but she’s- she’s the only doctor here!” Kreacher wasn’t shouting, but Freddy still shied away, lowering his head in what felt like shame, shame that he just couldn’t talk right, but Kreacher didn’t even seem to notice “Ada is not that kind of doctor, and I’m not- I’m not even a doctor! She’s the only one who can- who can help you! K-Kreacher doesn’t understand what you’re afraid of-”

Then it clicked.

Kreacher went silent, his face falling as it finally clicked into place, as he finally put two and two together. Freddy wanted to get mad, to yell that he should’ve realized sooner, but he just couldn’t; sometimes, you just didn’t think about it until you said it, didn’t connect the dots until you could see them, didn’t see how two things could be related until confronted. It wouldn’t have done anything anyway, the way Kreacher’s eyes widened, the way he hunched as his eyes went wide, darting around as if he couldn’t decide if he could look Freddy in the eye made it clear that he felt guilty. Normally, Freddy felt pleased, vindicated even, when people felt guilt, but now he just felt even more guilty than Kreacher did. Why hadn’t he said something? Gently nudged Kreacher in the right direction before snapping like that? Why did he just expect him to know?

“Mierda, Freddy, Kreacher is- I am- am sorry, I- I didn’t think about it-” Kreacher sputtered, fingers nervously fiddling with the clothes of his clothes, hunched into himself like he expected Freddy to scream at him or something “I sh-should’ve realized- fuck, I’m so sorry-”

“It- it’s okay,” Freddy sputtered suddenly, taking both of them off guard with how steady his voice was. “I should’ve just told you- and it's not just her, I don’t really trust any doctor, not one…”

For a moment, Kreacher just stood there, as if he was waiting for Freddy to suddenly snap at him, but Freddy never did and it made him confident enough to step forward, tentatively reaching out a hand and placing it on his shoulder. Freddy didn’t flinch, but couldn’t lean into it either. Thankfully, this didn’t deter Kreacher, who lifted his hand up and cupped Freddy's cheek. This time, he leaned into his, thankful for Kreacher's hands being so cold against his skin. Freddy still felt like he was on fire, though whether it was his illness or just a result of such high emotions. It felt nice either way.

“I- I think I understand,” Kreacher started after a long pause, clearly choosing his words carefully “but, if this d-doesn’t fade- like, it- it gets worse, I… I will ask her, but…”

“...only as a last option?”

Kreacher smiled warmly and nodded.

“Only as a last option.”

Freddy hesitated, but eventually nodded, even if his anxiety was telling him to do otherwise. He relaxed himself and let himself fall back against the bed, taking in a deep breath to cool his nerves. Kreacher just watched, before reaching out and taking his glasses off, putting everything that wasn’t a foot in front of him in a blur. It didn’t bother him too much though, especially as he audibly heard Kreacher folding them up and placing them down with his tie. He did raise an eyebrow when Kreacher placed a hand on his forehead.

“Y-you’re still running a fever,” Kreacher muttered, before standing up “I’m g-gonna get something. Kreacher will b-be right back, promise.”

Freddy didn’t say anything, just nodded dumbly as Kreacher left, only frowning once he was out the door. Now that he was alone, anxiety was starting to crawl up his spine again, sinking its nails into his skin and prying open all the old wounds that resided. Even though the memories were fresh, they were already being twisted beyond his control; Kreacher could’ve been lying, could’ve gone to get Emily, just rip the bandaid off while he was vulnerable. Freddy doesn’t even know if he would blame him either way, it wasn’t like it was job to take care of him. Kreacher was doing him a favor, even if he was in a relationship with him. Still, Freddy trusted him, especially because Kreacher is one of the few people here who know that woman's true nature, know what she did.

Maybe he was going soft, but he wanted to trust Kreacher. He didn’t want to be on edge, always assuming the worst, especially with his partner. He wasn’t going to let his worries ruin this too, he just couldn’t.

Thankfully, Kreacher wasn’t gone for long, and he definitely didn’t come back into the room with that woman in toe. Freddy smiled at him- he hoped he did at least. God, his vision was awful- and he didn’t even need to ask what Kreacher was holding before the wet, delightfully cold rag was gently placed on his forehead. It felt like an instant relief, even if he didn’t fully like the way water dripped down his face and soaked his hair (his air was awfully curly when it wasnt dried properly). Already, it felt like his mind was clearlier, like he could actually think again.

“Th-thank you, Kreacher,” Freddy mumbled, tiredness seeping into his voice “I love you.”

“I love you too, conejito testarudo.”

———

I’m so sorry if this sucks I’m so tired lol

[joons-cinnamon-bun]

WE NEED THE HOLIDAY PRETENSE PT4 PLEASEEEEEEEE

I know, lovely, I know. And I so so sooo appreciate the fact that you enjoy my lil silly ideas✨💖

It literally made me so happy to see all the interactions on the last post, I was just like a giddy little kiddo; jumping and giggling to myself at every comment.🪿 Thank you all✨

About the next chapter. I have good news and some “eh” news:

The good news

The next chapter is almost 80-85% of the way done. Yayy

Need to edit a big chunk of it, coz I did a thing, finish it, and boom✨💫

The ‘eh’ news

I’m having a bit of a rough time with my work. I was supposed to start working an 8 hour shift at an office. But somehow it all got so mangled (not by my doing) that now I work 2 part time jobs, and another 2 occasional jobs (babysitting & english tutoring).

(Don’t get me wrong, i am impossibly grateful to be able to have these jobs, otherwise I’m not quite sure how I’d afford… well living lol)

But this week, it got a bit overwhelming and took a lil toll on my brain. (My period most definitely didn’t help. But whatever)

(And I twisted my ankle to top it off, coz why not :)).

So I’m not sure when I will finish it. Or when I will have a chance to sit down and write properly🪿

Hopefully soon coz I’m buzzing with ideas 😂 and believe me, no one wants to finish the Holiday Pretense as much as I do.

(I have 4 wips that are just eating me alive 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️)

But, in the mean time, you can check out my other works if you’d like :) not that much on there rn. But its something

Thank you again💫💖

[meabh-mcinness]

Chronicles of a Second Chance

Chapter 9: Not Another Teen Party

You weren’t a hundred percent certain what possessed you to get into the car when Sam was the one behind the wheel, but as you hurdled down the streets with the music blaring, you could only thank the fact you trusted Bumblebee to keep you from dying in a crash. 

“Samuel Witwicky if you get a speeding ticket or crash this car while I’m in it I will strangle you.” 

“Lighten up Nova! It’s not like I’m doing a hundred in a residential area.” 

“No, just eighty on a highway in a car you’ve never driven before and therefore don’t know it’s break time?” Or whether the breaks worked at all really since no one actually bothered to check under Bumblebee’s hood for any potential problems. Granted this wasn’t actually a car but Sam didn’t know that yet, did he? 

He blinked before nodding to concede you had a point, his foot slowly hitting the break and mumbling under his breath at you. You flipped him and then Bumblebee off as the radio suddenly changed stations and started playing a song about a mean woman. 

“Don’t think I won’t trade you in for parts to make a new scout!” You hissed at Bumblebee under your own breath, knowing damn well his audibles would pick up even the lowest of whispers from you as you kicked your foot out while pretending to stretch, “he needs to learn to drive properly.” 

Bumblebee made a sad warbling sound that could have been easily mistaken for the engine but made sure Sam stuck to the speed limit, making sputtering noises or forcing his gear shift and gas pedal to stick whenever Sam tried to sneak going faster. 

“See Nova? You made the Beast sad,” Sam tittered at you playfully. 

“The Beast?”

“It’s what I’m thinking of naming this beauty once I get him cleaned up - hey! Don’t laugh!” 

Even with his words you couldn’t help the laugh that left you at hearing the name, especially when you pictured Bumblebee’s face at being called that. 

“Yeah. You’re not naming anything ‘the Beast’ while I’m around.” 

“Oh yeah? And what would you name him since you’re so clever?” 

“Bumblebee,” you said automatically, “He’s black and yellow and his engine purrs sound like bees buzzing. Plus he’s a small car that packs a powerful punch given his horsepower.” 

“Bumblebee,” Sam repeated, mulling the name around his tongue as he pulled off onto an exit. Stopping at a light he looked around the cab thoughtfully, “I suppose that’ll do, for now .” Sam speak for ‘I like it but am too manly to admit it.’ 

“Sure Sam, whatever you say.” You placate him with a roll of your eyes, “Where are we going anyways? You just sped off once you got the keys.” 

“My place, I want to get dressed up for the lake party tonight.”

“Dude it’s a teen party at a lake , shouldn’t you be dressing down ,” you teased gently. Sam threw a look your way and you held your hands up in surrender. 

“Anyways I’m going to change clothes, we’re going to pick up Miles from that club of his and then we’re going to schmooze it up with the popular kids, and if I’m lucky Mikaela will be there and actually notice me.” 

“And that, that right there is why you get bullied.” 

“What? A man can’t want a specific girl to notice him?”

“More like no one says schmooze it up anymore, Sam. Well, no one but old people and the uncool kids.” 

“Shut it Nova, I don’t see you part of the popular gang either.” 

“Yeah, because I have a brain, besides I think I’ll keep talking. Torturing you is a fun pastime.” 

And if the radio suddenly spat out staticky laughter, Sam certainly didn’t hear it over his defeated groan. 

———————

If you hadn’t already been aware that a party was going to be held at the lake, the blaring music and loud laughter were obvious clues. Pulling up you noticed Prowl’s form already parked nearby. Considering Sam would have no problem kicking Miles out later so he could chat up Mikaela, you were pretty happy to have a backup escape option if needed. 

Although since you had no real interest in any of the others here, and with Sam and Miles going to be chatting up girls and pretending to be way cooler than they actually were, you might actually, voluntarily, spend your time with Prowl instead. He would certainly have more interesting conversations ready for you than whatever dribble the teens here were going to offer you. 

Harsh? Yes, but you also had spent several years with these teens and the only one that had any semblance of a decent character was Mikaela Banes and a few of her girlfriends. None of which you were really interested in talking to when a literal shapeshifting alien was the other option. When Mikaela was brought in on the secret in the future, then you would be more than happy to talk about cars and mechanics with her. 

For now, though you’d rather avoid the talks of shopping adventures, football games, and trash talking teachers to instead indulge in learning more about your favourite bots, science and perhaps more planning. You swore it was like some unseen force guided them to be the most generic people possible. 

Okay… so maybe you were a bit of a geek who needed to let loose a little. 

In your defence though, if the human characters had even half the character depth of even a fraction of Prowl’s personality, you wouldn’t consider talking with them a chore when you could be talking about literal aliens and saving the world. Who wouldn’t choose that over simple school talk you heard in hallways almost every day of the week? 

The music thumped louder as you pulled into a gravelly space at the edge of the crowd. Teens were already splashing around in the water, someone was tossing a football back and forth, and a small bonfire had been lit, crackling as the sun started to dip below the treeline.

“Alright,” Sam said as he turned the car off and looked himself over in the rearview mirror, “how do I look?”

“Like a guy hoping very hard to pretend he’s not nervous.” You smirked, popping your door open. “Fix your collar, and maybe Mikaela won’t mistake you for a mall mannequin.”

“Ha ha. Hilarious.” Sam adjusted his collar anyway and smoothed his hair, glancing toward the party like a soldier about to march into battle. You watched Trent throw a football back towards his friends before calling them over to watch the spectacle that was Sam pulling up with an actual car. You raised an eyebrow in Trent’s direction, a sharp smile appearing on your lips that even with the distance could be seen by the jock. Trent immediately turned away, cowed by your presence.

For now.

Bumblebee clicked and chirped softly, a reassuring sound only you would recognize as a subtle ‘you’ve got this.’ It earned the scout a small pat on the hood from you before you stepped away.

“You coming?” Sam asked as Miles jogged towards the coolers holding what you assumed to be drinks.

You waved him off. “Nah, I see a cop I’d rather spend my time with.”

Sam blinked. “Wait, what?”

But you were already gone, headed towards Prowl, who’s holoform was now leaning casually against the side of his alt-mode once he noticed you coming towards him—disguised perfectly as a nondescript cruiser nestled in the shadows provided by a nearby gazebo, far enough from the party to remain inconspicuous but close enough to intervene if necessary.

“You are aware you’re drawing just as much attention lurking like that, right?” you teased, leaning against the front bumper beside him.

“I am observing,” Prowl answered flatly, “Some of these adolescent humans are already engaging in reckless behaviour. It’s a wonder this society of yours hasn’t collapsed.”

You snorted. “We’re resilient, in our own stupid way.”

He didn’t argue, though his optics flickered in amusement. “You chose to join me, instead of your fellows. Why?”

You shrugged, folding your arms. “Figured you’d be less painful to talk to than high schoolers trying to one-up each other over cheap beer and thrills.”

“That sounds… primitive.”

“That’s because it is.”

For a moment, you both simply observed. Sam had already dragged over Miles, who was juggling sodas while trying not to trip over someone’s lawn chair. Mikaela was on the far side of the bonfire, talking with one of her girlfriends, and Sam looked like he was psyching himself up to approach her.

“Any news I should be aware of?” You asked as you climbed to sit on his hood. Prowl shot you a dirty glare as you made yourself comfortable but made no move to remove you.  

“Two hours ago, an Air Force one flight leaving from Frankfurt, Germany to Washington D.C had to make an emergency landing in Cleveland, Ohio due to an intruder on board hacking the national system and leaving behind a virus at the same time. The virus has luckily since been destroyed by me, but the intruder got away and several of the workers are dead. Killed, according to the records, by weirdly made shurikens from a material they’ve never seen before.”

“Cybertronian metal I presume?” 

“You presume correctly. My guess is Frenzy snuck on board while the plane was still in Germany, and someone happened to discover them while they were infiltrating. Just like you said they would.”     

“Which means most likely my vision of Barricade picking them up and currently making his way here is also likely to be accurate, isn’t it?” 

Prowl’s voice was grim. “Yes. Which is why you and the boy must remain close. Until the others arrive, it is my responsibility to ensure the information does not leave our control and that no harm comes to either of you.”

You glanced over at Sam. He had just finally worked up the nerve to talk to Mikaela—only to be blocked off by Trent pulling her away to drink. 

“Guess I better start learning how to properly babysit,” you muttered.

Prowl tilted his head towards your boys. “You already have.”

You let out a short laugh. “Thanks, Prowl. That’s exactly what I needed to hear.”

“Humour is a coping mechanism for discomfort,” he noted, ever the stoic observer.

“Yeah, and sarcasm is mine.” You grinned sideways at him. “You’ll learn.”

You sat on Prowl’s hood for a while longer, watching the teenagers laugh and dance beneath the growing dusk. The lake shimmered with reflections of firelight and neon glowsticks, and while it was far from your idea of a fun time, it had its moments. A firework shot up from somewhere near the shoreline—unauthorized and loud—causing Prowl to stiffen beneath you.

You patted his roof. “Just a firework, officer.”

“That is not an excuse for endangering others,” he muttered. “There are open flames, alcohol, and inadequate adult supervision.”

You smirked. “You sound like a PTA meeting.”

“I am sounding reasonable,” he said, but didn’t move to intervene. You knew he was only staying back because it wasn’t an actual threat. Yet.

The laughter carried on, and you caught sight of Sam again—he was standing awkwardly with a red plastic cup, eyes creepily laser-focused on Mikaela as she chatted animatedly with another girl. Miles had wandered off, possibly in one of the trees or finding someone equally unlucky in love to commiserate with.

“Are you recording audio?” you asked quietly.

“Yes.”

“You catching anything useful?”

Prowl’s eyes flickered towards you briefly before looking back. “Only that your friends are not the most graceful conversationalist.”

You snorted. “No kidding.”

The two of you fell into a silence that was… oddly comfortable. For an alien war tactician in disguise as a cop car, Prowl made a pretty solid conversational partner when he wasn’t lecturing. You leaned back against his windshield, watching the stars begin to poke through the darkening sky.

“Do you think the others will make it soon?” you asked softly.

“I believe so,” he replied. “The scout was preparing to send the signal of our location tonight. Optimus and the rest of his team are likely already en-route and will be here tomorrow night at the latest.”

That made your stomach twist with nerves. You’d thought about this moment for so long, anticipated it, prepared for it—but now that it was here? The thought of Megatron still frozen somewhere deep below Hoover Dam made you uneasy. And worse… the thought of how soon he might no longer be.

You rubbed your arms in hopes of fighting against the mental chill. Prowl noticed.

“Are you cold?”

“Just thinking.”

“Thinking does not lower body temperature.”

“No, I suppose it’s generally when you stop thinking that tends to do that.” You laughed, but it was thin.

Prowl didn’t respond with another witty remark like usual. Instead, he shifted his weight slightly, drawing your attention to the subtle tension in his frame.

“Something’s bothering you.”

“I do not like unknowns,” he admitted. “And too many pieces of this situation remain unclear.”

You could relate. You were walking a delicate tightrope—knowing too much for a normal human, not knowing enough to feel secure.

“Sam knows something is up,” you said finally. “He’s not dumb. Bumble’s going to have a hell of a time sneaking out tonight without getting caught.”

“He will succeed.”

You frowned, eyes following Sam as he attempted to talk to Mikaela again. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”

Prowl didn’t comment, already knowing where your thoughts were.

Down by the water, the party began to mellow. Someone turned the music down a bit, the crowd gathering closer to the bonfire. Sam was laughing at something Mikaela said—and you had to admit, despite his nerves, he looked like he was actually having fun.

“You should join them,” Prowl said suddenly.

You raised a brow. “Tired of me already?”

“I merely observe that you appear… distant. Detached.”

You hesitated. “I just—It’s hard to care about any of this when I know what’s coming. Besides, I’m not really a people person.”

Prowl gave a soft mechanical hum. “Still, you are young. You must allow yourself moments of… living.”

Was that actual encouragement from the resident rule-stickler?

“My moments of living are reserved for hobbies and people I actually enjoy.” You stretched to lay out, fully prepared to relax and potentially even nap on Prowl.

That is of course until Trent seemed to grow bold at the fact you were off on the sidelines, and finally confronted Sam. A groan left your mouth as you realized you potentially had to play mediator. To be fair one hadn’t been needed in the movie, but you were also certain Trent hadn’t had anything to drink yet at that point either, and from this distance you had no idea if he had been sticking to soda this entire time.

“Speaking of babysitting, I see potential trouble,” You slid off the hood, stretching your arms above your head. “If I come back smelling like smoke and beer because some idiot spilled on me, I’m blaming you.”

“I will offer no sympathies.”

“Good thing I wasn’t expecting any.”

You made your way toward the bonfire, offering a little wave to Sam as you passed and another sharp grin at Trent. Sam waved back, looking surprised to see you, but genuinely glad as Trent quickly backed up towards his cronies again, hooking a possessive arm around Mikaela. With a wink at Sam’s dumbfounded look, you snagged a soda from the cooler and parked yourself at the edge of the firelight, just close enough to observe but hopefully not be dragged into anyone’s drama.

Although to be fair the only drama that really seemed to be happening was the argument that was now going on between Mikaela and Trent as she pushed his arm away from her and appeared to be laying into him. Mentally you cheered the girl on, she deserved far better than a crappy boyfriend who was only with her for her looks and treated her that way too. 

From the corner of your eye you noticed Sam as he too watched Mikaela tear into Trent before storming off, grabbing her bag on her way out. “I’m going to drive her home tonight.” Sam stated, his eyes never leaving Mikaela’s form.

“First off, learn to blink and stop staring like a creep Sam, I taught you better than that. Second off, did you forget you brought me and Miles here? How exactly are you expecting to fit four people in your car when we barely fit.”

Sam turned wideeyed at you as if he had forgotten your existence. The urge to smack him upside the head and knock the teenage hormones into place was strong but you held your hand. Your couldn’t control the twitching of your eyebrow however. 

“Nova, your majesty, best friend of my life,” your twitching eyebrow raised as you sighed, already certain on where this was going, “Your cousin is here right? You can ask him to take you home please and let me try and sweep Mikaela off of her feet?” 

“And Miles?” 

“Lives five minutes from here and, as you say, has a working pair of legs.” 

You griped the bridge of your nose and sighed, “You will owe me big time for this,” Sam nodded enthusiastically as he started backing away from you. 

“Yes, of course. Whatever you want!” He promised before turning to run towards Bumblebee.

“Where have I heard that before,” you muttered to yourself before you called out to him, “And Sam?” He paused getting into the car to look back at you, “Good luck getting the girl.” He grinned at you before hopping in and starting up the camaro. The engine roared to life with a small puff of smoke before Sam was taking off in the direction Mikaela had been walking. 

You watched him go with amusement dancing through your veins before turning an eye over the party to try and hunt down Miles to let him know the change of plans. You found him hanging upside down from a tree branch as he tried chatting up a couple girls underneath him. With a fond roll of your eyes, you wandered over to let him know his ride had left without him. 

His indignant reaction had been expected and justifiably deserved since he hadn’t been consulted on this, but he waved you off when you offered to have ‘Prospero’ take him home, well aware that he didn’t live far from here and still wanting to stick around. 

People had started to settle into their groups—those still playing in the water, others sitting in too-small lawn chairs with their cups and their teenage bravado fading with the sun. Laughter still rang out, and someone started playing a guitar off-key near the fire, but the chaos had dulled to a dull roar as you walked back over to where Prowl was, climbing in when he silently offered by opening his passenger door. 

“I see your friend has abandoned you to chase after a girl.” He said as you settled in.

You allowed a ghost of a smile to curl your lips. “He’s got guts, I’ll give him that.”

Prowl didn’t respond right away, but you caught the subtle hum in his engine—amusement, maybe. Or something close to it.

“Statistically, determination does play a large role in success,” he said after a beat.

You snorted. “And you’re full of stats. Must be fun at parties.”

“I do not generally attend parties,” he said, perfectly deadpan.

“Shocker.” You leaned forward, elbows on your knees. “Still, I think you’d be the life of one of these parties. ‘Hi, I’m Prowl. Did you know that statistically, fifteen percent of bonfires result in property damage?’”

“Seventeen point eight,” he corrected instantly.

“Of course you know the decimal.” You grinned at him.

Silence fell again—this time easier. More natural. It was a weird sort of calm, this in-between moment where nothing had quite gone wrong yet, but everything was preparing to. You could feel the shift in the air. Like the moment right before lightning struck and thunder cracked.

The radio in Prowl’s dash clicked softly. Then again—barely noticeable to anyone else. You tensed, waiting for Prowl to also have to abandon you to go do some kind of police duty, as a voice spat out words that meant nothing to you. 

“A check in,” Prowl informed you after he responded to the voice, “nothing more.” 

Down below, the fire cracked louder as someone tossed more logs onto it. The music changed again—something slower this time, romantic in a cheesy high-school-movie kind of way. You rolled your eyes but watched as people coupled up to enjoy themselves. Peaceful… for now.

But not for long. And you were ready.

Or at least, you’d hoped you were.

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@imagineshazamlokimight

Notes:

I want to say that I don't have anything against teens, but I think we can all agree that Bay didn't exactly make the most three-dimensional human characters, and I will try my best to fix that in the future (especially Mikaela, she deserved so much more than to be the resident eye candy and I have plans for her). Beyond that, though, here's a new chapter! I'm not totally happy with it but I really want to move on and bring in the other Autobots. I miss my beloveds TTuTT/